by Jillian Dodd
Although they protest, they don’t put up a fight. Soon we’re in the study alone.
I shut the doors and fix Lorenzo a drink.
“Can I talk to you about today? Not only as someone who cares for you, but also to give you my professional opinion?”
“Certainly.”
“You need a new security detail. The men who guarded your father are out of shape, slow to react, and not up to date with current threats in the world. They should have constant training, not rest on their laurels. You should promote Juan and let him recruit the best of the best from the Montrovian Special Forces. Guarding you may be an honor, but it’s more than that.”
He sets his drink down and slips his arm around my waist. “Or I could marry you.”
“If I marry you, I will lose my abilities, as well. Something I’m not prepared to do.”
“What if I hired you as my very personal body guard?” he asks, his eyes smoldering. “A man of my position would most definitely require constant care. Particularly at night, in my bed.”
“You are not taking me seriously.”
“Oh, but that is where you are wrong. I would take having you in my bed extremely seriously.”
“I mean about your guard.”
“I’m glad you are worried about my safety, and you are probably right. I’ll talk to Juan about it tomorrow, and he can start the process.” He kisses me, sending shivers down to my toes. “Back to you in my bed.”
“I thought you wanted me in your limo so we could take in the monuments at night?”
He narrows his eyes at me.
“I want you in my limo, alright.”
“Lorenzo!” I screech.
“But, Huntley, my dear, I am very serious about it. You may have to fight me off.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Challenge accepted.”
“Merda,” he mutters. “How am I ever supposed to have my way with you when you so easily can fend off my advances?”
“If I want things to advance, I am certainly capable of letting you know.”
“And how will you do that?” he asks with a smirk. “Can you give me details?”
“Go get in the limo before you get yourself in trouble.” I laugh.
MISSION:DAY FOUR
Although Daniel texted me late last night and asked me to attend the funeral with him, it was vetoed by his family this morning, who said that a solemn occasion such as this should not be made a media spectacle like what happened with the swearing in photo.
And I guess I can respect that.
It made it easier for me, since Lorenzo also requested that I accompany him. Ari could have come with us but decided there was no need.
“The man’s dead, there’s nothing further we can do for him,” he says callously as Lorenzo and I are leaving. His words make Lorenzo flinch, but I suspect his harshness comes more from his personal losses than from a lack of respect.
When we arrive at the National Cathedral, a media spectacle is already taking place. Thousands are lined up on the streets waving American flags along the hearse’s route to the funeral. Reporters from every station—from local to international—seem to be present. And although there is no red carpet, there might as well be with all the recognizable faces. Republicans, Democrats, world leaders, former Presidents, political dignitaries, and celebrities, all dressed in black, come together to mourn for our nation.
And although I am here to do the same, I have another job. I want to scan the crowd looking for someone who seems out of place. Someone whose calculating eyes betray their feelings. Someone who isn’t sad, but rather who may have benefited from the President’s death.
But the only person I can see who has directly benefited is Daniel’s father, and he is visibly upset, particularly when the flag-draped casket is carried down the aisle by a military honor guard and placed at the front of the church.
When the funeral is over the casket is taken out of the church, followed by the former President’s family.
Lorenzo leans over and whispers to me, “The casket and family will be taken on Air Force One to President Hillford’s home state of Massachusetts, where he will be buried on the grounds of what will be his Presidential Library.”
I expect to be let out of the church row by row, but once the family and casket, along with the current President and his family—including Daniel who looked devilishly handsome in a dark suit and who gave me a wink as he walked by—are out of the church, everyone gets up and mingles. People are being comforted by one and other. Hugs, greetings from people who haven’t seen each other in “ages,” and even an occasional peel of laughter—the sounds of the living fill the air.
While Lorenzo is making his rounds, I stand by his side looking pretty and using the time to survey the crowd. I haven’t spotted anyone rubbing their hands together like the evil men on cartoons, happy their nefarious plan has come together—if only it were that easy.
“Huntley, I’d like you to meet Malcolm Prescott, Peter’s father,” Lorenzo says, introducing me to a distinguished looking man wearing a very expensive Italian suit.
“It’s a joy to finally meet you,” he says. “Peter has told me much about you. What an interesting story you have. Is your brother here with you? Ares and I were quite close. I never knew he had children.” He studies my face then smiles at me. “But it’s obvious you are his daughter. You have his eyes.”
“How did you know each other?” I ask.
“We were friends back when we all thought we were at the top of our game, having each earned our first million before we were twenty-five.” He smiles a sad smile. “Except for the man we laid to rest here today. He simply turned twenty and received a large trust fund. But it was that trust fund that gave the three of us, who had nothing to speak of, the seed money for the businesses we went on to create.”
“So you, President Hillford, and my father were friends?”
“Yes, along with Aleksandr Nikolaevich. I believe you met his son, Viktor, in Montrovia.” He smiles at me. “Your father was obsessed with racing, not to mention all sorts of other fun gadgets. Through him we were invited by Ferrari to attend the Montrovian Grand Prix.” He turns toward Lorenzo. “Which is where we met your father when he was still the prince.” He gives Lorenzo a little slap on the back. “And from what I’ve heard, you are a chip off the old block. Your father was quite the ladies’ man.”
Lorenzo almost chokes. “Really?”
“Yes, but as men eventually do, he settled down. Except for Ares,” he says to me. “He told us he would never let a woman tie him down. How did you come to find out you are his children?”
“Apparently a woman never did tie him down, because Ares was never in our lives. An attorney contacted us both. Quite frankly, I didn’t really believe it. I thought I was being punked. I was half expecting someone to jump out from behind a door, laugh at me, and send me on my way with a toaster oven for being a good sport.”
“What evidence did they show you that changed your mind?”
“My brother,” I say with a smile. “When we were introduced, it was”—I make myself tear up—“overwhelming, I guess.” I fan my face in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. “And one look at him and I knew it was true. And it’s cool, because neither of us have any family.”
“Your father’s estate holds a large amount of my company’s stock, and I still am heavily invested in Von Allister Industries. That sort of makes us like family.” He pats my back in comfort. “My wife is famous for her social gatherings. As a matter of fact, we’re having a soiree at our home in London starting on Sunday with festivities before the Cartier Queen’s Cup, and then throughout the week before and after the Royal Ascot. Peter and his new friend—what is her name?”
“Allie.”
“Ah, yes. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I am afraid I can’t keep track of my son’s women. Peter and Allie are already in London, and we would love for the three of you to join us.”
“I was planning on attending both events,” Lorenzo says. “We’d love to.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Huntley,” he says.
“You, as well. Maybe in London you could tell me more about Ares? His life sounds, um, rather complicated, the last years of his life. It would be nice to know what he was like before that.”
“I will look forward to it.” He shakes Lorenzo’s hand and kisses my cheeks.
“He’s really nice,” I say to Lorenzo after he walks away. “Reminds me of Peter. Easy to get to know but without the pompous ass factor.”
“I suppose it’s because he didn’t grow up with wealth as Peter has. He had to work for it.” Lorenzo glances at his watch. “I need to say hello to the Prince of Denmark, then we can make our departure. I’m due back for a conference call with the Prime Minister shortly.”
“I’m going to run and find a restroom. I’ll meet you back here,” I reply, happily. Earlier I saw someone I’d like to talk to.
I’m halfway to the bathroom when Gallagher finds me.
“Huntley Von Allister, how lovely to see you again,” he says formally.
“What are you doing here?”
“Paying my respects, of course,” he says, but then lowers his voice. “I was hoping to see you.”
“Aww, did you miss me?”
“I most certainly did.” He hands me a business card with the name and address of a designer shoe store. “And in case you’d like to go shopping for another handbag, I’d highly recommend this place.”
“Are you buying again?”
He smiles, kisses my cheeks, and moves away, effortlessly disappearing into the crowd.
I slide the card into my clutch and then reunite with Lorenzo.
Once we’re in the limo, and Lorenzo is busy on the phone, I slip the card out and flip it over. On the back, written in neat print is a time. One that is a few hours away.
At the house, I tell Lorenzo that I’m going shopping and will be back in time for the dinner tonight. When I go to the garage to pick a car to drive, I find Terrance and Ari deep in discussion.
“What’s going on?”
“We should receive details of our mission sometime in the next forty-eight hours, so we need to be ready,” Ari says.
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“The assassin was contracted for not just one hit, but a series of them,” Terrance expands. “Our hacker learned how the assassin was contacted. We can’t retrieve past communication, so we’re waiting to receive the next hit location. Your mission will be to track the assassin and find out who hired him.”
“So you don’t want us to interfere with the second hit?”
“If you can stop the assassination without alerting him to your presence, that is fine. But following him is your primary concern. You can’t risk losing him.”
“If we’re going to follow him, we’ll need disguises. He didn’t get to be the best without being really good at his job. If he even thinks he’s being followed, he’ll be gone.”
“Tell me what you need,” Terrance says.
I give him a list, explain how I want it all arranged, and the exact look of the backpack I want.
“What about weapons?” Ari asks.
“That’s where things get tricky,” Terrance says. “We expect that the second hit will take place here in the United States, since we have no indication that he has left the country. But depending on where he has to go next, travel—possibly international travel—could be involved. We have to be prepared for that. This will be a particularly dangerous mission that will be conducted on the fly, so our job will be monitoring and supporting you.”
“Our job?” I ask Terrance.
“Remember the hacker friend I told you about in Montrovia?”
“What’s his name?”
“Her name is Olivia but in her world, she’s known as Plague. She can wipe out anything.”
“But you’ve been referring to her as a him.”
“The Plague is believed to be male. It’s part of her online persona.”
“Very creative,” Ari says, not impressed.
Terrance’s eyes light up. “I know, right? She is amazing. Seriously. I’ve never seen anyone do what she can. Her parents were MIT professors, and I’m pretty sure she learned computer code before she could speak.”
“Sounds like you have a crush,” Ari states, raising an eyebrow.
Terrance blushes. “Oh, no. We have a strictly working relationship.”
“Okay,” he says, not really believing him.
“Anything else I need to know?” I ask.
“Yes, besides the things you requested, I’ll be prepping our communication and surveillance system. We will be live with you during this mission. We will be able to see what you see and communicate with you.”
“So we’re the drones, and you’re going to fly us from your safe little cave?”
“No,” Terrance says, slightly offended. “Our job is to help and support you. Try to relax and mentally prepare yourself.”
“Which I will be doing by going shopping. I just came to get a car.”
“Which one are you taking?” Ari asks.
I point at my favorite. “She’s mine now, in case you were wondering.”
“Oh, a little sibling rivalry,” Terrance teases as I get in the car and take off.
I stop at the estate’s gate, taking a moment to enter the address for the shopping center, rather than the specific store, into the navigation map on my phone. I see that it’s not far away and realize I still have some time to kill.
And I know exactly where I want to go.
Blackwood Academy.
I take a circuitous route to the school, making sure I’m not being followed. As an extra precaution, I take the SIM card out of my phone and shut it off, then proceed to the place I called home for last six years.
I feel a little giddy when the stately mansion comes into view. I’m excited to see everyone. To find out what they will do after graduation. Who they will be working for, what missions they will be going on. If we will get to work together.
Mostly, I’m excited to see M.
The first thing I notice as I approach the school is that there are no cars anywhere to be seen.
Prickles run down my spine.
Something feels off.
I quickly change plans, based on my gut feeling, and drive by the school without stopping. I continue up the little used road for a mile or so, then flip around in a driveway, pretending to be lost.
As I pass the school again, I don’t even glance in its direction. Instead, I go down the road a quarter mile and turn left onto a gravel road, silently praying to the Ferrari gods to forgive me. I drive for another quarter mile, park the car so it’s hidden in a thicket of trees off school grounds, then get out and make my way down a path I know well.
This is how M and I used to sneak out to go dancing.
When I get to the fence that surrounds the grounds, I stay hidden in the trees, searching for any sign of activity. I notice the cameras that used to be fixed on the fence are gone. In fact, all the cameras that used to be on the buildings are gone, as well.
I slow my breathing and then make my move, running from the tree I was hiding behind, to the break in the fence, and then across the property to the out building that houses both the gym and the gun range.
The sound of a twig snapping causes me to flatten myself against the wall.
I don’t dare move.
I hear the noise again and chastise myself for not bringing a weapon.
The noise gets closer, and I know I have to make my move. I leap out from behind the building, ready to take on whoever is there.
Instead, there are two deer, a mother and her fawn, happily grazing on the lush grass.
I let out a sigh of relief.
But the deer cause me the same concern as the lack of vehicles. If people were around, the deer wouldn’t be.
I run to the back door of the rang
e and find it unlocked.
When I get inside, my mouth falls opens in shock.
The building is empty.
Totally and completely empty. There’s not even a speck of dust on the floor.
It’s then that I realize I’m not wearing gloves. That my fingerprints are on the handle of the door.
I pull the sleeve of my cardigan over my hands and carefully wipe down the door handle while my mind is going a million miles an hour trying to figure out what’s going on.
Terrance told me they were closing the school, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. I decide to go into the main building. Maybe they just cleaned the out buildings in prep for the closure. Maybe everyone is inside, hanging in their dorm rooms waiting for graduation to start.
Or maybe they changed the time and it’s tonight instead of this afternoon. Or maybe they moved the ceremony to a different location. Although if they had, wouldn’t the Dean have mentioned it?
Or did he not want me to come?
No, that’s silly. Why would he care? Everyone at graduation knows who I am and probably now knows my cover. M was obsessed with tabloids. She’d for sure have seen me with Lorenzo in them.
I wonder what she thought.
She would have loved everything about it except for the fact that I’ll probably end up behind some desk in a basement because of it. She always joked and said we were too pretty for that.
She could always make me laugh—usually at totally inappropriate times that ended up getting us both reprimanded.
I consider going in the front door, but my goosebumps and the weird feeling in my gut lead me to sneak around the back of the house and go through the kitchen entrance. We used to joke that when something bad was about to go down our Spidey-senses would kick into gear.
That’s how I feel right now. My Spidey-senses are on full alert.
I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong here.
And what I see when I step inside doesn’t help me feel better.
The kitchen is empty.
