The screen went back to the newscasters to discuss what she had just said, which also brought on a barrage of questions.
Is she really the same princess we were introduced to at the Foundation Day press conference? There seem to be some subtle differences.
Where is Prince DuFour? With her mention of Easteria and him being part of the last announcement, where is he this morning? No mention of him. He wasn’t even standing amongst the Queen’s advisors.
The palace has issued statements, but why has the Princess been so quiet during the recent controversy—not emerging until now?
Is she ready to handle the turmoil and divide currently spreading throughout the Kingdom?
I tuned out the debate as I looked around the room.
“This is crazy,” Kale said. “I mean, I knew it would be—but seeing it on TV, making it official—it’s just hard to believe this is happening.”
“Totally,” I said, still scanning the heads and faces gathered before the television. The newscasters commented on Prince Byron’s absence, and strangely enough, I didn’t see him there. “Where’s the Prince?”
32
Byron
I shouldn’t have been driving, but I certainly didn’t want to be in the car with Mackenzie behind the wheel. When I told Mackenzie to set up the meeting, he was supposed to do it after he was sober—like, the next day. And then, I expected a few days in between—not in the middle of what we were currently dealing with—and certainly not going straight from the den to the car. I knew if I was in a state of mind to make a better judgement call, I’d think this was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, I was too inebriated to care.
We’d slipped away from the Ramsey estate and I’d only told Gabriel I was leaving. Though I didn’t tell him who I was leaving with, he probably guessed it shortly after we’d gone. If he decided to come after us, hopefully he’d hang back unless I found myself in trouble. He’d better not try to stop me.
I didn’t hear everything Mackenzie had said to Hendrix to arrange the last-minute meeting, but I did hear that Mackenzie had claimed Frank was behind it. It seemed to have also been Frank who’d insisted on Piper’s removal, so Mackenzie could weasel out of initial blame. Frank’s death had obviously not reached Hendrix yet.
I tried to stay away from as many cars as possible as we made our way to the 22nd Ward. It wasn’t an area I was familiar with and I had to rely on Mackenzie for directions. Luckily, he was still coherent enough to provide them, even though several of the turns were beyond last minute and we had to backtrack a couple of times.
We weren’t driving through a populated section of the 22nd and soon we were ascending a narrow, winding road into the mountains. What desert stretched below us was replaced by low-level greenery, which turned to towering pines as we continued upward. Once the road leveled out, I noticed that we hadn’t passed another car in quite some time.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked. “As the Duke of the 22nd Ward, I find it hard to believe his estate would be up in this remote area—unless we’re just cutting through.”
“We’re not going to his estate,” Mackenzie said, sounding bored, but probably just tired from the alcohol streaming through his veins. “He didn’t want to take the girl somewhere he’d be easily found—or him for that matter, as we all feared some kind of repercussions from the Queen. I hadn’t expected those repercussions to come from another source, as did Frank, obviously, but that was our own arrogance, I guess. No; we’re going to one of Ramsey’s hunting cabins. He has a few scattered around these nearby wards. They’d been friends for many years.”
“Not you?”
Mackenzie shrugged. “We’d gotten along. He was someone I’d found I could trust for certain circumstances, but I never trusted him completely. I always found him a little off.”
“This coming from you,” I laughed.
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
The further we drove into this remote area, the more I began to think this was a mistake. I could always turn around and cancel the whole thing. It wasn’t too late. But despite my fears and inner objections, I kept driving.
Mackenzie directed me off the main road. The canopy of trees became a kind of living tunnel, the outside instantly darkening. The smell of the pines outside seeped in through the car vents.
After a few more turns, we were bumping down a single lane dirt road. If I wasn’t careful, we’d blow a tire. But I was relieved of the vision of a possible blowout when the cabin came into view. An SUV was parked in front of it, which I should have expected and it gave us options if we needed to trade.
“Let me lead the way,” Mackenzie said, as we exited the vehicle. “I don’t want him to see you first and freak out.”
“Why would he freak out from the sight of me?”
He gave me a patronizing look and ambled up to the front porch, stumbling on one of the three steps and recovering by grabbing onto a wooden post. Mackenzie steadied himself before stepping up to the front door and pounding on it with a fist.
I remained at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the door to open.
“Who is it?” a voice called from inside.
“It’s Mackenzie, you idiot. Now open up.”
“Who’s with you?”
Mackenzie glanced back at me with a shake of his head and an amused grin. “Just me.”
The door opened and Hendrix glared at Mackenzie, then noticed me a few feet away.
“And Byron,” Mackenzie added. “I was going to say that.”
“What’s he doing here?” Hendrix said in his gravelly voice. “You said you had another message from Frank. What’s he want from me now? He already took my new daughter.”
“She wasn’t your daughter,” I blurted out.
“Shut up, Byron,” Mackenzie snapped. “It’s not a message from Frank, but one about him. Can we come inside? I’d rather not discuss it out here.”
Hendrix didn’t answer right away, but then stepped aside. “Sure.” As Mackenzie walked past, he added. “Are you drunk?”
“I may have imbibed a few,” Mackenzie said, having a difficult time getting through the word imbibed.
“You smell like a damn distillery.”
I caught the door before it closed on me and followed the dukes into the main living area of the cabin, which was all one room except at least one bathroom. There was a staircase on one side with an open landing overhead. I guessed the bedrooms were up there. The open space of the downstairs was organized into sections for eating, sitting, and entertaining. The animal trophy décor seemed to be an extension of the den in the Ramsey estate. An elk head hung over the hearth, along with a bear skin on the adjacent wall. It felt like there were eyes everywhere.
“So what’s this news of Frank,” Hendrix said, not sounding like he wanted to extend this meeting with small talk whatsoever. He stood behind one of the couches while Mackenzie made himself at home and took a seat across from him.
I kept my distance from both of them, not really sure what I should do. I had a pistol tucked into the back waistband of my slacks. I was about to reach for it, but curiosity of what Mackenzie was about to say kept it concealed.
“He’s dead,” Mackenzie said, cutting right to the chase. “And did you hear about the Queen?”
“No; what’s happening with her?”
“You really are sheltered up here,” Mackenzie laughed. “She’s dead too. We’re at an end or a new beginning—whichever way you want to look at it. Ramsey is dead. I was nearly killed as well. Some of the clones have gone rogue and are assuming power.”
Hendrix didn’t seem to know how to respond. He glared dubiously at Mackenzie, then over to me. “Is what he’s saying true?”
“You’d believe him over me?” Mackenzie argued, feigning offense.
“Every word of it,” I said. “The entire Kingdom has hit a crossroads.”
“Wow… I guess I should turn on the news,” Hendrix said. “How did Frank die? I�
�m sure that won’t be mentioned anywhere.”
“Since he was officially already dead? No; that won’t—”
“The conspiracy could come out now,” Hendrix interrupted. “There will be people that will no longer feel the need to keep the secret.”
“Maybe, but he’s gone,” Mackenzie said. “People can now say whatever they want, but it won’t do anything.”
Hendrix turned and walked into the open kitchen.
“Have you got anything to drink?” Mackenzie asked.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Hendrix said.
“It’s been a trying day. A scotch would be great. You can’t tell me Ramsey left you dry.”
Hendrix retrieved two glasses from a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scotch from another. “I want my daughter back,” he said. “According to you, it was Frank’s orders that she be taken, and now you’re telling me Frank’s dead. So there should be no reason why I can’t have her back—unless you’re keeping her for yourself. Is that the case, Mackenzie?”
“It’s not,” Mackenzie said as Hendrix handed him the glass. “Are you planning to stay here? Or would you like to come and pick her up yourself when you return home?”
“It doesn’t sound safe to return home now. I think I’ll stay up here a little while longer. I’d appreciate you bringing her back. I can make the trip worth your while.”
The conversation was making me sick and I was ready to pull the gun out and shoot him in the head. But still I stood there unable to take action. Maybe I was still afraid of what Mackenzie would ultimately do. He was too comfortable on the couch, too at home with another drink.
“Did you want one, Byron?” Hendrix said as he held his own drink, the question more an afterthought than a genuine offer.
“No; I’m fine,” I said, not doing a good job of masking my contempt.
“Why are you here?” Hendrix asked me, then turned to Mackenzie. “You must have had more of a reason to drive up here than to simply tell me Frank was dead. You could have done that over the phone. What are you planning?”
Without skipping a beat, Mackenzie nonchalantly said, “Byron’s here to kill you.” Mackenzie lifted his glass and smiled as he said it, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that reached his eyes.
33
Byron
Hendrix almost laughed, not knowing how to take the comment. But then the expression on his face changed as he considered Mackenzie might be telling the truth.
I felt panic rising with bile in the back of my throat. Mackenzie had initiated the death dance.
Hendrix turned slowly toward me as I reached for my weapon. As soon as he saw me moving, he dropped his glass of scotch and dove for the kitchen island. “You son of a bitch!”
I took a shot just as Hendrix’s feet disappeared behind the cabinet. The bullet splintered the wood and clanged against metal—probably some pots or pans stored within.
A moment later, a hand came up and wrenched open a top drawer, which then crashed to the floor as it was freed from its tracks.
I kept the gun in position, aimed at the corner of the island cabinets where Hendrix disappeared, as I stalked closer.
“I’d be more careful if I were you,” Mackenzie said from the couch, still casually sipping from his glass.
Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol slide and the next bullet being chambered. I was no longer confronting an unarmed man.
I ducked behind the closest couch to get out from the open, then thought of how stupid that was. The couch may offer some cover, but not much protection. I scrambled along the floor, making my way toward the stairs.
“When I finish with him, I’m coming after you, Mackenzie!” Hendrix called from the kitchen. He remained down behind the island.
“I’ll consider myself warned,” Mackenzie said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
My mind was racing as I tried to determine the best way to protect myself. I should have had the offensive from the beginning, and now I was caught on the defensive, desperate to stay alive. I crawled past the stairs into a small alcove. With my back to the wall, I held the gun out in front of me, waiting for Hendrix to emerge from around the corner. As I held my position, I glanced up the stairs. There was no way he could try going up the stairs, but from the landing above, he’d have the drop on me.
Is there another set of stairs?
If I could get up the stairs, I could have the same advantage and see right down into the kitchen—but trying to get there could prove problematic. He’d have a clear shot of me trying to get there.
I wanted to know if Hendrix was still held up in the same location, or if he had moved on. I was sure there were more weapons throughout the cabin, maybe even strategically placed. I thought of calling out to elicit a response, so I could determine his location. But he’d know better than to play into it, not to mention, I’d be giving up mine as well.
Is Mackenzie still sitting on the couch? What the hell is he doing?
I tried to steady my breathing, so my own panic wouldn’t give me away. The longer I sat here, the more doubt crept into my head. If I managed to finally kill Hendrix, would I then have Mackenzie to contend with? I didn’t want to consider that possibility too strongly.
I crawled back to the edge of the stairs where the kitchen island came back into view. Everything was quiet, so quiet it made the ringing in my ears loud enough it might have been blocking out everything else.
I only had the one gun and one magazine. I believed it was fully loaded to start with, and if that was the case, it would have fourteen bullets left. Fifteen should have been more than enough for an unsuspecting Hendrix, but now… I wanted to shoot at the island to get some kind of response, to end the horrible limbo we were currently trapped within. But the thought of wasting what few bullets I had left kept me from pulling the trigger.
“I’m going to need another drink pretty soon, so let’s get a move on,” Mackenzie said from the couch. I didn’t know if he was talking to Hendrix or me—or perhaps it didn’t matter—he’d be fine with either victor.
“Perhaps you should have thought about that before opening your big, stupid mouth,” I scolded.
Then a bullet came whizzing by my head. The bang from the shot came a split second later. I fell back behind the stairs, my heart nearly stopping in my chest.
I am the one who shouldn’t be opening my big, stupid mouth.
Taking a moment to calm—as calm as one could get in a standoff like this—I then climbed up a few steps. The wood creaked under my weight, so I stopped, then resumed when no other retaliations seemed to be coming. The stairs curved and I peeked through the wooden slats. I could see the island again, but my vantage point wasn’t much different than before. Hendrix still wasn’t in sight.
I scanned both sides of the island, waiting for him to appear—to attempt another shot—at which time I could return fire without feeling like I was wasting a bullet.
When he didn’t show himself, I inched up a few more stairs, each new one creaking as much as the last. I could almost see over the top of the island now, but he was still crouched down enough to shield his position. If he was even still there. It was possible he’d moved after the shot when I ducked behind the stairs.
I was reaching a point in the stairs where I’d have nowhere to hide and I’d be nothing more than open target practice. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the island, but glanced back toward Mackenzie. He still sat on the couch, his glass in one hand, the pistol in the other, resting on his lap.
Great.
I lingered on him a little too long because another shot came at me. The banister behind me exploded. Hendrix was down before I even saw which end of the island he was hiding behind. All I could do was return fire, choosing multiple spots on and around the island before bolting the rest of the way up the stairs. Once I reached the top landing, I jumped behind the closest wall.
Looking down at the mangled banister, I knew that could have just as easily been my sho
ulder or my head. There had been no protection on the stairs; Hendrix had simply missed. I scolded myself for not wearing a bulletproof vest under my shirt. This entire plan and trip was sloppy.
If I hid for too long, Hendrix would have time to change positions, which would take away any of the advantage I’d risked so much to get. I peered around the corner, slowly, until the island came into view. He was still crouched low, but I could now see the top of his head. Luckily, he was still there.
My target was still visible, but he was also further away.
Stop hesitating!
I took a shot and Hendrix’s head dropped from view. Then from his new position, I could see one of his feet, so I shot again. He scrambled away to another section of the island—but wherever he went, I could now see some part of him sticking out. I took several more shots, but he still eluded me.
Knowing he was backed into a corner, Hendrix finally peered over the top of the island and fired, forcing me back behind the wall. The stomping of heavy boots on the wood floor rang out and I caught sight of Hendrix running for the open door of the downstairs bathroom.
I squeezed the trigger again. One bullet burrowed into the flooring, another into the wall beside the bathroom door. And finally, one found Hendrix, ripping through the back of his thigh with a spray of blood. Hendrix screamed as he pitched forward, his body falling toward the doorway. As he fell, he released his gun, which ricocheted off the wall as he tumbled into the bathroom.
Hendrix was already out of sight in the bathroom, but his gun was very much in sight on the hardwood floor. I kept mine trained on the doorway he’d fallen through as I raced down the stairs.
“Nice shot,” Mackenzie said as I approached the bathroom.
I ignored him, trying not to think of what might happen after Hendrix was dead. I was almost positive that Hendrix didn’t have another weapon on him and about as confident more weapons weren’t hidden within the bathroom. Yet I still approached with extreme caution.
Royal Threat Page 18
