Dirty Thief

by Tia Louise

  “Here… I’ve found a family of Kurdis in Sweden. It’s possible they’re relatives?”

  “Is it a common name?”

  “I don’t know.” Freddie’s voice is thoughtful, and he makes two more clicks. “We can contact the administrators in Stockholm and ask if they’ve reported a missing child.”

  My chest hurts. “I can’t imagine losing a child in a situation like that.”

  His lips tighten, and he makes two clicks. The printer comes to life, and a sheet prints out with a list of several names and numbers. Taking it, he holds it, running his finger across the columns of names and numbers.

  “These are the Kurdis and their location in Sweden. This is the director of the camp there. This is the local Red Cross and the UNPF.”

  I take the sheet and slip it into the manila folder. I’ll take it back to my small staff helping me place these lost children.

  When I became queen regent, Rowan had almost reluctantly told me a huge part of my position is charity work. He had no idea what a relief it is, since I’m not qualified to do anything else. I never went to college. Zelda and I survived almost seven years on the money from her casino cons and my petty thefts. Monagasco is so small and wealthy, we don’t actually have a lot of charity work, so finding these children and reuniting them with loved ones has been amazing. It’s almost like therapy.

  “Now walk me through what you just did. This is Suad Hadid. She was also in the group from Thessaloniki.”

  It takes several minutes of Freddie sitting beside me, pointing and explaining, but soon I’m clicking with confidence. Hadid actually is a common name, but we’ve found a husband and wife who washed up in a rubber raft from Turkey, both dead.

  “Oh, Freddie,” I whisper, blinking back tears.

  Concern lines his face. “Are you sure you want to do this? Some of the photographs are pretty gruesome.”

  It makes me smile how protective these men are of me. If only they knew.

  “Thank you.” I reach out and touch his hand. “It’s important to me to help these children.”

  He moves the mouse, and we print out a slightly longer list for Suad. “If you feel confident, I’ll leave you alone to continue.”

  My heart jumps. “Yes… I mean, you don’t have to sit with me. I can do this.” I actually need the alone time to do my own, personal research.

  “I’m not far if you get stuck.” He smiles, and I look up and smile back. Then he almost seems embarrassed.

  It makes me frown. “What?”

  “I just wanted to say… I don’t mean to sound condescending, but I’m proud of what you’re doing here. We all are. You make us look good.”

  My smile grows wider. “Were you afraid I would embarrass everybody?”

  “No!” Now he looks startled, and I laugh for real. “Of course not. I… I only meant—”

  “Freddie.” I touch his arm. “Thank you. And you’re right. I had no idea what the hell I was doing when I came here. I’m glad I found something suited to me.”

  He does another little bow and leaves a bit too quickly. I turn to the computer again. We have a total of ten refugee children. All their names are in my folder, and behind them is the index card. I look up at the open door and decide I’d better act quickly. Rising from the chair, I hustle over to close it.

  It’s so much easier to find Americans—especially when I know their names, schools, and home states. I plug into the State of Florida’s foster care system, and in fifteen minutes I’ve found all three.

  Ramona is still in Florida. Emily has moved to Maryland, and Grace is in London. For a second, I stare into space imagining Grace in London. She’s so close. I could actually give her the money myself. Just as fast, I shake that thought away.

  “As if I’m a regular person,” I say under my breath. “I’m the queen regent of Monagasco. Nothing I do is private anymore.”

  I put the girls’ current addresses in the back of the folder and follow the steps Freddie showed me for tracking down two more refugee children. I’ll take their information with me to the shelter tomorrow, and the team there will help me make the calls. As happy as I am to get that ball rolling, my stomach is tight with anticipation. I can finally put the past to rest. I can finally help those other girls’ whose lives were damaged.

  * * *

  Family… home… safety… All these things are on my mind as my car winds into the foothills for my visit to the former preschool turned orphanage where my tiny group of children has been living for less than a month. The location is right at our northeastern border, almost to Italy, which is part of the reason we chose it. So many of these children are being carried by the waves of refugees heading inland from Greece. They’re being left along the roadsides or in cafés, and the Italian orphanages are overcrowded.

  Marguerite Lupiccio is the wife of the Italian prime minister and close to my age. She and I met at the Italian Grand Prix last year, and when she told me about these little ones, I asked her to send us a few before I’d even asked Rowan.

  At the time, I had no idea how it would make things difficult for him. The entire situation has escalated so much since that day last year.

  To his credit, Rowan didn’t hesitate when I told him what I’d done. He’d said it was a charitable idea—the right thing to do. He’d even directed me to the preschool I’m standing in front of now. It’s a three-story brick building painted white with narrow black shutters.

  The sun is directly overhead, and the little ones are out on the small playground in the courtyard. It has swings, two separate slides, and a climbing dome. It’s plenty of activity for the ten children, who range in age from four years old to six.

  I sit on one of the park benches surrounding the green space and discuss what’s happening with Clare LeFleur, the director of the facility.

  “It’s amazing how much we can find out about them!” Clare has the cutest French accent. A former kindergarten teacher, everything she says is tinged with the sweet lilt of speaking to children.

  Holding out the sheet, I show her the different names and numbers Freddie helped me to find. “I’ll search all of their names, and in the future I can email the list to you.”

  “Rashida will help me make the calls,” she says, referencing the translator who helps Clare with the children. My best friend Kass, who is also Rowan’s official translator, helped us find her.

  “I’m sure you’ll need her help,” I agree. “No telling who we’ll be talking to in this search.”

  We look out at the little ones playing. Many of them laugh and chase each other. Suad catches my attention. Her dark hair shines in the sun and green eyes seem to glow in her dark complexion, but she’s not smiling or laughing. She sits at the top of the climbing dome watching the two of us.

  “Sometimes I wonder why people even want to bring children into this chaotic world,” Clare says quietly.

  I’m surprised my usually sunny friend sounds so dark. “Bad things have happened… I guess bad things have always happened,” I say, wanting to lift her spirit. “I think having children shows we have hope. We teach them to love and to do what’s right, and we hope they grow past our ignorance and petty fears.”

  Suad is still watching us, and I smile at her. She only turns away.

  “It feels so overwhelming sometimes,” Clare says with a sigh. “When the news is always bad, it’s hard to remember the good.”

  “Then we need more good news.” I wrap my arm around her narrow shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one encouraging me next time.”

  She blinks up at me and smiles. “You’re very skilled at this, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The queen regent thing. You’re very good at it.”

  Leaning back in the bench, I consider her statement. “I think I’m probably not at all. I don’t know the rules, and I put my husband in awkward positions quite a bit.”

  “Yes, but the
king loves you. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

  “It’s less about whether he minds and more about how the people feel.” The last time I stole from a shop filters through my brain. “I’m not perfect. I’ve been very lucky. I guess that makes me want to help other people. My sister is the same way.”

  “She’s the gambler?”

  That makes me laugh. “I’m not sure how much my sister ever actually gambled.” I don’t say she cheated quite a bit. “But sometimes she would win large sums of money. Then she felt guilty and would give it all away.”

  The part she didn’t spend on taking care of us. I used to say Zelda was small time. Whenever she had a big payout, she became the biggest over-tipper on the planet. I guess I’m doing the same thing, only in my own way.

  Maybe we’re not small time. Maybe we’re just afraid of Karma. That bitch.

  “You miss her.” It’s not a question. Clare is smiling in a knowing way.

  I return her smile. “She’s my sister.”

  A bell rings, and I see Rashida standing on the porch. “Lunch.” Clare rises. “Do you want to see what they’re having?”

  “I trust you’re feeding them well, but sure.” Then I laugh. “Let’s see if they even like it.”

  The children are off the playground and in the house almost as soon as they see Rashida. We’re still climbing the steps as they’re filtering around us.

  “Looks like they don’t have any complaints,” I add.

  Inside, they sit at small tables and a part-time helper carries out plates of meat beside a small scoop of mashed potatoes, a triangle of cheese, and a plum. They all have small cartons of milk. I watch as they eat at various rates of speed. Some of the children devour their meals without a breath. Others, like Suad, eat the cheese and the roll. Some eat the meat only, while others eat the potatoes or the plum.

  “At least everyone’s eating something,” I say, checking Clare’s expression.

  “Considering all they’ve been through, they’re doing very well,” she agrees. “It helps they’re a small group. Several of the local farms have donated fresh fruits and cheeses for them.”

  “See?” I nudge her with my elbow. “That’s good news. There is still hope.”

  She shrugs and finally allows a smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “It’s like the starfish story.”

  Her slim brows pull together. “I don’t know that one.”

  “Oh, it’s a good one. I’ll tell you,” I laugh. “An old man is walking on a beach that’s covered in starfish—thousands of them washing up on shore.”

  “Why are they doing that?” Clare asks. “Was it a red tide? Low oxygen?”

  “I don’t know, but the point is, the man starts picking up the starfish one at a time and throwing them back into the ocean… even as more continue washing up around him.”

  “It must seem futile,” she says.

  “So a boy walks up and says basically that. He says, ‘You should stop because what you’re doing doesn’t make a difference.’”

  We’ve reached the door, and I see Hajib waiting for me. Clare pauses at the entrance. “And?”

  “The old man only picks up another starfish and throws it into the ocean. Then he replies, ‘It made a difference to that one.’”

  She’s quiet at first, thinking, then her lips press together into a smile. I give her a hug goodbye. “One at a time. I’ll send you another list in the next few days.”

  Chapter 3

  Rowan

  Logan sits to my right, Freddie is across from me on his laptop, and Reggie is plotting our position in this volatile political climate.

  “Years ago it was Somalia, then it was Bosnia. Refugee crises are always with us,” my uncle emphasizes. I’m focused on the map covering the table in front of us, my fingers steepled in front of my mouth. “Monagasco is a tiny country. We are not expected to engage in such matters.”

  My palms go to the glossy surface, and I push out of my chair. “Exactly. We are not expected to engage. Which means we don’t need to make some announcement that will complicate matters when the dust settles.”

  “If we are disengaged, we must disengage entirely.” Reggie is the same height as me, and we have the same blue eyes, which are now locked in silent battle.

  “What does that mean?” I demand.

  He exhales dramatically and walks to the large window I stood at two nights ago. “Everything doesn’t have to be a battle between us, Rowan. When your father was alive, he and I shared a close confidence.”

  “When my father was alive, you sided with Totrington in the fight that resulted in his heart attack.”

  “No.” Reggie shakes his head and turns to face me. “You’ve tried to lay that at my feet before. Your father’s heart was weak. His heart attack was not my fault.”

  It’s an old battle I’m not interested in revisiting. “Either way, you’re back. Don’t try and tell me how to feel about it.”

  “Do you want my advice or not?”

  He glares at me, and I confess, I have to take a moment to consider my answer. The queen mother urged me to let her brother back on the council. Her reason had been his years of experience. She’d said it was her idea to have Reggie infiltrate the Totrington group and figure out what they were doing.

  All I’d seen was my uncle working with my father’s enemies. It’s why I kicked him out of the kingdom as soon as I had the authority.

  Logan shifts in his chair, and he glances up at me. Freddie’s gaze never leaves his computer screen. Tension is thick in the room.

  “I will listen to what you have to say,” I concede.

  “Very well,” Reggie continues, “Ava’s work with the orphans pulls us directly into the crisis. We either need to downplay it—”

  My stomach tightens. “Or what?”

  “Or shut it down entirely.”

  The muscle in my jaw moves. I feel my brow lower, and a memory enters my mind. Looking down, I notice my fists are clenched. Ava… my tells.

  Relaxing my hands, I exhale a breath. “I will not tell Ava she can’t help these children.”

  “Just think about how it makes us appear,” Reggie argues.

  “So you’d have us return them to Greece? Let them starve to death?” My voice is rising. “That would make us look better?”

  “Of course not,” my uncle grunts. “But remove the queen regent from the equation. Pass her work to the U.N. or some other, more neutral organization. Reduce the appearance that our doors are wide open to more.”

  My eyes move to the clock, and I see it’s after seven. “It’s late. We should call it a day.”

  I’m headed to the door when a hand catches my arm. Pausing, I look back at the grand duke. “Think about what I’m saying, Rowan. Sometimes being a king means putting sympathies aside for the good of your people.”

  I can’t answer him. I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m tired, and I need to be with the one person who can erase this tension.

  I’m through the wide hallway, making my way to the other side of the enormous palace, when my phone vibrates. Taking it out, I see a text from my queen. I’m waiting in the tub.

  A grin curls my lips, and my pace quickens. I’m less than a minute away, I text back.

  * * *

  Ava’s soft breasts press against my chest. Her lips are fused to mine, and my arms are around her waist. The water is hot and scented with lavender oil. Jets create a swirling current around us, touching the ends of Ava’s hair.

  Moving my mouth, I devour her. She keeps pace with me, and while our bodies are wet and slippery, our mouths are inseparable. Lips move, tongues chase. I pull her full upper lip between my teeth, and she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth. We’re making out like teenagers, and I move closer, cupping her ass to pull her flush against me.

  My knees bend, and her hand drops between us, grasping my erection and sliding up and down. I groan into her mouth, and her tongue slides along the seam of mine. Her
hand moves faster, and I grip the back of her head, fisting her hair. She’s working me, and it feels fucking amazing.

  “Ava,” I groan, breaking away, dropping my chin to kiss her shoulder.

  She kisses my neck, just before I feel her teeth against my skin, just before she pulls it into her mouth. She’s sucking my neck, jacking me off, and fuck, I’m so close to coming.

  My fingers tighten, and I pull her head back. “I need to be inside you.”

  Dilated eyes heavy with desire meet mine. “Take me to bed.”

  Holding her around the waist, I lift us both from the hot water, grabbing the white terry robe off the hook as we pass. I drape it around Ava’s shoulders before easing her onto the enormous king-sized bed. She’s on her back, her head on the pillow, and I brace my hands at her sides. My eyes skim over her naked body, lightly pink from the water, scuffed from my beard. Then I lean down to consume her mouth again.

  Her lips part, and our tongues stroke and taste. I’m ravenous for her. My frustration and tension once more find release in the most pleasurable way. Her fingers grip my arms, and I dip my tongue into her cherry-mint sweetness. I haven’t stopped kissing her since we entered the bath, but now I’m wanting another taste.

  Moving down her body, I stop at her breasts, pulling one nipple into my mouth, circling my tongue, teasing her tip. Her back arches, and she moans. I kiss my way to the other side and pull another stiff peak between my lips, nipping and sucking. I want to mark her. I want to cover her creamy skin in blistering red marks of passion.

  “You’re delicious,” I sigh, kissing the top of her ribs. Lavender oil scents her skin.

  She laughs and pulls away. “Tickles!”

  I smile as I continue to the center of her torso to circle my tongue around her navel before going lower. I kiss her hipbone, biting and sucking another red mark before settling down between her thighs. Holding her hips, I spread her open. A glance up, and I see her stomach rising and falling rapidly with her breaths. Anticipation is the strongest aphrodisiac.