by Mari Carr
They were met at the top of the cliff by a clean-cut man with pale blond hair and patrician features. He had a sort of refined air that was slightly at odds with his heavily muscled arms, which strained at the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt. Again, the clothing was at odds with the weapon strapped across his chest, the muzzle of the semiautomatic rifle visible over one shoulder.
Dimitri stiffened. He recognized this man from his file.
Derrick Frederick.
“Sir,” Derrick greeted Mateo. His gaze, however, was on Dimitri and Cecilia.
Dimitri had to give the guard credit—he was splitting his attention between both of them, though Dimitri was clearly the bigger threat. It was what he would have done—suspect everyone, especially if they didn’t look suspicious.
Cecilia, who was clinging to Dimitri’s left arm, stomped forward. “Coffee. I need it.”
Derrick blinked. “I beg your pardon?” His accent was clipped upper-class British.
“Coffee.” Cecilia’s snarl was impressive. “Give it to me, or I will kill you.”
Derrick blinked again, then looked at Mateo. “Is she aware that I have a gun?”
“She was sick during the crossing,” Mateo said.
“Ah.”
“And she’s Italian.”
“Oh. Well yes, that explains it. I’m sure we can get you a nice cup of tea—”
Cecilia snarled again.
“Coffee!” Derrick’s eyes widened in mock alarm. “Coffee. Please excuse my mistake. And accept my apologies, but I cannot let you go any farther until you state your business.”
“They’re here with me,” Mateo said. “They’re helping to investigate the traitor.”
Derrick blinked. “There is a traitor? I know you suspected, but…” His gaze shot back to Dimitri and Cecilia, reassessing. Dimitri could almost hear the guard trying to guess who they were—knights, security officers, intelligence specialists?
Cecilia shot Mateo a disgusted look, straightened her shoulders and said, “We’re his trinity. Our binding ceremony will happen here on the isle at the end of the week.”
Mateo’s mouth all but disappeared as he pressed his lips together.
Derrick’s stiff posture relaxed in shock as he turned to Mateo. “The fleet admiral is forcing you out?”
“No.”
“No?” Cecilia asked. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
That was a very good question.
“Cecilia, I misspoke. I’m only—only trying to explain that we have a task.” Mateo looked to Derrick. “And a deadline.”
Derrick nodded. “I need your full names.”
“Cecilia St. John.”
“Dimitri Bondar.”
Derrick put one hand to his ear, cuff near his mouth, and repeated their names. A moment later Derrick nodded, and then beckoned them to follow him.
Derrick led them to the front door of the castle. Dimitri knew there had to be other ways in, and he’d been somewhat hoping they’d go to the Spartan Guard’s residence, which was an entirely separate building not far from the castle.
It was not easy to impress or awe Dimitri, but there was something about this place that always made him pause. Made him feel like he was part of something bigger than himself. Triskelion Castle looked more like a chateau or a cathedral than a medieval castle. It was three stories, with a steep roofline, arched gothic windows, and elaborately carved stonework. It had been the headquarters for the Masters’ Admiralty since 1440, and it was because of the Masters’ Admiralty that this small island was only a British Crown dependency, with a level of autonomy.
As Derrick opened the tall, narrow wooden front door mounted in a pointed archway, Dimitri caught sight of other guards on the roof. They were half-hidden by a parapet and the angle he was looking from, but they were there, guns—such a rarity anywhere in the UK—in their hands.
Beyond the door was a narrow foyer that ran deep into the building. Polished wooden floors, oil paintings, and oriental rugs gave the impression of old money, generational wealth.
Derrick gestured them through a narrow doorway, into a small waiting room that contained two couches, a low table in between with a photobook set on it, and a sideboard with a self-service drink station.
Cecilia made a noise of distress when she saw the single-serve coffee maker, but went to it nonetheless.
Derrick followed them in, and once the door was closed, he went to Mateo. They clasped hands, smiling grimly at one another.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Derrick demanded. “There’s a traitor?”
Dimitri held his tongue as Mateo quickly outlined his reasons for thinking there was a traitor. Despite the evidence that indicated Derrick was as much a suspect as any of the other guards, Mateo persisted in trusting the man.
Derrick nodded, a frown causing lines to bracket his mouth. “And the fleet admiral wants you to find the traitor as…one last duty before you get married?”
Mateo nodded stiffly.
Derrick shook his head. “I’m sorry, my friend.”
“Yes, because marrying us is such a terrible fate,” Cecilia all but purred.
“I assure you I meant no offense.”
“Yet, I am offended.”
Derrick looked helplessly at Mateo, who had closed his eyes and was rubbing his forehead. “Derrick,” he said finally. “Where is Charlotta?”
Derrick, who’d slumped slightly, stiffened where he sat. “She’s doing a perimeter check of the farm.”
“The farm?” Dimitri asked. Most of the land owned by the fleet admiral was used as part of a working farm that raised sheep to produce Manx wool. As far as Dimitri knew, it was kept entirely separate from the Masters’ Admiralty.
“We don’t patrol the farm,” Mateo said. “Doing so would raise suspicion. Did the fleet admiral—”
“It was my idea,” Derrick said. “We told the farm manager that the owner had hired a firm to install new security for both the castle and the farm, and that we’d have people looking around.”
“The farm manager doesn’t know?” Dimitri asked.
“No,” Mateo answered, but he was looking at Derrick. “The farm manager, and everyone who works on the farm, is native Manx. They’re part of the community on the island. It helps keep us integrated, while at the same time affording us privacy. The people who work on the farm know the owner of Triskelion is an eccentric who likes his privacy, and they respect that. Most of the people have worked for the farm for generations.”
“Why didn’t we look at them?” Cecilia demanded. “One of them could be the traitor.”
Derrick frowned. “I hate to say it, but she has a point.”
Mateo negated the idea instantly. “No one from the farm ever came in contact with Kacper’s medicine. That had to be someone inside the castle.”
“It still might be worth looking into. Do you want me to look at that angle?” Derrick asked.
Dimitri leaned against the wall, studying the body language and nonverbals between Mateo and Derrick.
“If you already have someone there, yes. With Kacper’s death and my absence from the isle for a few weeks, it appears the guard has gotten sloppy with protocol and following the chain of command. It stops here.”
Derrick pushed up from the couch. He started to make a fist, then forced his fingers to straighten. “Yes, sir.”
Mateo sighed. “I need to talk to Charlotta. When will she be back?”
Derrick checked his watch. “She’s on duty for the next four hours.”
“I won’t pull her off duty. I’ll wait until she’s back.”
“Then we’ll talk to her,” Derrick said.
Mateo shook his head. “I’ll talk to her. I’m going to go check in with the other Spartan Guard and do a perimeter walk.” He looked at Cecilia and Dimitri. “Will you two be okay here for an hour?”
“Do you mean will we stay here?” Cecilia snapped. “Yes.”
Mateo opened his mouth, but didn’t speak.
He shook his head and then walked out with Derrick.
Dimitri waited fifteen minutes and then gave Cecilia a quick kiss on the forehead, promising to return with a good cup of coffee as soon as possible. While the seasickness had waned, it had taken its toll, and he convinced her to lie down for a little while.
He walked quietly to the staircase that would lead to the private residence upstairs. He had been here just a couple weeks earlier, so he knew exactly where he was going. His visit had come late in the evening, the number of guards privy to his arrival limited to just a few. Mateo had still been in England at the time.
Knocking on the door, he was bade to enter.
He walked into the fleet admiral’s suite, moving cautiously.
The place was a bit of a mess—remnants of what he assumed had been the previous fleet admiral’s furniture were shoved against the walls, leaving most of the open-planned living area bare. There was a wall of glass at one end, which opened out onto a deck that overlooked the sea. The patio where Kacper had been when shot with the fatal dose of activating poison.
The muzzle of a gun pressed against Dimitri’s skull, just behind his left ear.
Eric Ericsson’s voice was almost cheerful as he said, “Hello, Dimitri.”
Dimitri slowly raised his hands. “Hello, Fleet Admiral.”
“Any weapons?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re supposed to say ‘my body is a weapon’.”
Despite the imminent danger, Dimitri snorted. “I’d rather be shot.”
“Lift your shirt.”
Dimitri yanked up the hem of his shirt to mid-chest, showing that there was no weapon tucked into his pants. Then bent and pulled up each pant leg, revealing nothing strapped there.
The gun pulled back from his head. Dimitri turned and watched as Eric walked over to a large blank desk positioned so the person seated behind it had a clear view of both the door and the glass wall. If he had to guess, Dimitri would say the desk was probably reinforced with bulletproof material that would allow Eric to take shelter behind it in the middle of a firefight.
He sat, then looked at Dimitri, face serious. “Is he our man?”
Dimitri had expected the question, had struggled to figure out how to reply. In the end, nothing had come.
“I don’t know.”
Silence followed his response, so Dimitri added, “I don’t think he is.”
“You know what to do if he is.” Eric opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. He checked the blade then slid it into a black sheath with a belt clip. He held out the knife, hilt first.
Dimitri accepted the blade. “Yes, sir. Kill him.”
10
Mateo returned from his perimeter check, frustration closing in on him. The trip to Stranraer and to the isle had yielded no conclusive results. Despite his suspicions, he had no proof that Charlotta was the one who’d betrayed the guard and Kacper.
Three days down and he was no closer to catching the traitor.
Failing to bring the killer to justice was wearing heavily on his conscience. He’d been hired to protect Kacper, but to him, his role as head of the guard was more than just a job. He had genuinely cared about Kacper. The man and his wife, Greta, had taken him under their wings, treating him like a son rather than just a bodyguard.
He walked down the corridor, intent on heading to the larger guest room he was sharing with Dimitri and Cecilia, his own small room in the guard house not big enough for the three of them. Word of his impending marriage had spread like wildfire after Cecilia announced she and Dimitri were part of his trinity. As such, they’d been given a nicer room to prepare for their upcoming nuptials.
Halfway there, Marie contacted him through the walkie-talkie, claiming Dimitri was taking Cecilia to Douglas for medicine and to find a room at an inn where she could rest for a few hours.
Mateo didn’t understand their desire for a room, considering they’d been given one here. He assumed the decision had been Dimitri’s. It sounded like something the paranoid, trust-no-one man would do. Then Mateo considered asking Marie to tell them to wait. The idea of leaving the grounds and losing himself in his lovers for a few hours was very tempting.
He resisted, telling her to give them a car. He needed to focus on the investigation and put some distance between himself, Dimitri and Cecilia.
Since the trip to the guest room was pointless, he left the castle again, heading for the Spartan Guard house, the barracks-style building nearby that he shared with the other guards. Mateo was feeling alone and confused, he needed someone to talk to. With Dimitri and Cecilia gone, he decided to seek Derrick out.
It was obvious Dimitri was unhappy with Mateo for sharing the details about their investigation with his friend. Mateo wasn’t sure how to convince Dimitri—a man who seemed to trust no one—that Derrick wasn’t their guy.
He’d known Derrick since the beginning of his time with the Spartan Guards, the two of them recruited at the same time. They’d roomed together, trained together.
Mateo had grown up an only child, never knowing what it was like to have a brother…until Derrick.
He knocked on the door, but the room was empty. Of course, Derrick was guarding the back gate until dinnertime. He wouldn’t return for hours. Mateo’s anxiety was running rampant, making it difficult for him to think, to reason.
He turned the knob, shaking his head when he found the door unlocked. Derrick was Dimitri’s polar opposite in the trust department. He’d never locked his bedroom door in his life, proclaiming he had nothing worth stealing, and he was willing to share what he did have with his Spartan Guard brothers.
Mateo entered the room, glancing around at the sparsely furnished space. Derrick claimed he preferred simplicity when it came to decorating his room because it meant there was less to clean up.
The room contained only a bed, made tightly with hospital corners, a dresser—devoid of anything on its gleaming surface—a straight-backed chair, and a desk.
Everything in the room was spotless. The only personal item hung on the wall over the desk. Mateo walked over to the photograph, grinning as he saw the image of him and Derrick hamming it up for the camera, arms draped around each other’s shoulders, laughing.
They’d both just been initiated into the Spartan Guard and the picture was snapped near the end of the night, after a great deal of celebrating and too many shots of tequila.
The photograph showed two young men on the cusp of living their dream. The world was theirs for the taking. Or so they believed.
That night was one of the happiest of his life. Laughter had died along with his parents, but the night of that initiation he’d found a way to feel joy again, thanks to Derrick…and tequila.
He recalled last night, and how he’d felt true, unbridled happiness in Dimitri and Cecilia’s arms.
Unlike the night with Derrick, Mateo’s joy with Dimitri and Cecilia wasn’t going to last. His place was here with the guard and his best friend.
His future lie on the Isle of Man.
Not in a trinity with a beautiful, intelligent Italian woman and a gruff, sexy Ukrainian.
It was time to finish the mission and walk away.
Before it was too late.
As he closed the door to Derrick’s bedroom, a nagging voice in the back of his head whispered, It’s already too late.
* * *
“I know he’s an ass, but shouldn’t we wait for Mateo?” Cecilia asked.
Dimitri clicked the unlock button for the car. “No.”
Cecilia climbed into the passenger seat. “No? Just no?”
Dimitri glanced out the windshield at the member of the guard who’d given him the keys. Marie watched them with cool, dark eyes, hands on her hips.
“You know there is a room in the castle waiting for us. On the second floor. And unlike last night’s bed, the one in there is large enough to fit three comfortably.”
Dimitri didn’t speak again until they’d driven out the gates. �
��We’re not going anywhere to rest,” he told her once they were safely away from Triskelion Castle.
Cecilia regarded him shrewdly. “I knew you were lying.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
Dimitri snorted, her sassy retort making him feel better about the lies he’d told to borrow the car and get them off the castle grounds. He’d told Marie that they were going to Douglas to get Cecilia something for her lingering sickness and to check into a hotel where she could rest. Marie had spoken into her headset, and either Mateo had believed them, or hadn’t responded while he was off doing whatever it was he was doing.
He was probably telling Derrick everything, the fool.
Dimitri headed uphill toward the center of the island. Once they’d dipped behind a small rise and were no longer in line of sight from the castle, he pulled over, stopped the car and got out. Cecilia opened her door and peered at him as he lay on the ground and scooted under the engine block.
“What are you doing?”
“Disabling the GPS.”
“Ah. Then we’re really not going to a hotel.”
“No. We’ve got something else we need to do.”
* * *
Leaving the castle, Mateo decided it was time to approach his number-one suspect. He found Charlotta standing near a fencerow, studying a broken board, and braced himself before approaching her.
He hadn’t shared all his reasons for suspecting Charlotta with Dimitri and Cecilia. For one thing, he wasn’t sure how he could explain their relationship—if he could call it that.
The best description for it was a one-night stand. He’d succumbed in a moment of weakness, given in to her kindness. It had been a mistake.
For him, it had been a physical affair, a night of connecting with another human being at a time when he couldn’t face being alone.
It had meant much more than that to Charlotta.
They had been friends before that night, or so he’d thought. He hadn’t realized her feelings had run much deeper. If he had, he never would have gone to her bed.
