The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1)

by Banks, Evie

  “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I thought somebody looked familiar.”

  Renee lifted her head as high as she dared and looked in the direction that Roberts was staring in. She caught a glimpse of a pretty woman with bleached hair and heavy eyeliner, but lost her again in the crowd.

  Audrey maneuvered through the crowds without incident. She drove to a pub a few blocks away and squeezed her car into an impossibly small space that had just been vacated by a scooter delivering bags of takeaway. There was a brief discussion in which Audrey insisted that Harry not bring his sidearm in the pub with them—“if anybody sees it, it’ll be game over; they’ll call the coppers”—and Harry reluctantly complied.

  Snowflakes dusted their hats and shoulders, but instantly melted when they entered the warmth of the pub. Audrey sidled up to the bar to order drinks while the other three found a small, round table. The pub was crowded and most were dressed as festively as they were so they did not stand out.

  Audrey returned with the drinks. “A whiskey and soda for the gent, and beers for the rest of us,” said Audrey.

  Harry reached for his beer. “Ah, don’t tell me you got us Poor Dog Beer; It tastes like piss! Oh, so sorry, Ma’am. Do forgive me.” Harry looked horrified at his verbal slip up in front of Renee.

  Renee smiled. “Relax and don’t call me Ma’am. This is my last night where I don’t have to be a Ma’am.”

  “Yes, Ma—so sorry…er… just sorry.”

  Renee laughed at how flustered Harry looked. She tipped the bottle back and the rest followed her example. She let out a tremendous, unroyal belch. “To the piss!” she said and they repeated, “To the piss” and then, surprisingly, the next table over took up the refrain and then the next and soon the entire pub was shouting “To the piss!”

  “See, you’re demonstrating leadership skills already,” slurred Audrey when she finally slammed the bottle down on the table. She indicated to the bartender to bring them another round.

  “My first order of business,” said Renee after she had taken a long slug from the new bottle, “will be to make this the official beer of Britain. Then you’ll have to suffer with substandard beer just like us Americans. No, I take that back. My first order of business will be to float Ray naked down the Thames. The second order of business will be to get the United States and Britain on the same page regarding our beer. It will be a major diplomatic coup.”

  “This might start another war. We’re very particular about our ales and lagers,” said Audrey.

  “What difference does it make as long as it gets you good and drunk, eh?” said Harry. “Next round’s on me.”

  “Oh yes, we bove our litter. I mean, we love our bitter,” said Roberts. His face had taken on a slightly reddish hue.

  They continued to joke and drink. A couple of televisions in the pub continuously showed pre-coronation programming. Her face was constantly on the screen and Renee tried to pull her glitter hat down a little farther. Roberts maintained his austere expression, but listed slightly to the side like a boat taking on water. At one point, the pub goers started to sing God Save the Queen and they all joined in, none heartier than Renee. Afterwards, a table of older veterans with medals on their sweaters and military pins in their caps started singing wartime ditties. To the surprise of Renee’s little group, Roberts added his voice and soon the entire pub was singing something about a tank, a girl, and a big gun.

  Renee collapsed against Roberts in a fit of laughter. “I was in the Navy, you know,” he said. “Oh, the telly’s ringing, I mean, this phone thing is buzzing.” Roberts fumbled with the mobile from his pocket and Renee, who had steadier hands, took it from him, whence he began singing again in a warbly tenor. Renee pressed the button to answer and held it to her ear, with her finger in her other ear to try to hear above the bedlam.

  “Hello?” she shouted. “You’ve reached the phone of a man who’s had too much to drink.”

  “Hello Renee,” said a deep, purring voice on the other end. Renee immediately felt the happy buzz grow cold. The hairs on her neck stood up. “Are you enjoying the celebration? It’s once in a lifetime, you know.”

  Renee glanced around her. No one was paying her any attention. Roberts had gotten up to join the old veterans, their arms thrown round each others’ shoulders, singing songs of the war.

  Hitler has only got one ball

  Goering has two, but very small

  Himmler has something similar

  And Goebbels has no balls at all!

  She glanced to her other side and Harry had pulled his chair closer to Audrey so that their knees were almost touching. They were wrapped up in their own conversation.

  Renee tapped Audrey on the shoulder. “I’m just running to the ladies room.” Audrey barely nodded.

  Renee squeezed into the cramped ladies restroom, past women who were fluffing their hair and making kissy faces at the mirror while applying lipstick, and locked herself into a stall. She tried not to breathe in too deeply as there seemed to be something wrong with the toilet. The women left the restroom and there was only the sound of water dribbling from a faucet that had not been closed completely.

  She put the phone to her ear. “How did you get this number, Bretton?”

  “I asked for it, of course.”

  “From who?”

  “From your very charming daughter.”

  Renee knew Bretton was smiling on the other end of the line, just as he surely knew that the world was now swimming in front of her eyes. She tried to find something to hold on to before she collapsed at the horrifying thought that Bretton had Cassandra. But that couldn’t be true. Cassandra was at the hotel suite with Leanne. They were watching A Merry Country Christmas. She had seen her an hour ago. He must be lying.

  “I sense by your silence that you don’t believe me,” said Bretton. “Dear child, come here and say hello to your mother. You might as well throw a goodbye in there as well.”

  “Mom?” came Cassandra’s voice. It was small like a mewling kitten.

  “Cass? Where are you?” screamed Renee.

  It was Bretton’s voice again. “Good Lord, I can hear you all the way from…well, I’ll tell you soon anyhow. But only if you don’t tell anyone else. Are you able to keep a secret, Renee?”

  Renee’s hand gripped the phone. “The entire police force and army and air force will be out looking for you. I’ve got the goddamned Texas Rangers at my command right now. You let her go or you will be hunted down like an animal.”

  Renee was breathing hard. She had never before wanted to tear a person apart with her bare hands.

  “Texans have such a way with words. So confident. So full of bravado. So likely to get your daughter killed. There, do I have your attention now?”

  Renee leaned her forehead against the bathroom stall door. “What do you want? You can have anything. Do you want the crown? It’s yours. I’ll abdicate immediately. Just let her go.”

  “As touching as that gesture is, it’s a case of too little, too late. I wouldn’t be allowed the crown, no matter the justice of it. No, I have other things in mind.” The way Bretton said it made her stomach churn. The images of the women he’d slaughtered swam before her eyes. His velvety voice purred in her ear again. “And if I even suspect you’ve notified the authorities or a single member of your security team, I’ll kill the little princess immediately. Do you understand?”

  Renee nodded.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Renee, her voice breaking.

  “Excellent,” he said jovially. “Go to the Piccadilly Station and get on the second car of the train going to Oakwood. Keep the phone with you because I will call you again to give you more instructions.”

  “But—”

  Bretton had hung up. Oh, God, this could not be happening. A psychopath had her little girl. She was surrounded by security, but she could tell no one. Bretton had said he would kill Cassandra i
f she did, but she had to tell Chase; he would know what to do. She dialed his number rapidly. It went straight to voice mail. Shit! Before she could say anything, the bathroom door opened, letting in a group of laughing women and the noise of the pub, and she quickly hung up. Renee punched the stall door out of frustration.

  “Just let it out easy,” said an Irish-tinged voice. “Relax and let nature take its course.” This was followed by a chorus of laughter.

  Renee walked out of the stall, ashen-faced, and unsteady on her feet.

  “That one must have been a monster,” said the one with the Irish voice and the women cackled. They smelled of cigarette smoke and beer.

  Renee went back into the crowded pub. Light bounced off of Christmas ornaments and tinsel draped along the shelves, it caught the glitter of the silly hats and glinted off of glasses full of false joy; the televisions flashed from image to image; the music played and people sang. Everywhere there was noise and light and celebration. Tonight was Christmas Eve and friends, and tomorrow would be the drowsy warmth of Christmas Day and the solemn glory of the Coronation.

  But Renee felt none of it.

  All of her thoughts now were focused on finding her daughter. She had to think of how to get away without anyone knowing.

  Renee faked a yawn and announced she was tired. The others gathered themselves up to go, stumbling only occasionally on the way to the car. Audrey drove into the parking garage of the hotel, stopping to show her identification to the guard, but he waved them through when Audrey pointed her thumb at Renee. Only Rene and Harry got out of the car as Audrey would drive Roberts home. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” said Roberts, his eyes half-closed. Renee nodded, not knowing if she would be there. She was having a hard time keeping herself from shaking. Fifteen interminable minutes had passed since she had hung up from Bretton. She needed to see if he was telling the truth; she needed to check if Cassandra was in the suite. Harry stood beside Renee as they rode up the elevator, a lopsided grin on his face. Renee knew that this was because Audrey had given him a quick peck on the cheek before he got out of the car. The elevator doors opened and Renee clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “What the…?” said Harry.

  John was sprawled on the floor on his back, his eyes glassy and vacant. Another guard at the end of the hallway was also down.

  Bretton had been here!

  Renee ran to John, but there was nothing she could do. He had been shot twice. Harry checked the other guard. Dead. Then he came back and bent over John to check for a pulse, but that was quickly abandoned. Renee leaned against a hallway table for support.

  “I’m calling this in,” said Harry. He put his finger to his earpiece, but before he could call for backup, a vase crashed down over the back of his head and Harry slumped down beside John. Renee put down the vase that had stood on the hallway table and hoped she hadn’t done too much damage to Harry’s cranium. Her chest heaved from the effort, but no one could know. She was willing to do anything to get her daughter back safely.

  The door to the suite opened at the touch of her fingers. At first she didn’t see anything out of place and then her eyes took in the shattered lamp and the overturned chair.

  “Cassandra?” she whispered.

  She heard a muffled voice and ran to the sofa. “Mama!” she cried. Leanne was tied up on the floor with a cloth napkin stuffed in her mouth. Renee pulled out the napkin. “Where’s Cassandra?” asked Renee, while untying Leanne’s hands.

  “I don’t know,” sobbed Leanne. “One minute we’re watching the show, the next minute something hits me in the back of the head. Then I wake up and my hands are tied and that rag damn near is suffocating me.”

  “It’s Bretton, Mama. He’s got Cassandra.” She helped Leanne to her feet.

  “Oh, dear Lord. Do the police know?”

  “Yes, the police know,” lied Renee. “Why don’t you splash some water on your face because they’re going to need to take your statement.”

  She led Leanne to the marble bathroom, who was still rubbing her wrists and put her hand to her hair in rollers at the mention of the word statement. Renee knew she wanted to look good for the police officers. Renee handed her one of the mini bottles of liquor from the fridge. “Here, have this.”

  “Good idea. I need it.” Leanne went into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Take your time,” said Renee, her voice steadier than she felt. She closed the bathroom door and then quietly turned the big, iron key, dropping it in a flower pot on the other side of the room on her way out. “Sorry Mama,” whispered Renee. “But nobody can know.”

  She went back to where John and Harry were inert on the hallway floor; Harry was breathing shallowly, unconscious. She pulled back Harry’s coat looking for his gun. With a groan she remembered that it was in Audrey’s glove compartment. Perhaps her brilliant idea of going out hadn’t been so brilliant after all. She took a deep breath and turned to John, trying not to look at the blood congealing on his face as she felt his pockets and his sides for his gun. Nothing! The other guard was similarly unarmed. Bretton must have taken them. She couldn’t face Bretton with nothing, but she couldn’t ask for help either. In a moment of inspiration, she ran back into the suite and to her room. Her closet was full of gowns and clothes. She began flinging everything out to find what she was looking for. Finally she found the suitcase containing the clothes and mementos of her old life. She kicked aside the sweaters and jeans and tee-shirts. She heaved entire armfuls onto the floor until she got to the cigar box at the bottom. The box her father had left her. She opened it and carefully removed the papers and photographs on top. At the bottom of the box lay the ancient pistol that had travelled over the Atlantic Ocean with George Shireman and had been passed from father to son, all the way down to her. She opened the chamber. Jesus. There was only one bullet. It didn’t even look like a bullet. It looked like a gray malt ball. Would it even fire? More than likely, it would backfire, it was so old, but it was all she had. It wasn’t like she could just walk into a shop in Britain and buy a firearm, which were outlawed. She gripped the pistol in her hand. This one had been grandfathered in.

  She tucked the gun into her pants, praying it wouldn’t blow off her backside and then dashed back to the hallway to deal with Harry. Harry was huge. Just like wrestling a steer, she said to herself, and gripped him under the arms and dragged him slowly into the suite. She wrangled him into the hall closet and locked the door securely. She dropped this key down the garbage disposal in the kitchenette. To be safe, she also took his phone, ear piece and walkie talkie. The first item she put in her pocket, the others she left on a table. She walked back out into the hallway and closed the door to the suite.

  She looked at John for a moment and blinked back tears. The memory of him showing her photos of his children pierced her like an arrow. She couldn’t move him and had to trust that no one would disturb him until the morning shift change. Let his children have a few more hours of sleep, restful in the belief that their father would return to them in the morning to open Christmas presents with them.

  She sniffed back a sob and then walled off her feelings. Nothing could get in the way of reaching Cassandra, which was now her only concern.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SHE’D HAD TO stake her claim early, but she was lucky—few people wanted to be near the garage doors. It wasn’t exactly a picturesque view and there would be no time to get a good look at the heiress as the car exited and then made a quick turn. Most people preferred to position themselves on the longer stretches of road so they could get a long view of the heiress approaching and then passing, and then cheer as the car drove away. But Tina didn’t need a lingering view.

  All she needed was an instant.

  She had come prepared with a lawn chair, an umbrella to shield her from the gently falling snowflakes, a backpack full of water and food, and a thermos of hot coffee. She would wait here all night. She was warm. She tried not
to think about the weight in her pocket, but couldn’t help noticing it every time she shifted.

  The course of events which had led her here seemed unreal. It was bizarre to be on the outside of it all, to sit on the sidewalk with a Union Jack blanket across her lap. She listened to the excited chatter and watched the anticipation on the faces of the people drifting past her. The excitement emanating from the people only added to her sense of heightened emotions. Her knee bounced up and down in a rapid tattoo; too much adrenaline coursed through her wasting energy, which was foolish because she would have to remain awake all night and be completely alert and focused in the morning. When it was time.

  She had just stood up a moment to stretch her legs when the garage door slid upwards and a yellow Mini drove out. The flame-haired woman behind the wheel paused to allow pedestrians pass in front and wave at the guards on duty who were stationed at the doors.

  So she’s on a familiar basis with the guards, thought Tina, which caused her to pay close attention to the vehicle and the occupants inside. An unexpected jolt of recognition nearly knocked her off her feet. Roberts! A rush of emotion surged through her. She stepped back to allow passers-by to shield her from view as Roberts had looked in her direction, but not before she caught a glimpse of blonde hair next to Roberts.

  The Heiress.

  She must be crouching in the car.

  Tina didn’t know what to do. The mini pulled out and turned. Tina hesitated and wondered if she should try to follow it, but realized she would be quickly left behind once the car left the secure area. She paced in a tight square around her lawn chair. This could ruin everything! What if the Heiress had changed her plans and would spend the night at the Palace instead? Should she relocate, knowing that the entire area around the Palace would be packed to the gills preventing her from finding a good spot? She would not find a location as good as this one if she were to leave now.