Brandishing a Crown

by Rita Herron

  “Saving your life,” he shouted.

  Jane wiggled, trying to move. But Stefan was heavy and breathing hard, pinning her down. Footsteps clattered across the cement. She glanced to the side and spotted the shooter ducking behind a van.

  “Move off of me so I can do my job.” Jane gave him a hard shove, then rolled, jumped to her knees and fired at the shooter. The bullet pinged off the van, and the shooter darted into the alley on the opposite side of the courthouse.

  A security guard from the lab rushed to the door, weapon drawn.

  “Take the prince inside,” Jane ordered. “And call 9-1-1!”

  Stefan vaulted up to stop her from going after the shooter, but Jane took off running. Stefan’s furious protests and pleas for her not to give chase echoed behind her as she disappeared into the alley.

  Holding her weapon with a white-knuckled grip, she ducked as another bullet pinged toward her. Squinting through the shadows, she tried to look at the shooter, but his face was in the shadows. He was a burly guy though, clad in a dark leather jacket and black jeans.

  Adrenaline pumping, she jogged around the back of the courthouse, then followed him past the local inn, the Boot ’n’ Scoot shop and the diner, then he veered toward an abandoned warehouse.

  She halted at the corner, searching all directions but saw nothing. Dammit. She’d lost him.

  Pivoting again, her senses were honed as she inched her way along the side of the building. The scent of leather, saddle soap and machine oil wafted from the building. Scanning the dark interior, she slipped inside, poised for an attack.

  A screech sounded and she jerked around but a piece of hard metal slammed her across the shoulder. She cried out, body slumping, then heard footsteps pounding the concrete flooring. Furious he’d gotten the drop on her, she fired her gun, but the man returned fire. She swung sideways, throwing herself against the wall, but the bullet grazed her cheek, stunning her.

  Dizzy and disoriented, she grappled for control, a side door screeched open, and the shooter disappeared. A second later, the sound of a car engine burst to life, and she cursed.

  Dammit, the bastard was getting away.

  Staggering forward, she made her way to the door and raced outside, but the driver revved the motor, accelerating, and the vehicle careened from the parking lot. She ran after the car, determined to note the license plate, but the tag was missing.

  This guy was a professional.

  Blood trickled down her cheek as she strode back to the courthouse and she swiped it with her hand, her stomach knotting when she spotted Benito lying in a puddle of blood against the curb.

  Praying he was still alive, she knelt and checked his pulse, but there was nothing.

  STEFAN PACED INSIDE, enraged at the idea of standing behind closed doors guarded and safe while Jane chased after the man who’d tried to kill them. But the infuriating guard had called 9-1-1, then imprisoned him in some claustrophobic room the size of a coffin, and had perched himself in front of the door, arms crossed, body and weapon blocking Stefan from exiting the room.

  “Ambulance and sheriff will be here momentarily,” the security guard said.

  “You cannot keep me captive. I need to check on Jane.” He stepped toward the door, but the guard threw up a hand, barring him from going any farther.

  “I know Jane Cameron, Prince,” the guard said in a deep voice. “She ordered me to keep you inside, and she’ll have my head if I don’t.”

  “She is not in charge,” Stefan blurted. No woman had ever ordered him around. “Besides, my man was hit.”

  The guard cocked a brow but shook his bullylike head. “Sorry, sir. But she’s the law, and if I were you, I wouldn’t argue with her. Jane can be…” He hooked his thumbs in the belt of his pants. “What’s the word for it? Bossy. Obstinate.”

  Stefan scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Impossible.”

  The guard grinned. “That, too.”

  “But what about my agent?” Stefan asked. “He needs me.”

  “I told you the ambulance is on its way along with the sheriff.”

  Outside, sirens wailed, confirming the guard’s statement, footsteps sounded, and through the window, Stefan spotted blue lights swirling. He pictured Benito on the ground bleeding and dying, and his gut churned. Benito had saved his life.

  And now he might have lost his own because of his loyalty.

  Then an image of Jane injured, possibly dying herself, or trapped by the shooter while he did far worse, tormented him, and his pulse spiked.

  He paced the room in a cold sweat. “I have to know if Jane is safe.”

  Static popped over the security guard’s radio. He punched a button and Jane’s voice echoed over the speaker.

  “Wally, it’s Jane. Is the prince all right?”

  Stefan fisted his hands by his side.

  “Yes, he’s secured. Did you catch the shooter?”

  “No, he got away. But the ambulance is here, and so is Sheriff Wolf.”

  “How can I help?” the guard asked.

  “Just keep Prince Stefan secure while I process the crime scene.”

  “No,” Stefan barked. “I wish to see Benito.”

  The guard leaned into the radio. “He’s demanding to see his security agent.”

  A long heavy sigh followed, then Jane cleared her throat. “Tell him I’m sorry. But Benito didn’t make it.”

  An icy coldness engulfed Stefan. He needed to get out of this room. Do something. He was a leader, a soldier, not some man to be treated as if he was a fragile piece of china. And not a man to be ordered around by an American female.

  He jerked the radio from the guard and spoke into it himself. “Please, Jane,” he said in a quiet but commanding voice. “Benito died protecting me. I must see him.”

  “Stefan…” Jane’s voice cracked. “I know this is frustrating, but I’m just doing my job. Your safety is a priority. For all we know this shooter had an accomplice. He might be watching, ready to ambush you again.”

  “If it is so dangerous, then why are you out there in the open?” Stefan said, his voice rising with irritation.

  “Because I’m a law enforcement officer, and I’m armed,” Jane snapped.

  “Then give me a weapon. I am an accomplished marksman.”

  “That’s not the point,” Jane said. “It’s my job to protect you and process the crime scene.”

  “I do not need a woman’s protection.”

  A tense moment passed. Stefan sensed he had crossed some line, but he did not care. He needed Jane out of harm’s way.

  “I don’t have time to argue with you, Stefan. The police are here and we need to rope off the crime scene.”

  The sheriff’s voice echoed in the background, then her superior’s surly drawl.

  “Please, Jane,” Stefan said in a pleading tone that irked him because he had never pleaded with a woman before. “Let Osgood and Sheriff Wolf handle this while you come inside.”

  “I’ll see you once I process the scene,” Jane said curtly.

  The static died, and the mic went silent. Blast! The infuriating woman had cut him off.

  Before he kissed her again, he was going to shake some sense into her.

  JANE RETRIEVED a crime scene kit, struggling with irritation over Stefan as Osgood took charge of roping off the crime scene. Didn’t Stefan understand that he wasn’t in Kyros anymore? That she was fully qualified to do her job, and that it was the twenty-first century? Women didn’t have to kowtow to men in the U.S., and she was damn good at her job. Prince or not, she would never let him boss her around.

  Sheriff Wolf approached Jane, his rugged face awash with concern as he scanned the scene. Behind him, the coroner Dr. Holstein followed, medical bag in hand. Danny Harold jumped from a news van, camera perched on his shoulder, and sauntered toward her.

  Jane gave Osgood a jerk of the head, indicating the press had arrived, and he made a beeline for Harold. Good, let him deal with the jerk.

&nbs
p; Sheriff Wolf crooked his thumb toward the bloody mess. “What happened?”

  Jane lifted her camera to photograph the body. “Prince Stefan and I came to the lab so he could review some evidence.”

  Sheriff Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Why would you allow the prince to examine evidence?”

  Jane sighed. “He’s an expert in explosives, and I couldn’t identify some of the particles from the bomb site.”

  Jane gestured across the street. “But when we approached the building, a man shot at us from over there.”

  The coroner dropped down beside Stefan’s security agent and began examining the body.

  “Can you describe the shooter?” Sheriff Wolf asked.

  She shook her head, wiping at the perspiration on her neck. The summer heat was already kicking in, the temperature rising. “No. But he was big, burly, wore a black leather jacket and hat.”

  “Hmm, sounds like a hired gun.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jane said. “The tag was missing on the car he escaped in as well.”

  Dr. Holstein glanced up over his bifocals. “Looks like one bullet hit the victim in the abdomen, but the other punctured his heart. He didn’t last long.”

  “Where’s the prince?” the sheriff asked.

  “Inside.” Jane snapped a photograph of the body from different angles. “One of our own guards secured him while I chased the shooter into the alley.”

  “Looks like you were hit,” Dr. Holstein commented as he stood.

  Jane rubbed a finger over her cheek. “Just grazed. It’s no big deal.”

  Dr. Holstein stepped closer to examine her injury. “The medics are on their way. They can clean it up for you.”

  “After I process the scene.” Jane glanced up at the sky where thunderclouds had gathered. “I want to finish before it rains and contaminates the evidence.”

  Sheriff Wolf turned and scrutinized the street and area surrounding the courthouse. “What about the make and model of the shooter’s vehicle?”

  “Some kind of dark sedan,” Jane said. “Four doors.”

  Several onlookers had started to gather, gawking and asking questions.

  “Let me canvas the area, see if anyone else saw or heard anything,” the sheriff said.

  Jane spotted a bullet casing. “Yep, let’s get to work. We have a killer to catch, and if he is a pro, he’ll be back.”

  Sheriff Wolf strode over to the spectators and reminded them to stay behind the crime tape. Jane saw Osgood arguing with Harold, so she focused on photographing the dead man and bullet casings she found. She studied the angles and trajectory, her and Stefan’s location as they’d left the vehicle and walked to the courthouse, and searched the perimeter.

  She found three casings from her own gun and bagged them, then five casings from the shooter. Shining her flashlight across the edge of the street near the dark sedan where the shooter had hidden, she located a partial footprint and took a cast of it to compare with ones from the bomb site.

  Together she and Osgood searched the stretch between the courthouse and warehouse, then ran flashlights along the area looking for forensics.

  “What did you tell Harold?” Jane asked as she snagged a loose fiber from a clump of weeds next to the building.

  “The truth. An unidentified shooter fired at you and Prince Stefan. Another unidentified man was killed.”

  Jane sighed. “He was working for Stefan,” Jane said.

  And Stefan was probably beating himself up over his death.

  She rolled her shoulders, frustrated. Worse, they were still no closer to figuring out who was behind the bomb or to finding the sheik.

  STEFAN PACED the small office teeming with anger. How dare Jane leave him behind closed doors, waiting, unaware of what was going on?

  His cell phone buzzed, and he realized that his friends at the resort might have heard the news. With one finger he connected the call while he glanced through the window in search of Jane.

  “Stefan, it’s Efraim. We just saw the news. Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Stefan said. “When Jane and I arrived at the crime lab, we were ambushed and Benito was shot. I am afraid he did not survive.”

  Efraim muttered a word of frustration. “Did you see the shooter?”

  “From a distance,” Stefan mumbled in frustration.

  “Jane chased him into an alley, and now I am being held in this claustrophobic room.”

  A heartbeat of silence stretched between them. “I understand it is difficult,” Efraim said. “But we must remember the bigger picture and what is at stake. The summit, our country’s futures.”

  Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am aware of that. But I cannot tolerate Jane being in danger while I sit and do nothing.”

  “We’re all feeling antsy here,” Efraim said, his voice strained. “We are men of action, leaders, commanders.”

  “Exactly. Speak to Fahad, see if he is making any headway with those lists.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Sheriff Wolf walked past the glass window to the door, then pushed it open.

  “I have to go, Efraim,” Stefan said. “The sheriff is here. I shall keep you informed.” He disconnected, then turned to the sheriff, anxious.

  “I’m sorry about your security agent,” Sheriff Wolf said. “The coroner will have him transported to the morgue. If you’ll let us know who to call, we’ll inform his family.”

  Stefan swallowed against the guilt clogging his throat. “Certainly. Where is Jane?”

  “The paramedics are taking care of her now,” the sheriff said. “She’ll be inside in a few minutes.”

  Stefan staggered backward as if he’d been punched. “Paramedics? Then she was shot?”

  Sheriff Wolf studied him with hooded eyes. “It’s only a flesh wound. Now tell me your version of what happened out there.”

  An image of Jane bleeding ripped through his head, and Stefan fisted his hands by his sides. Benito killed and Jane hurt?

  While he stood safely tucked inside.

  It was preposterous. An injustice. A blasted disgrace!

  “Prince?” Sheriff Wolf said. “Did you see the shooter or his getaway car?”

  “I did not see the car,” Stefan said through clenched teeth. “But I did catch a glimpse of the man. He was tall, over six feet, hefty. And he wore a black leather bomber jacket and hat.”

  Sheriff Wolf tapped his notepad. “That’s what Jane said. Anything else?”

  Stefan glanced at the door desperate to see Jane, the past hour haunting him. “He had thick eyebrows, and a scar on his chin.”

  “Good.”

  The door swung open, and Jane finally appeared, her clothes slightly disheveled, her hair a mess as if she’d run her hands through it a dozen times. His gaze roved over her, hungry, angry, terrified at the thought that she might have been killed because of him.

  Then his gaze zeroed in on her left cheek, and pure rage flooded him. A bullet had grazed her skin, leaving it red and raw as if it had burned the flesh, and her jaw was already swelling.

  “You should be in the hospital,” he said, tension making his words sound harsh.

  “It’s not a big deal.” She met his gaze. “It’s just a flesh wound, Stefan.”

  “It looks nasty,” he snapped. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

  She shook her head but averted her eyes, rousing his suspicions. “Jane, do not lie. Where are you hurt?”

  “I’m not,” she said, her eyes spewing a warning. “Just furious that the bastard got away.”

  Normally he might flinch at her language, but he felt like cursing himself, something a prince rarely did. But being shot at, watching a man die to save him, and knowing a woman had been hurt in the process of protecting him, were enough to destroy any semblance he had of manners.

  Right now he was just a man who was beginning to care about this hardheaded, gun-carrying woman.

  She indicated the metal box in her hand. “Now, the soone
r I process this evidence, the sooner we might be able to determine who our shooter is.”

  Through the glass window of the office, Stefan saw two medics carrying a body in a black nylon bag and his stomach twisted. Benito.

  Jane angled her head toward Stefan. “I heard that you requested to see Benito. The morgue is downstairs,” Jane said. “The sheriff and our guard can escort you.”

  Stefan studied her bruised face, the firm set of her delicate jaw, the determination in her eyes and knew Jane was upset over losing his security agent, that somehow she saw it as a personal failure.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I would like that. But I do not wish for you to be alone unprotected.”

  Jane sighed. “The shooter was after you, Stefan, not me.”

  Stefan caught her arm. “But he might use you to get to me,” he said in a low voice. “And I will not allow that to happen.”

  He itched to lift his hand and touch her cheek, to drag her into his arms and make sure she was all right. He needed to feel her against him. To hold her and touch his lips to hers and taste that she was still alive.

  But the sheriff was present, so he restrained himself.

  “Go say goodbye to Benito,” Jane said softly. “Then I want you to examine those bomb particles.”

  Stefan nodded. The sooner they determined who the shooter was and who was behind the bombing, the sooner they could end this fiasco and everyone would be safe.

  Including Jane.

  He would die himself before he let anyone hurt her.

  Chapter Eight

  Jane felt the anger radiating from Stefan like a hot poker and wanted to extinguish it. But she had a job to do, and he needed to understand that her job meant everything to her.

  She didn’t have time to worry about his macho pride, which had to be the reason for his strong reaction. It wasn’t as if he actually cared about her.

  He was just feeling guilty over his security agent’s death and frustrated that they hadn’t caught the person behind the attacks. If the shooter was even the same person who’d orchestrated the explosion.

  For all they knew, they could be unrelated, or both incidents masterminded by some group of terrorists.