The Princess

by Jones, Lisa Renee

“Yes, princess. Just to make you happy.”

  Her hand settles on my princess tattoo. “Maybe princess isn’t such a bad nickname. Not when you say it like you just did.”

  “How did I just say it?”

  “All low and rough and sexy.”

  “Sexy, huh?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Everything about you is sexy.” Her cheeks don’t heat this time. She’s not flirting. She’s just being raw and real, and fuck, I need raw and real. I need her.

  “Show me,” I reply softly, “when we get to my bed. Sleep now, while the plane seems to have calmed again.”

  Her lashes lower and seconds pass before she whispers, “I can’t believe you really came back.”

  I’m going to change that, I think. I’m going to make sure she knows that I won’t just come back. I won’t leave. Ever. I lay there and watch her for a good thirty minutes until I’m certain she’s asleep. Then and only then, do I grab the MacBook and try Walker again. This time I connect and Blake goes live immediately.

  Anything new? I type.

  He replies with: Nothing urgent enough to discuss while you’re in the air. Everyone is safe and secure. We’re gathering data to review with you when you arrive. Anything I need to know or relay to Adam?

  I type: We suspect Harper is being set-up as a fall guy who ended up too dead to defend herself.

  His reply: My thoughts as well.

  And I add, responding immediately: We have reason to believe Gigi played a role in helping set me up for her murder. With Harper now under our protection, we need to be sure Gigi and the family don’t turn on Harper’s mother. Keep Gigi away from her.

  He doesn’t reply immediately. Seconds tick by and I push for a response: Blake?

  Another twenty seconds pass, each one grinding along my nerve endings, and he finally answers: Harper’s mother is at Gigi’s house. I’m sending Adam in as a maintenance man to check on her.

  I look at Harper, her skin pale perfection, features beautiful in rest and trust. She trusted me to take care of her and her mother or she wouldn’t be asleep. My jaw sets hard and I type a message to Blake: Get her mother out of there and I don’t care how you do it. Adam needs to throw her over his damn shoulder if that’s what it takes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Eric

  The internet goes dark again about two hours before we land, which forces me to do what I need to do anyway. I manage to settle into my seat and sleep with one thought in mind: hell waits for us when we get to the ground. I need to be mentally and physically ready. I wake before Harper and for a moment I lay there facing her in my chair, and fuck, I just stare at her. She’s beautiful. She’s mine even if she doesn’t know it yet. Mine to protect. A thought that has me sitting up and checking for an internet connection again with no success. I store my MacBook back in the pocket and lay back down, reaching out to caress Harper’s cheek, her lashes dark half moons on her perfect skin. She doesn’t wake up. Right now, she’s with me, in the air, safe, and some part of her knows that.

  Some part of her trusts me the way I told her I need to trust her. The problem is that I’m a fucking hypocrite. I’ve demanded honesty from her but I haven’t told her everything. I have my own secrets. Things I’ll have to share with her once I know she knows me. Once I know she can read past the history I’ve drawn to see me now. I need to build trust and damn it, that means keeping my promise to keep her mother safe, but I’m not on the ground. Adam is. I’m trusting Adam to keep my promise to Harper.

  Adam is the one protecting her mother.

  ***

  Adam

  Denver, CO

  A master of disguise.

  It’s what I do, a skill I learned while on the road with my mother and her boyfriend, along with their pack of criminal friends during most of my youth. I’m dressed as a repairman in a blue jumpsuit with a pair of brown contacts over my blue eyes. My black hair is slicked back. I ring the bell of the stucco home wrapped in ivy and wait for an answer.

  A young brunette housekeeper answers the door. “Yes?”

  “There’s a gas leak.” I show her a clipboard. “We need to check the lines running in and out of the house to assure we aren’t on the verge of a catastrophic event.”

  “Oh God,” the woman says. “That sounds bad.”

  “I’ll need access inside to determine where the pipes run but from what I can tell from the maps, it’s along the line of your kitchen and the backyard.”

  “I need to get this approved. Do you have a number I can just confirm this by calling?”

  I shove a card at her that will ring to Blake. “Call. Make it fast. Time is critical.”

  She grabs her phone from her pocket and dials the number on the official-looking card complete with the gas company’s address and logo. She speaks to Blake and her eyes go wide. A moment later, she disconnects. “Come in, please.” She backs up and allows me to enter the house.

  I walk inside, finding myself in the center of a towering foyer with a fancy chandelier above my head that would make a good weapon, should one need one. It might not be how most people think of fancy lighting, but it works for me. I follow the woman, who hasn’t introduced herself or asked for my name, through an archway to find an open-concept living room with expensive, Regency-style furnishings that scream “grandma.”

  The woman who I know to be Celia Rodriquez, the housekeeper of five years, motions toward a doorway that leads to a closed kitchen. “I’ll need to step outside as well.”

  “There’s a door off the kitchen.”

  I nod and head for the kitchen, aware of Celia’s need to leave to pick up her kids. She hurries down a hallway, which means she’ll be updating Gigi on my presence. She’s headed toward what our blueprints show to be an office. I walk into the kitchen, set down my toolbox and crack the kitchen door to the backyard to find my job just got easier. Not only is a fire crackling in a massive stone fireplace, but Gigi and Danielle, Harper’s mother, are standing in front of it while Celia, who clearly tracked them down via the office patio door, tells them about my presence.

  The chat with Celia is short and she departs, which means she’ll be coming back here in about five minutes. “Answer me, Gigi,” Danielle demands. “Did you really help convince Eric to come here?”

  “I didn’t convince him,” Gigi snaps. “He hates me. Harper convinced him to come here. Your daughter knows we need help even if you don’t.”

  “We don’t need help,” Danielle says.

  Gigi laughs. “Are you playing dumb or are you really that stupid?”

  “My daughter is smitten with him. He’s rich and good looking.”

  “Like my son that you married? Sounds like you’re two of a kind. Mother and daughter.”

  “Stop being a bitch,” Danielle snaps. “Stop. I love your son. I’m protecting him, and bringing Eric here doesn’t protect him.”

  “You seem very afraid of Eric. Why is that?”

  “Your son doesn’t want Eric here.”

  “Eric is my son’s child. He’s my grandchild.”

  “Eric’s our enemy.”

  “Seems to me none of us know who our real enemies are, now do we?”

  “Why does that feel like a threat?” Danielle quips back.

  “Why do you see threats that no one else sees? But you want a threat,” Gigi adds. “I might be old, but I protect what’s mine. Everything you think is yours has always been mine.”

  Footsteps sound behind me and I shut the sliding door to face Celia. “All clear in here. I was about to head outside.” I don’t wait on her to reply. I reach for the door again, only to have it open as Danielle, an older version of Harper, runs smack into me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m—” She blinks up at me. “I just need to get by.”

  I step back as she swipes at her cheek, as if hiding tears, and then darts away. I hit a button on my phone that sends a message to my man outside the hou
se. He’ll follow Danielle. I’m here. I’m going to listen in and find out what Gigi does next.

  I turn to look at Celia. “I’ll be fast.”

  She nods. “I’ll be back in a minute to check on you.” She quickly follows Danielle.

  I take the freedom and exit to the backyard and Gigi has her back to me, and thanks to poor hearing, she doesn’t know I’m here. She sits in a chair by the fire and makes a call. “I need to speak to you,” she says. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

  She disconnects and just sits there. And continues to sit there as if she knows whoever she called will call her back. I need to know who she called. I enter the kitchen, shut the door, and text Blake: Who did Gigi just call?

  His answer is instant: Kingston Senior.

  I frown. Kingston Senior is supposed to be pissed that Eric was brought into this. Why did Gigi just call him like the two of them have a secret? Like they’re working a plan? Are mother and son behind the attack on Harper and the set-up of Eric for the murder?

  Fuck.

  Are mother and son really moving on to kill Harper’s mother in her place?

  I start walking. I need Danielle in my sights and I need her in my sights now. If she dies, it’s on me.

  ***

  Eric

  We’re about to touch down and incredibly, Harper has yet to move. “Wake up, princess.” I stroke her hair. “We’re landing.”

  Her eyes go wide and she tries to sit up, but she gets caught in the seatbelt. “Any news?” She frees herself. “Is my mother okay?”

  “No news,” I say, wishing like hell that wasn’t the truth. I hit the button to raise her seat. “The internet has been out for the past few hours.”

  “Hours? It’s been hours?” She runs her hand through her hair. “I need to know she’s okay. I can’t believe I even slept.”

  “Your mother is fine. We have eyes on her with Walker Security. And you slept, because you were exhausted, with good reason. It’s not been an easy twenty-four hours.”

  “Did you sleep? Please tell me you did. I don’t even remember us laying down to rest.”

  “I did,” I say, amazed at how she worries about me. No one worries about me. I don’t let them close enough to even think about me. The engines shift for landing and I glance at my watch and then back at Harper. “It’s one in the morning. We’ll make it to Blake’s offices before sunrise, talk with him for a few hours, and then go try to get some more rest.” We hit the runway and I grab Harper’s hand, lacing our fingers together. “In my bed, Harper. Together. Something to look forward to.”

  “Hmm. Yes.” Her eyes light. “It is. I want to see how the bastard lives. I wonder what your bedroom looks like. Do you secretly have a fetish for pink?”

  “The only fetish I have is you,” I assure her, pleased that she’s, at least momentarily, forgotten the danger on the ground.

  “And that,” I add, “is no secret.” My phone buzzes with a text, signaling we’re now at tower level. I grab my cell and glance down at the screen to find a message from Adam that reads: Call me.

  I dial his number and he answers in one ring with, “About damn time.”

  A reply that sets me on edge, or rather, more on edge than I already am. “We’re still in the air. Talk to me.”

  Harper grabs my arm. “Is that Adam? Is my mother safe?”

  “Is Danielle safe?” I ask, relaying her worry.

  “Yes,” Adam says. “Danielle’s safe.”

  I glance at Harper and give a nod. She breathes out in relief and settles into her seat.

  “But there’s an interesting twist,” Adam adds.

  "I'm listening,” I say, choosing my words cautiously as to not alarm Harper.

  “Danielle fought with Gigi. Gigi then called your father and I got the impression it might be the two of them plotting against you and Harper. He never returned her call, but he did something far more interesting. He got on a plane to New York City. Your father is on his way to you and Harper.”

  What the hell? I think, biting back the words, again, for Harper’s benefit.

  “What else?”

  “Private plane. I’ll let you know when he’s on the ground. It’s a couple hours behind you.”

  We exchange a few more coded words and disconnect.

  “What’s happening?” Harper asks, leaning in close. “What just happened because I can tell you were choosing your words cautiously and that makes me nervous all over again.”

  More like, what the hell is happening? I think as the numbers in my mind start to spin, looking for my father’s angle, and one word keeps coming to me over and over, wanting to be recognized: Murder. There is murder in the air and I need to keep Harper close and safe.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Harper

  My relief over hearing my mother is safe is short-lived. I didn’t miss the way Eric disconnected his call without looking at me or the subtle, but distinct, stiffening of his spine. My mother might be safe, but something’s wrong. “Eric.” I touch his arm. “Talk to me.”

  Seconds tick by before he looks at me, his blue eyes unreadable, hard. “Your mother is safe,” he repeats, tension vibrating off of him.

  “I know that,” I say, reminded of what he said about triggers that create a paralyzing influx of numbers in his mind. Whatever is wrong isn’t about my mother. It’s about him.

  My hand goes to his hand, and I turn it over, pressing our palms together but I don’t push him to talk. He doesn’t look at me, his lashes lowering, his expression tightening. I wait, silently letting him know that I’m here, until finally, his eyes open. “My father’s on his way to New York City.”

  It’s an odd development, unexpected even, but what strikes me now is Eric’s mood, his edginess. This man is an ex-SEAL and a billionaire savant, who has taken on enemies and the world and this family, even his father, yet right now, his father hangs in the air between us like a nuclear bomb about to drop and blow holes in him.

  I search his handsome face that is all hard lines and shadows, his expression unreadable. “Why is he coming to New York City?”

  “Why do you think he’s coming?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “You tell me.”

  “To fuck with me, Harper.” He’s intense. He’s big-time intense.

  “I know that we’re new,” I say. “I know that I haven’t spent every day of the last six years with you, but I’ve experienced your reactions to your father to some degree, and it’s not like this. What else is going on?”

  He cuts his stare, unhooks his seatbelt and his hands flatten on his knees. “I need out of this plane,” he says, and I have this sense he’s coming out of his own skin or perhaps drowning in a sea of numbers.

  The exterior doors to the plane open and I’m confused, not sure what to do next, aside from just trying to be here with him, the way he decided to be here for me when he followed me back to Denver. I lean over and kiss his cheek and when I pull back, there’s surprise in his eyes I really don’t understand. A moment later, his hand is cupping my head and he’s kissing me deeply and fiercely, before he says, “And I need you.”

  He speaks those words with a deep raspy voice that I feel like a vibration through my body. He needs me. I never thought I’d hear those words from this man. “I need you, too.”

  The minute I speak those words, the tension in his body eases, his expression softens. “Show me when we’re finally alone. Come on. Let’s get out.” He stands and helps me to my feet, and my instinct is to reach for the jacket I don’t have with me. I have nothing of my own at all. No coat. No purse. No phone. I’ve left everything in Denver, including my mother.

  Eric urges me into the aisle and I point at the MacBook. “Do you need that?”

  “Walker will come pick it up.”

  “What about your rental car? And my car is still at the office, though I don’t think that’s an issue.”

 
“Walker will take care of it for you. I talked to Adam about my rental and your car before we took off.”

  “I didn’t give them my keys.”

  “They’ll figure it out.”

  He means dig in my purse, which feels invasive, but at this point, I think I just need to be glad to be here and safe.

  Eric’s hand slides to my back, urging me forward ahead of him, but I rotate to face him instead. “Thank you for saving me, Eric,” I say, my hand flattening on his chest, “I’ll l fight for you just as hard as you’ve proven you’ll fight for me.”

  His eyes soften, warm, a gentler side of Eric surfacing, and I feel the connection between us like a blast of warm sun on a cold day.

  “You tried to shoot my attacker, Harper. I know you will. Come on. Let’s get out of this pile of steel you were certain was going to kill us.”

  “Don’t go there,” I say, letting him turn me toward the door, before I glance over my shoulder and add, “We shouldn’t have been in the air.”

  We joke back and forth about that decision, and while yes, Eric is fully engaged in the exchange, I can still feel the tension in him, no doubt, the aftermath of hearing his father is coming here. My bond with my father was special. His bond with his father is poison, even more so than I’d ever imagined.

  We exit side by side and travel the narrow, double-wide stairs into the dark, cold night. I block out the weather as best I can without a coat and manage to glance at Eric’s watch; it’s eleven in Denver, which makes it’s one in the morning here. A really cold early morning, I decide, as we hit the runway and a gust of New York wind that is ten times colder than the Denver chill I know well. It’s damp and biting in a way the low altitude makes possible, but the truth is, Denver is cold and biting beyond the weather. In this moment, I know that I’ve allowed it to be my prison, that I’ve allowed the beauty of the city and the beauty of the family I once knew in my father and mother, to seduce me, to hold onto me. I didn’t want to let go of what I’d lost in my father, so I held onto what I had left of him. The wind gusts again and Eric throws his arm around me, pulling me close.