“Yeah, my mom made sure that we all flossed a couple of times a day because we didn’t have dental insurance growing up. It’s a habit.”
“If we can’t call the police, what are you guys going to do?”
Maxence already had his phone up to his ear. He said into it, “Flicka, I hate to be a bother a second time, but it seems I’m near your brother’s place, and we are once again in desperate need of security services.”
Caridad locked them in the hospital room.
Dree wanted to pace, but Maxence insisted that she stay behind him, with himself between her and the door. She ended up sitting on the bed and leaning against his back because she needed the comfort. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Do you know who they were?” she asked.
“No.” He paused. “I thought I heard them speaking Russian.”
The Sokolovs. “They followed us?”
“They were probably here and discovered that we’d arrived. I was too cavalier. I’m used to evading my security and having some time off.”
“We shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”
He reached around behind himself and held her hand, but he didn’t look away from the door. “There’s no way you could have known, and they shouldn’t have been able to find us. We didn’t fly commercial. I’ll take care of them when I get back to Monaco through whatever means I have to.”
“But, if they’re international—”
“We have Matryona in custody. We’ll leverage her. I’ll take care of this. I’ll take care of you. I won’t let them steal you.”
The door unlocked.
Maxence released her hand and stood. Dree twisted on the bed.
A man in a white coat entered, staring at a chart in his hand. “I hear you two off-the-books folks need a head trauma consult, amongst other things.” He flipped a page. “Like wound cleaning and bandaging.” He finally looked up from the chart, bent sideways, and peered around Maxence. “Dree?”
She blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “It’s okay, Max. This is Dr. Jax Callejo. He’s an ER attending physician.”
An hour later, when they had been thoroughly examined, rinsed with saline, antibiotic ointment applied, and bandaged, an unidentified number called Maxence’s phone. When he answered it, Dree heard a man’s voice say, “The Welfenlegion have arrived. They will escort you to the compound at Schloss Southwestern.”
Caridad unlocked the door and stuck her head inside. “There are some guys here for you.” She looked at Dree. “Big guys.”
Behind her, a tall white man pushed the door open. His light brown hair was cut high and tight, and he looked over the room with pale brown eyes the color of mild whiskey. His accent was kind of French and kind of German. “I am Luca Wyss of the Welfenlegion. We will escort you to the home of Wulfram von Hannover. Come with us, please.”
“Who’s this Hannover guy?” she asked Max.
“Flicka’s older brother,” Max told her. “He has a private army.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Schloss Southwestern
Maxence
A fleet of black SUVs drove through the darkening streets of Phoenix and then through the wrought iron gates of a secure community. The sign on the side of the road read Apache Tears Ranch.
Maxence had shoved Dree into the middle of the back seat and rode with his arm clamped around her the whole way.
Horror vibrated through him.
They’d almost gotten her. His life would’ve been over before it had begun.
The SUVs pulled into an enormous garage and parked tightly, like they were on a ferry. Luca Wyss led the way as they walked between the SUVs toward the house. The taps of their footsteps echoed on the metal vehicles and the cement floor and walls in a cacophonic clatter.
The vehicles were packed so tightly into the garage that it was almost a surprise when they crossed a vast space in the center. A circular seam creased the floor, and a dark computer screen topped a waist-high pedestal.
Dree looked around herself as they crossed the space. “Are there more SUVs coming?”
“Perhaps.” Maxence pointed to a matching hole in the ceiling. “But this is a vehicle elevator. This garage has at least one more level, and if the building is any indication, two more.”
The door led into a large commercial kitchen, equipped with white ceramic tile and stainless-steel appliances. Black-clad staff bustled around, cooking. Pink flames erupted in a pan on the stove.
An extraordinarily tall man, the same height as Maxence himself, strolled in through a door on the other side of the kitchen. His hair was spun-gold blond and moderately longer than the paramilitary guys of the Welfenlegion, but his eyes were his most striking feature.
Flicka’s eyes were the clear, glittering green of emeralds, but her older brother’s eyes were a dark, almost sparkling, sapphire.
He cradled a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket against his chest and shoulder, holding the child with both hands, and his voice was soft so he would not startle the infant. “Maxence, it’s good to see you again. Pardon me if I don’t shake your hand.”
The clench in Max’s chest loosened. “Wulfram, thank you for the rescue.”
“What’s the use of owning a private paramilitary army if you can’t occasionally help out friends who are being targeted by murderous mafia thugs?”
Dree was twitching at Max’s side.
He introduced her. “Dree, I’d like to introduce Wulfram von Hannover. He was a few years ahead of us at Le Rosey, and he was my brother’s roommate for years while we were there. His younger sister, Flicka, was also briefly married to Pierre. Wulf, may I present my fiancée, Ms. Dree Clark of New Mexico.”
Wulfram’s eyebrows rose just the slightest bit as he examined her. “My pleasure.”
Dree said, “Pleased to meet you. Is that a baby?”
Wulf smiled, and it wasn’t the chilly smile that Maxence remembered, which had been almost devoid of humanity. He turned sideways so the baby’s tiny face and chubby cheeks faced them. “May I present Victoria Augusta, Prinzessin von Hannover und Cumberland, Princess of Great Britain and Ireland.”
Maxence chuckled as he wandered over, but Dree had beaten him across the kitchen and was peering at the child. She asked Wulf, “Can I touch her?”
“Go ahead. Her hand is right there.”
Dree rolled her finger under Victoria Augusta’s tiny, fringe-like fingers, gently inserting her finger in the baby’s hand with the delicacy of curling pea-vine tendrils around her fingertips. “She’s so beautiful.”
The child opened her eyes, revealing irises as crystal blue as her father’s.
Maxence stood beside Dree and exclaimed properly over the infant, but he watched Dree, enjoying her wonder and happiness at just seeing a baby.
They should probably talk about things like when and how many, but the possessiveness radiating off of Wulfram as he watched even Dree’s tiny interference with his daughter was magnetic.
Maxence could see himself holding a tiny infant of his own someday and guarding them just as jealously.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Ray of Light
Dree
Supper at Wulfram von Hannover’s mansion was served in a formal dining room at a table that could have seated at least thirty instead of just the four of them clustered at one end near the serving doors. The silverware shone with a luster Dree had never seen before, and she suspected they were made out of actual silver metal. A thin gold edge rimmed the china plates, and the candelabras placed in the center of the table were taller than most toddlers.
Between those fancy candlesticks and the chandeliers above the table, they appeared to be caught in a rainstorm of glittering crystal.
Earlier, when they’d had a few minutes to freshen up in one of the several bedroom suites that were just standing around unoccupied in that enormous house, Maxence told Dree the basics about their hosts.
Princ
e Wulfram von Hannover was an unanointed king of a country that no longer existed, despite his title. The Kingdom of Hannover had been absorbed into Germany when it had picked the wrong side in a war.
Nevertheless, Wulfram owned a fairytale castle on a hill in Germany but preferred to live in the US, quietly, due to a childhood tragedy that Max could tell her about later. He also had an uncanny nose for stock market corrections. He usually texted a few friends, including Maxence, with a general suggestion to sell their stocks about two weeks before the markets fell off a cliff.
He’d met his wife under circumstances no one entirely understood. She’d sprung into existence wearing Hannover family jewelry, which everyone had realized the significance of immediately, when she’d been Wulfram’s plus-one at Flicka’s wedding to Pierre in Paris nearly a year before.
Maxence had seen their entrance at the reception and been thoroughly shocked that the reclusive Prince of Hannover had emerged from his fortress, and even more so that he had a woman on his arm. “A hush fell over the enormous lobby of the Louvre. Several major royals picked their jaws up off the floor.”
“But it was his sister’s wedding to his high school roommate,” Dree said. “Why wouldn’t he be there?”
“Because he is Prince Wulfram von Hannover. That’s why.”
Earlier in the kitchen, Dree hadn’t been able to see beyond the baby. She was a gorgeous baby, all sweet little puffy flesh and healthy proportions.
At supper, Dree had gotten a closer look at Prince Wulf.
Maxence was movie-star glamorous, the most perfectly chiseled man she’d ever seen, the absolute incarnation of tall, dark, and handsome. Now that she knew his grandmother was Grace Kelly, perhaps the most beautiful movie star ever, Dree could see the idealized form of Max’s bone structure and physical form.
Maxence looked like a master artist had crafted an Italian marble statue of a cocky, debonair, testosterone-fueled man, breathed life into him, and set him loose upon the world to ransack and pillage hearts and bodies.
Prince Wulfram von Hannover was something else.
It wasn’t that he was more handsome. Dree didn’t think anyone could be more masculinely handsome than Maxence. Wulfram von Hannover looked like he’d been cast out of gold and silver and set with star sapphires for eyes.
If Maxence was art, Wulfram von Hannover was a crown, as strong as metal and as cold.
Only, because his kingdom was deposed, Wulfram von Hannover wasn’t actually going to be crowned.
Maxence’s enthronement was next month.
Just sayin’.
An older gentleman appeared from the kitchen and distributed menus, which earned him some sort of a sly comment from Wulfram in German and a giggle from Rae, though Dree didn’t get the joke. There were four items on the menu to choose from, so Dree chose the chicken, the same as Maxence.
Rae and Wulf also chose the chicken, so Dree supposed it wasn’t a wrong choice. She asked, “Do you guys have menus every night?”
And then Dree regretted that comment because she certainly didn’t want that to be taken as criticizing people who’d saved their butts just hours before. She hadn’t meant it that way. Menus for supper in a house was just over the top.
Wulfram chuckled. “My staff believes I do not entertain nearly enough, so when we have guests, they show off their skills. I have no idea what they’re going to do next.”
Ice sculptures. The answer to his question was ice sculptures, which held the hors d’oeuvres.
Wulfram was sitting at the head of the table with his wife sitting on his right and Maxence on his left. Dree was sitting beside Maxence, so she was the tail of the conversation.
They kept her involved, though. She barely had time to stuff bites in her mouth between questions, making sure that she wasn’t feeling neglected.
Finally, just so she could dodge a little bit of the interrogation, Dree asked Rae what she was doing, other than being a mama to a two-month-old baby, not that that wasn’t plenty.
Rae smiled. She was a beautiful woman with dark auburn hair and sweet brown eyes. The warmth she exuded more than made up for Wulfram’s cool, poised demeanor. “I’m on maternity leave from school, which means I’m sort of taking the semester off. I’m enrolled for some reading credits though. I have enough hours to graduate with my bachelor’s degree in psychology in May, but I’ve already been accepted to, and sort of pre-started, a master’s program because I like to learn things. And Wulf is so good with Victoria, so I’m writing some grant proposals.”
Dree grinned. “That sounds great. I’m a nurse practitioner. What are you studying?”
Rae immediately warmed up to Dree even more, her eyes lighting up. She leaned across her plate a little bit. “I’m doing an interdisciplinary degree in counseling and neuroscience. I’m interested in autism, somewhat in the causes, but mostly in that it seems to be a constellation of syndromes. While I’m doing my research, I want to try to identify several major types of autism, mainly based on behavioral phenotypes but not by severity.”
Dree nodded along, each headshake getting more excited than the last. “I worked in the ER for the most part. That was my specialty in nursing school. But in the ER, we see a cross-section of the world. It seems so obvious that there must be several different major types, not just easily slapped into verbal and nonverbal, or inattentive and fixated, or ‘Oh that’s just how it presents in girls.’”
Rae sat up straight, her fork clenched in her hand like she would raise it above her head in triumph. “Yes! Of course, right? Say, are you sure you want to marry that guy? My ultimate goal is to open all-in-one autism therapy clinics, so people can bring their kids or their adults into one place and go from a nutritionist to a behavioral therapist to something else that they might need. While they’re there, their parents can either take respite care, or they can learn how to help their kid more at home, or they can get counseling for the stress.”
Dree set down her silverware and braced her elbows on the table with her chin in her hands. “What kinds of things are you gonna do there?”
“A lot. Everything. But once I get a handle on these various major types of autism, I want to investigate different types of therapies, some of which have been dismissed by the medical community because they didn’t work in all the subtypes, but maybe they do for certain subtypes. I mean, peer-reviewed research is the gold standard, and we’ll get to that. Still, nutritional interventions and supplements, off-label medications, as well as behavioral therapies like FloorTime and Son-Rise haven’t been examined enough. These kids are growing up every day, and their cognitive neuroplasticity window is getting smaller every day. While we are doing the research, I think we need to offer any intervention we can and see what works with each kid.”
Dree restrained herself from leaping across the table, scattering crystal wine glasses that were probably worth more than her best blue-ribbon Four-H sheep, and hugging Rae Stone-von Hannover. “Exactly! My nephew who lives in Tucson is nonverbal, and something like that would be a godsend. My sister works with him so much, and she takes him to the University of Arizona medical clinics, trying to find something, anything that would help him. But one of her pet peeves is that every doctor seems to have their own particular thing that they think works with everybody. They don’t have a decision matrix that might lead her to the right path. And even when the therapy isn’t working, they don’t want to stop. At one point, Victor was taking thirty-eight pills every day that she ground up in a smoothie for him because he can’t swallow pills. He was also doing six hours’ worth of different stretches and cross-body crawling and treadmill therapies, none of which had been evaluated for him.”
Rae picked up her plate and wineglass, into which she had been pouring water from a decanter while the rest of them guzzled a different wine with every new course, and walked around the table, placing her dishes in the empty spot next to Dree. “Tell me more about Victor.”
Dree explained, complained, and ended
up admitting that she had been sending Mandi money for years for Victor’s therapy because it was so expensive. “We were going to go to Tucson tomorrow to see them, but we really should go home to Monaco where it’s safer. I’ll get out here when I can to see them.”
Rae said, “Wulf and I have been talking about opening a pilot center, which we’re calling A Ray of Light because that was the name that I came up with when I was seventeen, and we’re thinking about doing it this summer. Do you think Mandi and Victor might want to move up to Phoenix?”
“I don’t think she has the money to move. Moving’s expensive, what with putting down a deposit on a new apartment and the boxes.”
Maxence leaned so that his lips were near Dree’s ear. “You can send your sister as much money as you think you should, forever.”
Dree turned to look at him. “I can? But it’s not my money. It’s your money.”
Maxence’s dark eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he looked like he was going to say something but then stopped, reconsidering. Then he lifted one finger and inhaled like he might say something else, but it evidently didn’t pass muster either, because he put his hands farther down like he was holding an invisible ball between them. He finally asked, “I beg your pardon?”
Rae patted Dree’s hand. “It’s a thing, this ‘infinite money.’ You’ll get used to it. The main thing you’re going to want to do is not to make people dependent on you, but being able to help people is such a relief compared to standing by helplessly.”
Dree asked Maxence, “So, it’s okay to lend Mandi a couple of hundred dollars?”
Maxence took Dree’s hand between both of his own. “Give your sister the money that she needs to move up here and obtain better therapy for her child.”
Dree turned back to Rae. “We accept. I mean, I’ll ask her”—she made air quotes when she said the word ask—”but I’m accepting right now on her behalf whether she likes it or not. A Ray of Light sounds like exactly what they both need.”
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