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Least said, soonest mended. Alec could hear the words in his head as clearly as if his mother were standing next to him reciting that old maxim. And he knew the wisest course of action was to say nothing to the outgoing RSO. What did you say to a man who was being bounced out of a coveted job to make room for you? Ostensibly because of political favoritism, but really because he was suspected of fraud and corruption?
No, it was better to say nothing at all, not even to commiserate with the guy over being displaced. So he listened politely as the outgoing RSO—a man he’d crossed paths with before—went through his calendar and case roster with Alec.
He noted that the guy had a hard time meeting Alec’s eyes, and his laughter seemed forced—signs of a guilty conscience? Alec wondered. Or just that he doesn’t quite know what to say to me, too, especially since we know each other? It wasn’t unheard of to be replaced on short notice. But it couldn’t be easy. Still, it wasn’t as if he was being demoted. Not exactly. And if he was clean, the DSS would soon place him as RSO somewhere else.
“What’s the ambassador like?” he asked, for something innocuous to say.
“Okay, I guess, for a political appointee.”
Which didn’t tell Alec much. He had an appointment with the ambassador this afternoon, and he was keeping an open mind. Even though the ambassador would also be a target in his upcoming investigation, that was just speculation at this point. The ambassador deserved respect from Alec in every way. At least until something was proved against him. As RSO, Alec was the personal adviser to the ambassador on all security issues, and was responsible for all aspects of the embassy’s security. Conversely, Alec had every intention of using the ambassador as his adviser on all things Zakharian. At least until he got his feet wet.
“Well, I guess that’s about it,” the other man said. “You have the safe’s combination already, but you’ll change it, of course.” He took a set of keys from his pocket and laid them on the desk in front of him. “You’ll need these. Everything there opens a door somewhere in the embassy.” The outgoing RSO smiled briefly, stood and offered his hand.
Alec didn’t hesitate to shake it. He couldn’t let the outgoing RSO suspect anything more than he might already suspect under the unusual circumstances.
* * *
Alec was run ragged over the next few days, but he loved every minute of it. This was work he was born to do, and he did it with style. With a flair all his own. Putting his personal stamp on the job without conscious effort.
In addition to his meeting with the ambassador, he held a meet-and-greet with the entire embassy staff, memorizing their names and matching faces to them. It was another little knack he had, a trick he’d learned back when he’d first joined the DSS—people loved being remembered. It cost him nothing and gained him willing cooperation when he least expected it.
He obtained a list of embassy employees from the ambassador on down, going back five years—including their work histories and whatever else was on file— and began going through the data meticulously. Alec had no idea how long the human trafficking might have been going on. He’d go back as far as necessary, but five years was a good start, and he’d work his way backward starting from the present. He put the current ambassador and his predecessor as RSO at the top of the list, because the king had specified the corruption could be occurring at the highest levels.
Related to the investigation, Alec met privately with Colonel Marianescu and the three policemen the king had specified were working the trafficking case from the Zakharian side of things. Zakhar’s laws were stricter, their punishments more severe than in the United States, but crime existed everywhere, and Zakhar was no exception. The same rules of evidence didn’t apply, though, and Alec couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how much easier it would be to make the case in Zakhar than it would be in the States, once all the evidence was assembled and indictments sought.
* * *
On Friday afternoon he met with Trace McKinnon at the palace to ensure complete privacy.
“The agency brought you up to speed?” Alec asked McKinnon when they were alone in the sitting room of the McKinnons’ suite in the palace.
“Not really. All I was told was that the State Department asked for me again—something critical and urgent here in Zakhar—and that you would fill me in on everything.”
Alec told him. It didn’t take long—McKinnon didn’t need all the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. “I thought of you right off,” Alec said. “Especially since you mentioned in the car from the airport that the princess took a year’s leave of absence from the university after the twins were born. The plan wouldn’t work if she had to rush home to get back to teaching, because it involves her, too.”
“So you want Mara to stay on here in order to give me an ostensible reason for staying on, do I have that right?”
“Pretty much. And the job is right up the agency’s alley. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
McKinnon nodded thoughtfully. “It tracks. And Mara did take a year’s sabbatical.” A smile crept across his face. “I’ll have to check with her, but I know what she’ll say.”
“So, you’re in?”
“Are you kidding? Making Mara happy by giving her a reason to stay here indefinitely? It’s a no-brainer.”
* * *
Angelina sat quietly in one corner of the queen’s sitting room as Queen Juliana and Princess Mara drank tea and shared confidences about their husbands and their children in the way of longtime friends—which they were.
Angelina hadn’t said anything when the queen had introduced her favorite bodyguard to her best friend a week ago, but she’d been thrilled to have finally met the princess who’d played such a pivotal role in her life. The princess was only a few months older than Angelina, but she’d been held up to Angelina as a role model by her mother since she was a little girl.
Angelina’s mother hadn’t realized Angelina wasn’t patterning herself after the princess as a lady—she was inspired instead by the princess’s scholastic achievements and steadfast determination to achieve her goals, despite the common Zakharian attitude toward women.
Angelina had been fired up to follow in the princess’s footsteps. Not in mathematics—she’d known that wasn’t her forte—but she’d pushed herself to excel scholastically just as the princess had done. She’d graduated from college a year early and followed that up immediately with law school and then a budding career as a prosecutor—as budding a career in the law as any woman could find in Zakhar—before joining the military.
Her original dream of being a prosecutor might have been supplanted by her current dream job as one of the queen’s bodyguards, but that didn’t mean her original dream was gone. Someday she’d go back to it. Just not anytime soon.
“Trace tells me you and Captain Zale met Alec at the airport,” Princess Mara said, and suddenly Angelina realized the princess was addressing her. “What did you think of him?”
Angelina wasn’t about to admit she’d met Alec more than once—or that she’d kissed him twice—so she searched for something innocuous to say about a man the princess held in affection. “He seemed...nice, Your Highness.”
“Mara, please,” the princess said. “I am an American now, and I prefer the freedom of being just me.” Her green eyes twinkled. “And Alec is many things, but nice is not a word I would have picked to describe him.” She tilted her head to one side. “Liam, now, he is nice. Sweet, too. And idealistic. But Alec?” She shook her head. “No, Alec is not sweet. And he is not idealistic. But he is a man to contend with. I would not want to be on the wrong side of him, but I would trust him with my life.”
* * *
Humming a tune under his breath, Alec left the McKinnons’ suite and headed for the grand staircase. He was just about to go down when he saw a woman come out of another suite on the other side of the landing. A woman he recognized in a heartbeat. Recognized, and wanted to talk to. Urgently.
He’d thought of Angelina whenever he’d had a free moment. And even when he didn’t really have a free moment, just a few seconds. Every night since he’d last seen her in the cathedral—since he’d kissed her until they were both trembling—he’d found himself thinking how lonely his bed was without her. As if they were already lovers. As if he knew what it would be like with her, so that her absence hurt. Physically. An ache that started—predictably—in his loins, but that spread throughout his body as he imagined her there next to him in bed.
“Angel.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried far enough.
She turned his way, startled. “Alec.” She glanced around quickly and hurried over to where he stood at the top of the staircase. “You are not to call me that,” she said in a hushed voice. When Alec tilted his head and gave her a questioning look, she explained, “You are not to call me Angel...in public.”
“Why not?” Vivid in his memory was the moment he’d first used that name, and he could tell by her expression and the warm tide of color washing over her face she was remembering, too.
“It is...unprofessional.”
“How is a nickname unprofessional?”
“Not any nickname, just that one.” When Alec raised his brows in question, she added, “Because it is too...too feminine.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting McKinnon. You?”
“I work here,” she reminded him. “Queen’s security detail, remember?”
“Right.” He smiled at her, his most whimsical smile. Deliberately turning on the charm. “So when do you get off duty?”
She looked as if she wanted to smile back but wouldn’t let herself. “Now, actually. I am done for the day.”
Alec remembered Angelina saying, “We cannot do this... I cannot do this,” after they’d kissed in the cathedral. But she hadn’t said why. Until she explained, Alec wasn’t about to just let it go. They had something together. Something good. Something explosive. Something worth fighting for. As long as he was in Zakhar—and he was here for at least a year, maybe more—he was going to pursue it. Unless she said no.
Alec wasn’t a wolf. When a woman said no, that was it for him—he took her at her word. The trick was persuading her not to say no in the first place. To give her a damned good reason to say yes. “I cannot” wasn’t the same thing as “no.”
Now he said, “Dinner? I’ve got an apartment—I moved in two days ago—but I haven’t had time to stock up the kitchen yet, so I’ve been eating out. I took the advice of somebody at the embassy last night—big mistake. Don’t get me wrong, the food was okay. But a man on his own in a restaurant geared for couples gets shunted off to a table behind the service door, and the waiters act as if he’s invisible.”
Angelina made a valiant attempt to hold back her smile, but it was impossible. “I cannot see you allowing that to happen. Not you.”
Alec grinned. “Okay, you’re right. I didn’t. But they tried. Believe me, they tried. It would’ve been easier if I’d had a date with me. Someone like you. A beautiful woman always gets great service.”
She wasn’t averse to the compliment—that was obvious. But just as obvious was the fact she wasn’t expecting it—either the compliment or the flirtatious way it was delivered—and it took her off guard. Despite that, she came back quickly with, “Only if she is with a man. A woman dining out on her own in Zakhar is...unusual. Breakfast and lunch are not a problem. But dinner?” Her lips quirked into a hint of a smile. “A woman alone is not considered a good tipper. But a man with a woman he is trying to impress—that is a different story.”
He thought he knew the answer already, but he moved a step closer and asked, “So could I impress you...by being a big tipper?” His voice was husky with meaning.
She didn’t back up, and he admired that about her. Most women would have...if a man invaded their personal space. But Angelina just shook her head. “You do not have to impress me that way,” she said honestly, her blue-gray eyes meeting his. “I am already impressed.”
She doesn’t play games, Alec realized with a sense of shock. But then you knew that. It was refreshing. And at the same time disarming. Tread cautiously, a little voice in the back of his head warned him. But Alec—who was so good at trusting his instincts— ignored the warning.
His voice dropped a notch when he urged, “Have dinner with me, Angel. Pick a restaurant—any restaurant you want. Just have dinner with me.” It wasn’t his usual approach. He was good at charming a woman, an approach that had worked many times before. But somehow, his usual facile charm was absent this time around. And Alec had never held his breath as he waited for an answer. That was something new, and he wondered why her answer was suddenly so important.
Angelina tilted her chin up, staring at him so intently, so seriously, Alec was sure she was going to say no. The decision hung in the balance for a moment. Then she said, “Mischa’s, in the central district, is probably the best choice. They have been there since before my mother was born.” Her eyes smiled before her lips joined in. “They are not four-star, you understand. Casual dining, not formal. But the food is good, and at a reasonable price. You will like it, I think. Even the king enjoyed eating there with his fellow soldiers when he was in the Zakharian National Forces. There is a picture of him with his unit on one wall, with pictures of other famous diners.”
“Sounds good. Where is it?”
“It is a little difficult to explain. Do you know the central district?”
“My apartment’s there. And I should tell you my sister calls me the human GPS—I’ve never gotten lost yet, no matter where in the world I find myself.”
Angelina’s smile deepened. “Where exactly is your apartment?”
When Alec told her it was on Vasska Street near Jalena Lane, she said, “But that is very close to Mischa’s. No more than five blocks away. You could walk to your apartment from the restaurant. And the market is on the way. I could help you shop—not everyone speaks English. Did you take a taxi?”
Alec shook his head. “Not this time, I’m afraid. One of the embassy cars brought me.” He didn’t tell her he wanted the embassy staff to know he was visiting his friend in the palace—adding fuel to the gossip he knew was already swirling about him. The best way to accomplish that was to have one of the embassy drivers bring him back and forth, casually-on-purpose mentioning the reason for his visit to the driver. If Alec and McKinnon met openly as friends, it was less likely someone would suspect McKinnon was involved in an investigation when he visited Alec at the embassy.
He also didn’t tell Angelina that using an embassy car and driver for ostensibly personal reasons was a violation of the rules—something he’d done deliberately. Not just to stress his friendship with McKinnon, but to spread the word he wasn’t ethically a stickler. He was going to uncover whoever in the embassy was responsible for the fraud and corruption—that was a given, no matter how long it took—it would just be easier if they approached him. So the first step was making himself approachable. If he would bend the rules in one way, why not another?
Slippery slope, he reminded himself. Most people who trod the straight and narrow didn’t realize just how true that was. Once you broke one rule, breaking the next wasn’t quite so hard. Each successive infraction became easier to justify to yourself, until you found yourself at the bottom of the pit, with no way out.
He shook off his sudden introspective mood, and said, “The driver’s waiting for me. I could have him drop us off at the restaurant instead of my apartment.”
She thought about it for a few seconds and then shook her head decisively. “No, I cannot do that.”
There’s that “I cannot” again, Alec told himself. “Why not?”
Angelina hesitated. She glanced around nervously and blurted out, “It is one thing to talk to you here—although even that is... I do not want anyone to see me leaving the palace with you on a regular basis. We were already spotted the other day when we left for the cathedral together—it was mentioned to me by two men I work with.”
Alec said the first thing that came to mind. “I wasn’t aware US embassy employees were off-limits for the queen’s security detail.”
Now she seemed flustered. “It is not that...not exactly. I cannot explain...” She looked left and right, as if she feared they were being observed. But more than that—as if she was being observed...and judged. “Not here.”
“At the restaurant, then?”
Again there was the strange hesitation that piqued Alec’s interest. “All right,” she said finally. “I will meet you there. Six o’clock?”
* * *
The assassination team didn’t even have to break into Saint Anne’s Cathedral. They walked in during vespers carrying rucksacks, joined the relatively large congregation gathered for a Friday evening service, and even made the proper responses during Mass—though neither of the men had been inside a church in years.
They lingered afterward, shuffling along with the exiting congregants and then slipping unnoticed into one of the side chapels when the rest of the crowd was making its way out the arched front doors. The christening wasn’t until one o’clock Sunday afternoon, but the cathedral would be closed for security reasons after tonight’s Mass, and the team had been warned they needed to get their weapons into place before the portable metal detectors were installed at all the cathedral’s entrances tomorrow morning. Metal detectors that would remain in place until after the christening ceremony.
The men used the privacy of the confessionals to stash their Glock 18C selective fire pistols—other weapons options had been considered and discarded because the 18C was small enough to be concealed but could convert from semiautomatic to fully automatic at the flip of a switch. Not that they intended to use the fully automatic feature—they had one target and one target only. But if something happened and they needed to escape in a way they had not planned, full auto could come in handy. As for the confessionals, they would not be used between now and the ceremony on Sunday—and the weapons would be moved to a more secure location before the security teams conducted their extensive search early Sunday morning.
A large contingent of invited guests was expected Sunday afternoon, and certain rows would be roped off for them. Television cameras would be brought in Saturday afternoon, and set up for the broadcast to the nation on Sunday. But the king had also invited the citizens of Drago to attend the christening of his son and heir. Giant screens would be erected in the square outside the cathedral and the event would be projected on them, so whoever couldn’t be squeezed into the pews or couldn’t find standing room in the aisles would be able to watch the ceremony in the immense square.
A packed cathedral and a packed square—the security personnel would have their hands full trying to watch everyone, every minute. They would not notice the two inconspicuous men until it was too late. The assassins were counting on it.
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