LIGHTS OUT

8:15 pm

It’s a hot summer night in Boston, and the sun has just set. The sky is a royal blue canvas against which the city skyline shines.

8:45 pm

Lighted boats glisten in the harbour, tourists gather under the twinkling lights and colonial streetlamps glow along old cobblestone streets.

9:00 pm

Jewels sparkle on the necks of world dignitaries partying at the Hancock Tower penthouse. Princess Ariana dances in the arms of exciting, enticing Shane Peters, whose ebony eyes gleam in the candlelight. Night has settled gently over Boston…

9:10 pm

…until the blackout hits.

As the city plunges into total darkness, only one man knows the reason why. The man who aims to wreak the revenge he’s sought for a decade.

And only he knows how far he’ll go to get it…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for the Mills & Boon® Intrigue line. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, but she’s also an author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

Royal Lockdown

REBECCA YORK

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Shane Peters – As soon as the lights went out, the security expert went on high alert.

Princess Ariana LeBron of Beau Pays – She came to Boston to attend a diplomatic reception and ended up trapped in a terrorist attack.

Charlie Mercer – Did the president’s Secret Service agent do his job?

Ty Jones – The Secret Service agent couldn’t keep the vice-president from being kidnapped.

Chase Vickers – He was stuck in his limousine, out of the action. How could he help?

King Frederick of Beau Pays – He’d sent his daughter to Boston. Now he was sick with worry.

Liam Shea – Would he get his revenge tonight?

Colin Shea – He’d stop at nothing to kill Shane Peters and the princess.

President Stack – He showed his true colours as the commander-in-chief.

Vice-President Grant Davis – Was the past coming back to haunt him?

FBI special agent Ben Parker – Did he steer Shane and Ariana wrong?

FBI special agent Harold Wolf – They left him in charge of a mess. How was he going to save the situation?

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Prologue

He could never get his life back. His good name. His career. But in just a few hours, he would exact his revenge against the man who had stolen everything from him. Or men. He had never been sure which of them had sandbagged him on that ill-fated rescue mission.

Tonight it didn’t matter who was the chief culprit. They would all suffer, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just the way it had happened to him on that long ago night when disaster had struck.

First he would scare the spit out of them. Then he would take away everything they held dear, like stripping the flesh off their bones. And when they were on their knees, bleeding and begging for mercy, he would give them mercy. He would end their miserable lives.

The law wouldn’t call it justice. But he had long ago given up his faith in the American justice system. If you wanted retribution, you had to go out and do it yourself.

He’d been humiliated in public and tossed in the slammer for a crime he hadn’t committed. And his wife hadn’t even stood by him. Either she’d believed the lies they’d told about him, or she hadn’t been able to take the guilt by association.

Right after he’d been convicted, Margaret had started divorce proceedings and tried to wipe out any vestige of their marriage from her life.

They’d had three sons together. But she’d changed his boys’ last names and moved them far, far away, where he could never contact them.

Poor humiliated Margaret had lived for five years in Oregon, then she’d died of uterine cancer. He figured that was God’s retribution.

And the beginning of hope for him. Without her around to constantly poison their minds, the boys had gotten back into contact with their father.

Now they were a family again. More than a family. A well-disciplined covert unit.

Without his sons, his plans for this night of terror would be impossible to carry out. But the boys were all in place, all ready to execute their roles in the drama that was about to unfold.

He had been out of prison for a year, making plans and setting up the conditions he needed. He looked at his watch. Eight ten. He had a little less than an hour before the show started.

His pulse was pounding, just as in the old days before a mission. Only this one was his creation. You could even think of it as performance art.

He had timed everything carefully. He had gotten his body into fighting shape with sessions at the gym and on the winding roads outside of town. He might be eleven years older than when they’d tossed him in the slammer, but he could keep up with his sons on a five-mile run carrying a ten-pound pack. And he could rappel down the side of a sixty-story building, if he needed to.

This sixty-story building.

He turned his head to the right and looked out the expansive windows at the panorama spread below him. From his vantage point, he studied the twinkling lights of the city. He could see the spire of Trinity Church. And Old South Church. And the skyscrapers that had sprung up in the downtown area.

It wasn’t quite dark yet on this summer night, but already Boston was relying on artificial light.

Not for long.

Smiling, he turned away from the window. Just getting into this secure location had been a major victory. Now it was time to don the uniform that would make him virtually invisible when the mission started.

He was leaving nothing to chance. Once again he began methodically checking the kit that held his equipment.

Making a list and checking it twice, he thought with a grin as he lightly touched one of the automatic weapons he’d stowed in a sports bag. But he wasn’t Santa Claus. Far from it.

He pulled out his gas mask and made sure it was ready to go over his face when he needed it. He checked the focus on his night-vision goggles.

Then he went on to the hostage kit, starting with the duct tape and ending with the hypodermic needles.

Everything was ready. Now all he had to do was wait for dark.

Chapter One

8:15 P.M., August 1

“May I see your picture ID, sir?”

The armed man made the request politely. But Shane Peters harbored no illusions about what would happen if he refused. He’d be hauled off to a cell in a Boston police station and held for investigation.

“Of course,” he answered as he pulled his wallet from an inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and extracted his driver’s license.

The Secret Service agent checked the ID carefully, then asked for his Social Security number, which was matched against a list of guests cleared to attend the reception on the observation deck of the John Hancock Tower, New England’s tallest building.

Since 9/11, the Boston landmark had been closed to the public. But one of the lessees had been instrumental in arranging an international trade agreement that had just been signed by the president of the United States. Tonight the observation floor was open for a reception in honor of the agreement, and guests had come from all over the world.

To commemorate the momentous occasion, President Stack and Vice President Davis would both be attending the event. Of course, that was highly unusual, since protocol dictated that they remain in separate locations as much as possible. But they would only be together on site briefly.

Because of the unprecedented joint appearance, the Secret Service had gone into overdrive on background checks for everyone scheduled to be in the tower—from the honored guests to the waiters and kitchen staff.

The line to pass through security moved slowly. Shane watched some of the formally dressed men and women being ushered through the metal detector. He knew that in his custom-tailored tuxedo, he could pass for a member of the upper classes. But he was also aware that men and women with any security experience tended to mark him down as “dangerous.” So he wasn’t surprised when he was singled out for the wanding treatment.

He struggled to stand cooperatively as he let the guy do his job. Too bad he knew the drill better than the man wielding the wand.

Shane owned his own high-powered company called Executive Security. That much was on the public record. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. He was also a member of Eclipse, an elite force that took on jobs too sensitive for the FBI or the CIA.

He and the other members of Eclipse had all met in the Special Forces. Most of them would be here tonight, although only some of them were actually on duty.

They hadn’t been on a mission together in several months, and Shane was looking forward to seeing the guys. Of course, if they knew what “Wild Man Peters” was up to tonight, they’d haul him off to the funny farm before he made it into the reception room.

He repressed a grin as the guard sent him on his way—without even checking the special pocket sewn under the arm of his tuxedo jacket. Sewing wasn’t one of his favorite skills, but he’d made the modifications himself, to keep the alteration secret.

He waited at the elevator, then rode upstairs with a nice selection of the rich and famous. Most of them had the look of confidence and well-being that money brought. It amused Shane to think that he could buy and sell most of them.

Between his security business and Eclipse, he’d made all the money he was ever going to need. He could retire to his very comfortable underground mansion in the White Mountains and keep busy with his electronics inventions. But inventor was only a small part of his job description. He was too restless to work in the lab every day.

Instead he thrived on challenges—like the one he’d set for himself tonight.

The elevator stopped at the sixtieth floor, and the glittering crowd exited, ready to party. Before they were permitted to enter the reception room, they were treated to a second security check.

Although some of the guests muttered about being stopped again, Shane had been expecting it.

This time one of the Secret Service agents recognized him and let him step through the metal detector. Instead, the agent singled out a balding insurance executive for the wand treatment.

After clearing the metal detector, Shane stepped aside to let another couple hurry past, then strode toward the reception hall, where candles flickered in the center of white linen tablecloths. At the edge of the room, floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of the city lights. The windows were part of the reflective glass skin that covered the whole building. Shane remembered that early in the life of the building, a number of them had fallen out and crashed to the sidewalk.

Note to self—stay away from the windows.

“Champagne, sir?”

“Thank you.” He accepted a flute from one of the formally clad waiters. But after taking a sip, he set the glass down on one of the tray stands scattered around the sides of the room. Right now he needed a clear head. Later he could celebrate with some bubbly.

The reception hall was already fairly crowded, and he recognized dignitaries from countries as diverse as China and France. He looked around to see if he could spot King Frederick of Beau Pays. He’d been happy to see the king’s name on the guest list. Before Frederick LeBron had taken the throne of his small Alpine country, he’d pursued a variety of interests. He’d earned several advanced degrees from the Sorbonne, in Paris, then made a point of taking some top-secret political and military jobs, just like a regular working spook. He’d been the translator on a hostage rescue mission to the Middle East with Shane, the men who now made up Eclipse and three other highly trained operatives.

The mission had blown up in their faces when one of the members had jumped the gun and gone in too soon. Luckily, they’d gotten most of the hostages out alive, although three had died, including the U.S. secretary of state.

Wishing he hadn’t flashed on the gory details of that long-ago mission, Shane swiftly tried to rearrange his features into a more party-like alignment.

But thinking of LeBron had brought back disturbing mental images from the past.

Shane felt a cold chill ripple over his skin. Suddenly, with terrible certainty, he knew that something bad was going to happen here tonight.

As soon as the thought surfaced, he firmly shoved it out of his mind. He was nervous about his private plans for the evening. That was all.

Or was fate telling him that he’d better abort the harebrained scheme before he got into serious trouble?

He usually listened to his sixth sense. Now he cursed his unexpected attack of nerves.

Sorry that he’d put down the champagne flute, he looked around the room and spotted Ty Jones over by the French doors to the balcony.

The man was six feet tall. At two hundred pounds, he was fit and muscular, not a bodybuilder, just a Secret Service agent who stayed in shape.

As usual, his blond hair was falling across his forehead.

Ty’s gaze swept the crowd, checking for anything or anyone that looked out of place. When he spotted Shane, they smiled at each other. Ty was one of the Eclipse team. But his day job was with the Secret Service, and he was with the vice president’s security detail. Which either meant that the VP was already on site or would be soon.

When Ty went back to his surveillance assignment, Shane crossed to the special display that had been set up before any guests had arrived at the reception.

In a heavy Lucite case, guarded with a silent alarm, was the priceless Beau Pays sapphire that the first king of the small Alpine country had given his wife on their wedding day.

As Shane looked down at the ninety-carat gem, which was twice the size of the Hope Diamond, a man came up beside him. Shane recognized him as Preston Hyatt, an oil-company executive who was known for his own collection of fabulous gems.

“That thing should be under armed guard,” Hyatt commented. “If it belonged to me, I wouldn’t loan it out for a trade reception.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed.

“I guess it’s got state-of-the-art security,” the man murmured.

“Uh-huh,” Shane answered, repressing a secret grin.

Supposedly the security system guarding the gem was flawless. But he’d used his covert skills to get up here earlier, and he knew that the precautions the guards from Beau Pays had taken were laughable—at least in the face of one of his newer inventions, a bypass system that would fool the alarm into thinking the protective grid was still in force.

Hyatt drifted away, and Shane stood for several seconds contemplating the gem—until the feeling of being watched made him turn. He expected to see one of the security men zeroing in on the case with the sapphire. Instead, a porcelain-skinned beauty in a gown that matched the sapphire-blue of the gem was staring at him from across the room.

He took in details like a camera snapping shots in rapid succession. Her hair was light blond and worn in an upsweep, decorated with a gold tiara as delicate as her features. Her eyes were light blue or green. He couldn’t tell the exact color from this distance. She was small and slender, yet the way she stood, tall and straight, gave her a regal bearing.

The crowd of people around him dimmed to a blur. Suddenly he felt as if he’d stepped from the reception room into the middle of a dream.

What was that line from the old Broadway musical? Something about seeing a stranger from across a crowded room. And knowing that person was the one.

He felt as if a hundred-pound hammer had thunked him in the chest. His heart skipped a beat, then started up again in double time.

It was several heartbeats before he remembered to breathe, several seconds before his brain engaged again. When it did, one thought surfaced. He wanted to be alone with this woman in a bedroom, although the sudden lustful ache was nothing compared to the emotions flooding through him.

In the next moment, his memory for names and faces clicked into place. He’d never met her in person, but he knew who she was—and knew that he didn’t have a chance in hell of being anything more than her casual acquaintance.

Princess Ariana LeBron was off-limits to the likes of Shane Peters.

ARIANA LEBRON STOOD stock-still, struggling to keep her face from revealing any emotion as she stared at the tall, lean-bodied man on the other side of the room.

He was devastating in formal attire. She suspected he’d be just as appealing in a pair of faded jeans, T-shirt and scuffed loafers.

His shiny black hair was styled to perfection. His eyes were dark, too, and focused on her with a laser intensity that tied her stomach into an instant knot.

His name was Shane Peters. She knew that from her recent research.

To aid her in identifying the foreign dignitaries and others attending the reception, the State Department had supplied her with an annotated guest list. As she’d crossed the Atlantic in her private jet, she’d read up on many of the men and women who would be attending. Being prepared for any situation went with the job of heir to the throne of Beau Pays.

As she’d studied the information, she’d been especially interested in Shane Peters because her father had talked about him on more than one occasion. He was ex-Special Forces. A security expert. And also an inventor of specialized electronics equipment.

Of all the pictures she’d looked at on the plane, his had stopped her. He’d intrigued her. She’d taken in his sinfully long lashes, his ebony eyes, his perfect white teeth. Now she knew that the photograph had been a pale shadow of the flesh-and-blood man.

She could see that there was more to Shane Peters than a biography and the photo he’d slapped onto the information sheet about his company. An aura of danger surrounded him, and she knew instinctively that he’d be a bad man to have on the opposing side of any fight.

Which was one good reason for staying away from him, she reminded herself. Another was the pull she felt when she stared at him. He was a brash American, just the wrong sort of man for her. She couldn’t date a man simply because she was attracted to him. Duty to her people and to her country came first.

Since her brother, Rolf, had died in a skiing accident four years ago, she was the heir to the throne. And since she would be thirty in two months, she’d selected a suitable fiancé from among the nobility of her country.

His name was Jean Claude Belmont, and he would inherit a dukedom. She had thought of practicality, not love, when making her selection.

From observing her own parents’ polite and friendly marriage, she knew that love was just a fairy tale. You picked a mate because he fulfilled certain purposes. Like Jean Claude, who had a Ph.D. in government. He would father her children and give her advice when she needed his counsel.

He was home now, attending a meeting she’d had to skip to come here—a meeting of the committee setting up a program where poor women in her country could get free day care for their children while they entered job-training programs and then went out into the workforce.

But when her father’s gout had flared up, he’d asked her to attend this reception in his place. And she hadn’t refused because duty had been drummed into her since she was a child.

Still, for just a moment, she let herself wonder what it would be like to go off alone with a man like Shane Peters. What it would be like to let her hair down and do anything she wanted.

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?”

She blinked, coming out of her reverie and ruthlessly snapping off the fantasy. Turning to her bodyguard, Manfred, she flashed a brilliant smile.

“No. I was just admiring the Beau Pays sapphire,” she said, smoothly disguising her state of mind.

“Yes. It looks stunning,” Manfred agreed. “The centerpiece of the reception.”

“As it should be,” she murmured, then took a slow, calming breath as she looked around the room, taking in the richly dressed men and women. The Americans, she noticed, tended to overdo the glamour scene, and the women often showed too much flesh in their choice of attire.

As she and Manfred talked, she couldn’t stop herself from looking for Shane Peters in the crowd. He appeared to be circulating around the room, talking easily to people he knew. But she could tell he was keeping her in his sights.

Well, she knew he was brash. What did he think—that they were going to slip off into some private room together?

She felt her skin heat as she realized she’d been having exactly that thought. The wrong thought.

Or did she have an excuse for talking to the man? After all, he’d been on that mission with her father. That gave them something in common. And maybe he could fill her in on some of the details from that long-ago night that she’d never been able to get her father to talk about.

Still, the back of her neck prickled as she watched the security expert circle toward her, making it look as if she weren’t in his radar at all. But as a princess, she had a lot of experience reading people.

Well, she didn’t like being stalked. Maybe she could leave before he made his move. Right after the president made his little speech, she’d go back to her room at the Ritz-Carlton to study the Women’s Workshop proposal.

She felt herself wavering again. The indecision wasn’t like her.

Lifting her head, she turned away from Peters, looking for one of the waiters circulating through the room. One glass of champagne wouldn’t hurt, she decided.

Just as she found one of the servers and took a step forward, the lights flickered, then went out.

Chapter Two

In the darkness, some of the guests gasped. Others laughed nervously. To Shane’s amusement, the ambassador from Wintonia began shouting something belligerent about American incompetence.

“What’s going on?”

“Turn on the lights.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Is it a terrorist attack?” a woman whispered to the man beside her.

The large reception room had turned into a shadowy cavern, except for the radiance of the moon shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the candles flickering on the linen-clad tables.

Shane cursed under his breath, remembering his earlier premonition. In the sudden darkness, he felt naked without a gun in his hand. But it would have been impossible to get into the reception with a weapon.

He’d already marked the location of Ariana LeBron and her bodyguard, a guy named Manfred Werner. Shane started toward them, shouldering his way through the immobilized party guests, just as the lights flicked back on again.

People blinked in the suddenly renewed brightness as gasps and nervous comments were replaced by sighs of relief.

Shane found the princess and her muscular bodyguard and was relieved to see that the brawny man was doing his job. He had moved her into a corner where she wouldn’t get trampled if people suddenly started to panic.

With the light level back to normal, a murmur of conversation and questions had started up in the room. Everybody, including Shane, wanted to know what had happened. To find out, he needed inside information—or outside information, depending on how you thought about it.

He saw his friend Ben Parker across the room and wove his way through the crowd toward the FBI agent.

Parker looked as if he was staring into space, but Shane knew he was listening to a transmission through his earpiece. Hopefully, his government sources were telling him what had caused the momentary blackout, and he’d be willing to share the information with a friend.

When Parker appeared to be ready for a live conversation, Shane asked, “What was that business with the lights?”

The agent’s expression turned disparaging. “Just the usual summer problems with Boston Power and Light. They need to update some of their equipment.”

“No chance of a repeat?”

“The mayor and the president of the power company don’t think so.”

“You guys still going to allow both the president and the vice president to be here?”

“We’ve got it under control,” Parker bit out.

“Thanks,” Shane answered, still on edge, but thinking the momentary blackout had given him a perfect opportunity. Everybody was focusing on what had just happened. They wouldn’t be thinking about the Beau Pays sapphire at the moment.

ARIANA FELT MANFRED SHIFT his position. He’d curved his body around hers earlier and now he straightened, tugging at his jacket.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She knew the physical contact had made him uncomfortable, but she also knew he’d been doing his job.

“Do you think that happens often in the United States?” she asked.

“I hope not. But this is summer, and the Americans love their air-conditioning. There’s more drain than usual on the power system.”

“Was it just this building, do you think?”

“It was the whole city,” Manfred answered immediately. “I looked out the window and saw all the lights go out. There was nothing illuminated as far as the eye can see, except the motor-vehicle headlights and some boats in the harbor.”

She shuddered. From her research, she knew that the population of Boston was six hundred thousand, and the metro area was much bigger. How far had the blackout extended? And what had happened during the moments of blackness?

Was the crisis a good enough excuse for her to slip out of the reception now? Couldn’t she cite security concerns?

Even as she asked the question, she silently admitted that her disappearance would be conspicuous. The news would surely get back to her father. He’d sent her all the way across the Atlantic to attend this reception, and he’d be disappointed in her if she slipped out so soon. Once again, she was reminded of her duty.

Just as she finished the internal debate, the orchestra began playing “Hail to the Chief.” Even if she’d wanted to leave, it was too late now. Like everyone else in the reception hall, she turned toward the double doors that led to the elevators, watching the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man stride in.

In her royal role, she’d met many heads of state, and she saw instantly that President Stack had the presence of a ruler. Vice President Davis was also quite impressive, standing with the straight posture of a military man.

“Thank you for coming, especially those of you who have traveled here from outside the United States,” the president said.

“I believe the new international trade agreement that our countries have signed is a good step toward global cooperation. Whether we like it or not, we’ve entered the era of a global economy. And helping that economy run smoothly benefits every nation of the world, no matter how large or how small.

“I’d like to especially welcome some of our distinguished guests.”

He named the British secretary of commerce, the French foreign minister and then looked in her direction.

“And we’re particularly honored to have Princess Ariana of Beau Pays with us this evening.”

She gave him a gracious smile, then turned to acknowledge the applause that filled the room, glad that she hadn’t ducked out before this moment. She didn’t love being singled out, but she understood that her royal status added cachet to the occasion. Many of the people here would go home and talk about meeting her, even if they’d been no closer than the other side of the room.

She was happy that the president had specifically mentioned her country’s participation in the agreement. Beau Pays might be small, but her father and her grandfather had made a point of cooperating in treaties and initiatives that would benefit the world community.

Her training allowed her to pretend that she didn’t mind the extra attention the other guests were giving her. Yet she couldn’t shrug off an unsettling feeling that prickled at the back of her neck. The feeling that someone in the room did not wish her well.

Beside her, Manfred was scanning the formally clad men and women, and she suspected he was picking up the same vibes that she had. Was there someone here who had a bone to pick with Beau Pays?

Perhaps now was the time to leave.

She was about to tell Manfred to alert their driver when a movement in the crowd made her glance up to find Shane Peters striding toward her, looking inordinately pleased with himself, she noted.

As he stopped in front of her, she felt Manfred tense and knew that she had to defuse the situation at once before her bodyguard took the man out in the hallway and demanded to know why he was getting so close to his charge.

Smoothly, she gestured toward the newcomer. “Manfred, this is Shane Peters, an old friend of my father’s.”

Peters didn’t miss a beat. “I came over to introduce myself, but it seems you’ve been reading my bio.”

“Yes, I recognize you from your dossier,” she answered, deliberately making it sound as if there were a secret file on the man. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had been from across the room, and she wanted to put some distance between them. If not physical distance, then emotional distance.

Really, the “dossier” contained only general information of the sort she’d found on the other people who would be here tonight.

“I hope you enjoyed reading about my checkered career.”

She refused to take the bait.

A more polite man would have understood what she was doing and backed off. In this brief encounter she had already learned that Shane Peters didn’t necessarily observe the social niceties.

He kept his gaze on her, and she had to remind herself to breathe calmly in and out.

“I was hoping to see your father here.”

“He was indisposed. He sent me in his place.”

Peters’s face clouded with what looked like genuine concern. “I hope he’s all right.”

“It’s nothing serious,” she quickly assured him. Gout was painful but not life threatening. Her father was back on his special diet now and medication that would diminish the attack.

“Good.” Peters gave her a smile that must have melted many female hearts. “We should dance.”

“Dance?” As she spoke the question, she realized that the orchestra had begun to play a waltz. It was one of her favorites. “The Blue Danube.”

Peters opened his hands, as though inviting her to step into his embrace. “To celebrate the trade agreement,” he said.

The invitation was very tempting, but she knew on a deeply personal level that she shouldn’t accept. She was also aware that Manfred was watching the exchange with interest. He had been with her for the past three years, and he knew how she always behaved in public.

True to form, she gave Peters her standard answer. “I prefer to stay on the sidelines.”

“One dance won’t hurt you, will it?” the American pressed. Obviously he didn’t know anything about royal protocol.

She wanted to tell him that he’d already disturbed her equanimity enough for one evening, but that would give away far too much.

So she thought of another way to create distance between them, to take them away from this place and time, at least temporarily.

“My father met you on a rescue mission, right?”

“Yes. In Barik. It’s near Libya.”

“I know where it is.”

“Sorry. I should have realized you’re a lot better educated than the average American who probably hasn’t even heard of the place.”

She acknowledged the apology, then turned the conversation away from herself again. “My father is an expert in Middle Eastern languages.”

“I always wondered why,” Peters answered without missing a beat.

“Because he said that the Middle East would emerge as a center of power in the world and he wanted to be prepared.”

“Very wise of him. And of course, his being able to speak Arabic helps him in negotiating for oil.”

She smiled. “That, too.” Before he could get too far into economic issues, she brought the conversation back to the topic that interested her. “Tell me about the mission.”

“What did your father say about it?” Peters countered.

“He said that you went in to rescue a group of fifty-eight hostages, mostly engineers, teachers and missionaries, who were being held in the basement of a building in the densely populated downtown area. The captives were from the U.S., England, Australia and Beau Pays.”

Peters’s face took on a faraway look, and she knew that, in some sense, he was back there in that civil war-torn country reliving the night he’d been dropped off by helicopter in the capital city.

“They were held for weeks in horrible conditions. The world prayed for their safety, but the country was becoming more and more unstable, with insurgents fighting the government and fighting each other. The captors kept up negotiations, but they seemed to be getting nowhere. Finally, the only option was a rescue mission.”

“Who else was on the team?”

“Chase Vickers was our engineering expert. Ethan Matalon was our computer ace. Ty Jones was our demolitions man. And, of course, Vice President Davis was our tactical expert.”

“You keep in touch with them?”

“Well, I haven’t seen the vice president in years. But the others are still my friends. Chase is a driver who gets a lot of jobs working for VIPs when they’re in town. Ty is right over there.” He gestured with his hand. “He’s with the Secret Service guarding the vice president. A very prestigious assignment.”

“You and the others got the hostages out of there.”

“Most of them,” he answered, and she caught a flash of pain on his face. There were aspects of the mission that her father never talked about, and it looked as if she wouldn’t get a straight story from Peters, either. Something, she knew, had gone terribly wrong. But what?

Peters was silent for several moments. Then, before she realized what was happening, he reached out and touched her hand.

She wasn’t sure why he’d done it. To change the subject? To break through the barrier that she’d tried to erect between them? All she knew was that she felt a jolt of sensation like an electric shock going through her body.

Her breath caught, and when she looked into his eyes, he appeared to be as stunned as she was.

Life had taught her to be a realist. She knew a lot of men wanted to be seen with her because she was Princess Ariana, the heir to the throne of Beau Pays.

But this man looked as if he was reacting to her on a very personal level.

He was attracted to her. And she had the honesty to admit that she was attracted to him as well.

So what would be the harm of one dance? They weren’t going to see each other after tonight. She’d be safely home tomorrow. And safely married six months after that.

“Let’s dance,” she whispered.

Manfred looked startled and started to say something, but she shook her head, and he closed his mouth.

But obviously he would report this incident to King Frederick.

“Watch my purse,” she said to him as she set it down on one of the tables.

He nodded curtly.

Yes, he would speak to her father. And if the king chastised her, she could always fall back on the excuse that she was being nice to one of his old friends.

She let Peters lead her to the dance floor. She already knew that the two of them had nothing in common beyond the man’s long-ago mission with her father. In the span of a waltz, she’d find out that they really had nothing to say to each other, and she could walk away from him without regret.

But she didn’t have to walk away yet. Not when he had taken her in his arms and pulled her to him so that her body touched his.

She liked the way the man held her. The way he smelled—a combination of masculine skin and some woodsy scent she couldn’t identify. And she liked the way his large hand splayed across her back, his fingers grazing the line where her evening gown dipped along her backbone.

She realized with a start that she was enjoying the proximity entirely too much. She should take a step back and put some distance between them. Instead she stayed where she was as he began to move her around the floor.

He was an excellent dancer, and if he’d been anyone else, she could have relaxed in his arms and let him guide her smoothly through the waltz steps.

But with proximity came tingling awareness spreading through her bloodstream. She tried her best to ignore the sensation. Yet when he gathered her closer and stared down into her eyes, she had to fight a swirl of unaccustomed emotions.

A look of pure, burning sexuality passed between them. No man of her acquaintance would have dared to be so bold. Which only proved that she didn’t belong in Shane Peters’s arms. He must have had a lot of sexual experience. She had virtually none, because as the princess of Beau Pays, she was expected to maintain high standards of decorum. She had never stepped over the line—not even with Jean Claude.

ONE OF THE WAITERS STOPPED for a minute and stared at the couples circling on the dance floor.

He saw Shane Peters and the little blond princess from Beau Pays. Automatically, he noted their location, then told himself not to bother. By the time he needed to find them again, they’d be long gone from that part of the floor.

But he’d find them. There was no doubt in his mind.

He stepped from the reception room into the kitchen area, put down the empty tray he’d been carrying and looked at his watch.

Almost time to go into action.

Around him, a dozen staffers were busy doing their jobs. Most of them worked for the catering company. But others had been added to the roster because the party was large.

Everyone here tonight had undergone a rigorous security check, given the high-level guest list. Still, his fake credentials had held up perfectly. As had those of the three other men working with him.

One of them gave him a quick look and put down his own tray.

Unfortunately, the waitstaff manager noticed that two of his workers were slacking off.

Striding across the room, he demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“On break.”

“You’re not scheduled for a break.”

“Sorry.” The imposter strove to keep his voice even. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“I can’t describe it. You have to see it for yourself. It’s right over here.”

Walking purposefully, he led the manager into an alcove off the service area where the staff bathrooms were located, then grabbed the man by the hair, tipped back his head and slashed a knife across his throat.

The assault was over in seconds. Before the imposter could drag the manager into a closet, an unfortunate kitchen worker chose that moment to step out of the bathroom.

When he saw the tuxedo-clad man lying in a pool of blood on the tile floor, he gasped and tried to jump back into the safety of the men’s room. But another one of the conspirators was already on him, taking him out like the first victim.

The first victim. It felt good to think those words.

The night’s real mission had begun. And before the sun rose, there would be a lot of important names added to the victims list.

Two more bogus waiters joined the men who had stepped into the alcove. They dragged the dead men into the bathroom and dumped them by the urinals.

They also retrieved the bags with their automatic weapons, night-vision goggles and gas masks from the bottom of the waste bins.

Then, by mutual agreement, they turned to the mirror and began to remove the disguises they’d been wearing. One pulled off his glasses and mustache. The other tossed into the trash bin his false nose, cheek pads and the appliance that changed the shape of his mouth.

As soon as they were back in the hallway, the other two men disappeared into the bathroom and performed similar operations—quietly and efficiently, the way they had practiced.

Soon all four of them were standing in the hallway—Uzis in hand—waiting for the signal.

The youngest of the conspirators shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How much longer before we make our move?”

“Any minute now.” The speaker made an effort to sound calm, but he could hear the tension in his own voice, could feel adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. They had planned carefully for this night. They had taken every contingency into consideration. Now they were ready—as soon as they got the order to move out. The man who had dispatched the catering manager gave him an indulgent look.

If any other unfortunate employee had to go to the bathroom before the mission went down, then he’d end up like the two men already lying dead on the floor.

SHANE WAS USED TO GETTING what he wanted. He had wanted to dance with Ariana LeBron and now she was in his arms. But he found he wanted far more than one or two dances. He knew he was letting a fantasy carry him away. The heir to the Beau Pays throne wasn’t going to get involved with a guy who’d been raised in a series of foster homes.

Even in the U.S., where you were supposed to be able to improve your station in life by talent and hard work, he still felt like an outsider in a group like this. Even if he didn’t look like an outsider.

In Europe, he knew things were different. If you were born on the wrong side of the tracks, you didn’t end up getting cozy with royalty.

But tonight he wasn’t going to bow to convention. He’d pulled off a damn slick coup a few minutes ago, and he was going to celebrate his success by enjoying the woman in his arms.

She was so delicate, so beautiful, and she had a sharp mind. He always liked that in a bed partner.

Bed partner!

In your dreams, Peters.

“Have you seen the Danube?” she asked.

The question threw him, and he struggled to bring it into context. Then the music registered on him. “The Blue Danube” waltz.

“Yes. I saw the river when I was in Vienna. And Bratislava.”

“Not many Westerners have visited Bratislava.”

“I was on an assignment.” He didn’t elaborate, since he’d been working for Eclipse, shutting down a weapons-smuggling operation that had ferried former Soviet armaments from Prague to Austria where they’d found their way to various terrorist groups in Western Europe.

He couldn’t talk about that, or any of his Eclipse missions, so he circled back to her original question. “I was disappointed to see that the river was more gray than blue. Of course, that might be different in summer.”

Just then, Shane felt a buzzing sensation and thought for a moment that it came from his reaction to Ariana. Then he realized he was feeling the vibration of his cell phone. A text message was coming in, and he should take a look at it.

But he wasn’t here on business. At least not anybody’s business besides his own. So he ignored the phone and let himself drift on the buzzing sensations in his brain, sensations created by the woman in his arms.

He’d inched her closer to him, so that his cheek was pressed to hers. Her delicate skin felt wonderful against his face, and if the dance floor had been less crowded, he would have closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the feel of her body, her scent, the small hand that rested on his shoulder.

Over the years, he had enjoyed the company of many women. But he had never let a relationship knock him off his pins. Tonight, though, he was having trouble breathing and thinking straight as he held Ariana Le-Bron in his arms.

Some part of his mind shouted that this was the wrong woman for him. The wrong time. The wrong place. He was crazy to be thinking of starting anything with her.

Yet his mind kept zinging back to that electric moment when they’d first touched. From her shocked expression, he knew he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt that thrill of discovery.

She could have backed away from him then, but she’d joined him on the dance floor. He knew that she could have easily put some distance between them. Instead she allowed him to press her body against his as they moved in time to the music. It flitted through his thoughts that she might be having the same problems as he was.

His mind ventured further into forbidden territory. Could you go to jail for kissing a princess?

Probably. But that wouldn’t happen unless she made a fuss later. And if he kissed her, he’d make sure she had nothing to complain about.

He looked around the reception room, seeing men and women enjoying themselves. Polite enjoyment. Nothing you couldn’t show on the late news this evening.

He, on the other hand, was going up in flames on the dance floor.

So was there any chance in hell of getting her off alone, without that muscle-bound bodyguard hovering over them?

To do what? Steal a few kisses? That wouldn’t be enough. Not hardly. But he’d probably have to settle for mouth-to-mouth intimacy.

He stopped thinking about the wisdom of his decision as he moved them across the dance floor, putting as many couples as possible between Ariana and the hulking Manfred.

He looked toward the balcony. If they went out there, they’d be alone. Of course, the huge windows were a problem. But if they moved around the corner, they’d be blocked by a wall.

He had almost reached his goal when the lights flickered out again.

Ariana straightened and drew in a small breath.

“They came back on last time,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Give it a minute,” he said reassuringly, hoping that this was another false alarm.

He waited with his heart pounding inside his chest. When the lights stayed out, he knew that the first flickering of the electricity had only been a warning of worse to come.

Because this was the disaster he had sensed was coming his way when he’d first stepped into the reception hall.

Chapter Three

Maybe this was just another snafu on the part of Boston Power and Light. Or maybe it wasn’t.

Regardless, the blackout was an instant security nightmare.

Shane wondered what FBI agent Ben Parker was thinking now. He’d been so sure that everything was under control when the lights had come back on. At the moment, he must be struggling for bladder control.

Shane looked at the foreign dignitaries around him, now visible only in shadow. With President Stack and Vice President Davis in attendance, the building, he knew, would be on lockdown. Nobody was going in or out until the Secret Service said it was safe to move.

Unless it turned out there was some hidden danger right here in this room. Like a bomb.

Various scenarios flashed through his mind as he instinctively moved to protect the woman in his arms.

He inclined his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “We have to get out of the middle of the floor.”

“Yes.”

Obviously she’d had disaster training, and she made no protest as he led her toward the side of the dance floor.

She turned her head to say in a low voice, “I’ve got to get back to Manfred.”

“Not yet. It’s too dangerous to move around until we know what’s going on and how the people here react.”

She raised her head, and he saw her taking in the room and the suddenly darkened world beyond the Hancock Tower.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Last time, it was a minor problem at the power company,” he answered. He didn’t want to alarm Ariana, but he’d had a bad feeling about this reception, and he wished he’d paid attention to his instincts.

At the moment, his gut was telling him that the blackout wasn’t the result of faulty power-company equipment. The emergency was focused on this building. This event.

Nervous chatter had broken out among the guests at the party, and Shane was pretty sure that the Secret Service had already gotten the president and vice president into a secure location.

But he recognized the symptoms of panic and knew the crowd was on the verge of chaos. As if to prove the point, one of the female guests started screaming.

“Stop it!” a man shouted.

Ignoring him, she broke away from the crowd and ran toward the balcony doors.

“Dora, come back,” her companion ordered, then rushed after her.

Still too panicked, she flung the doors open and dashed outside.

“You have to get her back in,” Ariana whispered. “Before she does something…dangerous.”

Shane was torn. He wanted to stay by the princess, in case the formally dressed men and women here turned into a mob. Before he was forced to make a decision, Secret Service agents grabbed the escapee and dragged her back inside.

One of the agents raised his voice. “Everybody, stay cool. We have the situation under control.”

Let’s hope so, Shane muttered to himself.

In the flickering light from one of the candles, Shane recognized a tall man standing near him. It was another one of the agents who had earlier spread out through the crowd. “Shane Peters, from Executive Security,” he said, as though he were on assignment here and not just one of the guests. “I have Princess Ariana LeBron with me. Can you give me a status report?”

“My communications networks say that the blackout has hit the entire city,” the man said. “And many of the suburban areas.”

“I think it’s focused on this reception,” Shane answered, pitching his voice low so as not to further alarm anybody nearby.

“How could that be? The whole city’s involved,” the man snapped.

“It’s a diversionary tactic,” Shane answered. “And it keeps rescue operations from zeroing in on us.”

“Interesting scenario,” the agent said, then took several steps away, cutting off the conversation and signaling what he thought of Shane’s theory.

Shane swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. It made him furious when people who should know better had tunnel vision.

Next to him, Ariana shuddered, and he turned his attention back to her. “You think we’re under attack?” she whispered.

He stroked a hand slowly along her arm, feeling the goose bumps that peppered her skin. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “I hope not. But I think we have to act that way. Stay with me.”

“All right.”

Reaching down, he linked his fingers with hers. Her hand was even colder than her arm, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“We have to get out of here,” she murmured.

He signaled his regret by the tone of his voice. “I don’t think we can. The building’s no doubt on lockdown.”

She sucked in a strangled breath. “How long do we have to stay in this room?”

“Until the power comes back on. But believe me, it’s not any safer outside the building. There’ll be cars stuck, traffic jams, road rage, looters and people going berserk because they’re terrified that this is another terrorist attack.”

Her voice turned high and strained. “Do you think it is a terrorist attack?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

As if to confirm his grim assessment of the situation, the sound of several car horns drifted toward them from the street, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

Ariana shuddered. “That was a gun.”

“Yes.”

She kept her face straight ahead and spoke in a low voice. “Are you armed?”

He suppressed a frustrated sound. “I wish I were. But I couldn’t get through security with a weapon.”

“So you’re not on duty tonight.”

“No. I’m just a guest.”

Before he could make another comment, his phone vibrated again, reminding him that he’d received a text message earlier and had ignored it because he’d been too focused on Ariana.

Pulling out his phone, he flipped up the top and read the message.

Are you afraid of the dark?

“What is it?” Ariana asked. “Something to do with the blackout?”

“I think so.”

Ariana tipped the phone toward her and read the message. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“No other messages?” she asked sharply.

He shook his head and grimaced in the darkness. “My phone vibrated while we were dancing. I ignored it.”

She could have come back with the comment that he should have been tending to business. But before she could say anything, the door to the kitchen opened with a loud thud.

Everybody in the room turned toward the sound. In the flickering glow from the candlelight, they could see that four tuxedoed men had entered the room and slammed the door behind them to draw attention to their presence.

When one of them briefly turned on a flashlight, everybody in the room saw that he and his companions were armed with assault weapons and night-vision goggles.

“All of you into the center of the room!” he shouted, his voice a grating command.

Instead of obeying, people went stock-still. Stunned silence was followed by a babble of voices.

Once again, the man’s command cut through the noise. “Into the center of the room if you don’t want to get hurt!”

Frozen in place, Ariana whispered, “Mon Dieu.”

Shane shared the sentiment, but he had no intention of letting her be herded into a central location, since he had no idea what the men with assault weapons intended.

“Come on,” he whispered.

They were in the wrong part of the room to try for the main entrance, and the gunmen were blocking the kitchen door. But he had another idea.

Taking Ariana’s hand again, he lost no time in tugging her away from the crowd and toward a space he’d found when he’d searched the room last night.

It was a slot in the wall where room dividers had once been folded when not in use. The dividers had been removed from the reception area, but the slot remained, and Shane hoped to hell it would make a good hiding place.

As he moved Ariana swiftly through the crowd, he could imagine what Ty Jones and the other Secret Service agents were doing right now. Could they get the president and vice president out of the reception area? Or were they stuck with his method of hiding and hoping for the best?

One more question about Ty circled in Shane’s mind. Had his old friend gotten the same text message? Are you afraid of the dark?

Various scenarios raged through his thoughts as the armed men ruthlessly herded the guests into the center of the room.

Shouts of “Move it!” and “Hurry up,” were accompanied by hard shoves.

When an older man stumbled, one of the assailants kicked him and ordered him onto his feet.

“My heart,” the victim shouted.

“Quiet! Move.”

The man scrambled up, and Shane wondered if the guy was going to make it out of the room alive—whether or not the bad guys shot him.

Who were these guys, anyway? And how had they gotten past the tight security and into the reception?

His mind flashed to the waitstaff that had earlier been passing champagne and canapés. Had these four men come in with the catering company? On the face of it, the plan seemed damned ballsy. But he knew that these thugs had done something few men would attempt at a reception attended by both the president and the vice president of the United States.

They must have been up here previously casing the tower. With part of his mind, Shane wondered what would have happened if he’d run into them yesterday.

That was then and this was now.

In the darkness, Shane kept moving, pulling Ariana away from the center of the action. Yet he couldn’t keep a tiny doubt from creeping into his mind. Was he going the right way or turned around in the dark?

What if he was actually putting Ariana in more danger?

He led her along the wall, praying that he knew where he was going.

His tension grew as the seconds ticked by and he didn’t come to the slot in the wall. Then finally his fingers brushed against the edge of the hiding place he’d discovered yesterday. Breathing out a small sigh, he stopped short.

“Right here,” he whispered as he moved Ariana into the narrow opening in the wall, hoping that the dark would hide them when the assailants did a thorough search of the room, which they surely would as soon as they had better control over the crowd.

He followed Ariana into the opening, then turned to face the middle of the room again. One of the armed men was shouting another order to the formally dressed herd. “Put out the candles on the table.”

Nobody moved.

In the next second, a burst of automatic-weapons fire split the air. One of the male guests went down, groaning. Shouts and screams erupted throughout the reception area.

“It’s the ambassador from Wintonia,” someone gasped out. “He needs a doctor.”

“Leave him!” The order came from the captor who was directing the action.

Behind Shane, Ariana made a gagging sound. Shane turned and cupped her head, pressing her face against his chest as he stroked her back. She was trembling, but he felt her struggling to control herself.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispered.

Although she nodded against his chest, he wondered if she really believed him. More important, did he believe it himself?

“Hang tight,” he murmured.

“I’m trying.”

He gathered her closer, cradling her delicate body in his arms. “Pretend we’re still dancing.”

“Oh sure.”

Because he knew it would distract her, he said, “I kept hoping I could get you off by yourself. I wasn’t looking for this particular excuse.”

“I knew you were thinking about it,” she answered.

He nuzzled his lips against the top of her head. “So what would you like to do with me?”

“I’m too well trained to tell you my fantasies.”

“You should learn to go with the flow.”

The banter helped temporarily, until the gunman-in-chief issued another order.

“Shut up and put out the candles before I take out someone else.”

Shane turned halfway around so that he could see the room.

This time, people scrambled frantically to obey, and the room went from candlelit to gloomy. Now the only light came from the moon.

A woman went down on her knees beside the ambassador.

“He’s dead. You killed him,” she sobbed.

“Quiet. Or you’ll be dead, too,” one of the armed men barked out.

The woman tried to muffle her sobs as a man lifted her up and pulled her away, but Shane could still hear her weeping. He wondered if she was going to survive the night. Or if he and Ariana would, for that matter.

“Hands up. Nobody move.”

Obedient in their fright, everybody in the center of the room raised their hands and stood still.

Shane could only see shadows now, but he imagined the men with the night-vision goggles looking like figures out of a horror movie.

“I’m speaking to the Secret Service now,” the chief gunman said. “Three people have already been killed. Take out your weapons and put them on the floor or more innocent people will die. If you want that on your heads, then stand there like dummies.”

Nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the whisper of sidearms being drawn from concealed holsters.

As he strained his eyes and listened, Shane assessed his chances of acquiring one of those weapons. Not good. Not when the opposition could see the room perfectly, and he had only moonlight to guide him in a room full of frightened people who were ready to go into panic mode.

A few moments ago they had been happily celebrating an international trade agreement. Now they were living their worst nightmare.

“Okay. Now, to the Secret Service and everybody else, take out your cell phones, walkie-talkies, any other communication devices. Drop them.”

Again, the crowd obeyed. He heard cell phones hitting the floor all over the room. He still had his own phone—for all the good it did him. The authorities must know what was going on at the top of the Hancock Tower. If they could mount a rescue attempt, they would.

On the other hand, maybe he’d be able to give the police some information. He could always dial 911. Or he could contact his brother, Chase, who might be downstairs in one of the limousines parked along the curb. But he couldn’t risk making a call until he got Ariana out of the reception room.

He turned back to her, gathering her close, and he realized that she had stopped trembling.

When he shifted his stance, she raised her head. “Je suis bien.”

He knew she wasn’t really okay. But she was showing her royal training and her moral fiber. How many women would have remembered to reassure the guy in hiding with her?

“Uh-huh,” he whispered. She had to be scared out of her mind, but at least the darkness had spared her the sight of the ambassador getting killed. Or maybe the darkness had made it worse.

His mind scrambled frantically for a plan that would keep her safe.

The men out there were obviously ruthless. Obviously willing to kill to get what they wanted. And he didn’t even know what that was yet. The sounds outside their hiding place told him the captors were gathering up the discarded weapons and cell phones.

A man in the crowd voiced Shane’s thoughts. “What do you want?”

None of the captors spoke. Instead, the question was answered with a burst of gunfire. Another one of the guests screamed and fell to the ground, and Ariana cringed.

“Steady,” he whispered.

Outside their hiding place, something else was happening. Again he turned, and movement in the reception area riveted his attention. Two of the captors were silently and slowly moving around the walls, checking for anybody who hadn’t followed directions and gathered in the center of the room.

He felt his jaw muscles clench. Had he pulled Ariana into a death trap?

Praying that their hiding place would be undetectable, Shane quickly drew the princess farther back into the niche in the wall. When he came to the recess where the mechanism for the folding walls had been removed, he eased her into the tiny space, then followed her inside. It was a tight squeeze, and he had to hold her against his body so that her breasts were crushed against his chest.

Her breath was shallow, and he wanted to say something reassuring, but he’d run out of quips. Besides, talking was no longer an option with the gunman so close.

As footsteps came toward them, he felt Ariana tense.

The fight-or-flight reaction.

His own muscles were strung as tightly as coiled springs, but he knew there was little an unarmed man could do when he was standing twenty feet away from an assailant with an itchy finger on the trigger of a submachine gun. A man who had already killed much too casually.

Maybe the only advantage Shane had was surprise. From an inside pocket in his tuxedo jacket, he withdrew a small folding knife. Designed to pass through a metal detector, it was made of very thin plastic. He opened it and held it in his hand, prepared to slash at the gunman if he got the chance. It was a pitiful strategy, but his only option at the moment.

As the footsteps came toward them, he prepared to spring. The man stopped at the niche in the wall, and Shane pictured him staring inside, his night-vision goggles giving him an excellent view of the narrow space. He wondered if his tuxedo jacket was sticking out. Or maybe his shoe. He wanted to inch closer to Ariana, but he knew that any movement would be a fatal mistake. So he stood there with his breath frozen in his lungs.

The man took a step into the crevice, and Shane almost whirled and lunged with the knife.

Gritting his teeth, he held his breath and forced himself to keep cool. After seconds that felt like centuries, he heard the man take a step back, then another. But he remained in front of their hiding place for what seemed like eons. Finally, he moved on, and Shane let the breath trickle out of his lungs.

He heard Ariana doing the same.

“All secure,” one of the armed men reported to his leader.

That’s what you think, you bastard.

Ariana’s fingers dug into the arm of his tuxedo jacket. “Hang in there,” he whispered.

“What do they want?” she asked, her voice wispy.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon,” he answered in the same barely audible voice.

“This could be like that school in Russia. Did the captives ever know why they were being held?”

“Maybe not,” he conceded.

He’d like to think this was about money. Or power. He suspected the motive was going to be a lot worse.

He felt Ariana shift her body. “Could you give me a little breathing room?” she whispered.

“Of course.”

He needed some breathing room himself. On the dance floor, he’d been all wrapped up in the intimacy of holding her so close. Now the proximity was only adding to his uneasy feeling.

He needed to clear his head and think. Reluctantly, he stepped away from her and took a breath.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

“Where are you going?” she asked quickly, tension quivering in her voice.

He gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Not far. To see if I can find out what’s going on. Stay here—you’ll be okay.”

Quietly he walked to the front of the crevice, then he got down on his hands and knees.

Round tables with long white skirts were scattered around the room, and he used one of them to shield himself as he tried to get a better handle on the situation.

Out in the reception room, one of the captors spoke again. He’d put on a gas mask, which muffled his voice. But the message was all too clear.

“There is no escape from the reception area. If you try to leave, you will activate our fail safe system, releasing cyanide gas into the room. Everyone here will die, except for the four of us who are equipped with gas masks.”

Cyanide gas.

As the words assaulted Shane, he felt a shudder go through his body. And not just because he knew the effects of the deadly poison. He remembered once before when he’d been in a dangerous situation and cyanide gas had been an important part of the equation. It was on that long-ago mission to Barik when everything had suddenly gone bad.

Oh, Lord. Was that what tonight was all about?

It couldn’t be. Yet even as he tried to downplay the importance of this new element, he was thinking about the man on the team he hadn’t mentioned to Ariana.

Liam Shea had been one of the players. And he was the reason the mission had turned from a smooth-running covert operation into a horror show.

After they’d gone in, Shea was supposed to wait for a visual signal, but he’d reacted too fast. He’d cut the power to the complex before the rest of the team had been ready. His premature action had resulted in the death of the U.S. secretary of state and some innocent citizens.

He’d been court-martialed, dishonorably discharged and sent to jail for the screwup, though he’d maintained all along that someone had given him the visual signal.

Because methodical habits had saved Shane’s life more than once, he had kept tabs on Shea over the years. Not that he’d thought the man was going to come after him. Still, he knew exactly when Shea had gotten out of prison.

And he knew that the jailbird hadn’t stayed around. He’d gone underground almost as soon as the prison gates had closed behind him.

Shane had thought it was because he was no longer equipped to function in society. Now he wondered if Shea had had big plans that he hadn’t wanted to reveal.

Was he back now, out for the sickest kind of revenge his twisted mind could conceive?

Shane crawled to his right and craned his neck, trying to get a good look at the leader of the men who had set up this terrifyingly well-executed scenario.

He couldn’t tell if it was Liam Shea. In the goggles and gas mask the man was unidentifiable.

Plus, Shane hadn’t seen Shea in years. On the mission the man had been one of the older members. Then he’d been locked away, which had probably sped up his aging. Shane wondered if he’d even recognize Shea.

Shea had insisted all along that he was innocent, but the court hadn’t believed him. So was this the desperate act of an innocent man who had decided the only way he’d get justice was through revenge?

If so, who were the men with him?

He’d had three sons, Shane remembered. Could he have convinced them to go along with his revenge plot? Were they so loyal to their father that they were willing to kill for him?

Of course, that brought up a whole other issue. If Liam Shea had really been innocent, who had made him the fall guy for the failed rescue attempt?

There had been eight men on the mission, although one of them—Commander Tom Bradley—was dead now.

The four who had joined Shane in Eclipse were above suspicion. He would trust any one of them with his life.

Yet a lot of them were here tonight, he suddenly realized, as he put the evening into a different context.

Chase might be outside in one of the limousines. Ty was guarding the vice president. Only Ethan was absent. But Shane knew he was in Boston, suffering in the same blackout as the rest of them. Maybe he was frantically trying to protect his young son from dangers Shane could only imagine.

Another man who had been on the mission was Vice President Grant Davis. He was here tonight, too. The eighth member of the team, King Frederick of Beau Pays, was absent, but his daughter was standing in for him tonight.

Maybe they’d all been brought here on purpose. And maybe that would work to Shane’s advantage.

Perhaps he and Ty could do something if they could link up…

Shane balled his hands into fists. He was getting way ahead of himself. This wasn’t an Eclipse operation. There might be a room full of people at risk, but Ty had to focus on his primary duty: protecting Vice President Davis.

Hopefully, he’d already gotten Davis out of the building.

Which meant that Shane was on his own.

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