Alec's Royal Assignment (Man On A Mission Book 3) (14 page)

The king just stared at Alec for a moment without saying anything. “Do not take this the wrong way,” he said finally, “but if you ever have children, you will understand a father’s love for his child far better than you do now. You will understand the blinding rage a father can feel when his child is threatened...
and
the desire for revenge.”

A tiny pang went through Alec at the king’s words. A yearning for something he’d never realized was so strong in him.
If I ever have children,
he thought, his mind veering off onto a tangent with an impossible dream in the hazy distance. Angel. And children.
If. If. If.

But the king wasn’t done, and Alec pulled his attention back with an effort. “But my son is only one,” the king said now, his face hardening and his voice turning frigid. “The Zakharian women who were trafficked are many. My subjects, Special Agent Jones. My
people.
Zakharians I have sworn to care for as if
they
are my children.” He paused until he knew Alec grasped the depth and gravity of his concern. “Both cases are equally important to me. As long as Vishenko pays for his crimes, that is all I care about. Do we understand each other?”

Alec’s admiration for the man in front of him rose once again. “Yes, sir. And for what it’s worth, if I have anything to say about it, Vishenko is going down.
How
he goes down is up to him. But he’s going down.”

* * *

The sun was high in the sky in Denver, Colorado. It had snowed the night before, covering the earth with a powdering of snow that made the world seem fresh and new, but now the snow had turned to slush, making walking chancy at best. Caterina Mateja was carefully picking her way to the bus stop to catch a bus that would take her to the second of her three housecleaning jobs that day.

But Caterina—who was known to her employers as Cate Jones because she’d wanted a common American name that wouldn’t be remembered—wasn’t really thinking about where she was putting her feet. She was adding up in her mind everything she would be paid today and what she had to budget for out of those wages.

Cate always insisted on being paid in cash, accepting with a fatalistic shrug the fact that she wasn’t accumulating any credits in the American social security system. She didn’t have a social security number anyway—she wasn’t in this country legally, having long overstayed her temporary work visa. Which, she thought now with a cynical smile, had been fraudulently obtained to begin with. She hadn’t known that at the time. Her supposed agent for the modeling contract she’d signed had arranged everything.
Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about,
he’d told her.
I will take care of it.

But she couldn’t fret about that. Couldn’t change it, either. She was here in the States, with nowhere else to go. She couldn’t go back to Zakhar—she had no passport. She’d frantically searched for it before running, but eventually she’d been forced to flee without it. And she had nothing to prove her identity, even if she’d ever considered applying to the Zakharian embassy—which she hadn’t. Not just because she feared for her life should Aleksandrov Vishenko ever find out where she was, but because she could never return home. Could never face her family, her friends, after what she’d survived. Not even her cousin Angelina would welcome her back if she knew the truth.

She had to earn money to keep a roof over her head, food in her stomach and clothes on her back—warmer clothes, now that winter was here. She needed a new winter jacket. Well, new to her. She shopped at thrift stores for her clothes, and her next winter jacket would be no exception. If she was careful with her money, she might even be able to afford a pair of boots that weren’t too worn. A pair that would last the winter, and wouldn’t leak as her current boots did.

Maybe I should have picked somewhere warmer,
Cate thought now.
One of the southwestern states.
But she’d been worried that in states adjacent to the Mexican border, she’d face stiff competition with other illegal immigrants for jobs that paid under the table. And she’d been homesick. She hadn’t realized it until she’d stepped down from the interstate bus that had brought her to Denver, but the mountains outside Denver reminded her poignantly of Zakhar. There were times she almost felt at home here.

Caterina hadn’t gone by her real name in so long, she didn’t answer to it anymore. So she didn’t even turn around when a harsh voice called out her name from across the street, didn’t respond as if the name had anything to do with her. But it did register in her consciousness. And she knew she had mere seconds to escape death.

She continued on her way toward the bus stop with forced nonchalance, but then darted down a side alley so quickly the gunman who’d been following her was taken off guard. She slipped and fell to her knees as bullets hit the building above her head, and a ricochet sent a shower of concrete dust over the space she’d so recently occupied. Desperate, she scrambled to her feet and turned the corner, her heart pounding in her chest.

Another hail of bullets echoed through the street and rattled off the side of the building. But Caterina was no longer there. And when the gunman reached the alleyway, she was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 14

A
ngelina waited for Alec outside the conference room. Princess Mara’s husband, Trace McKinnon, leaned leisurely against the wall, his hands in his pockets, also waiting. But his eyes were constantly on the move. And when Major Branko approached her, he straightened. It was a little thing, but telling. So was the way he removed his hands from his pockets oh so casually. She smiled to herself.
Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard,
she thought.
It is in the blood. Even when there is no need, a bodyguard cannot help being alert. Like a bloodhound on the scent.

“Lieutenant Mateja?” Major Branko’s voice was low, pitched to carry no farther than the two of them, but as Angelina came to attention, she was aware Trace McKinnon could hear every word.

“Yes, Major?”

“Were you or were you not given a direct order by Major Kostya to keep certain information to yourself?”

“I was.” Her chin tilted up.

“Then how is it Special Agent Jones knows about Aleksandrov Vishenko and the
Bratva
?”

“Because I told him,” McKinnon said, moving toward them with an unhurried air.

Angelina could see Major Branko was torn. He obviously wanted to question her, possibly even reprimand her, but hadn’t expected the king’s brother-in-law to interfere. She glanced from one man to the other. If this wasn’t such a serious issue, she could have laughed. Both men were sizing each other up, looking for weaknesses in the other’s defenses as automatically as they breathed.

Part of her yearned to be like them. Intrepid. Nearly invincible. A challenge to other men just by their presence. But part of her was glad she
wasn’t
like them. Would either of them have been able to trick a confession out of Boris Tabor? No. Being a woman had its advantages.

The sound of the conference room door opening abruptly made Angelina turn toward it, just as Alec walked through the door.
That is another advantage of being a woman,
she thought with a secret smile. She loved how he made her intensely aware of her feminine side. A side of herself she’d repressed for years, hidden from everyone except Alec. A wave of longing surged through her that she was hard-pressed to suppress, but she managed it.

He crossed the wide hallway to Angelina and McKinnon. “Thanks for waiting for me,” he told them. “Is there something I can do for you, Major? Because if not, the king is alone now, and I don’t think he should be.”

Major Branko cast Angelina a look that said,
We will continue this discussion another time, Lieutenant. When your
protectors
aren’t around.

Her returning glance said,
Anytime, Major. Anywhere.

“So what’s up?” McKinnon asked after Major Branko left. “Why’d you want me to wait for you?” He glanced at his watch. “Mara’s just about to put the twins to bed, and I like to be there when I can.” He grinned at Alec. “Fatherhood’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me...not counting the princess, of course. I highly recommend it.”

An enigmatic expression crossed Alec’s face, a look that intrigued Angelina, and she wondered what it meant. But all he said was, “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to set up a time and place for us to meet. Tomorrow morning okay with you? My office at the embassy, say, 8 a.m.?”

“Sure. Anything you want me to do ahead of time?”

“No, I’ll get the ball rolling on those seven names. Speaking of which, did you mean what you said in there about Keira?” He indicated the conference room with a thumb over his shoulder. “Will the agency really give us whatever we need, without the DSS or the State Department having to fill out reams of paperwork?”

The grin faded from McKinnon’s face. “I’ve known Nick D’Arcy since I got out of the Corps and joined the US Marshals Service,” he said. “Worked for him a lot of years, first as a marshal, then as a special agent when the agency was created, before he went to DC to head up the entire agency. I can’t think of anything D’Arcy would like more than to put Vishenko behind bars for a long time—preferably for life.

“I’ll call him to satisfy the legalities, ask him to send the official word through channels to Keira, delegating her to assist you and me in this investigation. But yeah. Keira, and anything else we ask for from the agency will be forthcoming. No problem.”

Alec watched McKinnon walk away at a pace that told him the other man was in a hurry to be there for his children’s bedtime. And just as the king’s words earlier had sent a pang through Alec’s heart at the unexpected vision of children—his children, Angel’s children—he realized with another shaft of pain he had no idea where Angelina stood on that subject. They’d never discussed it.

He could rationalize their relationship was too new—it wasn’t the sort of topic that popped up in conversation between a man and woman who were just beginning an intimate liaison.
Oh, by the way, how do you feel about kids?
wasn’t the question a man asked a woman right after he made love to her, even if he could manage to speak, which wasn’t all that likely. Rationalization aside, though, he didn’t know what Angelina’s answer would be, didn’t know if children factored into her future plans.

But even if she wanted them—even if she wanted them with
him
—he could never be an absentee father. And that was a huge deterrent. He might be able to reconcile having a long-distance relationship with Angelina after he was transferred—assuming she’d agree to something like that—but his conscience would never accept bringing children into the world who didn’t know they were wanted. Cherished. Loved. Study after study had proven fathers played a crucial role in the behavioral and mental development of children. And that meant
being
there for his children.

Yeah, sometimes fathers couldn’t be there when circumstances intervened. Military service, for instance. Soldiers couldn’t pick and choose their battles, couldn’t know when they’d be called up and sent overseas. But he couldn’t deliberately father children he knew in advance would grow up without him for the most part. No way.

Which meant either convincing Angelina to give up her job, give up her life for him—follow him to his next posting, and the next, and the next—or surrendering to the idea of never having children with her.

Neither choice was acceptable. Neither choice was one he wanted to live with. And what was even worse, he had no way of knowing Angelina’s opinion of either option because he was too afraid to ask.

* * *

Angelina and Alec left the palace separately. She knew he didn’t like it, could tell by his mulish expression that someday soon he would rebel against her determination to keep their affair secret from everyone who knew her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn’t like that word.
Affair
. Didn’t like the connotation. She and Alec weren’t having an affair. They were...

What are we?
she asked herself as she drove back to her apartment, where Alec would rendezvous with her after stopping off at his place for a change of clothes.
Lovers,
she settled on finally.
We are lovers.
That sounded a little better. “Affair” sounded cheap. Tawdry. “Lovers” sounded more acceptable. More permanent. Not as permanent as “husband and wife,” but...

That’s when it hit her. She didn’t want to be Alec’s lover. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted that commitment from him, and wanted to commit to him in return. She wanted
permanence.
That little band of gold signifying their pledge to each other to be true and faithful. She wanted forever and a day, like the legend upon which her country was built.

Alec had exploded into her life with the force of a bomb, changing everything. Including her. And now, the thing she’d long told herself she didn’t want, the thing she’d long reconciled herself to being unable to have...now she wanted it. Fervently.

Which meant only one thing. She was in love with Alec. Alec, who’d never said he loved her.

* * *

The first thing Alec did when he walked into his apartment was perform a quick electronic sweep. He’d never found any listening devices, but he always checked anyway—better safe than sorry. Then he glanced at his watch and mentally calculated the time difference between Zakhar and Denver, Colorado, where his sister worked. Satisfied he wouldn’t be calling too early or too late, he punched a series of numbers into his telephone and waited a little impatiently for the call to go through.

“Keira Walker,” came the crisp voice in his ear.

“Hey,” he replied. “It’s Alec.”

“Hey yourself. So how come you only call me when it’s work related? What kind of way is that to treat your only sister?”

“How’d you know?”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed her musical laugh. “Trace called Baker Street a half hour ago,” she said, using Nick D’Arcy’s nickname within the agency, a tip of the hat to Sherlock Holmes because D’Arcy was so omniscient. “Then Baker Street called me less than a minute after he hung up with Trace.”

“So he gave you the green light to help in this investigation?”

“And then some. His words were, ‘Whatever your brother asks for. And even if he doesn’t ask for it, if you think he needs it, give it to him. I’m not passing up the chance to take Vishenko down—not after all these years.’”

“Wow.” Alec laughed softly. “Remind me to thank him.”

“So, what do you need? Besides whatever there is to find on Aleksandrov Vishenko, which I’m already working on. Oh, and by the way, did you know the FBI has a wiretap warrant on Vishenko? A warrant that was recently extended?”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“If you had a need to know, Alec, I’d tell you. But you don’t. The agency has its own ways of finding things out. Just trust me when I tell you the warrant exists. Whatever they get from that wiretap, we’ll know.” That silenced him for a moment, until Keira repeated, “So what else do you need?”

“I’ve got seven names. I need everything you can find out about them. Work history, credit reports, financial data, bank accounts, especially any foreign bank accounts they might not want anyone to know about. You name it, I want it. And I want it yesterday.”

“No problem. Give me the list.”

He read the names and occupations from his notebook. “All except the first one used to be employed at the US embassy here in Drago. I have no idea where they’re posted, but if they were dirty here, it’s possible they’re doing something similar wherever they are now.”

“If they got away with it once...”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He hoped it wasn’t true, but the odds were against that. “The first name on the list is still here—make him your top priority,” he told his sister. “Because if there are still fraudulent work visas being sold through my embassy, he’s the guy. And I want to shut him down now.”

“Got it,” she said. “Any by the way, those foreign bank accounts they might not want anyone to know about? Shouldn’t be a problem. We can start digging without warrants, but at some point in this investigation you’re going to need one on each of your suspects. Especially for those bank accounts.”

Alec thought about it for a moment. “What are my options? I’m really concerned about this getting out. McKinnon said Vishenko used to have at least one FBI agent in his pocket, and still might for that matter. Not to mention who knows all else. I don’t want anyone to know they’re under investigation until the indictments come out, especially Vishenko.” While Alec knew that might not be possible, he at least wanted to maintain secrecy until Caterina Mateja was brought in safe and sound.

“Who knows about your investigation so far?”

“Besides the president and the secretary of state? And the king of Zakhar? Just a handful of people, including McKinnon and your husband. And now you and D’Arcy.”

“D’Arcy has connections at the Department of Justice. Let me give him a call, see who he wants to approach at the DOJ about this. I’m thinking you want wiretaps on all these people, not just Vishenko. Right?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah.”

Keira chuckled softly in his ear. “Well, Baker Street
did
tell me to give you whatever you need, even if you don’t know you need it,” she murmured. “I guess that counts as one you owe me,” she said, using terminology from their childhood. Then she became all business again. “You’re going to need evidence to substantiate your warrant requests. Do you have any?”

Alec remembered what he’d learned at the meeting earlier tonight. “I might. I’ll get McKinnon working on that first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds good. This is enough for me to start on. I’ll get back to you when I have anything to report. Encrypted reports sent to the embassy are okay? Or should I call?”

Alec thought rapidly. “Encrypted reports are probably okay, but call me before you send one so I know it’s on the way. Supposedly, the only men involved in the fraud at the embassy are the seven names I already gave you, but you never know. I’d rather err on the side of caution.”

“Works for me.”

Now that his business was finished, Alec glanced at his watch again and saw how late he was going to be, but still took a minute to ask, “So how’s my favorite niece?”

“Your
only
niece is a walking, talking nightmare, a disaster waiting to happen. I shudder to think what she’ll be like when she grows up. But don’t tell Cody I said so. She takes after her daddy in everything. She can charm her way out of anything—or at least she thinks she can—just by smiling that winsome smile.”

“Give her a kiss for me anyway.” Alec hung up the phone, smiling at the thought of Alyssa. If he could have a daughter like her...

* * *

Angelina parked her little red Fiat across the street from her apartment building, locked it and hurried inside. She was worried Alec might be there before her, but she had time to get her mail and ring for the elevator before Alec walked through the front door carrying a garment bag slung over one shoulder.

He crossed the foyer with his brisk stride, slid one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into his embrace for a long, lingering kiss. She thought about resisting for less than two seconds. Then she didn’t think at all. When he finally raised his head, he said, “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I left you at the palace.”