Forever Betrayed: Forever Bluegrass #3 (2 page)

Keeneston wasn’t exactly set up to host something this size, but the residents were pitching in to help. Main Street in Keeneston had been scrubbed, literally. The windows sparkled, the paint of the historic buildings lining the street had been touched up, and flowers overflowed from the bourbon barrels outside the shops and in the baskets hanging on every lamppost. Every storefront was also meticulously decorated with local items.

The Keeneston Belles, a charitable organization of unmarried women, who just happened to all be former cheerleaders and prom queens and who all shared the similar interest of marrying the best and brightest bachelors, had volunteered to give tours of Keeneston to the media, staff, and diplomats. The Keeneston Ladies, which consisted of former Belles who had landed advantageous marriages, had made welcome baskets for everyone. High school students and college students back in town for the summer were all on hand to serve as waitstaff at the Blossom Café, the only place to eat in town, and at Desert Farm, where Zain grew up and still lived. They would also provide taxi services when needed.

After he and Gabe graduated from college, they moved into a separate, smaller house on the property. Gosh knows he loved his mother, but when she started asking where he was going all the time, he figured the move was called for. Especially when she started asking if he was meeting any girls. His mother's antics had only grown worse over the years. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dani threw in the towel and just arranged a marriage solely so she could have grandchildren. It was a Keeneston epidemic. Now that some of his friends were married, the rest of the young adults were no longer safe.

Zain closed his laptop and a second later his eyes also closed. His mind drifted to his newly married friends. Maybe having someone to handle the pressure of the crown with, someone to be his partner, someone to love, wouldn’t be so bad. Of course he’d die before he admitted that anywhere besides in his dreams.

CHAPTER TWO

Washington, D.C. 

Mila heard the phone from where her head was buried under a pillow. If she just ignored it she could probably get back to sleep. But it didn’t stop. She snaked her arm out and fumbled around until her fingers closed over the phone. As a contract interpreter, she was on the clock more than she was off. And the previous night had been no different. She had accompanied the German ambassador to the United States to a party until three in the morning and didn’t get home until almost four. While the ambassador spoke English, he always insisted on bringing her with him. He claimed it was so he wouldn’t miss something. But Mila was pretty sure he just liked having her on his arm so he wouldn’t have to bother finding a date to those functions.

“Hello?” Mila mumbled from under the pillow.

“Ms. Thiessen?” a soft, but authoritative voice asked.

Mila sighed and gave up hope of sleeping. She shoved back the wavy mess of dark-walnut hair from her mascara-smeared eyes. “This is she.”

“Good morning. I’m Veronica Pritchard calling on behalf of His Royal Highness, Zain Ali Rahman. I know it is early, but you were recommended to me as a German interpreter and I desperately need one for a summit the prince is hosting in Kentucky next week.”

“Whom would I be interpreting for?” Mila asked as she grabbed a notepad.

“The German chancellor, Karl Hartmann.”

Mila blinked as the pen froze on the paper. She had been born into a political family. Her father had been a diplomat who was sent to work with German ambassadors all over the world. Her childhood was filled with living in various countries for a year or two before being moved to the next one. It’s how she developed her knack for languages.  Mila had decided to go to college in the United States while her father continued climbing the ladder in embassy assignments. She majored in German, which was kind of a cheat since she was German. But she had additional majors in English, Arabic, and French. So far, there wasn’t a language that she couldn’t pick up.

Using her father’s connections, she traveled the world as an interpreter for German diplomats. For the last two years, she had settled in Washington, D.C. to work mostly with the embassy. Getting an assignment to interpret for the chancellor was something you didn’t turn down.

“What happened to his usual interpreter?”

“When his secretary wrote to inform us of the chancellor’s attendance, she informed me his regular interpreter was in the hospital recovering from surgery. That’s all the details I have.”

“What are the dates?” Mila asked as she pulled up her calendar. She had a couple of small parties to attend with the ambassador, but she could find a replacement. Even he would understand why she needed to go.

“Monday through Wednesday.”

“Where?” Mila asked as panic set in. That was this coming week. She usually needed at least a week to prepare for events like this, not two days.

“Keeneston, Kentucky. It’s outside of Lexington,” Veronica responded.

“That’s different,” Mila thought as she wrote everything down. Veronica chuckled and Mila realized she had spoken out loud.

“Prince Zain wished for this conference to be casual so the leaders felt relaxed enough to openly discuss the issues. Will you be able to do it?”

“Yes, I’ll clear my calendar and catch a flight out today. I assume you have a booth space. Do I need to bring anything with me?” Mila asked, thinking of the soundproof booths most interpreters worked in during conferences.

“No. As I said, this will be casual. There will only be fifteen leaders present and seven interpreters. When we’re all together, we will need simultaneous conference interpretation without equipment. At other times, it will be either whispered or short consecutive interpreting in smaller group settings, whichever the leaders choose,” Veronica explained as she rattled off more details.

Mila took notes and asked all the questions she needed. Before long, her email dinged. Veronica had sent her the contract, the security application, and confidentiality agreement. The paperwork would have to be run, security checks made, and her life researched, all before Veronica counter-signed the contract.

“When your clearances are verified and we’ve both signed the contract, I’ll send you the information packet containing the speeches, the topics of discussion, and the other information we have gathered for the interpreters. Do you have any questions?”

Mila looked over her notes. “No. I’ll start on the paperwork immediately.”

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Thiessen.”

Mila hung up and flung the sheets off. She had a folder with copies of her identifications, security clearances, references, and other background information that she had become accustomed to supplying. Mila pulled them out as she printed the email from Veronica and made a call to find a replacement for the parties she already had planned. Just as she thought, the ambassador didn’t mind. Especially when he found out Heidi was replacing her.

As soon as the paperwork had been sent off and her bag was packed, she sat cross-legged on her couch with her laptop and typed
Keeneston
in the search bar. Part of her job was to assure she knew all the local customs so that the chancellor wouldn’t unknowingly make a social faux pas. A picture of a small town popped up on the website for
The Keeneston Journal
. Mila clicked it and started reading the latest issue of the weekly paper.

Keeneston Prepares for International Summit at Desert Farm
was the top headline. Mila read through the article focused mostly on the Ali Rahman family and their ties to Keeneston. She read which diplomats were attending and saw that the summit was focusing on easing geopolitical tension and finding a way for these countries to work together on issues such as cyber attacks and disease outbreaks. Mila scrolled down farther and found a picture of the host, Zain Ali Rahman. He was younger than she expected—probably just a year or so older than her twenty-eight years. Mila knew of King Dirar and had heard of his brother, Mohtadi, who resided in the United States. Apparently Mohtadi’s son was taking over the family's politics. She’d also heard of his brother, Gabriel, who was routinely in the tabloids for the famous women he was dating. Zain flew under the radar more times than not.

She looked at the smiling face, the dark-brown hair cut short, dark eyes, and a strong jaw accented by the tiniest amount of stubble. The jeans that hung low on his waist and the tight black T-shirt showed that the prince actually used his muscles, and wow, those were some nice muscles. Zain was one sexy prince. The kind fairy tales were told about. The woman in the photo certainly appeared to smile at him as if he hung the moon.
Abigail Mueez and Zain Ali Rahman win the three-legged race at the Keeneston Fourth of July Celebration
was the caption under the photo.

The woman was a beauty. Mila could see that the Caribbean-blue eyes held adoration for the prince even under the fashionable shaggy bangs of her dark-brunette hair. Zain’s arm was around her waist as he held her close and smiled down into her face. Mila wrote down Abigail’s name on her notebook. If the prince’s girlfriend were around, the chancellor would need to know about her.

Mila clicked back to the main page of the newspaper and blinked. Listed between the winners of the baking contest and the next club meeting was an article titled
Mystery Panties Found Hanging From Water Tower.
Mila couldn’t stop herself from clicking on the story.

For the second night in a row, women’s panties have been found hanging around Keeneston. The first report came from Mrs. Jenkins as she walked home from her quilting group Friday evening at nine. The black lace panties were found hanging on a tree limb in Keeneston Park. Newly hired Sheriff Deputy Cody Gray took the report but was unsure if any actual laws had been broken. “Maybe littering?” Deputy Gray told this reporter. But that wasn’t the end of the panty parade. When the Keeneston Ladies Group arrived at the water tower early Sunday afternoon armed with the Keeneston High School football team and thirty gallons of paint to spruce up the water tower for the upcoming summit, a pair of bright blue silk panties were found hanging from the ladder. As senior quarterback Eric Riviera noted, “At least she appears to be a University of Kentucky fan.” For now, the mystery remains. Who is this woman, and why is she losing her panties? If you have any information, please contact Deputy Gray at the sheriff’s office.

Mila snorted as she looked at a picture of the offending panties posted in the article. She didn’t know how to process what she was reading. Winners of baking contests, garden club meetings, Keeneston Ladies meetings, and other announcements filled the newspaper. Then there was the Blossom Café Insider. That section appeared to run Vegas odds. It was certainly different from the D.C., London, New York, Dubai, and Berlin papers she read almost daily. Mila made note of the local winner of the bake-off just in case she was presented to the chancellor as some sort of local celebrity. Next, she went back to the search results for Keeneston and dug up old articles that had made larger newspapers.

An hour later, Mila was thoroughly confused about this small town. It seemed as if it were just Small Town, USA, but the news that trickled out of there was anything but normal. A year and half ago, Dr. Sienna Ashton, now known as Dr. Parker after her wedding to FBI Agent Ryan Parker, was not only a witness to the murder of an NFL player, but helped catch the killer with her future husband, also from Keeneston. Sydney Davies and her new private investigator husband, Deacon McKnight, were crucial to stopping a sex trafficking ring at the National Championship Game. Articles like this went back decades. The town’s lawyer brought down a corruption ring in New York City that’s still talked about, a sheriff’s deputy apprehended a new drug designer, and that was all before the international black market bust. Not to mention the head of the local school's PTA mowing down an assassin.

Mila answered her ringing phone as she kept her eyes on a picture of four old women with shocking white hair. They held a broom, a wooden spoon, a spatula, and one had a gun as big as Dirty Harry’s. In the article, they were described as having attacked a man with pots and pans.

“Hello?” Mila murmured as she scrolled down the article.

“Hello, Ms. Thiessen, it’s Veronica with the prince’s office. We’re happy to say you have passed all of our clearances. When do you think you will be arriving? We can have someone meet you at the airport.”

Mila blinked at the scariest man she’d ever seen and a woman with long strawberry-blond hair, both wearing black SWAT attire with a police dog sitting in front of them. “What kind of town is this? Do I need a bodyguard? Will there be enough security for the chancellor?”

Mila heard Veronica chuckling over the phone. “I forget interpreters do more research than most security details. Really, I promise, Keeneston is perfectly safe. And boring. Nothing ever happens here.”

“International terrorism, assassins, murder!” Mila squawked with disbelief.

Veronica
tsked
. “That was so long ago. I promise, there is no place safer in the world than Keeneston. So, what time is your flight?”

Mila shook her head to clear the articles from her mind as she closed her laptop. “I can be there by five tonight.”

“Perfect. Someone will meet you at the airport. I got you the last room at the Blossom B&B on Maple Street. I’m sending you the press packet now for your review. I look forward to meeting with you soon. You have my phone number. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

Mila hung up with Veronica and slid her laptop into her oversized purse. This would be fine. After all, interpreters were invisible. No one ever saw them, even as they translated some of the most famous speeches in history. No one ever shoots the interpreter.

Two hours later, Mila was on a plane headed for Lexington. The press packet had been reviewed, and Mila was positive she knew everyone involved in the summit. She rubbed her hand over her face and shoved an errant lock of hair from her eye. This trip had the potential to be a great political win or a complete disaster. The outcome rested solely on Prince Zain and how he handled his “coming out” into the highest level of diplomacy.