McKinnon's Royal Mission (14 page)

* * *

“I’ll be off this assignment by the end of the year,” Trace told Alec and Liam later that night. He’d asked them to join him in the guest house living room after the princess was in bed for the express purpose of sharing this news with them.

The two brothers exchanged startled glances, then Liam said, “Because of the tail on you.” A statement, not a question.

“Yeah. I didn’t tell you last night when I asked if anyone was following the princess when you’re guarding her. But I have reason to believe I might be the target, not her. There was a case—”

“The case where Keira was shot?” Alec broke in. “That one?”

Trace was glad he wasn’t going to have to go into detail because he wouldn’t have given them the specifics even if they’d asked. It was still a highly secret case, with
Need to know
stamped all over it. “Yeah. What do you know about it?”

Alec shrugged. “Not a hell of a lot. Keira clammed up when we asked her. Said she couldn’t talk about it, and Walker said the same thing. Pissed us off royally at the time. Keira’s our baby sister, and knowing she almost died, well...we understood the necessity for the secrecy surrounding that case in theory, but in practice it wasn’t easy accepting it. We didn’t like not knowing. Neither did our older brothers, Shane and Niall. We wanted to be sure nothing and no one was going to hurt Keira again.” His eyes hardened. “Even if we had to take matters into our own hands.” Alec paused, and the hard look about his eyes faded somewhat. “But that was a long time ago. Are you sure it’s the same organization?”

Trace shook his head. “No. Not sure at all. But I discussed it with Walker today, and he agrees it’s a strong possibility. Better safe than sorry, so he’s going to talk to the State Department about replacing me on this team no later than the end of the year. Sooner, if possible.”

“Does the princess know?” This from Liam.

“Not yet but she will, as soon as I have a definite date. I want to tell her myself, so please don’t let on to her that you know.” He thought for a moment. “Might be a good idea to tell her first thing tomorrow it’s possible she’s being followed. We don’t know if it’s true, and you should tell her that, too—we don’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. We just want to put her on her guard, especially since she’s driving herself. I’ve taught her a few defensive driving techniques I hope she’ll never need to use, but if she wants to practice them, let her. Just don’t say anything about me.”

Liam looked as if he was going to ask something, but he glanced at his brother who shook his head slightly. And Trace figured he knew what Liam and Alec were both thinking but wouldn’t ask.
How will the princess take the news?

Trace didn’t know exactly how she’d react, but he knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t going to take it well. The thought of hurting her made him say more roughly than he meant to, “In the meantime, there’s still a chance this doesn’t have anything to do with that old case, or with me, so keep your eyes peeled. And make sure she takes a different route to and from school every day, so if she is being tailed they don’t latch on to a pattern.”

Liam started to protest, and Trace knew he was going to say that they always did that. “Sorry,” he said, holding up a hand to cut Liam off. “I know you know what to do. You don’t need me to tell you how to do your jobs, but just bear with me, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to the princess just because nothing’s happened up till now. I don’t have a clue how long that tail’s been out there. If they’re following me that’s one thing. It’s something completely different if they’re following her. I don’t have to tell you to be extra careful when you’re on duty.”

“You’re right,” Alec replied for both of them, his voice as hard as steel. “You don’t have to tell us that.”

* * *

Damon pressed the button to turn off the encrypted laptop, waited for it to power down, then closed the lid. He tapped an impatient finger against the side for a moment, considering the new orders they’d just received. When Lukas walked into their hotel room ten minutes later carrying a bag of take-out chicken and fixings—spicy chicken for him, original recipe for Damon—Damon was ready. More than ready. Eager, in fact. Almost excited, although being the professional soldier he was he knew better than to let excitement control him. They had trained for this type of covert operation for years, and now the word had been given. The rest of the team was on its way, a rendezvous had been arranged, and a target—a new target—had been designated.

The two men dug into their rapidly cooling dinner, and as they ate Damon relayed their new orders. “Difficult,” he told Lukas when he was done. He tore the meat from a chicken leg with strong teeth, then tossed the denuded bone back into the box.

Lukas leaned back in the easy chair drawn up to the hotel room’s tiny table. “Difficult?” he murmured as he considered the word. “Yes.” He nodded. “And dangerous.” He smiled, but the smile didn’t soften the hard planes of his face, it just made him look more sinister. More threatening. This was not false advertising. Lukas lived for danger. So did Damon. Why else were they here?

“The slightest mistake could be fatal.”

A bark of laughter came from Lukas. “You speak of mistakes with
him
involved?” He shook his head. “You know him. When has he
ever
failed at anything he set out to do? He has meticulously planned this to the last detail, see if I am mistaken. Failure is never an option. Not for
him.
”

They spent the next hour discussing various scenarios, different outcomes. They accepted with a shrug that death for one or the other was a possibility, just as they had accepted the potential for death or incarceration with their original mission. Neither had a death wish, but it wasn’t something they would dwell on either.

The two men were unusually close, almost like brothers, having come up through the ranks together, and were now part of the same elite cadre. Not just
doing
, but training others. They were not without ambition, but both had eagerly volunteered for this dangerous mission out of a near-fanatical devotion to the man whose word was law to them. They had carried out their original orders with military precision and thoroughness, and treasured the few words of praise they’d received.

Now, with this new mission, they would not only have the opportunity to show what they could really do in a more dangerous and challenging campaign, they would do it under the eagle eye of the man at the helm. What more could an ambitious man ask for?

* * *

Less than a week later Trace got the call he was both hoping for and dreading. The State Department had found a replacement for him—a top notch DSS agent with fifteen years under his belt, including two years guarding the Secretary of State. He didn’t speak Zakharan, which was why he hadn’t been tapped for the job the first time around, but the DSS was putting him through the same language crash course the Jones brothers had gone through. Keeping the princess safe was still the top priority, and this new man had what it took to do that.

Trace was on duty that Thursday, and had planned to tell the princess as soon as he saw her that when she returned from Zakhar after Christmas break there would be someone new on the team guarding her. But he kept putting it off. Somehow the conversational opening never appeared. He couldn’t tell her when she was driving, of course. Even though her driving had vastly improved over when she’d first arrived, there was no point in telling her something that would upset her when she was behind the wheel.

He figured he’d break it to her gently once he had her alone in her office—she had no classes on Thursday after her lecture hall calculus class, just office hours. But first her teaching assistant and then a string of students appeared at her door needing help, and before he knew it the day had zipped by without him breaking the news to her. He started to tell her as they were walking to the parking lot and her SUV, but then he feared she might be too upset to drive after that.

Telling her at the dinner table was impossible. Neither of the Jones brothers was in attendance, but the majority of the princess’s household was, so Trace postponed the conversation.
Conversation?
he asked himself.
Confrontation is more like it.
And confrontation was what he wanted to avoid, although he was afraid that’s exactly what it would be.

He almost managed to tell her right after dinner, but she disappeared into the kitchen to consult with the chef on duty before he could catch her. And from what he overheard of their conversation in French he knew she would be in there for a while, so he finally gave up.

Coward,
he mentally jeered. He knew he
had
to tell her. He’d even rehearsed what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to erase that glowing expression on her face. Couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. Not until he absolutely had to.

Tomorrow,
he promised himself grimly as he headed to bed early. No matter what, he would tell her tomorrow.

Chapter 13

T
he covert team came out of the night, garbed in black, cloaked in darkness. The leader, taller than the rest, held up one hand for quiet when they approached the rear gate, although the team was stealth personified. He punched in the access code turning off the active alarm, then silently swung the gate open just far enough for the five men behind him to file through. Alert, their eyes watching in all directions for any sign they’d been spotted, they waited until their leader noiselessly shut the gate and took the point again.

He nodded to them, and they fanned out, each man already knowing his assigned target—this one heading for the stables, that one heading for the garage, and a third standing guard near the rear gate with an earphone plugged into a police scanner, protecting their escape route.

The leader and his two most trusted men made for the main house some distance away, their soft-booted feet making almost no noise in the snow. They stole around the side of the house to the front door. One of the men picked the lock and would have entered, but the leader caught his arm and shook his head. The leader slipped inside, found the alarm pad on the wall near the door with its timed red light blinking, counting down the seconds before the alarm would shrill, and keyed in the access code to turn the interior alarm off.

The house was shrouded in darkness, silent as a tomb. But the leader waited a moment, his hand upraised to hold his men still, listening closely for any sound of movement. Then he smiled his faint smile. Although the plan had already been discussed in explicit detail, the leader warned his two men with just an exhalation of sound that reached no further than their ears. “Neutralize the household, then follow my lead,” he breathed before fading noiselessly into the shadows.

* * *

Trace woke instantly when the passive alarm went off. No grogginess—just asleep one minute and sharply alert the next. The digital alarm clock on the night table by his bed glowed in the darkness, telling him it was almost 1:00 a.m. Trace had already automatically reached for his gun even as he was responding to the passive alarm lights blinking above his bed.

The passive system had been his idea. He’d approved the active alarm system already in place before the princess had moved in, but had recommended beefing it up with a supplemental active system, as well as the addition of a complex series of motion sensors. Alec and Liam knew the location of every sensor, which were tied into a sophisticated computer with its own backup power source. The computer not only pinpointed the location of which sensor or sensors had gone off, but was also smart enough to not set off the alarm unless more than one sensor was tripped, so that it wouldn’t go off if a rabbit scurried across the lawn. The light panel above his bed told him that not one but five of the exterior sensors had lighted up, and two of the interior ones as well.

They were under attack.

Forty seconds later Trace was dressed and moving silently through the guest house, SIG SAUER in one hand. Even though he was fairly sure neither Alec nor Liam was there because they were both off until Saturday, he quickly checked their bedrooms just in case. He didn’t waste any breath cursing when he found their bedrooms empty, just triggered the silent alarm signal to the Boulder police. But he couldn’t wait—intruders were already in the main house, and his princess was in peril.

He eased out the back door of the guest house, his senses keenly attuned to every sound, every flickering shadow.
Dark of the moon,
he thought gratefully. He wouldn’t have much light to see, but neither would his foes. And he’d been trained by the best. The night was his ally.

He made his way around the back of the guest house, the way he, Alec and Liam had trained in their spare time, in endless variations. Knowing that if time was of the essence, they needed to be prepared to react instantly. Moving through the shadows, he quickly worked his way to the back door off the kitchen, and unlocked it with his key.

This time Trace cursed mentally when he saw the active alarm had been turned off, but he didn’t waste any seconds thinking about what that meant, just headed for the princess’s bedroom at the back of the house. Even before he got there he saw the door gaping open, and two of the princess’s Zakharian bodyguards bound, gagged and out cold beside it. He stealthily made his way toward the open door, flattening himself against the wall just outside.

Eyes flicking every which way, Trace listened intently for sounds from the room, but heard nothing...until the princess gasped. He gripped his gun with both hands to steady his aim, and swung into the open doorway in a two-handed firing stance, confronting the room’s occupants. “Federal agent—freeze!”

Two lithe men dressed all in black, with hoods over their heads that concealed everything except for slits for their eyes, stood beside the princess’s bed. But she wasn’t in it. One of the men easily held her captive with a gun to her head. The second man was crossing her wrists and binding her hands.

Then a third man stepped forward from the shadows beside the bed, taller than the other two but dressed exactly like them. Drawing a knife that glittered in the faint light. Eight inches of wicked steel.

“Drop the gun,” the third man hissed at Trace.

“No!” The princess struggled against the arms holding her until the barrel of the gun was pressed against her temple. Trace couldn’t see her expression in the darkness, but despite her brave front he knew she had to be terrified.

He considered his options in the space of three heartbeats, and discarded them all except one. He raised his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, then flicked the safety back on his gun and slowly lowered his gun hand until he could drop his weapon on the carpeted floor.

“Kick it away,” the man with the knife ordered, still in that whispered hiss, and Trace obeyed. The gun was still threatening the princess, but Trace knew this wasn’t an assassination attempt. If it was the princess would be dead already.
Kidnapping
, he thought, his mind going on autopilot. But that was bad enough. When trapped, kidnappers could be just as deadly as assassins. And if they managed to escape with their victim the odds of recovering the victim alive weren’t good. Especially not when the victim was an adult and able to testify.

The problem was, he didn’t know how many of them there were besides these three. And the meaning of the disabled alarm was flashing a warning signal in his mind.
Inside job.
He remembered the princess saying,
“There is always a chance that this man is not loyal, or that man carries a secret agenda. Even within my own household, within my own bodyguards, who can say for sure?”

But the Boulder police were on the way.
Time
, Trace thought.
If I can stall them long enough...

“You’re not taking her out of here,” he told the man with the knife, his voice cold and determined.

“Who is to stop us?” the man hissed. “You?”

Trace didn’t answer. He merely moved fractionally so the men would have to pass him to get to the door, but at the same time making sure he could see if someone else tried to enter the room.

A shadowy movement from the open doorway and a
pssst
drew the attention of the three kidnappers as well as Trace. The sound was followed by one word in Zakharan, “Police!”

The taller man, obviously the leader, slipped into place behind the princess and took control, one powerful arm encircling her waist. He still held the knife in his other hand—not directly touching the princess anywhere, but a definite threat. He made a motion with his head and the other two men slid obediently from the room. Trace let them go, his attention riveted on the princess and the man holding her prisoner.

When the others were safely out of reach, their faint footsteps no longer audible, the third man moved blindingly fast. He pushed the princess toward the bed and darted for the door, but Trace was already waiting for him. The knife slashed once and Trace danced back out of range, then closed on the man, grasping the man’s knife hand above the wrist in an iron grip. The two men were equally matched in strength and determination. And while the black garbed man had the knife, Trace had seen a gun held to the head of the woman he loved and had seen her threatened with the knife held by this man—his repressed fury over those images coalesced into a steely resolve not to let this man escape, too.

They struggled for endless seconds, strength against strength. Then out of the corner of his eye Trace saw a shadow move from the doorway. He tried to shift, to turn so the man he was fighting had his back to the door, but it was too late. Something crashed down on Trace’s left shoulder, and his grip on the knife hand slackened momentarily. It was just enough for the man in black to twist free.

He feinted at Trace, but then someone else was there between them. “No!” Small bound hands pushed the knife away from Trace’s chest, and when the blade was jerked back the princess cried out in pain.

The soft curse issuing from the other man’s mouth barely registered in Trace’s consciousness, and he was gone before Trace could close with him again. Then the only sounds were footsteps running lightly down the hallway...and a tiny moan close by. Part of him wanted to give chase, but he needed to see how badly the princess was injured before he did anything else.

He clicked on the light switch and saw her crouched on the floor cradling her bound hands against her body. Blood seeped from between the tightly clenched fingers of her left hand and stained her nightgown, but she didn’t seem to care about that. “You are okay?” she asked Trace anxiously, her gaze running over him from head to toe. “He did not hurt you?”

Her question sliced through him, and he didn’t trust himself to answer. He knelt beside her and quickly unbound her wrists, noting automatically and filing away the fact that they weren’t tightly, cruelly tied. It was something to think about. Later. Not now.

He tried to take her left hand in his, and she resisted at first. “Let me see it, Princess,” he said softly, prying her fingers open with gentle hands. Then he cursed fluently under his breath. The knife blade had left a gash across the entire palm. It wasn’t deep, but it was long and still bleeding. Trace knew that at the very least it would leave a hell of a scar, and might possibly involve some nerve damage.

He curled her fingers closed to contain the bleeding and stood up. A minute later he was back with a clean washcloth and a towel. He used the washcloth as a pressure bandage, then wrapped the towel carefully around her fist before knotting it securely. “That’ll hold until we get you to the hospital, but it’s going to need stitches, maybe even surgery.”

He drew the princess to her feet and sat her in the armchair in the corner of the room—away from the windows—then picked up the phone and dialed 911. When he was done he told her, “The ambulance is on its way. How do you feel? Light-headed? Dizzy?”

She shook her head. “I am fine.”

She wasn’t fine, and the bloodstains on her nightgown bore mute testimony to that fact. “Stay here,” he said in a voice that came out more harshly than he knew. “Keep that hand elevated and don’t try to stand up—I don’t want to come back and find you out cold on the floor. I won’t be long, I’m just going to see if anyone else was injured, and open the gate for the police.”

* * *

Trace sat in the emergency waiting room, staring futilely at his hands as he waited to hear about the princess. His left shoulder ached abominably, but he hadn’t bothered to have anyone at the hospital look at it. He’d received his share of injuries over the years, and knew his body well enough to know there’d be a bad bruise, but nothing worse than that. Nothing compared to the injury the princess had suffered.

He’d been in touch with the Boulder police, who had been and gone, then reported back to him that they had found next to nothing. No DNA evidence. No fingerprints. Just a few footprints in the snow, two overpowered Zakharian bodyguards, and two disabled active alarm systems. He’d already contacted the DSS and called the Jones brothers to bring them up to speed. Then he’d called Walker, waking him from a sound sleep, and gotten the agency involved. Even if the Boulder police couldn’t find anything, it was still possible the agency might uncover something, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was it couldn’t be anything except an inside job. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find out who it was. Someone was going to pay. Someone was going to pay dearly for every drop of blood the princess had shed...protecting him.

* * *

Trace stood in Cody Walker’s office early Saturday morning, the second time he’d been there in less than two weeks. He’d asked his boss to meet him at the agency instead of going to the house because he had to raise a question—not an easy question, but one he couldn’t ignore—and he didn’t want Keira around when he asked it. He knew that if Walker couldn’t help him find the answer no one could. Next to his former boss, Nick D’Arcy, there was no one he respected more than Cody Walker.

“This can’t go beyond this office,” he told his boss flat out. He drew a breath, then added, “Keira can’t know I’m even thinking along these lines, so you can’t tell her. You can’t even let her
suspect
I’m thinking it.”

Walker’s expression had been serious before because he’d known something was up, but now his face hardened and his blue eyes turned cold. “So you’re going down that road,” he said softly.

Trace made an impatient gesture. “I’ve got no choice. The State Department and the DSS are investigating. The Boulder police are investigating. Even the agency gave the estate a thorough once over. But you already know that except for the disabled alarm systems everyone has come up with squat. It’s an inside job—nothing else makes sense. There are only two people I
know
aren’t involved—the princess is one. I’m the other.” One corner of his mouth quirked up into an ironic smile. “And the State Department and the DSS aren’t so sure about me. But I am.”