McKinnon's Royal Mission (4 page)

“I’ll take the first rotation, starting tomorrow,” Trace said. “Decide between the two of you who’ll take the second rotation—just let me know what you decide, and I’ll post a schedule. If something comes up and you need to switch off, I’m okay with it as long as I know in advance. There might be occasions when I’ll have to switch off with one of you myself—I could be called to testify in a couple of trials that are still pending on an old case, but I’ll know well in advance and we’ll work something out.”

He looked at Liam and Alec and saw no objections, so he continued. “You both have rooms here on the estate, as do I. I’ve already been over the entire house, as well as the estate’s outbuildings and the grounds, and I’ll show you around in a minute. You can stay here every night, or make your own arrangements for the days you’re off duty—it’s up to you. Again, this has all been prearranged with the king, so I don’t expect any opposition from the princess. And in order to carry out State’s request we’re going to need to be around her as much as possible, even in the house.”

“Understood,” Alec said promptly. “What kind of security does the estate have?”

“Active and passive. Some of the systems were already here, some were just installed two weeks ago. I’ve got a list of the specs, and when I brief the princess and her staff later on, I’ll give both of you copies. This really shouldn’t be anything new for them—I’m told the palace in Drago has a similar setup. But there might be some little quirks, and I don’t want anyone to set off an alarm accidentally. Just in case someone does, you’ll both have all the keys and codes necessary. Anything else you need to know?”

“That’ll do it for now, I think,” Liam said with a quick look at his brother.

“Oh,” Trace said. “One more thing. I plan to spend much of my time here, even when I’m not on duty. I live in Denver, but I’m subletting my condo for the duration, so I’ll be around a lot. I’ve also got a cabin outside Keystone, so if I’m not here or visiting your sister and my goddaughter, that’s most likely where I’ll be. I’ll give you the address later.” He fixed them both with a sharp look. “You’ve already got my cell phone number. If anything happens, the second thing you do is contact me.”

“And the first?” Alec asked.

“Protect the princess.”

* * *

Night had fallen and Trace was exhausted as he made the rounds of the estate. The day had been even more hectic than he’d expected, mostly due to the fact that the princess wasn’t what he’d expected. In addition to the dispute over the bedrooms, she’d taken immediate exception to Trace’s insistence that she be guarded every time she stepped out of the house.

He’d caught her walking out that very afternoon, cool as you please, dressed for riding and heading for the stables—her horses had been shipped by sea and rail and had arrived the week before—and Trace had taken her to task. That had started a battle royal, which he’d won only by invoking the name of the princess’s brother. “You may ride,” he’d told her in no uncertain terms, “but not alone. Period. End of discussion.”

That hadn’t been the end of the discussion, not by a long shot. But when Trace had finally told her the orders weren’t his, they were the king’s, she had stopped arguing instantly.
I’ll have to remember that for the future,
he told himself now with a wry smile. He wasn’t sure whether it was the king or the brother she was deferring to, but either way he’d discovered the magic word. “In the future, Princess, let me know when you want to ride,” he’d told her, “and I’ll make sure one of us is prepared to ride with you.”

Unfortunately, when he’d raised the issue with Alec and Liam, he had a rude awakening. “Sorry, McKinnon,” Alec had said with regret. “We don’t ride.”

That just left him to accompany the princess, and he foresaw a curtailment of his free time if she insisted on riding on the days he wasn’t officially working. He didn’t think she would be amenable to riding only three days a week, and not even the same three days each week at that.

Then there had been the issue of meals. He, Alec and Liam all had rooms in the estate’s guest house, which came complete with an adequate kitchen and a well-stocked pantry. Trace had planned to fend for himself at mealtimes, and had assumed Alec and Liam would do the same. But the princess had other ideas.

“That is silly,” she’d told him. “There is a perfectly good meal already prepared, and will be every night. My chefs are Le Cordon Bleu trained—
artistes
—and they would be insulted to think you prefer to eat your own cooking instead of theirs.”

When Trace had tried to explain that the hired help didn’t expect to share her table, her green eyes had flashed. “I do not eat in solitary splendor,” she’d told him firmly. “There are many in my household who eat with me.” He’d given in with as good grace as he could muster, not wanting another battle, but then he’d realized she’d actually done them a favor. Their presence at her table would be the perfect opportunity to listen to the conversations between the princess and the rest of her household, whether spoken in English or Zakharan.

Then, when they were all at the dinner table, he’d noticed she wasn’t eating. Not much, anyway. She’d passed on several dishes that were offered to her, settling for a plain piece of bread without butter and a dish of custard. She hadn’t made a big deal out of it, and no one else in her household had seemed to think it worthy of comment, but he’d noticed. And wondered. It wasn’t until he was wandering through the kitchen after dinner and overheard her cooks—
chefs
—he’d reminded himself, talking to each other in voluble French about that very same custard that he learned why.

Motion sickness.

Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? He’d been concerned when she first appeared in the plane’s doorway, had suspected something was wrong, but then had let himself be distracted by her peremptory demand that her Zakharian bodyguard let her go. Maybe that even explained her curt response to the man’s offer of help. Maybe she hadn’t meant to be so cold, but was just feeling out of sorts the way anyone might when they were sick.

The princess was full of contradictions. Maybe that’s why he felt so tired—he never knew what to expect. Guarding her had become an impossible mission already, and it was only the first day—things could easily get worse. Trace murmured to himself, “‘Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it,’” using a phrase
Mission Impossible
had made famous, making the impossible seem possible. Then he laughed ruefully. If they could accomplish impossible missions, so could he—he’d done it before, hadn’t he? All he needed was a
little
cooperation from the princess.

A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and he turned sharply, his right hand automatically reaching for his SIG SAUER. Then he cursed softly under his breath when he saw who it was. So much for cooperation. “Princess!” he called.

Startled, she turned toward him. “Oh,” she said. “Special Agent McKinnon. I did not see you in the shadows.”

“What are you doing outside the house...alone?”

Her brow wrinkled. “I do not understand. I am not riding alone. That is what you told me my brother said, yes? I am not to ride alone?”

He sighed. “Look, Princess, your brother’s orders were quite explicit. You’re not to step outside the house alone.”

“But—”

“No, no, and no. Do I agree with him? No. Do I think you’re in danger here within the grounds? No. But am I going to let you go against his express orders? No.”

She stared at him, her green eyes betraying her contrition...and uncertainty. “I would not...that is not what I...” She stopped then started again. “So I am a prisoner here?”

Now it was Trace’s turn to look puzzled. “What do you mean, a prisoner? You’re not a prisoner. You’re free to go wherever you want, so long as one of us is with you.”

Her face contracted. “I thought...here...where I am not known...I would not be in such danger.”

“I don’t know what kind of danger you were in at home. But even in this country there are dangers for people like you.”

Her voice was very small when she asked, “People like me?”

“Rich. Well known. Well connected. Putting aside any threats against you because you’re a political target, there are crazies out there who kill for no other reason than to become famous by killing someone who is already famous.”

She glanced away, staring toward the Rockies in the distance, hulking dark shadows against the night sky. “I was guarded at Oxford. Every minute of the day. And in Zakhar, of course. But I did not realize here, too...” She closed her eyes for a minute and sighed noticeably before her eyes opened again. “I was hoping my life would not be so restricted here in Boulder.”

Trace felt a flicker of pity for her. “Don’t worry, Princess. That’s why you’ve got me. To make sure nothing happens to you. But I’m not your jailor. With just a little cooperation on your part, you can be nearly as free as you’d like to be.”

“But I can’t just be Dr. Marianescu, can I?”

“Who’s that?” The question slipped out before Trace made the connection.

A peal of laughter escaped her, and it startled him. It was such a normal thing...but not for her. The sound of her laughter slid inside his defenses, just as her eyes did. “
I
am Dr. Marianescu,” she explained, still laughing. “That is my family name. Mara Theodora Marianescu. When I received my doctorate from Oxford two years ago, I became Dr. Marianescu.”

Her laughter faded away, and a wistful expression came over her face. “Andre was there. He was so proud of me—earning my doctorate so quickly. If not for him I doubt I would have accomplished it. At least, not when I did.” At Trace’s questioning look she added swiftly, “I cannot explain...there are reasons...it is not something I want the world to know.” She shook her head as if shaking off an unpleasant memory. “But I achieved my PhD despite everything. And if not for Andre I would have had no one with whom to rejoice.”

“What about your father? Wasn’t he alive then?”

She went still all over, emotion erased from her face as if a curtain had fallen over it. “Yes,” she said, her voice flat and unmusical. “He was still alive. He did not die until two months later.” She stood there for a moment without saying anything else. Then she turned and walked back to the house, leaving Trace standing there staring after her, a hundred questions running through his head. But no answers.

Chapter 3

T
he estate’s active alarm system went off in the dead of night three days later. Alec was on duty, but both brothers responded immediately, guns drawn. By the time they made their way from the guest house to the main house, the princess’s household had been roused from sleep by the blaring alarm. Her staff was milling around, but surprisingly no one had tried to turn off the alarm. Her entire contingent of Zakharian bodyguards—only two of whom had actually been awake and on duty when the alarm went off—were already stationed in and around the princess’s sitting room, armed and dangerous. Two of them whirled and drew down on Liam and Alec before they recognized the two DSS agents.

“Don’t apologize,” Liam told them when the two bodyguards stiffly began to do so as he and Alec entered the princess’s sitting room. “You did the right thing,” he said, pitching his voice to carry over the noise. “What’s the situation? Has anyone seen anything?”

Alec left the room for a minute, then the raucous alarm was mercifully turned off. When he returned he said, “The passive alarms didn’t go off. I noticed that right off the bat. So whoever or whatever set off the active alarm didn’t come from outside the estate.”

Both Alec and Liam focused on the princess, who’d been drawn from her bed by her bodyguards and spirited into her sitting room, and was perched in an armchair in the corner of the room farthest from the window, surrounded by three of her bodyguards. She was still in her nightdress, but someone had handed her a silk dressing gown in a deep shade of peach, which she had quickly wrapped around her person. And her long hair had been bundled up, tidily out of the way. Alec glanced around and asked abruptly, “Does anyone know what set off the alarm?”

No one answered at first. The Zakharians in the room turned to the princess, and she shook her head, taking charge in a calm and composed manner. “I do not know,” she replied in a steady voice. “I do not think it was one of us.”

Liam already had his cell phone out and was pressing a speed dial button. Everyone was startled when a cell phone rang nearby, and all eyes were drawn to the doorway from the bedroom into the sitting room, to the tall man who suddenly stood there as if he’d materialized out of the darkness.

“I set it off,” Trace said in his deep voice, as he casually silenced his cell phone and leaned against the doorjamb, his gun safely in its shoulder holster. But there was nothing casual in the way he took in the status of the room, and he nodded approvingly to himself. Everyone had reacted exactly as they should. The princess’s bodyguards had quickly moved her from her bedroom to the safest, most defensible place in the sitting room, and were shielding her with their bodies. Alec, who had the duty today, had responded promptly. His brother, Liam, who Trace had known was sleeping in the guest house even though he wasn’t on duty, had also responded exactly as Trace had hoped—guarding the princess wasn’t the kind of job where a man was ever really “off the clock,” not if he was anywhere around her.

And the princess? She obviously wasn’t hysterical. She wasn’t even frightened by the alarm, not that he could see anyway, just alert and wary. And that surprised him. Somehow he’d thought she’d be the weak link, terrified at the potential threat, and he grudgingly gave her points for remaining cool under duress. He wondered if this was the first time she’d ever faced this kind of situation, or if there had been attempts on her life before. There hadn’t been anything about that in her dossier, but then he’d already realized the State Department’s dossier on her was woefully incomplete.

Both Alec and Liam had holstered their weapons at Trace’s initial statement, and now Alec said with a touch of humor in his voice, “Fire drill?”

“Yeah.” Trace straightened and walked farther into the room, heading right for the princess. “I’m sorry,” he told her gently, “but it was necessary. I had to be sure everyone knew what to do in an emergency. Your men
and
mine.”

She stood up, and her bodyguards deferentially moved to one side. She tightened her belt around her waist with a decided snap, then she looked up into Trace’s eyes. “It was a test?” she asked levelly.

“Yes.”

Her next question was unexpected. “Did we pass?”

“With flying colors.” When her brows drew together, questioning what he meant by that proverbial phrase, he explained, “Honorably successful.”

“Ahhh.” She nodded as comprehension dawned. “Good.” She tore her gaze away from his and glanced around the room at everyone there. “Does this mean we can all go back to sleep now?”

Trace couldn’t help it, a smile tugged at his mouth as she asked the question in a practical, no-nonsense tone. “Yes, ma’am,” he told her, for once not using the word
princess.
“Everyone can stand down.” Before she could ask, he added, “That means suspend and relax from an alert state of readiness. Return to normal. And since it’s—” he glanced at his watch “—two-fifteen in the morning, yes, everyone can go back to sleep.”

Everyone but me,
he thought, but didn’t say. He had a report to write. And since the report would no doubt end up in the hands of the king of Zakhar, passed along by the State Department, it needed to be thorough...and reassuring.

* * *

From a short distance away, the three armed men treading in the shadows of the estate’s perimeter had heard the alarm go off. They circled back to their prearranged meeting point, shot questioning glances at each other, then shrugged their shoulders without speaking a word. They were as certain as they could be that no one had breached the estate’s walls—if anyone had attempted that they would have known—and none of them had set off the alarm.

There was little or no movement around the estate that they could see from their vantage point, even with the advanced technology that night-vision goggles provided. And though the men were prepared to disappear if necessary—considering the amount of illegal equipment they carried—no police responded to the alarm. That was a telling point. All three men noted the time, the exact responses...and the lack thereof. These details would be included in their report, which would be forwarded up the chain of command.

Their orders were clear, although none of the men knew the exact reason behind them. But they didn’t need to know. As were all the men who worked in their organization, they were intensely, militarily devoted to the man at the top. They
believed.
Arrest and incarceration was a definite possibility, but it wasn’t one that concerned them unduly.

Shortly thereafter the alarm was silenced. When the estate had finally settled down and the normal night sounds returned, the men resumed their catlike stalking from a distance, notating each potential weakness in the estate’s defenses for future use.

* * *

On the first day of the semester Mara woke early, with a sense of excitement barely contained. Today she would begin teaching again, but this time things would be different. For the past two years she had taught at the University of Zakhar in the capital city of Drago. She was a good teacher—she knew it—but she had never been able to fit in. Everyone at the University of Zakhar had known who she was. The faculty hadn’t been able to separate the princess from the professor, not to mention her students. Everyone there had kept her at a distance, just as she’d been isolated at Oxford. That wasn’t going to happen this time. Not if she could help it.

Ever since she could remember her secret dream had been to be an ordinary woman. Not a princess. Not an icon. And certainly not someone whose face and life story were used to sell magazines. And such stories! She made an expression of distaste at the memories of the fictional stories—all supposedly true—that had been written about her over the years. Andre had told her not to read them because they upset her so much, but she’d never been able to resist. It was almost a morbid fascination. Then she would throw the magazine against the wall, or rip the pages into tiny fragments, muttering dire threats she wished she could carry out. If only the world knew the truth! No one would want to read about her real life, so the tabloids were forced to make things up.

But that was all behind her now, and Mara hummed to herself as she dressed. She had taken note of what the women professors at the university here wore, and had gone shopping with a vengeance. No one at school except the president of the university and the dean of her college knew that Her Serene Highness Princess Mara Theodora and Dr. Mara Marianescu were one and the same person. Mara was determined to keep it that way, even though it meant camouflaging herself by wearing clothes bought off the rack and donning eyeglasses with plain glass lenses instead of prescription ones she didn’t need. All her adult life she had downplayed her looks; preferring to remain in the background rather than stand out. Now she was glad of it. Most people saw only what they expected to see. And even though her photograph had been plastered across the pages of magazines for years, no one would expect to see her here in Boulder, a simple math professor in a university that ranked in the top hundred in the US, but not in the top ten or even the top fifty.

Mara smiled to herself, remembering the battle she’d fought with Special Agent McKinnon over her insistence on being just like everyone else. That meant the limousine and chauffeur had to go. It had required a phone call to her brother, but in the end Andre had relented. She would be allowed to drive herself to and from school without her Zakharian bodyguards in tow—just one of the special agents assigned to her “riding shotgun.” Mara laughed with delight as she thought of it. English was such a colorful language, full of imagery and idioms.

Then her laughter faded. Special Agent McKinnon would be guarding her today. She was already on excellent terms with the other two special agents, the ones from the Diplomatic Security Service, Alec and Liam. She called them by their first names now, and although they had both refused to call her Mara, and she had refused to allow them to call her Princess Mara, they had laughingly agreed to call her Dr. Marianescu.

And while Alec and Liam zealously guarded her, they treated her like a normal person, which was what she so desperately wanted. She knew all about their large family—mother, older brothers, younger sister and her daughter, their one-year-old niece. They had shared with her a little of their dreams and aspirations, and knew something of hers, too, and how much she wanted to belong.

But Special Agent McKinnon was different. When she was with him she always felt on edge, and it wasn’t just because his face and physique set her senses jangling. It was as if he were judging her and finding her wanting, and that hurt more than she’d ever thought possible. He never told her anything about himself, either. After more than a month she knew no more about him than she had that first day—the facts in his dossier and the effect he had upon her senses.

Because of him she had drastically restricted her rides on Suleiman, a real sacrifice. Neither Alec nor Liam rode, so if she rode she was forced to do it with Special Agent McKinnon at her side. That meant riding only on the days he was on duty, instead of every day as was her habit. The first time he had appeared on horseback on one of his days off Mara had been startled. He hadn’t said anything about it, and it was so difficult to talk to him about anything. So she’d asked Liam, who was officially on duty that day. After that she had requested a copy of the duty roster every week, and planned her rides accordingly.

But Special Agent McKinnon didn’t seem to appreciate her sacrifice. Didn’t seem to appreciate
her.
Sometimes in bed at night she thought about him before falling asleep. Wondered what kind of woman would appeal to him. Wondered why he didn’t like her. And she wanted him to like her. So much so that she wondered what it would take to change his mind. Wondered what it would take to make him stop calling her
Princess
in that subtly mocking way she hated.

She watched him when he wasn’t looking, especially on horseback. She rode English and he rode Western style, but that didn’t mean she didn’t admire the way he rode. Man and horse seemed as one, and she imagined he had been born in the saddle. He was such a superb horseman she would even have trusted him with Suleiman—and she had never let anyone but Andre ride her precious Suleiman.

But it wasn’t just the way he rode. He did everything well, from training her household on security measures—including the two additional alerts in the past few weeks and his no-nonsense dissecting of everyone’s actions, including hers—to picking a veterinarian for her horses, to dealing with the hundred and one problems that cropped up as her staff adjusted to life in a new country. Competent. Self-assured. Liked and respected by everyone, from her housekeeper to her chefs to her chargé d’affaires. Everyone in her household turned to him as the final arbiter. Alec and Liam didn’t say much about him, but she could tell they, too, thought highly of Special Agent McKinnon.

You do, too,
she told herself sadly. It wasn’t his handsome face she was drawn to, although looking at it filled her with the challenge of making him smile at her. A real smile. A private smile, just for her. And it wasn’t that incredibly fit body of his, either, although her thoughts had followed a forbidden path more than once as she imagined what it would be like in his arms. No, it wasn’t either of those things, but something entirely different. Even though he made her nervous and edgy, she trusted him implicitly where her safety was concerned. She
knew
nothing could happen to her when he was there, the same way she felt with Andre. Safe. Secure. Sheltered.

And something more. She wasn’t sure what that was. Not exactly. But she wanted to find out. If only he didn’t dislike her...

* * *

The order to stand down two days before had come as a surprise to the men who had covertly surveilled the estate for weeks. They had quietly discussed the order among themselves, but there was no question of disobeying. The reason behind their original posting and their withdrawal order was beyond their need to know. They had filed one last report, then disappeared as if they had never been there, leaving no trace of their passing. What, if anything, had been learned from their observations would be used—or not—at the discretion of the man whose word was law to his men. Their operation was over...for now.