Spy Girl (23 page)

X X
X

The ball is a whirlwind of introductions and dancing. The Prince is a good dancer who leads me around the dance floor in a way that makes me feel incredibly light on my feet—or, maybe it’s the shoes.
 

I also never knew the waltz could be so utterly romantic.
 

Partway through the evening, I excuse myself to freshen up and find Daniel waiting for me when I come out of the ladies room.

“You need to dance with me,” he demands.

“I can’t. I’m the Prince’s date. People will talk.”

“It’s not like you’re married,” he argues.

“No, but people act like we should be. Which is crazy. I just met him this week.”

“You met me eight days ago. And you’re wearing red again. It’s driving me nuts. Have you slept with him?”

“My answer to that question is the same as it’s been the other times you have asked. It’s none of your business.”

“You went to his place late last night.”

“And when I came back home, you were passed out on the couch. I haven’t had sex with him. Yet.”

“Thus the jewels,” Daniel says, rolling his eyes. “He’s working hard to get you into bed.”

“Or maybe I’m just lucky.”

He holds my gaze for a beat. “Actually, Huntley, you haven’t gotten lucky yet tonight.” He pushes me back into the bathroom and locks the door behind us.

“I thought you and the Prince were friends?”

“We’re not that good of friends. Besides, the life of a princess would bore you.”

“Every girl dreams of becoming a princess. Why wouldn’t I like it?”

“Because I’m not the Prince.”

I laugh.
 

And that’s when he kisses me. It’s possessive, passionate, and full of heat.
 

Body language and nonverbal clues are important in spying. The body often can’t lie the way the tongue can. But even though he’s kissing me hotly, his body language is tentative. His hands are motionless at his sides. He isn’t sure how I will react, so he isn’t all in. No one likes to be rejected, especially someone with an ego like his.
 

I slip my fingers into his dark hair and let my body do the talking, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Which is what he was waiting for. He pushes me against the wall, delving his tongue deeply into my mouth while he’s shoving up the layers of my gown.
 

It doesn’t help that I’m unzipping his pants.
 

My body is on fire with desire, and Daniel is ready to fulfill my need. His need. Our need.
 

But then a vision of the Prince getting killed while I’m in the bathroom letting the Vice President’s son screw my brains out flashes in my head.

I reluctantly rip my lips away. “Daniel, wait. I can’t.”

He doesn’t say a word, just angrily zips up his pants and walks out the door—leaving me breathless and unfulfilled.

I take a few moments to compose myself. Fix my lipstick. Check my hair. Anything not to think about how Daniel makes me feel.
 

When I meet the Prince at our dinner table, he says, “I saw Daniel follow you toward the ladies’ room. When he came back a few minutes ago, he seemed upset. Did you two have a row?”

“No, it’s just that he wants, um—”

“You? Again?” the Prince asks, bluntly.

“Possibly. I’m sorry.” I let out a big sigh.

The Prince takes my hand in his and kisses it. “No need to be sorry, my dear. You have the ability to put a man under your spell.”

“
Except that I gave
you
my love potion.”

His face beams—apparently that was the answer he needed to hear—as he takes me into his arms and leads me out to the dance floor.

I can’t help but get a little swept away by the grandeur of it all. The ornate ballroom. The live orchestra. The waltzing. The gowns. The jewels. When I was waiting in the Prince’s residence the other day, I saw a tabloid that mentioned my parents were killed when I was a teen. The headline said that the orphan was dating the Prince, like we are part of some fairytale.

I don’t care much about what the papers say—I consider it mindless babble—but that headline struck me.
 

I never thought of myself as an orphan. My parents died, and I went to live at Blackwood.
 

The other night when Daniel slept in my bed, I confessed that the label bothered me.

He hugged me. Held me. Kissed the top of my head. And even though I knew I should have kicked his muscular body out of my bed, I couldn’t.

I know he’s mad at me now. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to lose control like that for even a second. I am on a mission.
 

I am on a mission.
 

And I have to succeed.

X X
X

The ball is over, the guests have left, and I’m extremely relieved we managed to get through it without another assassination attempt. The Prince has invited a few of us to stay, the guys planning to smoke cigars on this clear, starry night. The breeze is chilly, so a steward lights a fire in a built-in pit, then takes our drink order.
 

We all huddle around the fire for warmth, the boys passing around a lighter to start their cigars.
 

Allie asks me to run to the restroom with her. She’s quite tipsy and would probably get lost, so I agree to take her.
 

The Prince gives me a sweet kiss, and mutters something about missing me while I’m gone. Daniel watches the Prince’s show of affection with a scowl. Ari and Peter are too busy trying to light their cigars to notice we’re leaving.

I help Allie into the castle and down the hall. It’s taking a while because she’s drunker than I thought and keeps running into the wall. She giggles and says something about it jumping out in front of her.
 

I finally grab her elbow and lead her.

We’re a few steps from the entrance to the bathroom when she pukes all over her ball gown and the polished marble floor. Then she lays down in it and starts crying.

I haven’t drunk more than a glass of champagne all night, but the smell makes me sick. I summon a guard, who summons a steward, who summons a janitor.
 

I hear cheers from the guys outside, their cigars probably finally lit. I wish I was out there enjoying myself.
 

I move Allie into the bathroom, leaning her against the wall near the toilet, where she gets sick again.
 

I pat her arm. “I’m going to get Peter so he can take you home. You stay right here.”

“Peter doesn’t love me like he should. I want you to bring Ari,”
she says with a sob.

Honestly, I doubt she wants either boy to see her like this, but I just nod in agreement.

I go back down the hall, hearing my shoes clicking on the marble. The guys have quieted down.
 

Which is odd.

I open the side door out of the castle, and have to blink to believe what I’m seeing. The boys aren’t smoking cigars. They aren’t standing around the fire anymore. No one is.

My skin prickles. I hadn’t heard a thing. No guns, no fighting, no shouting.
 

Where could they have gone?
 

But then I see two bodies twisted on the ground. At the far side of the courtyard, several men are bundling what looks like two more bodies into a van.
 

Daniel is my first thought. I take off at a sprint as the van pulls away. There’s no way I can catch it.
 

I head for the bodies.

Daniel is one of them.
 

He’s lying prone, one arm under his body, the other stretched out beside him. He’s not moving. Not at all. My heart breaks into pieces, thinking he’s dead. Thinking that I’ve failed him. That I’ve failed them all.
 

I roll him over, bracing to find blood. There is none. His clothes are intact. His head flops to one side, his eyes closed.

Tears form in my eyes as I dance my fingers across his neck frantically trying to find a pulse. I give a sigh of relief when I feel the regular thump-thump of his heart beating.

Then I see something on the side of Daniel’s neck.
 

It’s a tranquilizer dart. That’s how they got all four of them so silently and so fast.
 

Peter is the other body on the ground. He has a pulse, too. Whatever they’ve been shot with is just a sedative. They weren’t meant to die. But who knows what’s happened to Ari and the Prince.

I roll Peter and Daniel onto their sides, neither one moving.
 

I give my fingers a kiss, press it against Daniel’s forehead, and whisper,
I love you.

I take a deep breath, trying to let go of my emotions and focus on what drives me.
 

But I find it to be the same answer.
Love.
I’ve come to care for both the Prince and Daniel, not to mention Ari.

This is my mission. My love. My pain. My past. All muddled together, like a song inside my soul.

I stand quickly and spring to action. I use my phone to call the emergency number, recite my access code, and calmly tell the voice on the other end to alert the Montrovian guard that the Prince has been kidnapped. I hear a wild babbling chatter, but I hang up, knowing they’ll figure it out.

I look down at my heels. My wrist. Instead of my father’s watch, I’m wearing a diamond and ruby bracelet. Instead of my teched-out heels, I’m wearing the ones the Prince gave me.
 

I have no car.
 

No gun.
 

Only the phone in my hand.

And me.

I take off running, hoping it will be enough.

X X
X

I ditch the heels and chase after the van, but it had a head start. I cut through the rose garden and see tail lights disappearing around the bend. I race past the guards, yelling that the Prince has been kidnapped. I leave them, radioing frantic messages as I push on, heading north, in the direction of the van.

I leave the grounds by scaling the castle wall, jumping over it, then running as fast as I can down the hill we sat on to watch qualifying. Where all the guards are, I have no idea.

I race into the town center, passing lines of luxurious storefronts. My lungs are burning, but I don’t slow my pace.
 

I have to keep going.
 

But the tail lights have gone. The van has gone.
 

The Prince has . . . I take a deep breath. I’m not ready to admit that yet. I can’t fail.

I have to find them.

A Jaguar approaches, heading in the opposite direction. The engine rumbles. It slows, the headlights blinding me. The engine growls, tires squeal, and the Jag rotates in the street, swirling around. The headlights are no longer blinding. The car slides to the curb next to me. The driver leans over and flips open the passenger door. I stumble to a halt.
 

“Get in,” a British voice says.
 

It’s Gallagher! I could kiss him, only I don’t. I sink into the passenger seat just as my lungs are about to give out.
 

“Someone just kidnapped the Prince,” I sputter, “and my brother.” I point down the street. “Go!”

He floors it, causing the engine to crackle and roar. I’m shoved back into the seat as we race down the street.
 

“A black van,” I say. “They got onto the castle grounds somehow. I think they shot them all with tranquilizer darts. They left Daniel Spear and Peter Prescott, took Lorenzo and Ari.”

“A black van?” he says. “That should make things easy. In the dark. At night.”

I sigh. “Just keep going.”

He does, weaving the Jag between traffic and junctions, hurtling through lights at the last moments of yellow. He’s hunched forward. Staring. But he’s right. Finding a black van in the dark, isn’t going to be easy.

“Wait,” I say.

He slows a fraction, and looks over at me.

“Ari puts trackers on people.” I wave my phone. “I have an app.”

“Why would he
need
to track people?”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” I lie. “He’s, um, really smart and trying to create the next great technology.”

“I see,”
Gallagher says, totally unconvinced.

“And since you asked for my help, I guess, technically, I’m a British spy like you. And I think it’s up to us to save them.”

Gallagher rolls his eyes and smiles. “I’ve created a monster.”

He presses harder on the accelerator. “Just tell me where to go.”

“I don’t know for sure, but keep going north, that’s the direction they were headed.”

I open the app Terrance installed on both my and Ari’s phones, praying Ari actually did put a tracker on Clarice, and hopefully himself or the Prince. There are colored dots sprinkled on a map. The dots don’t have names. Two of the dots are literally on top of each other in the location of the Prince’s cousins’
mansion. Must be Viktor and Ophelia going at it. They did sneak out of the ball early.