Royal Protocol. Dana Marton
come. No amount of common sense, palace security, probably not even a royal order from the Queen would hold them back.
He had to solve this problem before that. He needed enough time to find and disarm the bombs with the help of their resident demolition expert, but not so much time that his brothers could come up with a plan and show up here. The difficulty was in the balance.
“Except, we can’t call the rebels back to negotiate. ” The call had come in as an unregistered number and could not be redialed.
He’d been hotheaded enough at the beginning, so outraged by the attack that he’d wanted to rush out to give a piece of his mind to the bastards. He’d now cooled enough to realize that risking his life was not the best course of action. For one, if anything happened to him, his brothers for sure would be over here in the next second, starting a civil war.
“Now what?” Craig asked.
“Now we spread out and comb the building for those bombs.” The director handed a headset to Benedek and one to Craig. Everyone else already had them.
With his bodyguard on his heels, Benedek took off toward the lower levels. Having worked on every detail of the renovations, he knew the building like he knew the names of all Valtrian kings back to the ninth century, the beginnings of the monarchy. First he went to the area that housed the furnaces and air conditioning. He checked under, behind, and on top of every piece of equipment.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
His bodyguard helped, too, making the process faster. They went to the prop room next. Then costumes, tension growing in his shoulders as he moved from one area to the next. He walked through the giant backup pantry that would be used by the five-star restaurant that would soon open inside the opera house.
He checked his watch before moving on. They had less than five minutes left.
“Couldn’t find anything,” someone checked in over the headset.
“No bomb here either,” another voice said.
Benedek’s cell phone rang.
“Your Highness. I got caught up in a tussle behind the opera house and lost my phone,” Morin, his secretary said. “I apologize for not being in touch sooner. I just got into the palace. Is there anything anyone can do from here?”
“Until further notice, your only job is to take care of Miss Williams.”
“Your Highness?”
Something in his tone sounded the alarm for Benedek. “She’s safe with you. Correct?”
“She didn’t come with me, Your Highness. She wasn’t let go with the other hostages? I just heard—forgive me, I just got in.”
Benedek’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her. “She’s probably with the chief of palace security.”
“I just talked with him. He hasn’t seen her.”
His muscles tightened, his complete focus on the man on the other end. “Where did you see her last?”
“Just inside the back entrance.”
Benedek ended the call and spoke into his headset. “Rayne Williams is in the building. Start looking for her, keep looking for the bomb. I repeat, Rayne is in the building. Find her.”
NOBODY HAD COME for her.
Nearly two hours had passed since Morin had left. She’d listened at the door, waiting for him to call her name in the hallway, but he hadn’t. Nobody had. All noise had stopped, in fact, over an hour ago, as if all staff had cleared out.
She had tried to leave several times, but the ancient key had gotten stuck in the lock then broke right off when she’d tried to force it. She had shouted for help to the point of risking damage to her vocal cords, but nobody had answered.
And then, at last, she heard her name called.
“Rayne!”
She’d never been as glad to hear another sound in her life. She thought she recognized the voice. “Prince Benedek?”
The door handle rattled.
“It’s stuck.”
“Stand back,” he said.
The door burst open with a bang in the next second.
“Are you all right?” He stood in the threshold like some theatrical hero, in his impeccable tux and with blazing eyes. She noticed again how tall he was, the breadth of his shoulders, the incredible depth of his gaze. His was the kind of presence critics called “mesmerizing” in a performance.
He was years younger than her, for heaven’s sake.
She gathered herself and stomped out even the smallest spark of attraction. “Fine. Thank you.” She smoothed her hair into place and lifted her chin. She hated anyone seeing her shaken.
His bodyguard stood outside in the hallway, inclined his head. “Madam.”
Benedek took her hand without preamble and pulled her after him. Again, his touch was electrifying, his hand enfolding hers, warm and secure. She’d taken her gloves off earlier, and now found the skin-to-skin touch disconcerting.
“Where’s everyone else?” The utter silence of the building had been making her increasingly nervous.
“The rebels let the audience leave. Only fifteen of us stayed here. Including you. The building is locked down.”
“So they can’t get in?” Oh, good.
“So we can’t get out.”
Her lungs constricted. “We’re trapped?”
The tight expression on his face was enough of an answer.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but he began talking into his headset, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.
“I’ve got Rayne. We’re on our way to the restaurant. Found any bombs yet?” He paused to listen. “Seek cover.”
She went weak in the knees. “What bomb? Did they find it? What do you mean?”
“The rebels might have explosives in the building.” He glanced at his watch and was now out and out running.
“Why are we going to the restaurant?” She ran up the stairs by his side.
He let her hand go so she could hold up the folds of her voluminous skirt with both hands and not trip. She no longer cared about wrinkling her gown before the performance. There would be no performance tonight. They would be lucky if they still had an opera house when this was all over. Or if they were still alive. She reached the top and dashed through the gilded swinging doors.
Benedek ran straight for the back. “Industrial meat cooler,” he said, as if that explained anything.
Then they were through the kitchen and at the giant, stainless-steel doors. He pushed up the lever and opened the door. They just about fell inside, his bodyguard leaping in after them.
The first thing she registered was that the place was empty, the second that it wasn’t freezing. Hadn’t been turned on yet. Thank God, since her dress was rather open on top. Then the door slammed shut, and they were enveloped in darkness.
An explosion shook the building, ten times stronger than the previous two. Whatever blew up now had been a lot nearer.
She was about rattled off her feet, careful to put out a steadying hand toward the wall and not toward the prince. But his hand shot out in the darkness, went around her waist and secured her. He was so close that she could feel his heat, the strong, solid presence of his body. Bombs, he’d said earlier. There could be more. Even closer than the last one.
Oh, to hell with self-composure for once. She grabbed on to his arm in a death grip.
She disliked wealthy