McKinnon's Royal Mission. Amelia Autin
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.
The 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.”