Dirty Dealers Read online

  God, I need a break.

  “What’s on your mind?” Rowan’s voice is controlled, and he moves with the calm dignity of his position as leader of our tiny nation-state by the sea. He’s so different from his brother.

  “With all due respect, sir, I’m here to ask you to release me from service.”

  He’s visibly taken aback. “You want to retire? But why?”

  “I’d like to go to Italy… Perhaps join the foreign legion.” My answer is mostly true.

  “And start all over again? In the desert?”

  I understand his disbelief. Six years ago, when I entered our country’s military, I’d had nothing—no money, no clear goal. I thought being a part of the guard, defending our way of life, was a noble endeavor. Monagasco is small, but we have a long history holding the border between France and Italy. For eight hundred years we’ve been one of the richest countries in western Europe.

  It was a smart choice. Apparently my temperament is exactly right for the service. I’m focused, controlled, and it’s only taken me a few short years to rise to the top of the food chain. I serve directly under the king, I earn more money than I have time to spend, and I travel everywhere the royal family goes…

  Now, all I want is to get out.

  Rowan laughs, momentarily breaking the tension. “So you’ve had a taste of adventure. Now your work here is too boring for you. Is that it?”

  “Not at all.” It’s true the events of the past year have been dramatically more exciting than my usual role, lurking in the background, shadowing the royal family, but I don’t care for such high stakes.

  I don’t like finding mutilated bodies in seedy motel rooms. I don’t like knowing that one wrong choice could mean finding the queen’s sister in a body bag. We’d been lucky in our last job.

  “What is it, then?”

  Hands in my pockets, I step away from the patio doors. “The job is over. Matters here are under control, and I’d like to travel… while I still can.”

  For a moment, he only regards me, steel eyes slightly narrowed. Then he shakes his head, and my insides tighten. “I’m sorry, Logan. I won’t accept your resignation.”

  “You must.” My tone is sharp, and my gaze instantly drops. “Forgive me, your highness, but you must.”

  Rowan is quiet as he walks to the door where I’m standing. He looks out at the scene before us. My eyes slide closed as I wait, knowing what he sees, knowing he’s working out the truth behind why I’m asking to be let go. How I’ve been compromised.

  For several moments, he doesn’t speak. I never served directly under the king, but his reputation is one of studied thoughtfulness. He was never like his father or even Cal, both of whom were more impulsive. The second hand on the clock ticks loudly as I wait.

  “You’re controlled, Logan, a born protector. It’s what makes you our best guard.” His voice is thoughtful, measured. “When Zelda was kidnapped, you worked around the clock, digging into her background, learning her story, and following where it led.”

  My jaw is tight as I answer. “I wasn’t alone in that task.”

  “No, but you were the most dedicated.”

  “It was my job to find her and bring her back to safety.”

  He turns to face me, and I bring my eyes from the floor to meet his. His dark brow is lowered.

  “Freddie would sleep. Hell, even I would sleep, but you—”

  “Did what I’ve been entrusted to do, sir. She is the Queen Regent’s sister, the mother of the princess, the Duchess of Dumaldi.”

  “Not yet.”

  I can’t answer him. That clock ticks louder as I wait. Finally, he exhales and crosses the room to the large mahogany desk positioned in front of the empty fireplace.

  “My answer is firm. I will not accept your resignation.” My stomach drops, but I hold my posture straight. I watch as he opens the top drawer and removes a beige envelope. “I respect your feelings. I respect you… However, it’s possible matters aren’t as locked down as you think.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’ll transfer you back here, to Monagasco, immediately. A more serious threat has emerged, one that requires your level of commitment.”

  His words intrigue me more than the frustration twisting my insides. Returning home, getting away from Tortola, could be enough to ease the tension in my chest. Something serious could help me regain my focus. “What is it?”

  “I received this letter a few weeks ago.” He removes a folded sheet of paper from the envelope and holds it out. “I want you to read it and tell me what you think.”

  Stepping forward, I take it. A quick glance, and I see it’s a ransom note. It’s an unsettling, old-school style note, with letters cut from assorted magazines.

  Wade Paxton owed me twenty million pounds sterling. I want my money. Instructions for delivery are pending. Don’t make me move on your family again. -B.

  The words change the tightness in my chest to anger. “What the fuck?”

  There’s only one B. who would send such a message. Blix Ratcliffe is the sick bastard who eluded us when we shut down the operation in Uranu, the tiny island now appearing on all maps of the waters surrounding Aruba. We brought every man associated with that hidden brothel to justice and placed the women in homes and rehabilitation.

  Blix Ratcliffe is the sick bastard who hurt Zelda. He’s the monster who killed her partner and shot Ava, and I’ve been waiting for the chance to deal with him.

  “What makes you think he’s coming here?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what he’ll do.” Rowan takes the letter back and puts it in the envelope. “I only know I want my best man guarding my wife.”

  My jaw tightens, and my eyes flicker to the doors. “What about—”

  “I’ll increase security around the princess.” He goes to the door and pauses before exiting. “We’ll be in Tortola several days. I give you leave to stay here and take some personal time. Use it to relax, reset… Get laid.”

  My eyes cut to his, and I’m not sure he’s joking. “Is that a royal command?”

  He almost smiles. “It’s a friendly suggestion. When we return, you are solely responsible for the safety of the queen.”

  I don’t have to ask if that’s a command, and I’m ready to accept it.

  “You have my word. She will not be hurt.”

  * * *

  Night Three of self-imposed “personal time,” and here I am, at the Royal Casino bar again. A short tumbler of whiskey is in front of me, and I tilt the cool glass side to side, watching the amber liquid slide over the perfectly square ice cubes. I couldn’t be more alone in this opulent space filled with aristocratic gamblers.

  I asked for this. Hell, I’d wanted it permanently. If Rowan had accepted my resignation, I’d figured I’d travel to Italy or France—perhaps even Turkey—get away and start over. As it is, I’m stuck in Monagasco, waiting to resume my position in the elite guard. I have nothing else, and I’ll start another term guarding a life that isn’t mine.

  I entered this line of work hoping for adventure. I wanted to travel, be a part of something powerful and important. I got my wish, and now I might as well be a knight. I’ve dedicated my life to this cause, and the reward for good work is more work. The penalty for my dedication is solitude.

  An older woman wearing a sparkling gold evening gown passes in a cloud of perfume. I watch as she takes the arm of a fellow around her age, and he kisses her cheek. She gives him a familiar smile, and it’s clear they’ve been together a long time.

  Consenescere: to grow old and grey together. Her voice drifts through my mind like a phantom, an unwelcome memory.

  “Why did I come here?” I say through an exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  I know the answer. In a world where I’m always on guard, my friends are security. In a world where my job is to follow the royal family wherever they go, I haunt their favorite places like a ghost. Bartenders recognize me. They fill my glass witho
ut question. It’s familiar, easy.

  As if to make my point for me, Brian nods at me from across the bar. “Ready for another?”

  “I’m good,” I say, studying the half-inch left in my tumbler.

  I wonder if I have time to take a trip. Maybe visit the desert, see if I really would prefer the foreign legion. It feels strangely quiet in the casino, and I realize what’s missing. No mob of paparazzi lurks around every corner ready to chase whichever royal I’m shadowing. I can take my time, take in my surroundings. It’s depressing.

  With a slow sip, I finish my drink. For two nights I’ve sat in this fucking chair looking at this fucking bar. Turning away, my eyes go instinctively to the gleaming brass roulette wheel turning, flashing red and black. I can still see her sitting there… No. I push back on that memory. I have to move forward.

  Rowan told me to reset. Get laid. Yeah, fuck that, I’ve never been a playboy. The thought almost provokes a bitter laugh. Almost.

  I’m so far removed from any sort of personal life. A fleeting memory is all I have left of the one person… the one girl…

  “Scotch and soda, please,” a soft voice says, and I almost drop my glass. The voice is firm, filled with authority, and it’s so, so familiar. It’s as if I conjured the memory simply by allowing her to flicker through my brain.

  Is it possible I imagined it? Why would she be here?

  Brian places the short tumbler on the glossy wood and starts to pour, and she speaks again. “Thank you.”

  My insides clench. It’s her. But… How?

  The warmth of her small body is at my side, and I push out of my chair. Turning, I step back to face her. A leather barstool is between us, and my eyes travel quickly up her slim arm to the silky black fabric of her dress. The sleeves have long slits starting at the shoulders, revealing her pale ivory skin. Her platinum blonde hair is swept up, leaving her slim neck on display. A few soft pieces float around her cheeks, and the only new thing is a pair of tinted glasses perched on her small nose.

  “Cassandra?” My voice is quiet, filled with disbelief.

  Her body stiffens, and she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look my way. A few bills are quickly dropped on the glossy wood, and she takes her drink, quickly exiting the bar area.

  I’m right behind her, but she doesn’t stop. In fact, she seems to pick up the pace. She’s through the enormous French side doors, her black heels clicking on the travertine, before I’m able to catch her.

  “Cassandra, wait!” Reaching out, I grasp her arm, positioning myself in front of her, blocking her progress. I can’t let her disappear without a word. It’s been so long.

  Her voice is flustered, and she still won’t meet my eyes. “Leave me alone or I’ll call security!”

  That almost makes me laugh, considering who I am. I release her, but I won’t let her pass. “Don’t you remember me?” Studying her face, I see her blinking quickly. Is she trying not to cry? Is she afraid?

  “It’s me,” I say as gently as possible. “Logan.”

  “I can’t believe you recognized me,” she says not looking up.

  My stomach tightens with a sensation I haven’t felt in years at the soft sound of her voice. “How could I not? You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Not a bit?” Is she teasing me?

  “Well, you’re not wearing a bikini,” I say going for warmth.

  She’s elegant and sophisticated as hell in her little black dress, but I still recognize the feisty, skinny girl with long pale hair, running through the surf in shorts and a tank top and bare feet. We’d spent every waking minute together, before I was sent away for training. Ten months in the desert, and I came back to find her gone.

  Her eyes flutter and her chin drops. I want to catch it and lift it, pull her into my arms and hold her like I used to all those years ago, every single day that summer. My last summer…

  “What are you doing here?” she says. She’s still not smiling, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. “I thought you were gone—”

  “I was in the Caribbean most of last year,” I say. “But… when did you come back? I looked for you when I got back from Morocco. Cam said you’d moved to America.”

  “I took a job there.” She’s so tense standing here as if she’s under arrest. It’s making me crazy. “I just flew back a few days ago.”

  Softening my voice, I dip my head to try and catch her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you, Sass.”

  With those words, her entire posture changes. Her shoulders drop, and the stern line of her jaw melts into a smile. She covers her face with her hand, and I hear the smallest laugh. “Did you just call me Sass?”

  Blue eyes cut up through her fingers to mine, and warmth floods my chest. There she is. “Perhaps I was out of line?”

  “I suppose your familiarity could be considered inappropriate.” Her tone is taunting, like it always was, daring me.

  “I hope not… Sassy Cassie,” I say, doing my best not to laugh when her blue eyes narrow behind those glasses.

  We’re standing so close. She places a hand on my chest, and I mentally note she’s not wearing a ring.

  “It’s Kass now. With a K.” A gentle push, and she glances over her shoulder behind us. “It’s been a long time since those days.”

  As much as I hate it, I move back, giving her space. “Are you here with someone?”

  Her head snaps to me. “Why would you say that?”

  “I just noticed… You were looking around.”

  I don’t want her to say yes. I don’t want her to leave. My insides are a tangle of anticipation and curiosity and all the feelings I gave up years ago. On the tip of my memory is the ease we had with each other. I crave it.

  We were barely adults when we knew each other six years ago. She was nineteen and I was twenty-four, and we’d been pretty hot together. I’d lost count of all the places we’d had sex around the coast—under the pier, behind the cabana, in the ocean… so many times in the ocean. I’d perfected the art of holding her in front of me, slipping in from behind. I can still feel her skin against my chest, her clenching around my dick.

  Heat floods my pelvis, but her voice interrupts my steamy reverie. “I came with friends, but they left early. I was just planning to leave myself.”

  “You haven’t finished your drink.”

  She tilts the short glass to the side. “It’s almost gone.”

  “We could walk down to the fountain and talk. Catch up?”

  I can’t get a read on her. She isn’t giving anything away. She has changed, and seeing her here now, this smart, beautiful woman, I can’t help wanting her. I want to know how much has changed and how much is still the same.

  Her lips press together, and she exhales softly, almost as if she’s conceding something. “I guess I have a few minutes.”

  It’s not the level of enthusiasm I’d hoped to get from her, but it’s not a no. We start to walk, side by side, not touching. My hands are in the pockets of my dark slacks, and we make our way down the beige stone steps.

  Motorcycles are parked in a shining row, and across the enormous lawn the laughter of men and women dining outdoors at the Paris Hotel drifts to us on the sea breeze.

  Glancing up over the tops of the buildings, the mountains surrounding the city are pale blue in the growing twilight. We’re entering the gardens at the back of the casino, where the choreographed fountains rise high overhead amidst dancing, colorful lights.

  For the moment, they’re still, and the peaceful trickle of the smaller fountains hidden in the walls creates an ambient noise.

  “It’s so lovely here,” she says, looking out across the darkening gardens.

  “I remember sneaking onto these grounds with you.” A grin is in my voice. I remember doing more than that on these opulent grounds.

  “We would hide in the shadows up on that hill and watch the men and women in their fancy clothes coming in and out.” A wistful tone is in her voice. “They were always surrounded
by cameras flashing and dozens of people.”

  “They still are.”

  She pauses in her walking and turns to me. “You’re one of them now, aren’t you?”

  “No.” We’re facing each other, the moon highlighting the planes of her cheeks, the silky bend of her hair. “I’m the shield between them and the rest of the world.”

  “Yes, keeping them safe from urchins like me, dreaming of things I’m not allowed to touch.”

  Quiet surrounds us as we walk. The only sound is our shoes crunching softly on the gravel path.

  “You’d like these new royals. They’re very much like you and I were in those days.” In that moment, I understand the pull Zelda Wilder had on me.

  I’m looking at the ghost from my past Zelda conjured just by being herself, and I feel like a fool that I didn’t see it sooner. I didn’t understand my obsession with saving her until now, walking in the moonlight with Cassandra. Kass… The girl I lost so long ago. I was so blind.

  “The Americans,” she nods. “I’ve heard about them. Cam says the queen is like a Cinderella, and her sister is some sort of criminal?”

  “She reminds me of you.”

  Another little wince moves through her, and I notice her pale brows draw together. “Why do you say that?”

  Pulling up short, I reach out to stop her again. “She’s lively and strong. She’s a survivor like you always were.”

  Again, I seem to have found the correct combination of words. Her shoulders relax, but she shakes her head, not smiling. “It sounds like she got lucky falling in love with a prince.”

  “Maybe, but she didn’t get off easy.” I don’t want to elaborate on the grizzly details of what Zelda went through before we found her. I don’t want to spoil the moment. Instead I redirect. “How long are you in town? Are you back to stay?”

  “I’m only here a little while. I wanted to check on Cam, and I… I have a job to do.” That sadness is in her voice again, and all I want is to take it away. I have time. I have several days left in this personal leave.