he’d been here, and while on the surface Montebello showed no change, Kyle knew there had been changes…changes that threatened the fiber, the very heart, of the beautiful island.
He brushed at a tiny piece of lint on the sleeve of his naval uniform. He’d flown on a transport plane to Montebello and could have taken military transport to the embassy. But he’d opted for a taxi instead, needing time alone to think and to prepare himself for whatever responsibility lay ahead.
His commanding officer had been vague about Kyle’s exact mission when he’d given him the orders to return to Montebello. He’d simply explained that the ambassador in Montebello would fill Kyle in when he arrived.
“You’ve come to the prettiest island in the world,” the cabbie said, his dark eyes looking at Kyle through the rearview mirror.
“Have you been here long?” Kyle asked, recognizing a slight East Coast U.S. accent in the man’s voice.
“Ten years. Came out here to visit a friend for a week, but somehow I never left. This island is as bewitching as a beautiful woman. Once it gets you in its grasp, you never want to be released.”
The cabbie’s words instantly evoked a memory in Kyle’s mind—the memory of a single night with a local Montebello woman…a single night of the most mind-numbing, searing passion he’d ever experienced in his life.
They had met in a local bar, and she’d said her name was Marie. They’d spent the evening flirting outrageously with one another, performing an intense dance of courtship that had culminated in a nearby hotel room.
Although three months had passed since that crazy night, her bewitching image was still as sharply etched in his mind as it had been the first moment he’d spotted her.
Her dark brown hair had been a spill of silk to her shoulders. Her rich nut-brown eyes, with their sinfully long lashes, had flirted and danced. She’d had a heart-shaped face and full lips that had tantalized him.
Clad in a lacy white dress that emphasized not only her slender curves and long, shapely legs, but also the dark olive of her skin, she’d caught his eye the moment he’d walked into the place.
Their lovemaking had held an edge of wildness, as if they had indulged in foreplay for years instead of mere hours. When he’d finally fallen asleep with her in his arms, he’d had the feeling that for the first time in his thirty-one years, life was about to make some kind of sense.
In the morning she’d been gone, like a desert mirage that shimmered brightly in the sun, then vanished. He’d been shocked—bewildered—and surprisingly devastated.
He’d looked for her for two days, then had been called back to the States.
Now he was back in Montebello, but he didn’t expect to have time to dwell on thoughts of a dark-haired beauty who had turned his world upside down for a single night.
He sat up straighter as the U.S. Embassy came into view. The building itself was imposing with thick columns and steep steps leading to the grandiose building. An American flag on a tall pole fluttered in the breeze.
The driver pulled up in front, and Kyle paid him, then picked up his duffel bag and entered the embassy through the front doors.
A metal detector and a conveyor belt instantly confronted him. Both were a vivid reminder of the marvels of technology and the state of unrest around the world. And from what the rumor mill implied, nowhere was unrest more threatening than here in Montebello.
Tensions had risen between King Marcus Sebastiani of Montebello and Sheik Ahmed Kamal of the neighboring kingdom of Tamir. The tension had reached explosive proportions a month before when a bomb had detonated in a civilian square, destroying a restaurant and trapping people inside. The people of Montebello pointed fingers of blame to Kamal, furthering increasing tensions.
After walking through the metal detector, he had his identification checked and signed in for his appointment with Ambassador Nigel Templeton.
By the time Kyle had cleared security, an assistant had appeared to lead him to the ambassador’s office. “Joel Mayfield,” the young man said, and held his hand out to Kyle. He had the kind of crisp, clean attractiveness that all the people who worked at the embassy seemed to possess.
“Lieutenant Commander Kyle Ramsey,” Kyle replied, and firmly shook Joel’s hand. With the formalities out of the way, Joel led Kyle down a long hallway to a bank of elevators, past a number of offices buzzing with activity.
“I understand this isn’t your first trip to Montebello,” the assistant said as they stepped into the elevator and he punched the button for the fifth floor.
“That’s right. I was here several months ago,” Kyle replied.
“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?”
Kyle nodded, and again his head filled with the vision of the beautiful woman who had given him the most memorable night of his life. He could still recall her haunting fragrance—a scent of exotic spices and a touch of citrus, as mysterious and romantic as this island itself.
Stepping out of the elevator, he shook his head, as if to physically dispel the seductive image. He needed to be clearheaded for his meeting with the ambassador. From the moment Kyle had been commanded to return to the island, he’d sensed something odd going on.
Although he’d previously met Ambassador Templeton, he’d never been in the man’s inner sanctum. The assistant led him into a large waiting room, nodded to the secretary on duty at a desk, then knocked lightly on the door just behind where she sat.
Joel opened the door and gestured for Kyle to enter. The office was large and airy, a corner room with windows. Ambassador Templeton rose from behind his large, mahogany desk, his hand outstretched in greeting.
“Lieutenant Commander Ramsey,” he said as they shook hands.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ambassador Templeton,” Kyle replied, then was waved into one of the chairs in front of the desk.
Nigel Templeton had been born in Phoenix, Arizona, though his parents were natives of Montebello. He’d grown up in the States, then his family had moved back to the island, and Nigel had begun a career in diplomacy and politics, culminating in him being appointed ambassador three years earlier.
He was a handsome man, his ethnicity apparent in his rich dark hair, deep olive skin and brown eyes, which radiated not only intelligence and dignity, but compassion as well. At the moment, his gaze was filled with worry, and lines of tension snaked across his forehead.
“Montebello is on the verge of a security crisis,” he began. “I know your commanding officer told you that your mission here would be as it was when you were here before—to protect American oil interests in the Middle East. But that’s not your real mission.”
Kyle leaned forward, intrigued.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that Prince Lucas Sebastiani is missing,” Ambassador Templeton continued.
Kyle nodded. “I read that his plane went down somewhere in the Colorado Rockies a couple months ago, and the search and rescue teams have yet to find his body.”
“A tragic state of affairs. As you can imagine, King Marcus is beside himself with
