said the first thing that came to mind. “I wasn’t aware US embassy employees were off-limits for the queen’s security detail.”
Now she seemed flustered. “It is not that...not exactly. I cannot explain...” She looked left and right, as if she feared they were being observed. But more than that—as if she was being observed...and judged. “Not here.”
“At the restaurant, then?”
Again there was the strange hesitation that piqued Alec’s interest. “All right,” she said finally. “I will meet you there. Six o’clock?”
* * *
The assassination team didn’t even have to break into Saint Anne’s Cathedral. They walked in during vespers carrying rucksacks, joined the relatively large congregation gathered for a Friday evening service, and even made the proper responses during Mass—though neither of the men had been inside a church in years.
They lingered afterward, shuffling along with the exiting congregants and then slipping unnoticed into one of the side chapels when the rest of the crowd was making its way out the arched front doors. The christening wasn’t until one o’clock Sunday afternoon, but the cathedral would be closed for security reasons after tonight’s Mass, and the team had been warned they needed to get their weapons into place before the portable metal detectors were installed at all the cathedral’s entrances tomorrow morning. Metal detectors that would remain in place until after the christening ceremony.
The men used the privacy of the confessionals to stash their Glock 18C selective fire pistols—other weapons options had been considered and discarded because the 18C was small enough to be concealed but could convert from semiautomatic to fully automatic at the flip of a switch. Not that they intended to use the fully automatic feature—they had one target and one target only. But if something happened and they needed to escape in a way they had not planned, full auto could come in handy. As for the confessionals, they would not be used between now and the ceremony on Sunday—and the weapons would be moved to a more secure location before the security teams conducted their extensive search early Sunday morning.
A large contingent of invited guests was expected Sunday afternoon, and certain rows would be roped off for them. Television cameras would be brought in Saturday afternoon, and set up for the broadcast to the nation on Sunday. But the king had also invited the citizens of Drago to attend the christening of his son and heir. Giant screens would be erected in the square outside the cathedral and the event would be projected on them, so whoever couldn’t be squeezed into the pews or couldn’t find standing room in the aisles would be able to watch the ceremony in the immense square.
A packed cathedral and a packed square—the security personnel would have their hands full trying to watch everyone, every minute. They would not notice the two inconspicuous men until it was too late. The assassins were counting on it.
Angelina walked into the restaurant, her eyes quickly moving over all the diners, cataloging them. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. No one she knew was here tonight. Specifically, no one on the queen’s security detail. There were two women she knew just in passing, and she recognized a third who’d been a friend of her cousin Caterina’s in high school. The sight of Caterina’s friend brought the mystery of her cousin’s disappearance to the forefront of Angelina’s consciousness.
Where are you, Caterina? Angelina thought now. A question she’d asked for more than eight years. A question that hurt just as much now as it had all those years ago, because Angelina felt responsible in some way.
Responsible...and guilty. Guilty she hadn’t been able to prevent Caterina from leaving Zakhar in the first place, hadn’t been able to talk her out of going. Guilty she hadn’t managed to track her cousin down when she’d vanished without a trace somewhere in the United States. Why did you not stop her? Angelina’s conscience demanded now. And why did you not find her when she disappeared? Even if only to bring her body home?
The loss of the cousin who’d been like her little sister was a festering wound that would never heal unless Caterina miraculously reappeared, which Angelina no longer believed might happen. After all these years she knew in her heart her cousin was dead—but without a body there would never be closure.
“Hey,” a warm deep voice said from behind her. “You’re right on time.” She turned around to see Alec’s gaze flickering over her, masculine appreciation evident in his eyes. Angelina was glad she’d changed into a dress she’d pulled from the back of her closet—one of the few dresses in her wardrobe. She never wore dresses to work—slacks, a tailored blouse and a blazer to hide her ever-present shoulder holster were what she always wore on duty. Not just because a dress might be a distraction for whatever male team member she was working with that day, but because a dress would be a distraction for her. She just didn’t feel comfortable in a dress. Not for work.
But it was different tonight. Or maybe it was who she was with that made the difference. Alec, whose eyes made her yearn for those very things she’d long ago decided weren’t for her. Alec, whose kisses sparked a flame she’d been hard-pressed to quench...both times. Alec, who called her Angel in that strong, ardent way that demanded a response equally as ardent. As if he knew what they’d be like in bed, and it aroused him.
Now his eyes spoke volumes, and Angelina was fiercely glad she’d dressed up for him. The royal-blue color of her dress did something for her eyes, making them more blue than gray. The silky, blouson material clung discreetly in all the right places, making her aware of her femininity for the first time in a long time. The heels she’d unearthed from the bottom of her closet and decided to wear at the last minute made her as tall as Alec. She thanked her lucky stars he was so tall to begin with. Most men’s egos were ridiculously fragile if their date was taller than they were, and on the few dates she’d allowed herself in the past, she’d always been careful to wear flats so she wouldn’t tower over the man she was with. She didn’t have to worry about that tonight.
“They’re holding a table for us,” Alec told her. He placed a warm hand on the small of Angelina’s back to guide her, and a little thrill shot through her. She tried to tell herself not to respond to him—his eyes, his smile, his touch. But her body was telling her that— unlike her totally disappointing, one and only sexual encounter—sex with Alec would be far from disappointing. Something she’d already realized the first time she saw him.
Just for a moment she let herself fantasize about what it would be like with Alec, before she shut down her errant thoughts with a firm resolve. Regret stabbed through her. If her job weren’t so important to her...if Zakharian men—especially the men in her line of work—weren’t so judgmental of women they saw as women...if she dared risk exploring this attraction between Alec and her...
Angelina sighed to herself, but made sure nothing of what she was feeling showed on her face.
Alec declined a menu when they were seated at their table, telling Angelina, “Order for me, please. You know what’s good here, I don’t.”
She laughed a little at the unexpected offer—so different from most men she’d dated, who always wanted to order for her. “But I do not know what you like,” she demurred.
“Meat and potatoes,” he said with a smile. “Isn’t that what most men prefer? And no zucchini. I can eat any vegetable except zucchini. Other than that, I’m easy.” His voice dropped a notch. “I’m putting myself in your hands, Angel,” he said softly. And just that easily, her control over her body’s reactions was shattered
