must have him mixed up with somebody else. Jonathan Dalton,” he repeated. “Thick white hair, little white beard, tall—”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “I remember. He used to give Anna candy. And he taught our brother, Lucas, how to fieldstrip and fire a gun.”
It was more than Major Dalton had ever done with his own children. Hell. Jack had never liked trading on his father’s influence. But just talking about the guy had brought a sparkle to the princess’s eyes, a lilt to her voice.
He rubbed his jaw. “You see a lot of him growing up?”
“Not a lot. I know he and his friends fought side by side with my father during the rebellion.”
That fit. Jack had heard those stories, too, about the young king of Montebello and the band of renegades and heroes who had served with Jonathan Dalton in Vietnam.
More fairy tales, he figured. His dad never did anything without an eye to the almighty dollar.
“Yeah, well, they’re back in touch,” he said.
Princess Christina nodded. “Because of the threat from Tamir,” she said. “Father always said he could trust Uncle Jonathan.”
“Oh, he trusts him,” Jack agreed. “In fact, this time he’s trusting him into supplying you with a bodyguard.”
The princess angled her chin, her eyes speculative. “You?”
“Me,” Jack confirmed.
“No,” she said flatly.
The major had told him to expect a refusal. Princess Cupcake here had resisted all the palace’s earlier attempts to provide her with protection. But Jack still felt a lick of irritation. Maybe he wasn’t the type to inspire confidence in a pampered royal, but he was good at what he did, damn it. Had been good at what he did. Had been the best.
“Relax. I haven’t agreed to take the job yet.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Recon,” he answered. No SEAL team undertook a mission without assembling a target folder.
He was no longer a SEAL.
He heard the crack as she set down the glass bottle she still held in her hands. “You’re checking me out?” Her voice was ice over outrage.
He shrugged. “Your father wants you protected twenty-four-seven. It’s only reasonable to see if we can stand each other long enough for me to get the job done.”
Christina gave him a frosty look. His stupid body reacted as if a bar girl in Bolivia had just given him the eye. Definitely, he’d been out of action too long.
“Very well,” the princess said. “Now that we’ve established that we can’t, as you say, stand each other, you can refuse your father’s money with a clear conscience.”
But that was the problem. Jack couldn’t. Not until Christina had some understanding of exactly how much danger she was in. Not until he did. No matter how little he relished playing baby-sitter, no matter how satisfying it would be to tell the major to go to hell, no matter how often Jack told himself he wasn’t a warrior anymore, his own stubborn need to protect wouldn’t let him walk away from a situation. He at least needed to report to the old man that the princess was working long hours alone with no security.
Frustrated, he stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “Forget the money. Look at where things stand. You’ve got your older brother missing and presumed dead. You’ve got bombs going off in your homeland. You’ve got some sheik guy—”
She crossed her arms across her shielding white lab coat. “Ahmed Kamal of Tamir.”
“Whatever. Some Sheik Kamal trying to claim the kingdom and kidnap your big sister, and your parents are worried sick about you. Don’t you think you ought to take some precautions?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I have taken precautions. I live in Montana.”
Her dry tone, her unexpected humor, slipped under his guard like a knife. He rubbed his jaw with the back of one hand to wipe off his answering grin. “Your father doesn’t think that’s good enough.”
Christina sighed. “Mr. Dalton, my parents don’t think anything is good enough for their children. I honor them for that. I love them. But I am not going to sacrifice my privacy, compromise my focus and interrupt my work by accepting the services of a completely unnecessary bodyguard. I assure you, I am quite safe here. No one can find me.”
Despite his frustration, he liked the aloof, precise way she had of speaking. Not that he accepted for one minute what she was saying, but she sounded really smart. “I found you,” he pointed out.
“I’m sure you had directions.”
“So will Kamal’s men.”
“Assuming I’m a target. I have only your word for that. And I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be working for Sheik Ahmed.”
Jack regarded her grimly. “Are you always this pissy?”
Her lips curved. “I’ve been told so. Yes.”
He had a sudden urge to back her up against the counter and bite into that regal, smiling mouth. Hell. He really had been out of action too long. He fished in his back pocket for his wallet, ignoring the slight pull in his shoulder, and tossed his identification onto the table. His gaze dared her to pick it up.
After a moment’s hesitation, she did. Cautious, he thought again, with approval. She looked first at his Texas driver’s license and then at the white plastic card issued by the Department of Veterans Affairs.
Her brows drew together. “‘Senior Chief’? You are U.S. military?”
“Former military. Navy SEAL, retired.” Forced out, he thought. He for damn sure hadn’t quit. Navy SEALs weren’t quitters.
“You are young to be retired.”
Bitterness flooded his mouth. “Medical retirement,” he said evenly.
“Ah.” The soft sound could have signaled anything. Acceptance. Pity. Dismissal.
Jack hated all three.
“I can still function, your highness,” he snapped.
She regarded him steadily. He wondered how much of his rage and desperation he’d given away by that one stupid remark.
“I wasn’t questioning your qualifications, Senior Chief,” she said quietly. “You are obviously able to protect me. Assuming I needed your protection, which I do not.”
“Your father thinks you do.”
“My father is a warm and sentimental man who is still grieving the loss of his only son. It is natural for him to overreact.”
“Yeah? Well, my father is a cold and calculating son of a bitch who wouldn’t waste time or manpower on a dead-end assignment.
