“What I’m about to tell you goes no further than us. No one in your company or your government must learn of this. Do I have your guarantee?”
Logan tamped down his urge to reach through the phone and choke Leopold. Logan’s international security firm had handled dozens of highly sensitive issues for the family in the five years since he’d left the CIA. “You’ve never doubted my word before.”
“You promised to protect my dead son,” the king said flatly. “His assassination is on your head.”
Logan stilled at the truth.
Prince Stefan had died in the throne room bombing. The M.O. had matched Logan’s top operative and good friend, Daniel Adams. Rumors of terrorists’ payoffs and betrayal still raced through the intelligence community.
For Logan, it was personal. Prince Stefan had been more than an assignment. He’d been Logan’s friend, too. He didn’t know what to believe. Logan found Daniel’s complicity impossible to grasp, but the mounting evidence had been hard to ignore.
If the accusations were true, Logan was ultimately responsible. He’d personally sent Daniel to Bellevaux, undercover, to infiltrate the king’s ranks and find the ruler’s enemies.
“You have my word I’ll keep Kat safe,” Logan said, softly. “Your trust in me is not misplaced.”
“Very well.” The king took a deep breath. “With Stefan dead, I need to designate an heir by Christmas. If I do not choose someone with a royal bloodline, my country loses its sovereignty and will be divided between Germany and France.”
Awareness of what the king was about to say hit Logan like a fist to the gut. His dream of a second chance with Kat destroyed before he acknowledged wanting it. “You don’t mean that Kat is—”
“Katherine Nelson is my daughter,” the ruler of Bellevaux said. “She is the sole surviving heir to the throne.”
Logan’s hand reached over and caressed Kat’s smooth cheek. She was still beautiful, but now out of reach. He had only one job. Protect her. With two attempts on her life in the last half hour, Kat might be the sole heir, but someone didn’t intend for her to survive for long.
THE PILLOWS WERE SOFT, the blanket plush and thick—nothing like the cheap, scratchy wool throw on her bed at home. Kat ran her fingers over the mink-soft cover. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She’d been having the weirdest dream. She had to wake up, though. Something was wrong. She just couldn’t remember what. She groaned, hating the headache that made her dread opening her eyes. Everything within her rejected the idea of letting in the light.
Her head throbbed, and her throat was raw. She raised her hand to her forehead, then slid her fingers over and pressed them against the bandage covering her left temple. She winced as she probed the injury. She tried to move her other hand, but something weighed it down.
Kat forced her eyes open, blinking painfully as light speared into her skull. A quick glance revealed an IV pole hanging beside her, hooked to her arm. Panic hit. Was she in a hospital? She couldn’t afford one. How long had she been out? Where were her children?
She struggled to a seated position and tried to make sense of the room spinning around her. This looked more like a hotel than a hospital.
What was going on?
She couldn’t think clearly. Something important. She had to remember. Her thoughts scattered. She felt drugged. Whatever medication was in that IV had to go. She pulled at the bandages until she freed herself from the tube and the needle.
A voice filtered in from the next room.
“Rafe, I want you and Hunter on this one. I need people who know the players and the stakes.”
It couldn’t be. The voice from three years ago. A voice that made her shiver with longing—and hurt. She’d thought never again to see the man who’d nearly stolen her heart. Logan Carmichael.
His velvet tones had whispered in her ear in the dark. She’d shuddered under his touch, then she’d run, overwhelmed by what she’d felt for him. When she’d finally tried to reach him, she’d been turned away. Life, she’d learned all too well, gave no second chances.
“You still have surveillance on the king and his entourage?” Logan listened, then let out a low curse. “The fool. I’ll be ready.”
Logan’s voice was so cold, so deadly. Kat shook her head to clear it, then groaned. Why was she here in a hotel? She’d been at her weekend job. She’d been dreaming about Logan. Crazy dreams. Dangerous dreams about horses … and fire.
Memories flashed. The fire! She gasped for air. “Logan!”
She struggled to her feet and the room swirled around her.
Someone had locked them in the barn.
Someone had tried to kill them.
Logan dashed into the room, catching her as she fell against the nearby bureau. “What are you doing out of bed?”
She clung to him, hating the way the room spun in crazy circles. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, but I have to leave. Now. Oh, God, how long have I been out?”
“A couple hours. You’ve been sedated.”
“I have to go home.” The twins. They’d be upset. It had to be at least noon. And Paulina, the babysitter. Kat was so late. She tried to push past Logan. “I have responsibilities.”
Logan placed her back on the bed, and pressed her shoulders into the down pillow. He hovered over her. “You were severely dehydrated, suffering from exhaustion, thrashing and crying out in your sleep. I couldn’t take a chance that you’d hurt yourself.”
She stared into his face, struggling to keep it in focus, stunned he wasn’t a dream. She’d had enough over the past three years to wonder. She blinked. He was real. He’d changed. Oh, his brown hair was still cut short, a tad longer than a military cut, and he’d lost some weight, but more than that. His hazel eyes were stressed and tired in his lean face, but she also saw something in them she didn’t expect. Concern? Worry? For her?
Feeling woozy, unable to help herself, she let her hand hover over the scar marring his cheek, a scar that hadn’t been there three years ago. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn’t let herself. She had more than her own wishes to think about now. “I need to go home. You have to take me there.”
He clasped her hand in his. “Kat, it’s going to have to wait.”
“Not happening, Logan. I need to leave and there’s something I have to tell you on the way. You’re not going to li—”
The bedroom door slammed open.
“What do you think you’re doing, Carmichael? You will not touch her.”
A distinguished man, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled, and dressed in a suit that must have cost two years’ salary, strode in. He acted as if he owned the world, and two hulking figures trailed behind him like mindless minions.
Logan turned, shielding her from view. Kat shoved at him to move aside but he planted his feet and
