King for a Day (24 page)

“Yes.”

“Good. Write it down and have the courier go to the address I’m going to give you. But whatever you do, don’t go anywhere near the place. Do you understand?”

“Mia, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

I heard the distress creeping into her throat, making her words come out all shaky.

“It’s okay, Becca. Everything will be okay. Just tell the courier to ask for a man named Mack. He has a scar over his right brow. Make sure they give this phone number to him. Tell the courier to wait all day if he has to. Okay?”

I only hoped that Mack was still keeping an eye out on the warehouse. It was worth a shot.

“Uh, okay,” she said.

I repeated the instructions and address; all the while the freaked-out mortician stared at me from the corner of the room. I told Becca I loved her and hung up.

The man said something again, and I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t understand. No English?”

He shook his head.

“Spanish?
Un poco español
?” I asked. It was worth a shot.

He nodded. “
Un poco
.”

That was encouraging. “Ummm…
donde estamos
?” I asked, hoping he could at least tell me where we were.

“
Grecia
,” he said, but it came out as “Grethia.”

Grecia. Grecia…
“Greece! We’re in Greece.” I rubbed my hands over my face.

I wonder where they found me.

“Okay. Ummm…
donde yo
,” I couldn’t remember the Spanish word for “find.”
Encontrar
! “
Donde encontrarme
?”

My Spanish was horrible.

The man shook his head from side to side. He didn’t understand. The morgue door burst open, and an officer pointed a huge frigging gun at me. With his thick build, black eyes, and dark, wavy hair, he reminded me of someone.

The officer yelled in Greek, jerking the gun, but I didn’t know what he said. I assumed the obvious.

I held up my hands, but not too high. My dress was so damned short and growing shorter by the moment as it dried. And every time I moved, the sand sticking to my skin rubbed me raw. “I don’t understand.”

The policeman quickly switched to English—
thank goodness
—and instructed me to turn around slowly.

I did as he asked, but…
Crap!
I had to stay here. Mack would be calling. And I certainly didn’t want to be running around where I might bump into someone.

“Can you ask him where I was found? Please?” The policeman handcuffed me and spoke to the mortician, who answered promptly.

With a thick accent the officer said, “You were found on the beach a few hours ago. He says you were dead. He is certain you are a ghost.”

“Pfff…Yeah, right. Ghosts. Do I look like a ghost to you?”

“No. You look like a suspicious person playing sick games. That is why you are coming with me.”

Shit
. I had to tell these guys something. I didn’t want word getting out that a dead woman had been found on the beach and then turned out not to be dead.

“Why am I being arrested? I was kidnapped, and…I jumped off the boat. ” I stared with my best traumatized expression—not difficult to do given the situation.

“Who kidnapped you?” he asked in the world’s most condescending tone ever.

“I don’t know. I was on vacation with my friends, and we met some guys in a club. I think one of them put something in my drink.”
I am such a horrible liar.

“Where were you?”

My mind scrambled, trying to think of somewhere within this hemisphere where I’d been on business. “I was in Venice.” I’d been there on a photo shoot once. I at least knew the name of a hotel and one bar.

“You are a long way from Venice, Miss…?”

“Mia. Mia King.” I don’t know why I lied about my last name. It was a stupid thing to do.

“Well, Miss King, I will take you down to the station. We can sort all of this out there.” He nodded at the mortician.

“But what did I do? I’m the victim here,” again I lied.

“If that man,” he pointed to the terrified mortician, “says you were dead. You were dead.”

I huffed. “So what are you saying? I was dead and just woke up? As if.” I shook my head.
Crap. Crap. Crap. Can this get any worse?

“No. Of course not,” he replied. “But perhaps you and someone else took the real body. And you thought this little game would cover up its disappearance.”

Okay. I didn’t have a reply to that other than, “Who the hell would do such a thing?”

The officer looked at me with his large, brown eyes. “We will find out.” He ushered me toward the door.

My mind spun frantically, hoping to hell that Mack would get to me before anyone learned about me being alive. “I called my friend. I gave him this number. He’ll be worried sick about me.”

The policeman spoke to the mortician and then told me if anyone called, they’d be directed to the station. He walked me through a small administrative office and outside to his car. We looked to be downtown—the historic-looking, gray, brick buildings were stacked tightly together, and there was a large bank on the corner. It was also early morning. The sun wasn’t fully up, and there was a bit of traffic. I wondered how long I’d been gone.

A small chilly wind kicked up, triggering a shiver as the officer put me into the back of his car. I hoped the ring would prevent me from getting pneumonia because I swore I felt icy seawater sloshing around in my cold bones. It was unsettling. Why the hell had King arranged to throw me in the ocean? Landing me here of all places?

“If you are telling the truth,” said the officer with the deep accent, “I apologize for the harsh treatment. But it is not every day that our coroner calls, screaming that the dead have awoken and want to eat his brains.”

Normally, I would laugh at that, but the gravity of the situation had robbed me of my funny bone. I doubted I’d be able to even work up a genuine smile until King was free, Vaughn was dead, and Justin was safe.

“I don’t think I’ll be eating anyone’s brains,” I said. “But I would love a shower and some dry clothes. Or pants. I’d settle for pants.”

He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “We will see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Officer…I didn’t catch your name.”

“Officer Spiros,” he said with a thick accent.

I knew that last name.
Spiros. Spiros
. “Of Crete? Are we on Crete?”

He glanced at me again through the mirror. “Yes, you are in the city of Heraklion. Why?”

It would be too much of a coincidence. Completely insane, but…but…even that accent sounded familiar. “Do you know Arno? Or…” Crap. What was his full first name? Why was I so bad with names?

“Arsenius?” he said.

“Yes! Arsenius. Do you know him?”

He nodded slowly. “He is my brother. Why do you ask?”

A wave of relief flooded my body. This was why I’d been brought here. King had connections in Crete. But how had he known I’d end up in the right hands?

Does it matter?

No.

I dropped my head. “Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you.”

Officer Spiros pulled to the side of the street. He turned and faced me. “Who are you?”

I showed him my mark, and his eyes lit up. He said something in Greek that I imagined was a curse or phrase that indicated disbelief. “Where is our king? Why is he not with you?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I know who has him.”

The officer made an unexpected U-turn.

~~

During the drive through the small city—very touristy with lots of hotels, cute restaurants, and nightclubs—I gave Officer Spiros the super-condensed, CliffsNotes version of what had happened and how we’d been taken to Vaughn’s basement. Spiros listened but didn’t say much other than he needed to get me out of sight as quickly as possible, which I assumed meant going to his home.

We made our way down the rocky coast along a winding road. Carved into the hillsides, small farms with neat rows of green overlooked the deep blue ocean shimmering off in the distance. Crete was breathtaking, and I could almost imagine King living here once upon a time when he was a man, a happy man.

The highway cut inland a bit, and then we turned down a long dirt road that headed back toward the ocean.

The car pulled up to a foreboding iron gate with spikes at the top, and Officer Spiros spoke into the intercom. The gate buzzed and hummed as it slid open and we passed. Security cameras atop tall iron posts followed the car until we arrived at a large, brick, circular driveway with an enormous fountain spouting water toward the sky.

“Where are we?” I asked, my teeth chattering.

“This is his home.”

His?
“Whose?”

“King, as I believe you call him.”

The enormous home looked like a hotel, not a private residence. Giant white pillars soared to the three-story roof on either side of the home’s entrance—two hand-carved, oversized doors. Bright white plaster and square angles gave the home an ultramodern look.

Off to the right was a tropical garden—lush date trees, fountains, and ponds—and off to the left was a tennis court. Behind that was a sprawling field with a circle in the middle.

And a big honking helicopter.

“King lives here?” I asked.

The officer nodded his head. “Yes. More or less.”

“And you know about…his condition?”

The officer shot me a look as he opened the door and called out for someone. “It is forbidden to speak of his secrets. Our family has sworn an oath to protect those as well as him.”

Okay. So they obviously knew King was a ghost.

I nodded. “So what are we going to do? That psycho Vaughn is after my brother. I need to warn him.” Then, of course, there was King. Thank goodness he was already dead because I had no doubt in my mind that Vaughn would skin him and kill him, too, if given the chance.

Spiros replied, “The family will be here within the hour to discuss it. In the meantime, we will get you fed and cleaned up.”

A plump, older woman in a black dress and headscarf appeared the moment my head nearly swiveled off its hinges in the entryway. The home was a palace—marble sculptures of Greek gods, a wide, circular indoor fountain that flowed into a six-foot pool, enormous indoor palm trees, and high ceilings with murals of celestial beings in white togas, reclining on white, fluffy clouds amid a backwash of blue sky. Light poured in from huge skylights, filling every corner and creating a shimmery effect on the white marble floors.

Officer Spiros spoke to the woman, who looked perfectly at ease until he said a word that sounded like “
vasílissa
” toward the very end.

“Oh. Oh!” the gray-haired woman covered her mouth and then started to rant.

“What? What’s wrong?” I asked them both.

“Nothing,” he said calmly. “She was not expecting visitors.”

The frantic woman grabbed my hand, making gestures about my body or my horribly short, rapidly drying leather dress.

“Go with her. She will show you to a room and find you something to wear. I will be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To cover your tracks. We don’t want anyone wondering why I did not deliver ‘a suspicious woman’ from the morgue.”

“Do you have a phone I could use?” I had to keep trying to reach Justin.

“No,” he said sternly. “No phone calls. Not until we know it is safe.”

“But I—”

He held out his hand to stop me from speaking. “I understand you are worried, but any rash behavior might make things worse. For everyone. Including my family, who is now responsible for hiding you. So for all of our sakes, please allow us time to discuss the situation before any further action is taken.”

I sighed, seeing the logic in his argument. I certainly didn’t want to do something—like call everyone and their mother, looking for Justin—that might cause suspicion regarding my fate and lead 10 Club here. Enough people were already sailing on this sinking ship.

“Okay,” I said. “I can wait an hour.”

He made a little bow and left.

The woman once again began tugging at my hand to follow her up the staircase. I did as she asked, trying not to feel awkward being in this place, but I simply couldn’t help gawk at its opulence.

She led me down a brightly lit hallway. Little coves with recessed lighting were positioned every four feet or so. Inside were ancient vases and clay pots, some with faded blue dolphins swimming with fish, others with designs resembling squid and other sea creatures. A tapestry of a bull with a border made of blue and white stars hung inside a glass case near the end of the hall beside a large set of double doors, which she pushed open.

Standing to one side, she gestured for me to enter.