Prince's Dirty Little Secret (A Royal Secret Baby Romance) (16 page)

The man swallows hard and nods.

I hand the gun back to Nikolai, and he jams it into his waistband. We turn and leave the office, leaving the man sitting at his desk, rubbing his neck.

The plan is in motion now, and it's too late to go back.

We hurry down the hallway, passing office workers who stand aside in shock at the sight of their prince rushing through their offices. I'm guessing he doesn't come up to this floor often. We take the elevator back to the main floor, walking at a brisk pace that's just short of a jog. I look back and forth, turning my head to look behind us each time we turn a corner. I keep expecting another assassin or kidnapper to leap out of the shadows and grab me, putting a premature end to our coup attempt. But it doesn't happen. The people we pass in the hallway look at us suspiciously, but none of them stop us.

When we get back inside his quarters, he latches the deadbolts tight. Our two duffel bags sit next to the closet, ready to go. We don't have any time to waste.

The assault rifle is sitting next to the bags. He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, then jams the spare magazines into cargo pockets on his pants. He reaches into his waistband, pulls out the revolver, and hands it to me.

"You take this. Just in case."

I nod.

"Now," he says, "we go down."

W
E DESCEND
into Nikolai's escape tunnel. He carries our supplies, the assault rifle slung around his shoulder. I flank him, holding a two million candlepower torch, illuminating the tunnel in front of us.

I feel the cold steel of the revolver against my skin, its presence a constant reminder of what I may have to do.

I've never hurt another person in my life, but when it comes to my two boys, I'm prepared to do almost anything.

In a way, I can relate to the King's desire to keep power within his family. Most people want what's best for their family, and if you have an entire country and economy under your control, you sure can provide a lot to your family.

But the difference between me and the King is that I'd limit myself if I were in power. I'd want the best for my family, sure, but I wouldn't step on the necks of an entire population to do it.

I may be fiercely protective of my own clan, but I'm not like the King.

The tunnel is much different than the one that Ashley and I used to enter North Molvania. That one was wide, spacious, brightly lit, and well-maintained. This tunnel is narrow, damp, dark, and seems like it could come crashing down at any time. I have a feeling that it was dug after the palace was constructed, and that it wasn't originally a part of the palace plan.

Makes sense, I guess. The ancient monarchs of North Molvania are said to be good kings, generous and fair to their subjects. It was only in the last hundred years that the ruling family began to abuse their power and turn the country into a ruthless dictatorship.

When you have something to fear from the people, that's when you need an escape tunnel. To burrow your way out of danger… like a rat.

I think back to how I felt about Nikolai before I met him. That's what I thought he was. A dirty rat. Pretty, but dirty nonetheless. It's incredible how different the truth actually is. He's turned out to be one of the most loyal and good-hearted people I know. He just didn't have anyone to bring out those qualities in him.

I think about Josh, and what kind of man he will grow up to be. If we all make it out of this alive, that is. Will he inherit the noble qualities of his father? Or, god forbid, will the evil traits of his grandfather skip a generation?

It's that whole nature versus nurture debate, I think, as we shuffle along the damp dirt floor of the tunnel. I go back and forth on it. All I know is that I'm gonna be the best mother I can be to Josh if—when—we get him back.

The tunnel only seems to get narrower as we walk, and I start to feel my shoes slop around on the floor. I point the torch down at my feet, and I see that the ground is wet mud. A trickle of water runs down the side of the tunnel, and I trace its path with the torch. It's coming from where the wall meets the ceiling, slowly flooding the tunnel. "This place gives me the creeps," I say to Nikolai, who trudges forward ahead of me.

"It was not meant to be used often. It is not a high-traffic tunnel. It was built for escape only."

"So, what's on the other side?"

"It exits in the back of an abandoned building. Manned by loyal ex-military men on payroll."

"They just wait there in the event that you come out the other side?"

"Yes," he says. "Ready to receive anyone who comes through, and needs to get the hell out of here. But now I do not know what—or who—we will find. I fear that the guards may have been compromised or worse."

I don't say anything. I just keep walking. But that's what I'm afraid of too. That when we come out the other side, it's going to be right in the middle of a den of bad guys.

But I trust Nikolai to get us through this in one piece.

Finally, the light of the torch glints off something metal at the end of the tunnel. It's a door, but not a thick vault door like the one that seals the main entrance to North Molvania. It looks like a basic office door that's been fitted to the entrance, jimmied to fit the irregularly shaped space.

"Slow and quiet," says Nikolai. He slows his pace dramatically, and begins taking cat-like steps instead of marching as we'd been doing previously. I follow suit, trying to make as little noise as possible. I keep my weight on the balls of my feet, trying to avoid dragging my shoes against the floor.

"Go first," he whispers to me. "The door opens to the inside. Open it fast, and hide behind the open door so they cannot see you. I will be ready with the rifle."

I swallow hard. "Got it," I say. "Hey."

Nikolai turns around, and I can see his face by the light reflecting off the tunnel walls. His face is bathed in light and shadow, and it looks angular, sharp, and strong in the dull light. He looks like some kind of military hero in a movie, and I guess that's what he is right now. A hero trying to save his child and his country at the same time.

"Kiss," I say. I feel like I need to sneak in as many kisses as I can, because we don't know what lurks around the next corner.

Or in this case, behind the next door.

He turns around, shrugging the assault rifle out of the way. He drops the two duffel bags to the ground, and then wraps his arms around me in a warm, giant embrace. There's something about his touch that makes me feel like the whole world could disappear, and it feels unfair when we finally part and everything is still exactly the way it was before.

He brushes off my arms, looking down at me with a wistful smile. I can tell that many of the same thoughts are running through his head, yet I have total confidence that if anyone can get the job done, it's him.

"Did I have some dirt on me?"

"No," he says, smiling. "It was just an excuse to touch you."

"You don't need an excuse to touch me," I tell him. "The opposite, actually. The only time I'll ever complain is if you stop."

He lowers his voice, almost to a growl, a purr. "When this is all over, I'm going to take you to bed and I am never going to let you go."

I smile at him. "Let's get this over with so that can happen as soon as possible."

I walk up to the door and place my fingers on the handle.

"On my count," whispers Nikolai. "Open the door, get behind it, and turn off the torch."

I nod.

"Three, two, one. Mark!"

I grip the door handle, pull it down hard, and swing the door open, stepping backwards. The door swings wide, concealing me in the corner of the tunnel, out of sight of whoever or whatever is waiting out there.

There's no window on the door, so my view of Nikolai in the tunnel is completely obscured. I can't see what's happening. I can only listen.

There are a series of shouts from behind the door, and then I see a powerful stream of light flood into the tunnel.

More shouts, and then the gunfire starts.

I hear it first coming from whoever's on the other side of the door, and then Nikolai's rifle begins to fire. The shots are absolutely deafening, and I reflexively take my hand off the door handle to press my palms against my ears.

There's a shuffling sound from Nikolai's direction—him moving, I think. More shots from his rifle, and then I hear a scream of pain from the other side of the door.

More shots. More screaming. The smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils, and reminds me of the shooting class I took in high school. It's funny how smells can trigger such powerful memories.

Finally, the gunfire dwindles, and then completely stops. I begin to count in my head. I'll count up to 30, and then I'll emerge from behind the door.

And find out whether it's Nikolai left standing, or some evil bastard from the other side.

I start counting in my head, and I'm so focused on it that I don't hear the footsteps coming toward me until someone grabs the door handle from the other side and swings it shut, revealing me.

It's Nikolai. The rifle is slung back over his shoulder, white smoke rising from the tip of the barrel. On the ground where he'd been positioned, there are two empty, used-up magazines laying on the ground.

"Come on," he says, "Let's go up."

N
IKOLAI STEPS THROUGH THE DOOR
, climbing the staircase to the surface, and I follow him.

Inside, it's an abandoned building, just like he said it would be. Four bodies lay strewn around the room, cut down by the rounds from his rifle. Blood from the bodies pools on the floor, all the streams mixing into one big, shallow pool of red. There's no way to avoid it, and my shoes leave bloody footprints and streaks as I step around the room.

The dead men don't look like ex-military Molvanian guys. They're all young, and they look Arab.

I look at Nikolai, waiting for his analysis of the situation.

He shakes his head slowly. "Just as I thought. Gunnar, Milton, Hamish, nowhere to be found. Guys that were with me since I was a child. Not a trace left."

"Then who are these guys?" I ask, waving my hand at the dead bodies on the floor.

"I don't know. Mercenaries hired by my father. I fear we may never know the fates of the men who were posted here. But I suspect they met brutal ends."

A moaning sound pierces the silence, and as I look down, I realize that one of the men is still alive.

I look down at him. His head is shaved, and he wears a scarf around his neck. His body is covered in desert camouflage gear.

I crouch down next to him. "Did the King hire you?"

He makes eye contact with me, but then looks away, not saying anything. His breathing is shallow and it's obvious that he's mortally injured.

"I said," repeating myself, "Did the King hire you?"

I reach to my waistband and pull out the revolver. It's almost as if my body is functioning outside of my control. I point the barrel at his head.

"Tell me where my baby is.""

"Don't know," he mutters, "No baby."

"You didn't see a baby?" I ask him, my voice cold. I press the barrel of the gun hard against his temple. Part of me just wants to blow this motherfucker's head clean off his body.

"No. No baby."

I wrap my finger around the trigger and start to pull it. It's uncocked, in double-action mode, which means there's a long trigger pull before the gun fires. About halfway through the trigger pull, Nikolai steps toward me, puts his hand on the gun, and pushes it down until it's pointing toward the ground.

"Don't. He knows nothing."

The man scowls at me on the ground. I stand up and turn away from him.

"We need to move," says Nikolai. "The longer we stay in one place, the more danger we are in. We have to get to the GPS coordinates."

"Right." I turn back to look at the man. He's lying on the ground, not moving.

We exit the building and step into the sweltering Transylvanian sun. The sun bakes my skin, but it actually feels cooler outside than it did in the building, where the air was still and thick.

There's a Jeep sitting outside the building, and an old broken-down supply truck. The truck is covered in a thick layer of sand, and it looks like it hasn't moved in years. Nikolai walks ahead of me to the open-top Jeep, and fishes around between the folds of the sun visor. When he removes his hand, he's holding a key ring between his fingers.

"Got it," he says. "Get in."

I yank open the passenger door and hop in as Nikolai walks back to the building's exit to retrieve our supply bags. When he returns, he drops them in the back of the Jeep. He takes the assault rifle off his shoulder, and sticks it next to the driver's seat before getting in and closing the door.

Good. We need the rifle close at hand.

"Only two magazines left," he says, as he starts the Jeep's engine.

He fishes around in one of the cargo pockets on his pants and pulls out a small yellow GPS unit, along with the envelope of coordinates we got from the palace architect.

"Dial them up," he tells me.

I punch in the coordinates, and we take off.

We drive across the dusty old Transylvanian roads, the Jeep kicking up a plume of silver and tan dust behind us. The sun is starting to set, and the evening horizon light filters through the dust storm in our wake. Reds, blues, and oranges illuminate the dusk.

The ride mostly passes in silence, but Nikolai keeps one hand on the wheel and one on my lap, and I absent-mindedly play with his fingertips as he drives. In a way, I almost didn't expect us to make it this far already. Well, that's not quite true—I knew Nikolai could handle it. I'm just nervous about what happens next.

When the sun's gone down completely, visibility gets bad. The Jeep's headlights are dim, and there's a heavy wind kicking up sand and dust all around us. The Jeep's headlights reflect off the cloud of sand in front of us, making it nearly impossible to see where we're going.

"We need to pull off," says Nikolai.

He slows the Jeep and takes us off the main road. The shoulder of the road is hardly any rougher than the road itself, which is potholed and ill-maintained. Not surprising. The road is ancient.