Prince Incognito. Rachelle McCalla
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for their safety as he staggered forward, uncertain whether he was even still heading in the right direction, disoriented by the eruptions. Isabelle had been wary of the bodyguard who’d been appointed to protect her, and Stasi… Come to think of it, he hadn’t even seen Stasi.
Another deafening squeal filled the air, the sound tearing at his ears as it approached, closer this time. Alec flung himself backward instinctively, diving away from the eruption, praying for some form of cover.
Heat swelled behind him as he felt the stone of a limestone wall. A building! He turned away from it, pushing himself back into the heat and smoke and chaos. His sisters were back there. He had to reach them. He had to find them!
His ears throbbed, too traumatized to hear, but he felt the vibrations of the next incoming eruption, closer this time, and more powerful. He spun around, bracing himself to run, to dive toward his sisters’ cars, but there was no time. The concussion caught him before his feet hit the ground, propelling him sideways, the shock wave pulsing through him like an electrical fire.
Then all was black, and silent.
The ringing in his ears began slowly, and Alec peeled his face away from the weathered limestone, blinking as his eyes focused on a red smear across the cream-colored stones.
Why was there blood on the stones?
He looked down. Blood splashed against his suit. Where was he? What was happening?
Stumbling forward, he tried to remember.
He’d been attacked, surrounded.
He had to escape.
He had to survive.
* * *
Lillian Bardici turned and ran down the alley for her rented rickshaw as the sound of another blast erupted, nearer this time. Heat from the blast sizzled down the alleyway, swelling past her as she ran. Okay, so maybe watching the royal motorcade pass by hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe she should have listened to her parents, who wanted to set sail earlier in the afternoon. They could have been in the middle of the Mediterranean by now, far from the explosions on the street behind her.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Lily saw a man in an olive soldier’s uniform—different from those of the officers who’d waved her back from the street. He’d barely made it to the opening of the alleyway when another blast struck.
Lily ducked back into the thick stone archway of a limestone doorway. Waves of heat plunged past her, and she caught her breath, praying.
Dear God, help me! Help that soldier!
Her heart pinched at the thought of the handsome man who’d had no chance to escape the blast. As soon as the first swell passed by, Lillian peeked out.
The soldier leaned against the wall, a red streak of blood painting the creamy limestone behind him, marking the place where his face had grated against the wall. He raised his head just as she looked at him, and she saw disorientation in his eyes. He staggered forward a few steps.
Lillian couldn’t leave him. If another blast hit, he’d be done for. She ran forward. “Hurry. You’ve got to get out of here!” The scream of another incoming explosive buried her words, but thankfully, the blast struck farther away. Though it shook the ground beneath them, she felt none of its heat.
The man seemed to find his feet and trotted forward, his expression determined in spite of the blood that marred the left half of his face.
“Can I help you?” Lily asked as he reached her. She stumbled along beside him. “You need to get to a hospital.”
“No.” He stopped, his earnest blue eyes boring into hers. “No hospital. I’ve got to get out of the country. It’s not safe here.” He took another step forward. “Hurry. Don’t let them find me.”
“Don’t let who find you?”
Another distant blast erupted, and the soldier plodded past her, toward her rickshaw that sat at the end of the alley. Lily caught up to him just as he paused next to it.
Again, his eyes met hers. “Help.”
Unsure what he meant, Lily reached for his arm, steadying him as he sagged into the back passenger seat of her tricycle-like rented rickshaw.
She looked at him for only a second, his eyes closed, his body slumped down. From her medical training, Lillian knew the concussive shock waves from explosions could cause tremendous internal injuries, often with no external harm. The damage was likely catching up to him already.
Goaded on by the eruptions behind them, Lily hopped onto the bike and pointed the handlebars downhill. Between the added weight of the soldier behind her and the downward slope of the streets as the city gave way to the sea, she had no trouble getting her bike moving.
The marina was a mere three blocks away, all downhill. Her parents had already said they wanted to cast off that afternoon, but Lillian had begged them to stay long enough for her to watch the motorcade pass by. Her father hadn’t been happy about it, insisting that they should leave before the state dinner. But when she’d pointed out all the other promises he’d broken in the past few weeks, he had reluctantly agreed. She’d promised to return immediately thereafter, and return the rickshaw at the stand at the head of the pier. They could leave immediately.
Since she’d personally run all their errands while they’d been in port in Sardis, renting the bike so she could haul fresh stores of food and water, it had seemed only fair that she be allowed to stay a little longer. And she’d promised they could be gone before the state dinner began.
Now Lillian questioned the wisdom of her decision as the rickshaw picked up speed, careening toward the pier. She laid on the brakes as she blew past the rickshaw rental stand, and just managed to skid to a stop next to her parents’ yacht.
“Lillian!” Her mother, Sandra, gasped when she saw the soldier’s bloody form slumped on the back of her bike.
Her father’s jaw dropped.
But by the time he found his voice to insist that Lily take the soldier right back to where she’d found him, Lillian had already dismounted from the bike. The rail of their yacht bobbed a little higher than the dock, but the bike sat higher still. Lily tipped the rickshaw, and the unconscious soldier keeled toward the cushioned bench that encircled the deck of the yacht.
“Lily, no!” Michael Bardici demanded, rushing forward to stop her, an instant too late.
With a hefty heave, the soldier tumbled gracelessly onto the cushion. Lily hopped onboard after him, rearranging his arms and legs to settle him flat on his back.
“Lily.” Her mother approached, wringing her hands. “Did you see what was going on up there? It’s like a war zone.”
“Mom, please. Can you push the rickshaw back up the pier? We have to get out of town.”
Her mother paused, surprise on her face, then obediently climbed onto the dock and took the bike back up to the rental stand.
Lifting the man’s eyelids to check his pupils for signs of concussion, Lillian listened with one ear to her father’s protests.
“What are you thinking bringing that man onboard? There’s been some sort of violent attack up there, and now you’re getting us mixed up in it. What will your uncle David say?”
Lily focused on her examination and didn’t respond. The man’s pupils were even, with no telltale red streaks that would have indicated his capillaries had burst. A good sign. Hopefully the alleyway had blocked much of the force of the blast, preventing a traumatic concussion. It boded well for the likelihood of minimal internal injuries.
Her father inserted his face in her line of sight. “I know you think you have to rescue every injured creature that crosses your path, but this is going too far. He’s a human being. You can’t take him out of his country—”
“He asked me to