The Duke's Covert Mission. Julie Miller
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Despite coming face-to-face with the chauffeur’s dead body, she’d expect to stay safe.
Cade found himself making a rare, foolish promise.
He’d do that for her. He could do nothing to stop the chain of events her kidnapping had already set into motion—he didn’t want to. He wanted to find out who was paying them for the job.
But he could keep her safe.
It was his responsibility, after all.
Because Cade knew something Jerome and Lenny didn’t.
They’d kidnapped the woman in the red dress, all right.
But the wrong woman was wearing that dress.
He’d met Lucia Carradigne Montcalm at her sister CeCe’s wedding a couple of months ago. It had been a big affair, a princess marrying an American millionaire. Lucia had made a bit of a spectacle of herself at the reception.
The woman chained in the basement had a lot of class, but she wasn’t any princess. She wasn’t even a Carradigne. She seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. Maybe he’d met her at an embassy function. Or back in Korosol.
Cade eased his conscience with the promise of keeping her identity a secret. She might not understand or appreciate the importance of that favor—but he did.
Because if Jerome and Lenny and the man on the phone even suspected she wasn’t Princess Lucia, they wouldn’t just break her spirit.
They’d kill her.
“HE SAYS THEY’LL kill her.”
His Royal Highness, King Easton of Korosol, hung up the phone and sank wearily back into the ornate mahogany chair, feeling every one of his seventy-eight years.
He’d sent men into war, weathered the lean years of a budget crisis with his people and worked tirelessly to ensure his country’s future by selecting the best possible successor to the throne. He’d buried a wife he loved and neglected his family in America in order to carry out his responsibilities to the citizens of Korosol.
But nothing had drained him the way that phone call had.
Maybe it was his age. Or the rare blood disease that was slowly sucking the life out of him.
Maybe it was the guilt of asking a trusted friend to make a sacrifice for Easton’s beloved homeland.
If Ellie was here, she’d know the right thing to say or do to cheer him up. The girl spoiled him silly, and like an old fool, he let her. Eleanor Standish had proved a much more valuable resource than just a sensible, reliable secretary. She read his moods, saw to his comfort, quietly went about working her miracles and taking care of him so that he could take care of his country.
And now… He didn’t even want to think about what the poor girl must be going through.
Easton sat up straight in the chair and surveyed the select group of men he’d summoned to the study of the Carradignes’ Manhattan penthouse. He pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk before him.
“I was afraid of something like this when I came to America. Afraid of putting my family in jeopardy. But Ellie’s all right for now. I’ve been given until midnight Monday to answer the ransom demand.”
His closest friend and advisor, retired general Harrison Montcalm, crossed his arms and assumed a pose that reflected his military background. “Any idea who’s behind this?”
“The man’s voice was altered with a mechanical device. He sounded like a robot.” He’d have to be a heartless robot to endanger Ellie’s life.
A steely voice cut across the room. “What’s the ransom? Whatever it is, we’ll pay it, right? How much?”
Easton looked up at the blond man marching toward him, a man fired up with a thirst for action. Nicholas Standish couldn’t be blamed. Hell. If Easton was forty years younger, he’d charge after Ellie himself.
But Harrison offered them both a sobering reminder. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“What do they want?” Nick asked.
“My throne.” There was a curse, a gasp of shock, even a condolence, before a deathly pall settled on the room. Easton listened to the forced, steady breathing of the other men. He placed his hand on his chest to subdue the pounding of his own heart. He had prayed the transition of power from one ruler to the next would never come to a crisis like this. “Whoever they are, they want me to step down from the throne. And, of course, they made mention of several million dollars.”
The fourth man in the room, Devon Montcalm, a younger, taller version of his father and captain of the Royal Guard, stepped forward. “Do you think it’s the Korosolan Democratic Front? My sources tell me their funds are nearly depleted.”
“Possibly.”
Nick braced his fists atop the desk and leaned forward. “I thought they’d agreed to use peaceful means to resolve their differences with the monarchy.”
Easton shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time a political faction has used violence to speed along the process.”
As usual, Harrison offered a prudent course of action. “You want me to get ahold of Remy Sandoval?”
Easton pulled out his handkerchief to clean his glasses while he considered the offer. He had a suspicion as to who was behind this kidnapping. But until he had absolute proof, he didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. After several tense, uninterrupted moments he stood and put on his glasses, preparing himself to do business both mentally and physically. “Yes. Sandoval’s still their party’s spokesman. I’d like to know if everyone in the KDF is cooperating with the truce, or if there’s someone from the old guard he can’t control.”
Easton reached out and laid a comforting hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “I know this is difficult for you. I appreciate you stepping in and filling the role you always have for me. I know you were looking forward to your honeymoon.”
Harrison’s grim look matched his own. “Well, considering it’s my wife who was their intended target…” A riot of fiercely protective emotions surfaced before his rigid mask of propriety returned. “I’ve put Lucia in a safe place, and Devon’s posted twenty-four-hour security.”
“I’ve put a guard on everyone in the immediate royal family,” added Devon.
Father and son exchanged a look of purpose and promise before Harrison turned back to the king. “I’ll go make those phone calls.”
As Harrison left to make contact with the Korosolan Democratic Front, Nick jumped to his feet. “Isn’t it a little late to beef up security? The damage has already been done. I know I’ve been out of the country for several years, but is this how you handle a crisis? Make some phone calls? Bide your time? My sister could be dead already. What were your granddaughters thinking, dressing Ellie up and sending her out—”
“Standish,” Devon warned.
“She knows nothing about these kinds of men. She never left the ranch. All she knows are her books and her dreams.”
Easton absorbed the tirade, placing the blame for Ellie’s kidnapping squarely on his own shoulders. “She’s not a child anymore, Nick. Ellie hasn’t seen much of the world, I know. But she’s smart. Resourceful.” Around a conference table or behind the scenes of the royal court, he amended silently. Easton did worry that his shy guardian angel might be way out of her league in this crisis. But he reassured them both. “She’ll be all right.”
And then he did what he did best. He took charge.
“Devon. Put your best men on alert. I may need your help.”
“Already done, sir.”
Nick turned and headed for the door. “I’m going after her.”
“No.”