King's Ransom (11 page)

“Damn!” It wasn't so much that she was desperate to revisit the scene of some of her happiest teenage memories with Mara—although she would have liked to see the suite again—but she'd wanted something to distract her from thoughts of Andre that stubbornly kept popping into her head. Something to block out his voice calling to her.

She jiggled the latch, but it held firm. “Damn,” she said again, but without heat this time. When she reluctantly turned around to head back to her own suite, she froze when she saw four men surrounding her. Guns drawn and pointing at her.

* * *

The phone call hadn't wakened Andre. He hadn't been to bed yet—hadn't even undressed. “Miss Richardson is on the move, Sire,” the voice on the other end of the phone had said. “It is after midnight, and I thought you would want to know.”

“Destination?”

“Unknown. But she does not appear to be leaving the palace. She is still on the second floor.”

“Good man. Stay with her. I will be with you shortly.”

* * *

Four men in camouflage clothing and desert-style boots confronted Juliana outside the door to Mara's suite. She had no idea how they'd managed to creep up on her with such stealth, and sudden terror brought the metallic taste of fear in her mouth. When the man closest to her—obviously the leader of the team—recognized her he lowered his weapon, but the other three still kept their guns pointing in her direction. “What are you doing here at this time of night, Miss Richardson?” the leader asked.

Juliana opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out because her heart was pounding too hard and she could scarcely catch her breath. Then she saw the badges they wore on the arms of their camouflage uniforms—Zakharian National Forces—and was able to breathe again. Only then did she remember the security briefing she'd received along with everyone else staying in the palace.
Motion detectors in the common areas are operational from midnight to 5:00 a.m.,
they'd all been warned.
Please do not leave your suite during this time.

The motion detectors weren't the only security in the royal palace to protect the priceless antiques, paintings and other objets d'art owned by the king, Juliana remembered now from the security briefing. All the paintings on the walls were wired for touch, as were the numerous display cases. And the crown jewels were housed in a separate area of the palace—strictly off-limits to visitors except by appointment—guarded by electronic eyes as well as human guards. By leaving her suite after midnight in violation of the warning, she'd set off the silent alarm.

“An innocent mistake, I am sure, Sergeant,” said a deep voice from the shadows. All four men immediately recognized the king's voice—as did Juliana—and at a sign from their sergeant the other men holstered their weapons, turned toward the king and saluted.

Andre moved out of the shadows and into the light, flanked by two men, neither of whom Juliana recognized. “At ease,” Andre told the security guards. “Thank you for your diligence, gentlemen, and your quick response, but I think Miss Richardson is no threat. You may return to your posts.”

“Yes, Sire,” the sergeant said quickly, snapping another salute before he and his men departed with military precision.

Andre's eyes never left Juliana as he waited for the security guards to leave. Then he said, “I am sorry they frightened you, but were you not warned about the silent alarms?”

Juliana nodded, then found her voice. “I was. But I wasn't thinking. I just wanted...” She wasn't about to tell Andre she'd been trying to distract herself from thinking about him by revisiting old haunts, and had completely forgotten the warning until it was too late. Especially not with two strangers listening to every word she said.

A faint smile touched Andre's lips, and he lifted his chin in the direction of the doorway behind her. “You were trying to enter Mara's suite. A trip down memory lane?”

She swallowed hard. “Something like that.”

Without turning his head, he said, “Privacy, please, Dmitri. Yakov.”

“Yes, Sire,” both men responded before moving several paces away, out of earshot.

Andre took a step toward her. “You could not sleep, either, little one?”

His tender voice was as tangible a caress as if he'd touched her, and Juliana shivered and backed away. “Please don't,” she begged. “Please.”

She wasn't sure what she was asking, except that she couldn't bear knowing she was as vulnerable to Andre as she'd been eleven years ago. And that he knew it. That he would take advantage of her when she had no defenses against him.

His smile faded, and his eyes darkened. “No, Juliana. Since you ask it, I will not. Nor will I impose myself on you any further tonight.” He turned and strode away with his determined tread, saying as he went, “Dmitri, please escort Miss Richardson back to her suite.”

 

Chapter 11

O
nce back in the Queen's Suite Juliana paced. No more able to sleep now than she had been before. But it was worse now, because seeing Andre tonight had brought home an undeniable truth she could no longer escape—whether he loved her or not, whether he deserved it or not, her heart irretrievably belonged to him.
Forever and a day.
She had to accept that...and move on.

So what do I do now?
she wondered. She looked down the years of her life and realized she had come to an end of sorts.
King's Ransom
could be her swan song, just as it would be Dirk's. She wasn't under contract for anything yet, even though she'd received half a dozen scripts to read and offers were on the table. She didn't need the money any more than Dirk did. She'd never lived lavishly, so she'd saved enough money to retire comfortably even though she was only twenty-nine.

Even if she hadn't saved her money, she'd inherited a trust fund from her mother—a highly successful stage actress before she'd married Juliana's father—that would support her if she needed it. She'd never been a starving artist, not even when she first started out in Hollywood. And eventually her father's money would come to her, too.
But not for a long time,
she prayed. She couldn't really remember her mother, so her father was the only parent she'd ever known. Money could never fill the void in her life the loss of her father would bring.

But the bottom line was that she didn't need to support herself with her current career, had never needed to work at all. Not for money anyway. She
had
needed to work to escape.

She still had her charity work. She was on the governing boards of two organizations related to children's rights—one advocating strict child labor laws in developing countries similar to laws in the United States, and one fighting the sexual exploitation of children. They'd invited her for marquee name value to raise awareness of the issues, not realizing just how actively involved she'd become—because anything related to safeguarding children pushed all her buttons and always would. So she still had that to focus on.

Maybe she'd give stage acting a shot, too, although that was very different from acting in the movies. Once upon a time she'd daydreamed of following in her mother's footsteps and becoming a Shakespearean actress—maybe now she'd give herself the chance to find out if she could do it or not.

Daydreams. Once upon a time she'd daydreamed of Andre, too. But not anymore.

* * *

The helicopter hovered over the site of the landslide for a moment as Andre stared at the shocking devastation below. “Take her down,” he called to the pilot through the headsets they both wore, the noise of the rotors making headsets a necessity. The pilot nodded acknowledgment, his eyes searching for a good spot for the helicopter to land. Andre spotted it first. He touched the pilot's arm to draw his attention, then pointed silently, and the pilot nodded again.

Once down, Andre wasted no time. He jumped out, followed by his bodyguard, but Andre didn't wait for him. Both men bent over until they were out of range of the still-whirling rotors, then picked their way over the rough ground from the landing site to the houses that had been hardest hit. A fire-and-rescue crew was already there, frantically digging through the rubble, searching for survivors. Other crews, including teams from the Zakharian National Forces, were working on other houses. Andre saw them helping the surviving victims, sorting through those who were injured and those who were merely badly shaken when half the mountainside had unexpectedly come down upon this tiny village, nearly wiping it out.

There were other victims, too, he saw, his brows twitching together. Bodies laid out side by side in the sunlight, blankets drawn over them to give them a measure of dignity in death. Six of the blanket-covered mounds were much smaller than the rest, and Andre felt a pang in the region of his heart. Children. Six of the known dead were children.
How many more?

A bell tolled frantically from the church tower of Taryna. The church itself had suffered extensive damage, but the bell tower was miraculously still standing with no apparent structural damage amid the rest of the devastation, and Andre hoped that sound would carry through the mountain passes and call the men back from the mountain meadows. Most of the villagers were sheepherders, making their livelihood from the mountain the way their ancestors had for centuries. But even in this day and age of cell phones, coverage in these mountains was spotty at best, and the bells were still the best way to send an urgent message.

Water mains and sewer systems hadn't been affected—anything below ground was apparently still intact—but electricity was out because the power lines had come down. And natural gas had been shut off at the pumping station to prevent fires from breaking out through the ruptured gas lines in the destroyed buildings.

A sudden wailing drew Andre's attention to a dust-covered woman picking up a small body that had just been pulled from under a beam that had once held up a roof. A body that didn't move, even though she clutched at it and begged it to answer her. Before he knew it he was there beside her. “Let me take him,” he told the woman kindly, lifting the slight weight into his own arms, quickly feeling for the pulse he knew wasn't there.

Pity swept through him. Pity for the child, whose eyes were half open but would never see again. And pity for the mother, whose child was forever lost to her. With one hand he closed the eyelids so the child appeared merely to be sleeping. Then he stroked the tousled hair into a semblance of order and brushed the dirt away. “Come,” he said, walking toward the tent the Zakharian Red Cross was already setting up over the bodies laid out in what had once been the town square.

He surrendered his precious burden to a Red Cross aide, then turned to the silently weeping woman behind him. In that moment they weren't king and subject. They were just two people in the midst of tragedy, and Andre held her for long moments as she wept her heart out in his arms. Finally, when the first torrent of tears abated, he asked her, “What was his name, madam?”

The woman raised her head. “Stepan,” she said brokenly, then dissolved into tears again. “Stepan.”

“A good name for a son,” he told her, wishing there was something more he could do other than hold her. Wishing he had the words to comfort her.

A group of men rushed down the road just then, returning from where they'd been tending their flocks of sheep in the high mountain meadows, obviously starting their return when they'd heard the mountain rumble ominously, followed by the frantic tolling of the bells. A man with a dazed look about him broke away from the others and rushed to where Andre stood with the grieving mother. “Katia?” he asked anxiously. “Katia? Where is Stepan? Where is our son?”

The woman turned from Andre and threw herself into her husband's arms, weeping anew. Muffled words answered him, and the man's face contracted over his wife's head on his shoulder as he grasped the truth he didn't want to hear. His eyes met Andre's.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Andre said gently, laying his hand on the man's other shoulder and squeezing firmly.

The man shuddered once, but kept his emotions in check. “Thank you, Sire,” he said gruffly. He glanced down at his wife. “And thank you for...”

Andre shook his head. “It was nothing. Do not think of that. Just comfort your wife. Stay with her. Be strong for her.” He squeezed the shoulder one more time then removed his hand. “I will pray for your son,” he said sincerely. “And for your wife. And for you.”

The other man blinked back sudden tears. “Thank you, Sire.”

Andre turned away to give the man some privacy in his grief and almost ran into his bodyguard. “Get their names, Damon,” he stated quietly for his bodyguard's ears alone. There was little enough he could do for the couple. Money to rebuild their house, yes. Money to replace the possessions they'd lost.
But that will not bring back their son,
he thought sadly. He breathed deeply several times, preparing himself mentally for more bad news. Then he headed back to the ongoing rescue effort.

* * *

The fresh-faced palace maid assigned to look after Juliana and who went by the name of Daphne had been and gone, tidying the room, drawing Juliana's bath over her protests, asking her what clothes she wanted to wear for the evening and then laying them out, again just ignoring Juliana's protests with a patient smile. Juliana wasn't used to being waited on this way.

Yes, she had her personal assistant, Maddie. Maddie was a necessity to deal with fan mail, to run interference, to perform little errands such as taking clothes to and from the dry cleaner's and to do the hundred and one other things Juliana didn't have time to do for herself as a general rule. But not to wait on her hand and foot. Not to do things Juliana was perfectly capable of doing for herself, like laying out her own clothes and drawing her own bath.

But all Juliana's protests were ignored, and Daphne continued doing whatever she felt it necessary to do on Juliana's behalf, and eventually Juliana had given in with as good grace as she could muster. She had just finished luxuriating in the perfumed bath Daphne had drawn for her after a long day of filming when there was a sudden loud rapping on her door. Juliana pulled on clean underwear and quickly wrapped her robe securely about her, knotting the belt firmly. The rapping continued, more forcefully than before.

“Okay, okay,” she called, but she wasn't sure if the person on the other side of the door could hear her or not, so she hurried to answer it. Dirk stood there, his face a study in worry.

“Got a minute, babe?” he asked Juliana, not waiting for her assent, just moving into her sitting room.

“Sure. What's up?” She turned around to face him as he paced.

“I talked to the director and the producer about changing the filming schedule, and they're willing as long as you agree contractually. In other words, as long as it doesn't cost the film more money. But it means extending your stay in Zakhar.”

She started to shake her head. No way did she want to stay a minute longer in Zakhar than she absolutely had to. But then she realized Dirk, the ultimate professional, wouldn't ask her to do this unless he had a really good reason. And the only reason that came to mind was Sabrina. “It's about Bree, isn't it?”

He nodded. “I want to take her back to the States for treatment. I've been talking to her doctors back there, and we've just about convinced Bree chemo will be safe for her
and
the babies now that she's closer to six months along. She's wavering on the surgery, but I'm working on that. I've got scenes to film that don't involve you—you know I was supposed to stay on after you leave. But if I can accelerate all my scenes into the next two weeks, my part on the movie will be wrapped up and I'll be free to take Bree back earlier rather than later. But that means the rest of your scenes without me will have to be postponed. Will you do it?”

“You know I will,” Juliana responded without hesitation. “I don't have another picture lined up—I was going to take a vacation after
King's Ransom
, go visit my father. But he'll understand if I can't make it when I said I would.”

“Thanks, babe,” he told her, giving her a quick hug and kiss. “I'll tell the producer. He'll probably want you to sign something—you know how that goes. I'll call Marty and give him a heads-up,” he added, referring to their lawyer agent. “I owe you big-time.”

“Don't be stupid,” she chided him. “I love Bree like a sister. I'd do this in a heartbeat for her, you know that. But even if that wasn't the case, I owe you far more than a little thing like this.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. “Think positive, okay? Bree's going to be fine.” They walked arm in arm toward the door.

Just as Juliana reached for the old-fashioned door latch, a knock sounded on the door. Her heart skipped a beat and all she could think of was Andre. Andre knocking at her door because he'd promised her he'd never use the secret passageway between their bedrooms. Andre... And she was alone in her suite with Dirk, wearing a bathrobe with nothing beneath it but skimpy underwear. Until this moment she hadn't realized how it might look.
I haven't done anything wrong,
she told herself stoutly. But would Andre believe it? Believe her?

Then she shook that thought off.
Why do I care? Andre doesn't believe me anyway.
Still, before she opened the door she called out, “Who is it?”

“It's Maddie,” came the muffled response through the solid oak door.

Juliana let her breath out on a whoosh, and Dirk gave her a knowing look. “Thought it was him, didn't you?” he asked, not needing to specify who
him
was.

With heightened color, she said, “Don't be ridiculous,” and opened the door. “What is it, Maddie?”

“Oh,” the young woman said as Dirk exited Juliana's room without saying a word, just a smile and a wave. She watched him walk away, then turned her gaze back to Juliana, taking in the robe and Juliana's obvious lack of other clothing beneath it. “Oh, I...I didn't mean to interrupt.” Her eyes betrayed what she was imagining.

“Come on in,” Juliana told Maddie, leading her into the sitting room and past the open door to the bedroom, wanting her to see the bed completely made up, nothing in the room out of place as it would be if she and Dirk had just spent the preceding hour in a passionate frenzy. And the clothes laid out on the bed ready for her to don them. She smiled to herself when Maddie finally relaxed her tense scrutiny of both rooms.

“Dirk wanted to know if I'd agree to change the filming schedule, and I said I would. That means we'll be staying here longer than originally planned. Will that be a problem for you?” Maddie started to answer, but Juliana added, “If it is, don't be afraid to tell me. You can always go back ahead of me—I'm fine with that.”