Читать книгу: «Alec's Royal Assignment»

For my sister, Diana MTK Autin, Esq., whose Edward Everett Hale quotation on FB sparked an idea, and who helped me get the legal details correct (any errors are mine and mine alone). And for Vincent…always.

Though itself part of the US Department of State, the Bureau of Diplomatic Security is the parent organization of the Diplomatic Security Service (DSS). The DSS is the primary tool by which the DS carries out its security and law enforcement mandate.

For more information, please visit state.gov/m/ds.

I have the highest regard for the work these

federal agencies perform. Nothing in this story is intended as a negative representation of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security or the Diplomatic Security Service, their duties or their employees.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Diplomatic Security Service special agent Alec Jones turned automatically when the front door opened and let a stream of light into the coffeehouse. He and his date were in the vestibule waiting to be seated, along with a couple of her local acquaintances—husband-and-wife schoolteachers. Alec watched with detached, professional interest as two bearded young men dressed as security guards entered. Their garb and their holstered sidearms appeared innocuous enough, but there was something off. And Alex’s sixth sense instantly went on the alert.

He glanced over at Darla, but she was caught up in conversation with her friends. Alec had only been posted as regional security officer, or RSO, for a month at the embassy where Darla had been serving for a year as personal assistant for the US ambassador to this tiny Middle Eastern nation, and this was their first date.

Alec’s eyes flicked back to the two men. They’d taken seats near the front door as if they were patiently waiting their turn at a table. But one man was peering through the curtained window as if checking out the street. The other was watching the movements of the customers in the coffeehouse with cold, hard eyes. Alec’s sixth sense was humming steadily—something was definitely wrong.

His hand slid inside the jacket he always wore, even on the hottest days—and there were a lot of hot days in the Middle East—for his SIG SAUER P229R, one of the standard-issue concealed carry weapons DSS personnel used.

Without warning, the two men abruptly jumped to their feet, drew their sidearms and started shouting commands in Arabic and broken English. Alec’s semiautomatic was instantly out.

Nearly everyone in the coffeehouse hit the ground immediately, including Darla’s two friends. But Darla was shocked into immobility. She stared openmouthed at the gunmen, frozen with fear. And when the men turned their weapons on Darla and Alec—their faces twisted with hate, a fanatical light in their eyes—Alec fired.

It was all over in seconds. The two young men lay on their backs on the floor, unmoving. Their eyes were open and fixed sightlessly, guns still clutched in their hands. The shots they’d managed to get off had gone wide—only the gunmen had been hit. Blood stained their clothing crimson, pooling around their bodies.

But Alec felt no guilt. No remorse. He knew enough Arabic to know these men were terrorists—their shouted warning to the non-Americans to take cover and leave the infidels to them was easily understood, even with his less-than-perfect knowledge of the language. Their sole intent had been to abduct or kill the only two Americans in the coffeehouse.

Alec moved on autopilot now. He kicked the guns from the hands of both men into a far corner of the room. The training ingrained in him said you never take the death of the bad guys for granted. The only way to ensure safety was to neutralize the threat by removing any and all weapons from the vicinity. He didn’t think these men had any other partners in the coffeehouse, but you could never be sure. And he wasn’t taking any chances.

How had they known Darla and he would be here? The answer to that question would have to wait. Could Darla’s so-called friends have set them up? Possibly. This coffeehouse wasn’t frequented by Americans from the embassy, but Darla’s friends had insisted it had true “local flavor,” something Darla was interested in experiencing. It was something to consider...but not right at this moment. Not with the coffeehouse patrons staring at him in horror, as if he’d instigated this confrontation.

Alec bent over and quickly checked both men for a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find. Then he rifled through their pockets. He found zip ties, blindfolds, gags and a couple of switchblade knives—confirming their intentions—but no identification. Nothing to tell him who these men were or what terrorist organization they were affiliated with.

He lifted a corner of the curtain and glanced out the window. These two likely had a driver and a getaway car somewhere outside, but he couldn’t see anything that looked suspicious. And he couldn’t very well leave the scene to check. Not now. He’d have to depend on the local authorities to follow up on the getaway car...if it was still around. The gunfire had to have alerted the driver that things hadn’t gone down as planned, and he was probably long gone by now.

Most of the coffeehouse patrons had risen from the floor in the few seconds Alex’s back was turned, and many of them had cell phones out. Two of them began sidling for the door when police sirens were heard in the distance. Alec holstered his weapon, turned to them and said coldly in Arabic, “No one is leaving. You are all...” His mind frantically searched for the right word. “Witnesses. You are all witnesses.” He culled his knowledge of the language and added, “All of you will give a complete and accurate statement to the police.” He stared them down until they returned to their tables.

Alec’s eyes met Darla’s for the first time since the shooting, and he recognized the familiar look of shock and dismay most civilians displayed when confronted with sudden, deadly violence. Darla wasn’t naive—all embassy personnel were briefed on the hazards of working in the Middle East—but she’d never taken a human life. And she seemed appalled Alec had done so. Coldly. Dispassionately.

At least that’s how his actions appeared to her, he knew. Alec wasn’t cold. Nor was he dispassionate. He regretted the necessity of this killing, but the alternative was unacceptable. He wasn’t going to second-guess himself or his actions. Not now. Not ever.

As the distant sirens grew louder, Alec sighed softly. No matter what came next, he knew two things for sure.

One, despite the fact that he hadn’t instigated this incident, he would now be persona non grata at the US embassy here. The promotion posting as RSO he’d just received a month ago was now shot to hell and gone. Even though there were plenty of witnesses to back up a claim of self-defense, the State Department was hypersensitive about the possibility of reprisals. He would be whisked out of the country as soon as the local officials allowed, in order to hush this incident up.

Two, not as important but still important enough, his budding relationship with Darla had just died a quick death, too.

Which raised another question. Would he ever find a woman who understood?

Chapter 1

Alec deplaned at the surprisingly modern airport in the quaint city of Drago, the capital of Zakhar. His computer bag was slung over his left shoulder as he made his way up the jetway, leaving his right arm free as always—he was one of the few men post-9/11 allowed to carry a firearm on board a plane, and he never went anywhere unarmed. After a quick glance at one of the overhead monitors, he headed down the wide corridor with the rest of the passengers toward Baggage Claim.

His posting as regional security officer to the US embassy here in Zakhar had come as a great surprise, given what had happened at his last posting. As if he was being rewarded instead of punished.

Despite the fact that he already spoke rudimentary Zakharan—courtesy of an earlier assignment guarding Her Serene Highness, Princess Mara Theodora of Zakhar, before she became an American citizen—he certainly hadn’t been expecting this. He’d thought he’d be banished to the diplomatic equivalent of Siberia for a long time.

Instead, it was almost as if someone had pulled strings on his behalf to get him here, but that didn’t make sense. Alec didn’t have the political connections to make this happen, and it had been bugging him ever since the word came down where he was being assigned next.

He’d heard a rumor the king of Zakhar had specifically requested him, but that rumor was so fantastical he’d discounted it immediately. The king knew of him—how could he not, when Alec had been one of his sister’s bodyguards in the US?—but the king didn’t know him.

So the reason why he’d been tapped for this plum assignment was still a mystery to him...for all of ninety seconds. That was how long it took for Alec to exit Security and spot Trace McKinnon behind the barricade, waiting for him. And he began to smell a rat. A large, deadly rat who worked for Alec’s brother-in-law, Cody Walker, at the Denver branch of the ultrasecret “agency.” Who also happened to be married to Princess Mara. And suddenly the fantastical rumor didn’t seem so fantastical, after all.

“I should have known,” was all Alec said as he shook McKinnon’s hand.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I just volunteered to meet your flight, that’s all. If you want to thank anyone, thank my wife. She’s the one who asked her brother to intercede on your behalf.”

Alec’s smile morphed into a frown. “Wait a second. I don’t want anything I haven’t earned.”

Trace spared him a cynical glance as they walked toward Baggage Claim. “You know as well as I do that in the real world it’s not always what you know but who you know. But don’t think you didn’t earn this assignment. Not to mention, you did the right thing taking down those terrorists, no matter what anyone says.”

Alec shook his head. “Diplomatically—”

McKinnon uttered a pithy, four-letter word. “You’re alive. They’re not. Score one for the good guys.”

They arrived at the baggage carousel for Alec’s flight and stood there waiting for his checked luggage to appear. “So what are you doing in Zakhar? Don’t tell me you’re on assignment here.”

McKinnon shook his head. “No, Mara and I are here on family business. The king’s wife just had a baby, hadn’t you heard? You’d better believe it’s a big deal here in Zakhar—the birth of the crown prince, the continuation of a dynasty going back more than five hundred years. This country has been celebrating almost nonstop for a month. We’re here for the christening ceremony, along with a bevy of international dignitary invitees, including our very own secretary of state standing in for the president.” He grinned. “You can thank him in person for putting in a good word for you with your boss—Mara made sure you received an invitation to the christening.”

Startled, Alec said, “Thanks... I think. Speaking of babies, I hear congratulations are in order for you and the princess, too.”

McKinnon’s smile deepened into one of intense satisfaction. “Yeah, this summer. I didn’t plan on more than one at a time, but as Mara says, children can’t help being born—they have no choice in the matter. So we’re now the proud parents of twins, a boy and a girl.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“It’s hectic,” was all McKinnon would say. But his grin told Alec he wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Following the two from a distance, off-duty lieutenant Angelina Mateja tucked her short, blond hair behind one ear and commented softly to her companion in Zakharan, “So that is the new RSO at the US embassy. He is younger than I thought for such an important position.”

Captain Marek Zale smiled with amusement, turning his intense gaze toward her for a moment. “He is thirty-six. More than a year older than the king. Not so young.”

“He appears younger.” And more handsome than I expected, Angelina thought but didn’t say. As one of the first female officers in the Zakharian National Forces, she was extremely careful about what she said to Captain Zale or anyone else she worked with.

Zakhar was fifty years behind the times in many ways, especially regarding women. The Zakharian National Forces had only opened to women after King Andre Alexei had ascended the throne of Zakhar four and a half years earlier. The men she worked with were just waiting for some sign she wasn’t up to the job. Which meant she could never be anything less than the perfect professional officer.

Angelina towered over the petite queen she guarded so faithfully. Her five feet eleven inches without shoes made her nearly as tall as most of the men on the security detail. And her skill with weapons of all sorts—not to mention her skills without weapons—made her perfectly qualified for her assignment as one of the queen’s bodyguards.

She was a formidable adversary with a hard-as-nails reputation she’d worked diligently to earn. More than one man on the queen’s security detail had lost to her during hand-to-hand combat training exercises. She’d even taken down Captain Zale once, though that was probably more from surprise than anything else. She’d never managed to do it a second time, although she’d tried. Repeatedly.

Now, watching the American heft a suitcase off the baggage carousel, Angelina felt an unusual twinge of physical attraction, a jolt of sexual desire in her belly...and lower. It wasn’t something she usually felt. Wasn’t something she usually let herself feel. But there it was.

Auburn-haired Alec Jones wasn’t nearly as handsome as Princess Mara’s husband, Trace McKinnon, who was standing next to him. But he had a male attraction all his own, and was in superb fighting shape—something that appealed to Angelina on the most basic level. Even though he was covered with clothing, she could see the muscles that pulled his jacket taut across his broad shoulders.

She had an instant’s vision of him naked—honed to muscle, sinew and bone, much as she was—and wondered what it would be like to take him to her bed instead of the man she’d picked to rid her of her virginity at the age of twenty. Curiosity had been followed by disappointment nine years ago, but—Angelina’s blue-gray eyes gleamed momentarily—she didn’t think sex with this man would be disappointing. Far from it.

Just as quickly as the thought occurred to her she banished it, but not without regret. She’d long ago resolved that any kind of romantic involvement, not to mention sex, was incompatible with her job in the Zakharian National Forces. Especially given the patronizing attitude toward women held by most of the men in the rank and file as well as the officers. Sex with any man—even a non-Zakharian—was the last thing she should be thinking about. She wasn’t about to risk her reputation, or her job, for a man. No matter how sexy and irresistible he was.

* * *

Alec turned abruptly and spotted a woman across the airport watching him. Intently. She was tall, blonde and slender, with a touch-me-and-die air about her. He didn’t know why, but she pushed all his buttons without even trying, and he felt himself responding to her. Hard. Fast. He laughed under his breath and ordered his body to stand down. But he wasn’t surprised when his body refused to obey.

The woman and the man with her were both dressed in the kind of clothes he usually wore when on duty—what he was wearing now, actually—including a jacket to hide his shoulder holster. And there was something about them that seemed eerily familiar, something that reminded him of his own expression when he unexpectedly spotted himself in a mirror in public. A watchfulness in their eyes. An alertness in the way they held themselves, as if ready for anything. Bodyguards? he wondered. He glanced around but didn’t see anyone they might be guarding. Still...

“Five will get you ten, those two are bodyguards,” he murmured to McKinnon as they walked in the direction of the pair, not even needing to indicate to his friend who he was talking about.

McKinnon laughed softly. “No bet,” he said. “I made them as bodyguards, too, five minutes ago.” He looked closer as they approached the couple, and his laughter faded. His mouth took on a grim cast and he cursed softly before adding, “I know them. Both of them. Which means they’re not here by accident.”

Since the eyes of the four had already met and held, the two Zakharians didn’t bother trying to evade Alec and McKinnon as they came up to them.

The man read the expression on McKinnon’s face, and said quickly, “Your wife, she was concerned for your safety. But she knew you would refuse protection, so she asked the queen what could be done...secretly. The queen asked us as a special favor if we would keep an eye on you when we were free to do so.” He shrugged, and a small smile played over his lips. “So we are here. Have you ever tried to refuse your queen anything?”

Alec grinned, caught McKinnon’s eye and tried but failed to stifle his smile. Substitute the words your princess for your queen, and he knew McKinnon wouldn’t have been able to answer in the affirmative. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Alec Jones. I’m the new regional—”

“Regional security officer for the US embassy,” the man completed the sentence for him. “Yes, we know. I am Captain Marek Zale,” he added. “And this is Lieutenant Angelina Mateja. Queen’s security detail.”

Alec shook both their hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

Angelina said abruptly, “You were once assigned to guard Princess Mara when she first went to Colorado, yes? You and your brother. She has spoken of you both with affection.”

Alec was mesmerized by both her face and voice, not to mention her body. For once he didn’t have to look down to talk with a woman—Lieutenant Mateja was only a couple inches shorter than he was, and somehow that was especially appealing. She didn’t wear any makeup, not that he could see, but she didn’t need it. Hers was an understated beauty of blue eyes so pale they were almost gray, baby-fine skin that begged for the caress of a man’s fingers and good bone structure that would age well. All surrounded by a sassy cap of straight corn-silk blond hair.

And her voice? The slightly accented English and the word order to her sentences reminded him of Princess Mara, but she spoke in a deep, rich contralto that made him think of warm, gooey caramel melting on top of vanilla ice cream. As for her body, she was lithe and lean, but there were curves for a discerning man to appreciate. And Alec was a very discerning man.

“Yeah,” Alec answered Lieutenant Mateja’s question after a few seconds. “Liam—my younger brother, that is—and I, and this guy here,” he said, indicating McKinnon with a tilt of his head, “we were all the princess’s bodyguards the first six months she taught at the University of Colorado in Boulder.” He slid a sideways glance at McKinnon. “Then she married McKinnon—” there’s no accounting for taste, his bantering tone and expression conveyed “—and the State Department decided she no longer needed DSS protection, so Liam and I were pulled off the job.”

Alec focused on Lieutenant Mateja again, wondering—as most men wondered when they encountered an attractive woman—what she’d be like in bed. He smiled inside as he imagined making love to someone he didn’t have to bend down to kiss. Someone he could stretch out next to on the sheets. Someone as toned and taut as he was. But he was careful not to let his imaginings show on his face.

She already pushed his buttons, and now that he’d heard her voice, he was even more attracted to her than he had been earlier, and that was saying a lot.

It had been a while for him. His career with the DSS meant he was often posted outside the United States—DSS special agents had to be available for assignment anywhere in the world on short notice. And his last posting had been in the Middle East. Look but don’t touch was the watchword for a prudent man in the Middle East where local women were concerned. As for Darla, the incident at the coffeehouse had put paid to any possibilities where she was concerned.

Then, when he’d been hustled out of the country, he hadn’t been back in the States long enough to pick up the threads of his social life before being posted to Zakhar. So it had been a while. Longer than he cared to acknowledge.

But now that he’d met Angelina Mateja, Alec was suddenly looking forward to his new assignment with a renewed—and very male—interest.