Chapter 22

NADIA TURNED HER head one way and then the other, studying the new her. Her hair was now the same golden-wheat shade and chignon style as Sarika’s, and her face felt pampered with royalty-worthy lotions and cosmetics. She even smelled like a princess. In fact, she smelled like this princess. Grinning, she bent closer to the wall mirror. It didn’t matter that her eyes weren’t the same shade of green as her friend’s, but her sleepless night had done some damage.

Not that looking tired would be a problem for her performance this afternoon. People would expect the princess to look wan and weak. She’d spent most of the night punching her pillow and rewinding their talk yesterday. Matt had given her no reason not to trust him, and when she heard her and her dad’s voices on his phone, she reacted on instinct instead of using her brain.

Except for Matt being ordered to spy on her, she knew the rest — the need inside him to belong, the dedication to his work and his team, the risks he’d taken for her. He wanted her, but did he truly care for her? On her way to bed, Sari had bandied the L word, but she couldn’t bring herself to think it. He couldn’t deny recording the phone conversation for obvious reasons. He surely knew how she’d feel, so he stayed away. She pressed a hand to her roiling stomach.

Suffer? Maybe, but he did appear wrung out yesterday. But why would he still care for her? He must think her a petty bitch. How could she make it right?

Sari appeared in the mirror beside her. “The color and style suit you.”

Nadia pulled her thoughts and unraveled emotions back to the present. “It’s incredible how much we resemble each other. More than I realized.”

“Come with me,” the princess said. “I have secrets to share.”

“Secrets? What kind of secrets?”

But Sari had steered her walker out of the guest bathroom and was hobbling down the long hallway.

Nadia joined her in the kitchen, where mottled gold spilled through the skylight and on the café table and chairs. Sari had poured coffee for them. The rich aroma wove warmth around them.

“What’s this about?” Nadia took the wrought-iron chair Sari had pulled close to hers. Scenarios reeled through her mind. Maybe it was about the plots against the Modena royals. But maybe more violent plots were being launched by the terrorists. Or was it a secret about Sarika herself?

“There’s a good reason we strongly resemble each other. Now that your father has told you the truth about your birth, it’s time you knew the full story.” She stirred cream and sugar into the cup, slowly, as if searching for words in the milky mixture. “You and I are first cousins.”

Nadia gaped. “Have you pole vaulted to this conclusion because of what I told you?”

“No pole vaulting. I might damage my stitches.” When Nadia only stared at her, Sari took a sip of her coffee. “It’s a long story. I learned about this only a couple of weeks ago, so I don’t know everything.” Moisture sheened her eyes, and she set down her cup.

“What is it? Please tell me.”

Sari reached across the small table, and Nadia grasped her hand. Finally she spoke, in a tremulous voice. “Your mother left Modena pregnant with you, as your father said. She’d had an affair with my uncle.”

A riot of emotions twisted Nadia’s lungs, so she could scarcely get her breath, but managed to rasp out, “Your uncle… not the duke?”

“Uncle Roman, yes.” Sari’s shoulders straightened, as she’d gained control of her emotions. “As a palace secretary, Irena was a frequent emissary between him and my parents. He could be very charming. He was about ten years older than her, so it’s quite likely he seduced her, the randy old goat.” She huffed.

Nadia had seen photos of the king’s brother, a tall, handsome man with a military posture. The duke… and her mother? But that would mean….

“She and my mother were friends before Father ascended to the crown. I had just been born a couple of months earlier,” Sari continued, her words seemed to run into each other, colliding in Nadia’s head and racing heart.

Sari’s mother had found Irena crying and dragged the story from her. Back then, her pregnancy would’ve been a major scandal in the royal family and in the country, so Sari’s grandparents and parents — and the duke — kept the secret. Irena left for the United States with new clothes, a generous bank account and the keys to an apartment in Arlington, Virginia, all paid for by the duke.

A cyclone roared and swirled in Nadia’s head. “The apartment was next to Dad’s. It’s how they met. I never suspected any of it. Is there more?”

“Merely the best news. The tabloids will have a field day, but times have changed. You have always been the sister of my heart. And now all the Constantins will welcome you into the family.” She opened her arms.

Sniffing back tears, Nadia scooted closer and circled her arms loosely around her. “I don’t want to hurt you… your injuries.”

The sun glistened on Sari’s tears and her wide smile. “You cannot. It is my joy to share this with you.”

“Oh, Sari.” Nadia held her cousin — my cousin — and let the tears come. “My… mascara…”

“Hush, we can take care of the fallout from a few tears of joy.”

A soft, hopeful warmth suffused Nadia. A family, a very large family in Modena. But without her film project and, oh God, her company, she couldn’t afford to go to Europe. What would she do? And her father, she had to tell him all this, didn’t she? What would he think? She’d been advised not to contact him yet, and this time she would take that advice.

But dammit, what was she going to do? What would Matt say? Ah, Matt. She pictured his brown eyes, tortured with fear for her yesterday, but still sexy, his slow moves and quick mind and his broad shoulders. He’d protected her, and yet he made her feel she could face anything, do anything.

And she could. She was ready for this afternoon’s scenario. Yes, a scenario. Think about it as a script.

With Wade and Chief Renzo of Modena Security, Matt stood to one side of Alina Greco’s apartment door. Another DARK officer and two more Security people flattened themselves against the wall on the other side. In case Greco was armed or any of Cardona’s rebels were camped out inside, all held sidearms and wore official ballistic vests.

Another Security guy out of uniform — tousled black hair, Hollywood smile — shifted from foot to foot in front of the door. He dressed the same as the searchers at the Prospect Hotel. Pressed jeans, crisp jacket, polished military shoes. Matt would check into the possibility later.

The guy swiped his hands down the sides of his jacket. Gearing himself up.

Matt chafed at the wasted time. He checked his wristwatch. One fifteen. The ribbon cutting at the Capital Refugee Resettlement Center was to start at two. He’d need at least a half hour to get from here in Adams Morgan to northeast D.C. Maybe longer. Was Nadia already there on the little stage, with God knew how many people milling around?

He looked at his watch again. Fuck. Get on with it. He couldn’t say it aloud. This was Renzo’s show.

Throat clearing from the chief pressured the guy to ring the doorbell. The standard ding-dong sounded inside. He smiled in the direction of the peephole and waited. His hands again did the napkin thing on his jacket.

A minute later, high heels clicked on the foyer floor. “Bruno, what are you doing here?” Alina said in Italian. Her voice rang with impatience. Matt knew the emotion intimately.

“Ciao, Alina,” Bruno said. “I heard you took the day. It’s my day off too, so I thought we could do something.”

Fucking lame, but maybe enough to get the door open.

“You thought.” Her tone implied that clearly he hadn’t thought, or he wouldn’t have showed up.

Renzo lifted his hands palms up, mutely conjuring what charm the other man might possess.

Bruno must’ve had good peripheral vision because sweat began to bead on his temple. “Ah, my apologies, Alina. I hoped we had a connection, that you feel as I do.”

His sad puppy-dog eyes must’ve done the trick because locks began to click open.

The door swung inward and Alina appeared. “Of course I do,” she said sweetly, “but you should’ve phoned first. I have to go ou—” Her gaze lit on movement or shapes beyond the opening, and she took a step back inside.

Before she could slam the door, officers grabbed her arms and had her against the corridor wall, her arms and legs spread. She was relieved of a small pistol concealed in her ankle boot. When she spotted Matt and Renzo, a torrent of Italian curses flew from her mouth.

Matt honored her with a little bow as he and Wade, pistols held in both hands, hurried into the apartment. Place smelled of fake apple scent from a room freshener. Open plan kitchen and sitting area. Phone on the eating bar beside a honkin’ big purse. The two of them made a sweep of the bedrooms, closets, bath.

Wade stowed her pistol. “I’ll wrap up the computer equipment in the second bedroom.”

“Clear,” Matt called to the others. “Nobody here.”

Modena had the authority over its national, but the embassy contained no facilities for prisoners. The plan was for Alina to be taken to DARK headquarters, which housed interrogation rooms and a secure suite. Modena Security and DARK would question her, and she would remain locked up until the Modena authorities could arrange for her transportation home to stand trial.

One twenty-five. Shit. Matt had arranged with Wade and the other DARK officer that he could split once Alina was in custody and the apartment secured.

“Go.” She brushed her hands at him in a shooing gesture. “Make sure your woman is safe.”

Her bald statement hit him like a punch to the gut. Not likely Nadia would ever be his anything, but he had no time to disabuse Wade of the notion. He headed for the door. “Thanks. I owe you both.”

Renzo stepped in front of him. “Officer Leoni, I must speak with you.”

No getting past the brawny man without a forklift, and his gravelly voice made the request a command.

Matt summoned patience. “Chief, your people and the other DARK officers can handle the rest here. I’m needed elsewhere.” In case the ambassador hadn’t informed her security chief about the trap for Cardona, Matt said no more. He moved his shoulders in an elaborate shrug, a gesture the other man should understand implied confidentiality.

“I will take only a little moment. First I must apologize to you and to the so lovely Signorina Parker for my… mistrust and mistreatment of you. I believed you were the bombers, you see. I was angry that I had allowed you — the bombers, I mean — to escape. We traced the signorina’s phone, and you understand I wanted to redeem myself. Instead… by being captured, my man further embarrassed Modena Security.” He placed his hand over his heart, and his cheeks reddened. “I hope we can keep this little misadventure between us.”

Matt glanced at his wrist. One thirty. Dammit, he had to get the fuck out of here. “I accept your apology. But it won’t go so easy with DARK. My superior doesn’t like unsolved mysteries. This one needs to be cleared up. Best if you do that yourself.”

The security chief’s complexion deepened to maroon, but then he nodded and stepped aside.

Matt ran out the door. He punched the elevator button. Why did Alina have to live on the tenth fucking floor? What was happening at the center? Were all the DARK people in place?

A groan rumbled through him, and he clicked the Off switch on his imagination. Otherwise he’d be no good to anybody, least of all Nadia. He called on the focused calm an op like this one required, and let it settle around him like a mantle.

As he was contemplating a dash down the stairs, the elevator doors whooshed open.

Two minutes later he raced away from the building on his Harley Softail.