Affaire Royale

  “So you’re going for a ride in the country.”

  Brie stood in the main hall, looking at her father. Her face was carefully made up. The signs of weeping were gone. But her nerves weren’t as easily concealed. She twisted the strap of the purse she wore over her shoulder.

  “Yes. I told Janet to cancel my appointments. There wasn’t anything very important—a fitting, some paperwork at the AHC that I can see to just as easily tomorrow.”

  “Brie, you don’t have to justify taking a day off to me.” Though he wasn’t certain how he’d be received, Armand took her hand. “Have I asked too much of you?”

  “No—” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Never has it been more difficult for me to be both ruler and father. If you asked …” His fingers tightened briefly on her hand. “If you wanted, Gabriella, I’d take you away for a few weeks. A cruise, perhaps, or just a trip to the cottage in Sardina.”

  She couldn’t remind him that she didn’t know the cottage in Sardina. Instead she smiled. “There’s no need. Dr. Franco must have told you that I’m strong as a horse.”

  “And Dr. Kijinsky tells me that you’re still troubled by images, dreams.”

  Brie took a breath and tried not to regret that she’d finally told the analyst everything. “Some things take longer to heal.”

  He couldn’t beg her to talk to him as he knew she talked to Reeve. Such things had to come from the heart. Yet neither could he forget how often she’d curl into his lap, her head on his shoulder, as she poured out her feelings.

  “You look tired,” he murmured. “The country air will do you good. You’re going to the little farm?”

  She kept her eyes level. She wouldn’t be turned away from what she had to do. “Yes.”

  He saw the determination, respected it. Feared it. “When you come back, will you tell me whatever you remember, whatever you felt?”

  For the first time her hand relaxed in his. “Yes, of course.” For his sake, for the sake of the woman in the emerald dress who’d tucked her in, Brie stepped forward to brush his cheek with her lips. “Don’t worry about me. Reeve will be there.”

  Struggling not to feel replaced, Armand watched her walk down the long length of the hall. A footman opened the door wide, and she stepped into the sunshine.

  For a long time Reeve said nothing. He drove at an easy speed along the winding, climbing, dipping coast road. Turmoil. It was quickly recognized, though the source wasn’t. He could wait.

  The city of Cordina was left behind, then the port of Lebarre. Now and then they’d pass a cottage where the gardens were carefully tended and the flowers bloomed in profusion. This was the road where she’d run that night, escaping. He wondered if she realized it.

  She saw nothing familiar, nothing that should make her tense. But she was tense. The land was lovely in its windswept, rock-tumbled way. It was quiet, colorful, idyllic. Yet she continued to worry the strap of her bag.

  “Do you want to stop, Gabriella? Would you rather go somewhere else?”

  She turned to him quickly, then just as quickly turned away again. “No. No, of course not. Cordina’s a beautiful country, isn’t it?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” She made her hand lie still in her lap. “I feel uneasy, as if I should be looking over my shoulder.”

  He’d already decided to give her whatever answers she needed without frills or cushions. “You ran along this road a month ago. In a storm.”

  Her fingers curled. She made them relax. “Was I running toward the city or away?”

  He glanced at her again. It hadn’t occurred to him to make that particular connection. His respect for her mind went up another notch. “Toward. You were no more than three miles outside of Lebarre when you collapsed.”

  She nodded. “Then I was lucky, or I still knew enough to go in the right direction. Reeve, this morning …”

  Regrets? he wondered as his fingers tightened on the wheel. Were regrets and common sense coming so soon? “What about it?”

  “Nanny was waiting for me in my room.”

  Should he be amused? Whether he should or not, Reeve couldn’t prevent the smile at the picture that formed in his mind. “And?”

  “We talked. She brings warm milk to me some nights. I suppose I wasn’t thinking of such things last night.” Brie smiled, too, but only briefly. “She also brought me a doll, something I’d had as a child.” Slowly, determined to be very clear on every detail, Brie told him what she’d remembered. “That was all,” she said at length. “But this time it wasn’t an impression, it wasn’t a dream. I remembered.”

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll tell Kijinsky when you see him tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question but more in the line of an order. Brie struggled not to feel resentment but to understand.

  “Yes, of course. Do you think it’s a beginning for me?”

  He’d slowed the car while she’d talked. Now he sped up again. “I think you’re getting stronger. That was a memory you could handle, maybe one you needed before you faced the rest.”

  “And the rest will come.”

  “The rest will come,” he agreed. And when it did, she wouldn’t need him any longer. His job would be over. His farm …

  He thought of it now, but it seemed as if he’d been away years rather than weeks. It didn’t seem merely a quiet, serene spot any longer, but lonely, empty. When he went back, he’d no longer be the same man with the same desires.

  Following the directions he’d been given, Reeve turned off the coast road and headed away from the sea. The going wasn’t as smooth here. Again he slowed the car, this time because of the uneven road.

  Before long, the trees muffled, then silenced the sound of water. The hills were greener, the landscape less dramatic. They heard a dog bark, a cow moo low and deep. He could almost imagine he was going home.

  He turned again, doubling back a bit on a road that was no more than dirt and stone. Then a field stretched out on one side, green and overgrown. Trees grew thick on the other.

  “This is it?”

  “Yes.” Reeve turned off the ignition.

  “They found my car here?”

  “That’s right.”

  She sat for a moment, waiting. “Why do I always expect it to be easy?” she said. “Somehow I think that when I see something, when I know something, it’ll be clear. It never really is. But there are times I feel the knife in my hand.” She glanced down at her palm. “I can feel it, and when I do, I know I’m capable of killing.”

  “We all are, under the right circumstances.”

  “No.” Outwardly calm, Brie folded her hands. Agony was kept inside, where she had been taught personal agonies belonged. “I don’t believe that. To kill, to take a life, requires an understanding, an acceptance of violence. A dark side. In some, it’s strong enough to overpower every other instinct.”

  “And what would have happened to you if you’d closed your eyes and rejected violence?” He gripped her shoulder harder than was necessary and made her face him. “Blessed are the passive, Brie? You know better.”

  He pulled out her emotions with a look. She couldn’t stop it. “I don’t want violence in my life,” she said passionately. “And I don’t, I won’t, accept the fact that I’ve killed.”

  “Then you’ll never pull out of this.” His voice was harsh as he backed her into the seat. “You’ll go on living your fantasy. The princess in the castle—cool, distant and unattainable.”

  “You speak to me of fantasy?” He was pushing her; it no longer mattered that she’d once asked him to. He was pushing her toward a dark boundary. “You make your own illusions. A man who’s spent his life looking for trouble, seeking it out, who pretends he’ll be content to sit on the porch and watch his crops grow.”

  She’d hit the mark. Fury and frustration welled up and poured out in his voice. He had his fantasies,
and she’d become one of them. “At least I know what my own reality is and I’ve faced it. I need the farm for reasons you’re not willing to understand. I need it because I know what I’m capable of, what I’ve done and what I might do yet.”

  “With no regrets.”

  “Damn regrets. But tomorrow might be different. I have a choice.” He wanted to believe it.

  “You do.” Suddenly weary, she looked away. “Perhaps that’s where we differ. How can I live my life the way I’m obligated to live it knowing that I’m—”

  “Human,” he interrupted. “Just like the rest of us.”

  “You simplify.”

  “Are you going to tell me that a title makes you above the rest of us?”

  She started to snap, then let out a long breath. “You’ve cornered me. No, I’m human, and flawed, and I’m afraid. Accepting my own … shadows seems the most difficult of all.”

  “Do you want to go on?”

  “Yes.” She reached for the door handle. “Yes, I want to go on.” Stepping from the car, she looked around and wished she knew where to begin. Perhaps she already had. “Have you come out here before?”

  “No.”

  “Good, then it’s like the first time for both of us.” She shielded her eyes, looking. “It’s so quiet. I wonder if I planned to have the fields planted one day.”

  “You talked of it.”

  “But did nothing about it.” She began to walk.

  Wildflowers grew as they pleased, in the field, along the path. Some were yellow, others blue. Fat, businesslike bees hummed around them. She saw a butterfly as big as the palm of her hand land and balance on a petal. The air smelled of grass, rich grass, rich dirt. She walked on without purpose.

  A jay swooped by, annoyed by the intrusion. It flew off, complaining, into the trees. No fairy tale here, she mused. It would be hard, hard work to clear, to plant, to harvest. Is that why it remained undone? Had she only been dreaming again?

  “Why did I buy this?”

  “You wanted a place of your own. You needed a place where you could get away.”

  “Escape again?”

  “Solitude,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  “But it needs a house.” Suddenly impatient, she turned in a circle. “It needs to live. Look there—if some of those trees were cleared, a house could snuggle in and look out over the fields. There’d be stables there. Yes, and a pasture. A hen house, too.” Caught up, she walked farther, quickly. “Right along here. A farm has to have fresh eggs. There should be dogs and children, don’t you see? It’s nothing without them. Daisies in a windowbox. Laughter through the doorways. The land shouldn’t sit unloved this way.”

  He could see it as she did. After all, he’d seen his own land in precisely the same way. Yet they remained worlds apart. “From what I’ve been told, it isn’t unloved.”

  “But untended. Nothing alive can go untended.”

  Annoyed with herself, she turned to walk farther in the high grass. As she did, her foot hit something and set it rattling against rock. Reeve bent down and picked up a red thermos, empty, with the stopper and top missing. His instincts began to hum. He held it by the base, touching no more than was necessary. He’d been a cop too long.

  “In your dreams you’re sitting someplace quiet, drinking coffee from a red thermos.”

  Brie stared at it as though it were something vile. “Yes.”

  “And you were sleepy.” Casually he sniffed at the opening, but his mind was already working ahead. Just how sophisticated was the police lab in Cordina? he wondered. And why hadn’t the farm been thoroughly investigated? Why had a piece of evidence so potentially important been left unheeded? He was damn well going to find out.

  She’d walked this way on her own, he mused. He’d been very careful not to influence her direction. Then she systematically pointed out where a house, the stables would be. If she’d sat here before … He skimmed until his gaze rested on a big, smooth rock. It was only a few yards away, where the sun would be full and warm in the late morning and early afternoon. A spot for a dreamer.

  Yes, if she’d sat there, resting, thinking, drinking coffee—

  “What are you thinking?”

  He brought his gaze back to her. “I’m thinking you may have sat against that rock there, drinking your coffee, planning. You got sleepy, perhaps even dozed off. But then you tried to shake the sleepiness off. You told me that in your dreams you didn’t want to be sleepy. So maybe you managed to get up, stumble in the direction of your car.” Turning, he looked back to where his sat. “Then the drug took over. You collapsed and the thermos rolled aside.”

  “A drug—in the coffee.”

  “It fits. Whoever kidnapped you was nervous and under enormous pressure. They didn’t take the time to look for the thermos. Why should they? They had you.”

  “Then it would have to be someone who knew my habits, who knew that I was coming here that day. Someone who …” She trailed off as she looked down at the thermos.

  “Someone who’s close to you,” he finished. He lifted the thermos. “This close.”

  She felt the chill. The urge to look over her shoulder, to run came back in full force. Using all her self-control, she remained still. “What do we do now?”

  “Now we find out who fixed your coffee and who might have had the opportunity to add something extra to it.”

  It wasn’t easy to nod, but she did. “Reeve, shouldn’t the police have gotten this far?”

  He looked past her, into middle distance. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  She looked down at the rings on her hand—one a diamond that should have symbolized faith. One of sapphires that should have symbolized love. “My father,” she began, but could go no further.

  “It’s time we talked to him.”

  * * *

  It was dangerous for them to meet, but each drove down the long, rough road to the cottage. This was a time it would have been more dangerous not to meet.

  The spot was isolated, overgrown, unlovely—a forgotten little cottage on a forgotten plot of land that had never been successfully tilled. That’s why it had been perfect. It was close enough to the little farm to have been convenient, far enough away from town to go unnoticed. The windows were boarded, except for one where the boards had been hacked away. They’d already discussed burning the place down, leaving the ashes to rot—like the body they’d buried in the woods behind.

  The cars arrived within moments of each other. The two people were too disciplined, too cautious to be late. And both, as they approached each other, were strung tight with nerves. Circumstances had made it necessary for them to trust the other with their lives.

  “She’s beginning to remember.”

  An oath, pungent and terrified. “You’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have contacted you otherwise. I value my life as much as you value yours.” They both knew as long as one remained safe, so did the other. And if one made a mistake …

  “How much does she know?”

  “Not enough to worry yet. Childhood memories, a few images. Nothing of this.” A crow cawed frantically overhead, making both of them jolt. “But things are coming back. It’s more than just nightmares now. I think if she pushes, really pushes, it’s all going to come back.”

  “We’ve always known it would come back. All we need is a bit more time.”

  “Time?” The derisive laugh startled a squirrel. “We’ve precious little left. And she tells the American everything. They’re lovers now—and he’s clever. Very clever. I sometimes think he suspects.”

  “Don’t be a fool.” But nerves twisted and tightened. How could the American have been anticipated? “If that idiot Henri hadn’t gotten drunk. Merde!” They’d seen their carefully executed plans shattered because of wine and lust. Neither of them regretted having to dig a grave.

  “There’s no use going over that now. Unless we can take her again the exchange is impossible. Deboque remai
ns in prison, the money is out of reach and vengeance is lost.”

  “So we take her again. Who’d expect a second kidnapping to be attempted so soon?”

  “We had her once!” It wasn’t so much temper as fear. Both of them had lived on the edge since Brie had been identified at the hospital.

  “And we’ll have her again. Soon. Very soon.”

  “What about the American? He’s not as trusting as the princess.”

  “Dispensable—as the princess will be if she remembers too much too soon. Watch her closely. You know what to do if it becomes necessary.”

  The small silenced gun with its lethal bullets was safely hidden. “If I kill her, her blood’s on your hands, as well.”

  Thoughts of murder weren’t troubling. Thoughts of failure, of discovery were. “We both know that. Our luck only has to hold until the night of the ball.”

  “The plan’s mad. Taking her there, right from the palace when it’s filled with people.”

  “The plan can work. Have you a better one?” There was only silence for a moment, but it wasn’t a comfortable one.

  “I wish to God I’d stayed here with her, instead of that fool Henri.”

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open. You’ve gained her trust?”

  “As much as anyone.”

  “Then use it. We’ve less than two weeks.”

  Chapter 10

  Brie sat with her hands folded in her lap, her back very straight and her eyes level. She waited for her father to speak. Questions, too many of them, had formed in her mind. Answers, too many of them, had yet to be resolved.

  Who was she? She’d been told—Her Serene Highness Gabriella de Cordina, daughter, sister. A member of the Bissets, one of the oldest royal families of Europe.

  What was she? She’d learned—a responsible woman with an organized mind, a sense of duty and not so quiet wells of passion. But something had happened to take the rest away from her, those vital little details that make a person whole. She was only just beginning to fight for the right to have them back.

  Drugged coffee, a dark room, voices. A knife and blood on her hands. She needed those memories, those details to have the rest. She’d just begun to face this.

  The room was very quiet. Through the west windows, the light was lovely, serene. It turned the red carpet to blood without violence.

  “So you believe the coffee Gabriella carried in this was drugged.” Armand spoke without heat as he glanced at the red thermos that sat on his desk.

  “It’s logical.” Reeve didn’t sit. He faced Armand, as well, standing just beside Brie’s chair. “It also fits in with the recurring dream Brie has.”

  “The thermos can be analyzed.”

  “Yes, and should be.” Though his eyes were very calm, he watched Armand’s every movement, every expression. Just as he knew Armand watched his. “The question is why it wasn’t found before this.”

  Armand met Reeve’s gaze. When he spoke, he spoke with authority, not with friendship. “It would appear the police have been careless.”

  “It would appear a great many people have been careless.” It wasn’t as easy as it had once been, Reeve discovered, to hold back temper. He saw nothing on Armand’s face but cool, steady calculation. And he didn’t like it. “If the coffee was drugged, as I believe it was, the implications are obvious.”

  Armand drew out one of his long, dark cigarettes and lit it slowly. “Indeed.”

  “You take it very calmly, Your Highness.”

  “I take it as I must.”

  “And I as I must. I’m taking Brie out of Cordina until this business is resolved. She isn’t safe in the palace.”

  Armand’s jaw tensed, but only briefly. “If I hadn’t been concerned for her safety, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “Without the bond between our families, I never would have come.” Reeve’s reply was mild and final. “It’s not enough anymore. Now I want answers.”