Then we’ll have a week of celebration, culminating in a royal wedding.
* * *
This story isn’t over…
Epilogue
Hunting
MacCallum Lockwood Tate
The enormous jet touches down in the midst of a blinding Miami rainstorm. Powering off my laptop, I look out the window at the palm trees swaying in the wind as we taxi, and my mind drifts to the last time I saw Zee.
She was asleep in her bed at the Fairmont Hotel. Her blue eyes closed, a thick, pale blonde curl lay across her cheek, and her adorable mouth was relaxed. Still, I could hear her sassy voice, imagine the sparkle in her blue eyes as she taunted me. It made me laugh softly, and I’d wanted to wake her. I’d wanted to hear her voice and make love to her, but I had to get to the track.
Instead, I left her a note, telling her how amazing our night had been, starting with that fuck on the boat—jesus! I gave her my heart that time… Followed by that ice-cold, unexpected swim.
Watching the wind batter the palms, I shake my head. It all makes sense now—her panic, the reason she ran that night, her fear of being caught. I remember my shock at seeing her going out the window. Of course I went right after her. Just like I’m going after her now.
During the twelve-hour flight, I caught up on everything I’ve missed. Rowan emailed me explaining what Zelda said, what Ava told him—how Reggie found them in a casino in Miami, how he threatened them unless they helped with his plan to oust my brother, how they discovered it was all a ruse. Reggie used them to get back into the country so he could continue his plan to seize control of the government.
I confess, I’m surprised by how far our uncle is willing to go—to kill his own family—in order to ensure the success of his plans. My chest tightens when I realize how dangerous this situation is for Zelda. If these men won’t back down from killing the crown prince, removing Zelda will be like swatting a fly.
She’s the only person who can directly tie them to the crimes, and I intend to find her and take her back to Monagasco.
Rowan also let me know Wade Paxton has gone off the grid. Even though he’s been stripped of his title, we have no reason to believe he’s lost his power or his connections. If he’s been planning this for years, Zelda’s right—we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. And we have to watch our backs. It makes finding her even more urgent. At home I can keep her safe. I can keep her by my side.
We lost track of her once she and Seth landed in Miami, but Ava gave us two possible starting points—a woman named Helen Regis and a Ramada Hollywood Downtown. I have the address, and it’s where we plan to start.
The plane finally stops moving, and a low tone sounds in the cabin. The lights flicker on, and we all stand, including Logan across the aisle from me, and Freddie a row in front of me.
We’re using fake names, and we’re dressed casually in jeans and button-down shirts. Our reason for this visit will be stated as “pleasure.” We’re simply European businessmen spending a week in South Beach. It’s the best way to stay ahead of the game.
“I’ve made contact with our local guys,” Freddie says, once we’re through customs. “They’ll meet us in the parking garage with weapons and vehicles.”
“What’s the latest on this weather?” I look out the window at the typhoon in which we’ve landed.
“Typical Miami rain?” Logan suggests.
“Let’s hope it pushes through quickly.”
We’re in the garage, taking the elevator to the second to top level. Down twelve rows and over three, I see our men waiting beside a black SUV and a smaller black Mercedes sedan.
“That’s not conspicuous at all,” I say, shaking hands with Ronald Delahousse, our local contact. His light brown hair is longish and messy, and he’s dressed the same way we are, except he has a thin nylon jacket on top.
He does a slight bow. “Your grace.” He hands me a black leather wallet. “U.S. passport, Florida dr
iver’s license, and credit cards for one Bill Aucoin.”
At the rear of the sedan, he opens the trunk and lifts the mat. Two rifles and a store of ammunition are housed in a secret compartment.
“Nice,” I say.
“In the console area, you will find a drop-down compartment containing a thirty-five millimeter and a Diamondback DB-9.”
“That would be a…?”
“Four-inch nine-millimeter handgun,” he says. “Both are fully loaded.”