Unfaded Glory (4 page)

All it would take was a glance, a touch, and he'd do anything she asked—even ruin her. It wasn't that he thought a woman was ruined after she lost her virginity, but she'd be ruined if she lost it to him.

“You're not a doll, but you
are
a princess.”

“That doesn't make me any better or any worse than anyone else. All it means is that I was born into a certain family.”

“Don't be so quick to shed the protection that affords you, Highness.”

“Don't call me that. Just Damara.”

But he had to call her “Highness,” because it reminded him of all the reasons—no matter her words—why she wasn't for him. He flexed his fingers around the controls, wanting to reach out for her, but he knew better.

When he got ahold of Renner, he was going to punch him in the dick. Maybe until he couldn't raise his arms. That would only be half of what this felt like for him. There were any number of operatives who would've been a better choice for this gig.

Part of him was ready to hand the man his resignation the next time he saw him, but then where would he be? A killing machine with no purpose. What would he do? Where would he go? And what would happen to him once he had no outlet for the darkness inside of him?

No, Byron had no other options. This was where he belonged; this was what he was for. He had to believe that.

She sat quietly for a long time. It could have been hours, or it could've been minutes. Time lost its meaning when he was around her. He hated that. It made him ineffectual.

“Will you talk to me now?” she finally asked.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything. Where are you from?” She looked down at her hands. “I wasn't going to pry. Right. Seems I can't help myself.”

He cocked his head to the side. It wouldn't hurt to tell her where he was from. That was nothing. It was in his jacket. He could share those things. They weren't intimate; they weren't where his demons had hidden themselves.

“We lived in Virginia Beach when I was a kid and we had a boat. My dad would take us out at night and we chased what he called the Moonlight Road. He always said Blackbeard's treasure was at the end.”

“That's how you know your way around the sea. I bet you could tell me all about the stars, too.” She smiled. “Don't the stars inspire wonder and curiosity?” Her eyes were bright, and there was a kind of excitement on her face.

Hawkins hadn't thought about it in a long time. Not since he was a kid chasing moonlight ribbons across the water. They were maps and signposts for navigation, burning masses so far away that the light they were looking at was from something long dead and dark. They weren't hopeful or inspiring. They were pale remnants of what had once been.

“Not so much anymore, Princess. I see constellations and stories made up to make sense of a world a primitive people didn't understand. Andromeda, Perseus—myths that, like starlight, aren't real.”

She laughed. “What do you mean it's not real? I can see them. The shapes they take, the stories behind them.”

“Wishing on stars is like pinning your hope on the past and expecting it to change.”

“I didn't say anything about wishing, although it's a nice thought. I used to wish all the time that I was just a girl instead of a princess. I know how far wishing gets you. That doesn't mean that they're not awe inspiring.”

For the first time, it hit Byron that she had her own pain. He supposed that was a stupid thing to think. Of course she had her own pain, her own demons. Everyone did.

The wonder on her face was suddenly snuffed, like turning off a light. “Where do you live now?”

“Everywhere, really. I don't have a home base. I haven't since my parents shipped me off to a military boarding school my junior year in high school.”

“But surely you're from somewhere? Virginia Beach, then?”

“No, we lived there until I was seven. Then we moved to Glory, Kansas. What about you, Princess? Did you spend your whole life on an island?” He turned the conversation back to her, shutting down all the memories, all the emotion that flooded over him whenever he thought of Glory.

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “I did. I'm the Jewel of Castallegna. I'm never supposed to leave the island. Going to Tunis was the farthest I've ever been from my home.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Like missing part of myself.”

They were dangerously close to touching things he'd buried deep and dark. Like wanting to belong, knowing that there was place that was always his—always part of him.

“Do you miss Kansas?” She interrupted his thoughts.

“Not hardly. The last view I had of that place was from the back of a police car.” He hadn't been back since then and never would, if he had his way. He hated the faux piety of small-town life, the shiny picture they painted on the town's facade to outsiders who didn't understand there were no opportunities for anything better and there was definitely no forgiveness for your sins. Everyone in a small town lived in a glass house, but they all threw rocks.

“You were really a little hoodlum, weren't you?” She laughed, the sound light and happy. If she was anyone else, he'd have thought she was laughing at him. But he could see that she found delight in his delinquency. “All the better for me, I suppose. You wouldn't have the skills to do your job without it, I imagine.”

Again they veered too close to things he'd rather not disturb. Hawkins didn't know what it was about her that dredged every unholy thing to the surface, but she was like a magnet.

A wise man would decide that it was time to face those things, but Hawkins had never been accused of being a wise man.

She seemed to sense his discomfort. “I've never been to Barcelona. What's it like?”

He shrugged. One port was much the same to him as any other. He tried to think of the city with the unabashed awe that the princess would feel. From her questions when they were first at sea to now, she seemed to find joy in the smallest details, fascination with the most banal of things.

“It's a major economic center. My cover takes me there often.” He flashed her a grin, thinking of how much she would enjoy a particular hotel. “I know exactly where we can lie low until we can get a flight. I stay at the ABaC sometimes when I'm in town. I have a safety deposit box in the hotel and the staff are discreet.”

She grinned. “See? My questions were helpful. I'm not just a nuisance.”

He wanted to tell her that she wasn't a nuisance, that it wasn't that at all. But he knew once he started talking, he wouldn't be able to stop—it would be a tidal wave of confessional bile and she didn't need to hear all of that. There were things that once they were seen, once they were heard, they lived. They breathed. And they were eternal.

Like screaming.

Like blood.

Like death.

“I'm sorry we won't be able to sightsee.”

“Maybe someday, I'll be able to travel and see the world. When my people are free, I'll be free.”

“My offer still stands.” That would take care of everything. The threat would be neutralized and Damara would be safe.

“To kill my brother?”

“Yes.”

“I can't. He's my brother.”

“Even though he hates you? Even though he'd do any number of things that could be worse than dying to get what he wants from you?”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Even so.”

He vowed at that moment that if her plans failed, that was just what he would do. She deserved to be safe. If she hated him for what he'd done, well, so be it. It occurred to him again that was what he was for. He did the jobs that no one else would—or no one else could. And bearing her hate, he could do that, too.

Resolve hard as stone, he changed the subject again. The port was in sight. “Look over there. It's Barcelona.”

She perked up like a tiny wren who'd spotted a succulent worm. The closer they got, the wider her eyes were. “It's so beautiful, even from here. Are we just going to dock and walk into the city like we didn't just escape pirates?”

“Yeah. Why not?” He shrugged and flashed a smirk. “Half of my job requires balls.” There was a slim chance there'd be some of Grisha's men stationed at the port to watch for them, but he'd have to take that chance. He'd burn that bridge when he had to cross it.

“Excuse me?” She arched a brow.

“Balls. You know...guts? Half of it is fake it until I make it. I fake a lot of things a lot of the time. Most of the time, if I act like I know I belong, I'm not questioned.”

“Even dressed like a guerilla from hell?”

“Even then. We'll get a taxi and have him drop us off a few blocks from the hotel. I'll check in to the penthouse, if it's available. You need a special key to get on to that floor and that will help with our security.”

“From a stinky fisherman's boat to a penthouse suite. This has been an adventure.”

Her smile didn't meet her eyes. He could see that she was scared. She'd have to be stupid not to be. Everything was uncertain, and it was likely the Russians were still after them. Even when she got to the States that was possible—even likely.

“That's the way to look at it, Princess. An adventure.”

He maneuvered the boat through the port, dodging larger ships and other crafts until he found an abandoned slip and docked.

“You ready to go?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Just think about the room service. It's exquisite.”

“I am hungry. I could eat a goat.”

“I don't think they have any goat.”

“Lamb?” she asked hopefully.

“Most definitely.” He thought of the garlic-roasted lamb he'd had on his last trip. It had been so good his mouth watered even now. “But it'll make your mouth stink like a dead—well, it will give you bad breath.” His comparison to a dead body wasn't exactly fodder for royal ears.

“Good to know. I'll brush my teeth before I kiss anyone.”

The idea of her kissing anyone but him didn't sit well. Not at all. But it wasn't his place to say anything about it.

Things happened just as he'd said they would.

They disembarked from the small boat and walked up the dock and through the marina and no one said a word to them. It was as if people did such things all the time. It wouldn't be too long, though, before they found the boat and discovered its owners were nowhere near Barcelona. The boat would be impounded and dusted for prints; there would be an investigation.

Although by then, Byron hoped they'd be long gone.

He had no trouble getting a taxi, and it dropped them at the hotel. He always kept a variety of monies on him, and he had just enough euros to tip well without being overly generous.

As soon as he walked into the hotel, the staff recognized him.

“Mr. Hale. What brings you back to Barcelona? Business or pleasure?” the desk clerk asked him in unaccented English.

“Pleasure. Most definitely.” When he noticed she was examining his attire, he said, “Cave exploration. Been wanting to do it since my first visit.”

“I would have been happy to set that up for you.” She made a show of wetting her lips. “And anything else you need, Mr. Hale.”

“I'll keep that in mind for my next trip.” He gave her an easy smile. Part of him wanted to take her up on it now. He could just bend her over the couch in the office and slake his lust. Something, anything, to ease his body before more hours of confinement with the beautiful but innocent princess.

Except he wasn't actually interested in anything this woman had to offer him. She was beautiful, accomplished and he was sure from the way she moved she'd be great in bed.

But she wasn't Damara Petrakis.

He had to get those thoughts out of his head—he didn't know how, but it would be so much easier once he'd put some distance between them.

“The penthouse suite is available. Shall I charge it to the card you have on file?”

“Yes, thank you. Double the room service order from my last visit, please. And I'd like to access my box while I'm here, as well.”

“I'll let security and the kitchen know. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Hale? Anything at all?” She smiled and leaned over the desk, emphasizing her ample and lovely cleavage.

“Not at the moment.” He accepted the key and winked at her.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hale?” Damara said in a sickly sweet voice as he took her up to the penthouse.

Byron laughed. “Are you jealous?”

“No, of course not. But that was just pathetic.” She rolled her eyes. “Even I know that a man won't buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”

“I don't want to buy the cow.” He snorted.

“Glad you see it my way.” She harrumphed.

He laughed again. “Call me Brian while we're here. It'll most likely be for only a few hours, but just in case, okay?”

“Yes, Brian.”

“And what's your name?”

“I get to play, too?” Her pique seemed forgotten. “I want to be Holly Golightly, like
Breakfast at Tiffany's.
”

“You know she was a prostitute, right?” He raised a brow.

“It's not a bad profession. It's not unlike being royalty.”

“How's that?” He couldn't wait to hear how she'd managed to work that out in her head. Byron opened the door to the suite.

“Pay to play, right? I have to trade myself to my husband for his resources. It's basically the same thing. He gets to sleep with me, but he has to pay for it.”

“I think that's just being married.”

“So she gets to be married to a lot of men, doesn't have to stay with any one of them and still gets to utilize their resources. I like this idea. Maybe instead of freeing my country, I should just go home and have a harem?”