The Christmas Princess (27 page)

Had sending him back done any good? Might it have done harm?

And was he a wise judge for which was which? He was an old man. Should he be meddling? Should he—?

A knock sounded on the office door.

“Enter.”

Marusha came in with her usual grace, closed the door behind her, and waited for his acknowledgement of her presence, thus granting her permission to speak. He had seldom felt such impatience with the old ways.

“Yes.”

“I wish to speak with you, sir, about April.”

“I have expressed my wishes, and I expect—”

Her formality fell away. “No, Jozef, you misunderstand. I am not here to renew my objections and concerns.”

His heart jolted.

Before April came into his life and Hunter reentered it, he might have told himself the jolt was satisfaction that the most stubborn woman he knew had finally come around to his way of thinking. He knew better now.

He had not been addressed simply by his name in years. It must be since Dmitry, his long-time prime minister, had died. And those instances had been rare. Before that…? his cousin Rafka, he supposed.

And yet that also was not the full reason for the jolt of his heart.

Marusha calling him Jozef.

The voice of the girl that had often whispered his name in his dreams. She was no more a girl now than he was a boy. They were old, there was no other way to call it. And yet, it was his name on her lips that caused that jolt.

Ah, maybe not so old after all.

“Come beside me here, Marusha.” He patted the couch beside him. He had made this invitation before. She had never accepted. That was no reason to quit, as April would say. “And tell me what is on your mind, then.”

She surprised him first by doing as he asked and his heart gave another leap. Then she astonished him by adding, “What exactly do you know of April Gareaux’s heart, Jozef?”

Sharon called him as he walked past her door.

“What is it?” Damn. He’d been sure she wouldn’t be in her office the Saturday before Christmas. Especially not this early.

Her eyebrow quirked up. “You look awful. Haven’t seen you look this bad since we pulled those three red-eyes in a row.”

He grunted as he sank into a chair across the desk from her. “That about covers it.”

“Don’t get too comfortable in that chair, Pierce. Heard you’re just back from Bariavak.”

“And New York and Charlottesville and Chicago. So if you’d please tell me what you want so I can go sleep, I’d appreciate it,”

“Thank God you’re in security and not on the diplomatic side.”

“You’ve never wanted diplomacy before.”

“Not me.” She thumped down a folder, flipping it open to show a number of letters on official letterhead, plus a flurry of phone message reports. “The U.S. Senate.”

“The Senate? I didn’t talk to anybody in the Senate.”

“Close enough. This is from the senior senator from Wyoming, expressing concern over Diplomatic Security’s inquiry into the background of a U.S. citizen.”

“Wyoming?”

“Need to do more background, Pierce. Nancy and James Monroe’s daughter — that’s Paul Monroe’s sister, and through him friends with Leslie and Grady Roberts — is married to a Wyoming rancher.”

“Good grief.”

“These,” she took out more letters, “are from both senators from the state of Virginia. As far as I know this is the first thing they’ve ever agreed on, but they happen to both hold a woman named Beatrice Craig of Charlottesville in the highest esteem possible. And they will be distressed if she is distressed by unwarranted intrusions into her family’s privacy.” Another letter joined the pile. “Ah, yes, and this note from a Congressman is thrown in for good measure, but that’s hardly worth worrying about.”

He looked up, knowing there was more, facing it head-on.

“Because,” she said, “this is the one that’s really worth worrying about.”

She placed a final letter on the top of the pile. It was considerably briefer than the others. “It’s from Senator Bradon of Illinois, requesting a meeting with the Assistant Secretary of State for Diplomatic Security and the Director of the Diplomatic Security Service. Senator Bradon’s chief of staff is Michael Dickinson. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Yes, I see by your wince that you have.”

“Met him,” he said.

She raised her brows.

“At O’Hare Airport on Tuesday, no, Wednesday. One of those quiet types who can chop you off at the knees with a word.”

She nodded. “So you already know he’s another friend of Leslie and Grady Roberts. And this—” She held a final paper from the folder over the accumulated pile on her desk. “—is the Director’s order that you and I report to him as soon as you return to Washington.”

She stood. “I said not to get too comfortable in that chair. Let’s go, Pierce.”

Once you went from the frying pan to the fire, what was the next step?

Because that’s where he was headed as he followed Madame’s stiff back to the king’s office.

King Jozef said all the right things in welcoming his return, hoping his journey was not too arduous or uncomfortable, then he finished with “Report.”

“I am a federal agent for the United States. I have reported to my supervisors. If they choose to share—”

“I shall hear your travels directly from you. I shall wait while you call Ms. Johnson.”

He didn’t call, because he’d already had his instructions. Why he’d resisted made no sense to himself.

When he finished, King Jozef remained staring at the tips of his fingers, steepled in front of him.

“You talked to those few who said they saw the man leaving the palace with a baby. What do you think of their accounts?”

“They believe what they are saying. Whether it
is
true of not, it is impossible to say this long after the events.”

Slowly, the king nodded. “You went, also, to meet your father’s cousins who had cared for you after you mother’s death?”

Hunter felt his muscles tightening. But this, too, was a professional question. Not one that truly touched on him personally, no matter how those strangers had insisted that he was family. “Yes. The last time they saw him, he said nothing to them that might shed light on who might have taken your granddaughter.”

The king bowed his head. “The last time they saw him.” He looked up without raising his head. “That was when he collected you, to bring you to the palace.”

“That is what they said.”

“Your father, who gave his life for our country, as—”

“For you. Not for a country, for
you
.”

“I
was
the country to him. King, country, impossible to separate. And he sacrificed his life in its service, as I have devoted my life to it. And because of that, my family and your family suffered greatly. Perhaps if Laurentz and I had known what would happen to our families … perhaps we would have make different choices. What of you, Hunter? What choice will you make?”

“Me? My choices are made.”

“You are too intelligent a man to lie to yourself, Hunter. You have many choices. The most important being about April, and what you will do with your love for her and hers for you.”

“She doesn’t—”

“Don’t be a fool as well as a liar, Hunter. She does. But to claim her love, you must ask her for it, and you must ask her to accept yours.”

“That is not—”

“
Go
. Out of my sight, before I lose my temper with someone so blind.”

Six days after the White House party, April opened the library door as Hunter reached to knock on it.

She recoiled, and he watched the pulse in her throat jolt.

“You’re back,” she said.

“Yes.”

“For — for how long?”

“The rest of the time.”

“Oh. You look tired.”

“I am.”

He watched her studying him.

Hunter said, “You look ... good.”

Her eyes flicked to his then away. “I am.”

He could think of nothing else to say. Or perhaps he was afraid that if he started talking he would never stop.

After a pause long enough to grow awkward, she started down the hall past him. But after a step, she stopped and turned her head toward him. “Hunter. May I ask you a question?”

He felt wariness. He was too tired, too awash in memories, impressions and other people’s emotions. If her question unbottled all that now…

She clearly read his reluctance. A frown squeezed her forehead. He wanted to put his fingertips to those lines and massage them to smoothness. He clenched his hand against the desire. And it made his response come out harsher than he’d intended. “What’s your question?”

The frown tightened, but she didn’t back off. “I would like you to translate a word for me.” She spoke six syllables in careful concentration. “If you know it.”

He relaxed. The syllables sounded familiar, but didn’t sort themselves into words immediately. Something wasn’t quite right. He murmured them to himself, giving them the Bariavakian rhythm, and then he had it. A muscle at the corner of his mouth tugged. Oh yes, he knew it.

“It’s a phrase, rather than a single word,” he told her. “Along the lines of a child fathered by Satan, but not that literal. More like Devil Child.”

“Oh.” Clearly, she didn’t know how to react.

“It’s often a term off affection, a little along the lines of
you rascal.”
He had never doubted the love in his mother’s voice the many times she had applied the phrase to him, even at her most exasperated.

But April appeared doubtful. “Oh, I think she meant it literally.”

He didn’t need to ask, so he made it a statement: “Madame.”

She nodded dolefully. “I don’t know if she meant Sharon’s kids or me.”

He laughed.

She startled. He tried to pull it back, but there was something about crusty Madam using a phrase he associated with affection to April that brought out the reaction.

He laughed more.

She tried to be indignant, but she was smiling. … Then he saw tears shining in her eyes.

“April—” He took half a step toward her.

“You better get some rest,” she said hurriedly. “Before you fall over.”

“Let’s be sure we’re all on the same page,” Sharon said at noon Sunday in the king’s office. “With Christmas only two days away—”

“Security doesn’t stop because it’s December the twenty-fifth,” Hunter said. At least he felt human now, after sleeping through a night for the first time since the night before the White House party.

“I — we — go nowhere Christmas or its Eve,” King Jozef said. “April and I discussed this, and decided, no engagements until the Receiving Hours on the twenty-sixth. That evening, I will take April to a restaurant the ambassador recommends most highly. Until then, we shall stay snug in the embassy. So you will not have duty those days. The staff will be dismissed as they complete their duties on Christmas Eve day, then be free through Christmas night.”

“Great. I can drive up to Delaware, and…” Derek’s enthusiasm trailed off as he turned toward Hunter.

“Security doesn’t stop because they stay inside, either.”

“Hunter is correct, of course. So I request, Sharon, that he be assigned close security for those days. With us every minute.” The king might have been having a hard time keeping a straight face. “But you, Derek, and of course Sharon are at liberty.”

“Only until the night of the twenty-sixth,” Sharon said to Derek. “I’ll help cover the Receiving Hours in the afternoon. Then you plan on working straight through, giving Hunter a break the next day. We go back to normal schedule then.”

From behind his desk, King Jozef nodded. “Until a week from Thursday.”

The day of his surgery.

April was up to something.

Getting phone calls, huddling with Sharon. Her eyes bright when she got those phone calls she wasn’t talking about. Could it be a Reese? Not Nine-Handed Neil. It couldn’t be.

Not that it was really his business. Unless it interfered with the mission.

“What are you two up to?” he asked as he entered the kitchen and they headed for the back stairs toward April’s room.

April froze. Not Sharon.

“Hey, it’s like I tell my kids,” she said. “If you weasel around and find out about what’s supposed to be a surprise, then you don’t get the present.”

“I don’t want presents or surprises, so go ahead and tell me.”

“No, Sharon’s right,” April said, no longer frozen. “You’re not supposed to ask things like that at this time of year. You’ll have to put up with the suspense for once instead of always trying to control everything around you.”

He threw his hands up. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“I won’t,” she said cheerfully.

Just before he closed the door, he thought he heard Sharon say, “That was impressive. You are
good
.”

“Go on, go on,” April said, shooing him and the King of Bariavak out of the kitchen.

She’d said she and Madame had work to do.

She and
Madame
. Maybe this was what they meant about this being the season of miracles.

“Come into my office,” the king said. Not quite a command. Then he amended it to “No, let us go into the library.”

Seated across from each other, the ruler of Bariavak cleared his throat. “I hope you are not offended by the personal nature of this inquiry,” he began with a formality that fell apart as he finished his question, “but I must ask: What are you going to give Sharon for Christmas? Since it is now clear that you will, indeed, be giving Sharon a gift.”

Hunter kept the curse ricocheting around his head from reaching his lips only by the greatest will power.

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps I could help you. I am not unacquainted with what women would like to receive as gifts.”

“She’s a co-worker,” he reminded the king.

The man drew himself up, but the twinkle in his eyes didn’t diminish. “Not all my associations with women were amorous. I counted a number of them as friends … eventually.”

Hunter gave in. He would need any help he could get. “I would appreciate it, sir. I guess, with all those cookies …”