The Royal Elite: Mattias (12 page)

Twisting in the seat, she saw the headlights of the chase car had fallen back a half mile or more. The reason wasn't immediately clear. Maybe Ahsan had caught up to the vehicle, or it had a flat tire.

Taking two hard right turns, Mattias raced through a stop sign, across a bridge and into a sleepy, small town with one main street. Although signs of the storm were prevalent everywhere—puddles, scattered debris, a knocked down fence—the rain had come to a halt here as well. The power was on, a relief in their current circumstances.

Another few turns put them behind an old hotel with intricate, Spanish architecture and a buzzing neon sign out front that flickered every now and then. Mattias parked next to an outbuilding that looked like an old garage and cut the engine. Dousing the lights, he opened the door and got out. “Let's go.”

Alannah put her questions on hold for now. Exiting the vehicle, she picked her way around the back, avoiding as many puddles as she could. The sultry night felt oppressive against her skin, the scent of fresh rain mingling with damp asphalt.

Just before they reached a back door, Mattias paused to button the tuxedo coat across the front, hiding the holster and gun. Running his fingers through his hair, he glanced at her eyes, then opened the door to allow her in first.

Alannah didn't need to be told that Mattias was unhappy with her. She wasn't exactly enthralled with him at the moment, either. There were too many unanswered questions in her mind. Such as how he'd known where to find her, and how he'd known about a possible hit on her person. Why a Prince of all people would know those things was beyond her.

Stepping inside, she hesitated long enough for Mattias to come in behind her, then take the lead. A narrow hallway led forward toward the front of the hotel, with several doors leading off to separate rooms along the way. The faded décor inside needed upgrading, as did the rest of the hotel.

Falling in at his flank, Alannah followed him to the far end of the hall, which spilled over into a small foyer and reception area. At the desk, a clerk stood up from his chair, appearing surprised to see them arrive via the back hallway. Pleasant natured, he smiled nevertheless and engaged Mattias when the Prince approached the counter.

Alannah shouldn't have been surprised when Mattias broke into fluent Spanish. He conversed easily with the clerk, paying for a room with money he fished from an inside pocket of his coat. Alannah was astute enough to know that Mattias had paid the clerk extra, probably to keep their presence there a secret. Key in hand, Mattias stepped away from the counter toward a staircase ascending to higher floors. After a quick smile to the clerk, Alannah fell into step behind Mattias once more. Following his lead to the third floor, she paused with the Prince outside a room with chipped gold numbers tacked to the wall.
44.
It would do.

Mattias used the key in the lock, and swung the door open, indicating she should go first. His attention hit several points in the hall, always watchful, perhaps a little wary that someone might have tracked them inside.

Alannah discovered the room to be much smaller than she was used to. The carpets were a dull mustard yellow, clean but old, and the bed looked too flat and square to be comfortable. A desk against one wall had to be straight out of the seventies judging by the design, with a thick, ungainly television sitting on top.

Mattias closed the door and engaged both locks. Dragging a chair over, he jutted the straight back under the knob until it creaked from the pressure.

Alannah watched the precise way Mattias moved, the surety of his movements. This was a man used to taking charge, used to being in control.

“Now what?” she asked.

Mattias stripped the tuxedo coat from his shoulders, then faced her. “We wait.”

Standing at the window staring out at the darkness, Mattias braced himself for the questions he knew were coming. What he really wanted to do was pace the room and work off the left over adrenaline that was making him agitated and restless. Holding his place, he glanced across the hotel room to Alannah. Without the mask, he got a better look at the carefully applied make up around her eyes and on her cheeks. He remembered the red on her lips from earlier at the party, gone now thanks to the nervous nibbling of her teeth. Hair mussed from flight and struggle, she was still a sight to behold in her slinky, glittery dress. At some point, she'd peeled off the gloves, exposing trembling fingers. And he could tell from her pensive, stubborn expression that she wanted answers.

“What are we waiting for, exactly?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“For the power to come back on at Morano's, or daylight, whichever comes first.”

“How will you know the power is on?”

“Because I intend to test Ahsan and Chayton's phones repeatedly throughout the night. At some point, they'll remember to plug them in if the power comes back. Barring that, I'll call the house line until I get a dial tone, then find a different phone to contact them from.”

“Chayton. That's the long haired man?”

“Yes.”

“You three seemed to work quite well together.”

Mattias said nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. The straps of the shoulder holster fit snug against his body, reminding him constantly of the weapon in its sheath.

“I said, you three--”

“I heard you. But it wasn't a question, was it?” As hard as he tried to curb the bite in his reply, a sharp edge remained. The echo of her earlier accusations and snarky remarks still felt like barbs under his skin, irritating and annoying.

“Well, then let me be more direct. How was it that the three of you happened to be in the right place, at the right time? And how in the world did you know there was a possible hit out on me?”

“All you need to know is that I was where I needed to be. Information on the hit circulated through the ranks, and I'm not the type of man who closes his ears when an innocent person might be in danger.” Mattias stuck as close to the truth as he could without giving the Royal Elite away. He couldn't explain their secret sect of men and their mission to keep those of their stature out of harms way. A group had formed within the Elite citizens of the world, a group that had grown and flourished through the years. Mattias, Ahsan, Chayton and many others were in unique positions to garner information normal police and security couldn't get their hands on. It allowed them to act in advance of an assassination or a kidnapping, to try and save a life. Most of the time they were successful. Sometimes, they were not.

How did he explain the rest? The thrill he got from the job? The rush, the adrenaline fix that was unlike any other. Ahsan, Chayton and Leander craved it as much as he did. One glance at Alannah's face assured him that she wasn't buying his explanation.

“That's pretty convenient, hm?” she said.

“It was lucky. That's what it was.”

“It's obvious something else is going on here. You're
armed,
and so were your friends. You just happen to work seamlessly together, like you've all done this before.”

“In my country, my brothers and I have trained extensively for battle. This is not that different.” Which also wasn't a lie; Mattias and his brothers had spent hours and hours training in all manner of weaponry. When a crisis arose in his home country of Latvala, Mattias, Sander, Gunnar and Paavo went out with the troops, armed and ready to defend.

“Really.” Alannah didn't sound like she believed him.

“Yes, really. When you get home, maybe you can do some research on it.” Mattias wasn't about to list the names of the men involved in the group just to appease Alannah's curiosity. She'd already seen Chayton and Ahsan in action.

“That's not fair,” she said, a note of complaint in her voice.

“No one ever said life was fair,” he said, reminding her of the old saying most children learned before leaving elementary school. Mattias, however, had learned it from his father. And not under the best circumstances.

“Prince
Mattias.
” The emphasis she added to his name smacked of exasperation.

“Why don't you tell me about
you?
For instance, why you're so fidgety in public.” Turning the tables, he glanced away from the window, anticipating her reaction. And her reply. She looked down at her hands, then the floor.

“I'm just not comfortable in public.”

“There has to be a reason. Your father seems the extrovert sort. What happened to you?”

“Some people just don't like the spotlight. I realize for a Prince, that might be difficult to comprehend.”

“But that's not all that's up with you, is it? There's more.” Mattias couldn't have said why he knew there was more she wasn't saying. Perhaps it was the way she'd started to fidget, or the downcast set of her eyes. She couldn't, or wouldn't, meet his gaze. Then, after several strained minutes, she began to speak. Voice low and soft.

“You're right, he's an extrovert. My father, that is. But as a child, I was shy, more like my mother than him. He couldn't tolerate it, didn't want me to wind up being 'a shadow', as he called it. When I was three, he began a campaign to expose me to situations he thought would help me get over my shy nature. He would stage elaborate get-togethers where I was the center of attention, put me on camera, arrange commercials, left me with groups of strangers. At least they were strangers to me. Of course he knew these people very well, he would never endanger me, but that didn't matter. He sought to get me to perform, which I hated with a passion. Sing, dance, the works. I didn't mind those things if I was with immediate family or alone, just not in front of large crowds. The longer he pushed me, the more I retreated to things I loved more.”

“Like archeology, history, artifacts.”

“Yes. I began to resent the pressure when I was ten or eleven. We had great rows over it, to the point I would wind up in tears. He just didn't understand. And I didn't understand him. There is a bitterness that exists to this day over all that and, as your friend Ahsan pointed out, my father still tries to portray me as someone I'm not. He arranges photo shoots that last days, all to get a 'perfect' shot. One where I look carefree and...well. Where I look like him. Like an extrovert. Someone who has the world by the tail.”

“Why was it so important to him for you to be like that?” Mattias easily put together a scene in his mind of the events Alannah painted for him. Coming from a father who demanded specific things of his children, Mattias understood what a driving force parents could be.

“He doesn't appreciate shyness. For whatever reason, it annoys him. He likes bold, brash people who crave the limelight, like he does. I do everything in my power to avoid it.”

“You're his only child, correct?”

Alannah looked up, made eye contact. “Yes. You've astutely guessed why he wouldn't just move on to another and force his personality upon them. He doesn't have any. It was me or nothing.”

“Yet you're still close to him.” Mattias didn't break the eye contact. He detected bitterness in Alannah, and a strange resignation. Whether the resignation was due to him coaxing the truth from her or whether it had to do with her past, he couldn't tell.

“Dean Astbury has some great attributes. And he's my father, so yes, we're close despite the rows and disagreements. I still want to throttle him regularly, though.” Alannah slipped her heels off and set them on the floor. When she was done, she met his eyes. Without warning, she asked, “You're not just a Prince, are you?”

He leveled a look at her and said nothing. Just when he thought they were off the topic of what he might be other than a titled member of royalty, she diverted the conversation back again.

“Nothing to say?” She arched a brow, as if challenging him.

“I'm Mattias Ahtissari, no more, no less.” Which included everything that encompassed him, except he didn't detail specifics out for her.

Exhaling an exasperated breath, she stood up. “I deserve to know more.”

“Does it matter as long as you get back safely to your family?”

“It matters to me, yes.”

“I've explained all I'm going to explain.” Mattias returned his attention to the window. Looking for shadows within shadows on the sidewalks and against other buildings across the street.

“Does your family know you do this? Help out people being targeted for murder?”

“How do you know this isn't a one off shot? Just because I know people who can get things done, and because I choose to be armed when it matters, doesn't mean this is a common occurrence. Why can't it have been that I was in the right place, at the right time?” Mattias had to derail her from that line of thought. She was too close to the truth. The Royal Elite
did
travel where they were needed to do exactly as he was doing. Protect their own—the royalty, elite, wealthy—of the world from nefarious acts designed to shift power or money from one hand to another. Here, he could still mingle with people of his standing while slipping behind the scenes to protect the unwary from unexpected attack. It was challenging as well as exciting—it made him feel
alive.
To out their group meant putting their lives in more danger. It was a risk he wouldn't take. Only a select few members of his immediate family knew he was involved, knew what he did when he disappeared from Latvala for a week or two at a time.

Alannah's scoff broke Mattias out of his reverie.

“I don't believe in that kind of coincidence,” she said.

“Most people in your position would simply be thanking the person that risked their life, or lives, to save them.” Mattias watched his blunt comment reflect in Alannah's eyes.

Instantly trite, she said, “I
am
thankful. Don't misunderstand me.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.” Switching gears, he said, “You should try and get some rest. We'll depart an hour before dawn if I haven't contacted my acquaintances before then.” Mattias needed that time to figure out the fastest way to get Alannah out of Spain.

“Where are we going?”