McKinnon's Royal Mission Page 7

  Mara knew she should withdraw from his embrace, knew it was dangerous to let herself seek shelter and comfort in his arms. But he was so warm. So strong. So understanding. So much the man she’d dreamed of in her lonely bed. In this instant it was as if she could be herself with him. Just Mara. Not a princess of Zakhar. Not even Dr. Marianescu. Just Mara, no more, no less. A woman with a man.

  * * *

  They were past the worst of the switchbacks on the way down when storm clouds moved in, shrouding the top of Mount Evans from view. And by the time they reached Summit Lake, an alpine lake nestled in the cirque formed by Mount Evans and Mount Spalding, it had started to snow. Dainty flurries, wind born, that didn’t even require the use of windshield wipers.

  “Better not stop,” Special Agent McKinnon said, viewing the Summit Lake parking lot, which was rapidly emptying.

  “But this might be my only chance,” Mara protested. “They close the road the day after tomorrow.”

  “We’re still close to thirteen thousand feet elevation here,” he explained to her. “We need to get at least as far as Echo Lake before it really starts snowing.”

  “Half an hour,” she pleaded.

  He gave her a considering look. “Fifteen minutes. But if the snow thickens, we start back immediately.”

  They pulled into the parking lot, and although the chauffeur had his pick of spots, he kept driving until he got as close to the lake as he could. Before Special Agent McKinnon could say anything, the chauffeur told him in his thickly accented English, “I will wait with the car.” Mara saw the two men exchanging meaningful glances, and realized they were both worried about the weather.

  She jumped out of the SUV and walked as quickly as she could toward the lake, zipping up her jacket and fumbling for her gloves, which she soon realized she’d forgotten. It had gotten colder ever since the storm clouds had blotted out the sun, so she thrust her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. Snow flurries were swirling, but the lake was still easily visible, the cliffs and ridges surrounding it mirrored in the water’s surface.

  She heard Special Agent McKinnon behind her, but she didn’t waste any of her precious seconds turning around. She breathed deeply, pulling the crisp, clean air into her lungs as she drank in the view, wanting to preserve this memory. Someday, when she was old and gray, she would bring it out of her mental photo album and remind herself of this special day—the lakes, the mountains, the meadows, the man. Especially the man, but she didn’t need to see him again to remember him. He was already imprinted in her mind...and her heart.

  The wind picked up suddenly, sending ripples across the surface of the lake, carrying heavier snowflakes with it. The few small groups of people still wandering around the lake’s edge turned and headed for the parking lot. The last couple was just passing them when Special Agent McKinnon said, “We should go, too, Princess.” Perhaps he raised his voice to be heard over the wind, or perhaps the wind itself carried his voice farther than he intended. Because that’s when it happened.

  “Wally! Wally! Look!” the woman of the couple said excitedly, tugging at the arm of the man at her side. “It’s her. That’s Princess Mara! I’m sure of it. I saw her on a TV special last summer!”

  The man named Wally turned, camera in hand, and before Mara could shield her face he had snapped a picture of her.

  “No!” Mara couldn’t prevent her cry of dismay. But even before the word left her mouth the man named Wally was staring down the business end of a SIG SAUER held in the steady hand of Special Agent McKinnon.

  “Camera,” he demanded, his voice as cold as the icy wind blowing across the lake.

  “What?” said the man named Wally, as he and the woman with him stared in sudden shock and horror at how quickly the incident had escalated into something neither of them had expected.

  “Give me the camera,” Special Agent McKinnon said, holding out his left hand while his right hand never wavered. Mutely, the man named Wally held out the camera, which was snatched from his hand. “You’ve got three choices,” Special Agent McKinnon said, his voice as implacable as his face. “One, I can toss the camera in the lake. You’re out an expensive camera, as well as any pictures you’ve taken today. Two, I can take the memory card. Then you’ve only lost whatever pictures are stored on it. Or three, I can erase one picture. But to do that I need two hands. It’s your call.”

  The man named Wally seemed too terrified to speak, but the woman with him said, in a high-pitched voice, “Just erase the picture,” and she huddled behind the man she was with.

  That quickly the gun was holstered and Special Agent McKinnon stepped back a few paces. He reviewed the camera, his gaze flicking from the camera to the couple in front of him, and back to the camera. Then he pressed one button, and another. Finished, he told Wally, “Catch,” and tossed the camera to him. The man juggled the camera, but caught it. And when he looked up the gun had been drawn again.

  “Put the camera in your pocket, turn around, and walk to your car. Don’t stop for any reason. If you stop, I’m going to assume you’re a threat.” He paused. “And if you ever take anyone’s picture again without permission, especially hers,” he said, indicating Mara with a tilt of his head, “you’re a dead man. You got that? And if you talk about this, just remember that means I’ll know where to find you.”

  Both the man and the woman nodded. The camera was quickly stowed in a jacket pocket. The couple backed away, then turned, and practically ran toward their car in the parking lot. The car engine roared to life, the car backed out, then gravel spurted as the car shot out of the parking lot and onto Mt. Evans Road.

  Mara watched in silence as Special Agent McKinnon holstered his weapon. He looked up and saw the expression on her face. “We should go, Princess,” he told her gently. “The snow’s really coming down now.”

  He held out his hand, the hand that had drawn the gun so quickly. Mara looked at it for a moment, then up at his face, her thoughts, her emotions, swirling like the snowflakes falling around her. She had been as shocked as the couple who’d just left at how quickly Special Agent McKinnon had reacted. It was as if his body had responded before he’d even had time to assimilate what had happened, but she knew that wasn’t the case. Thought had preceded action, but only by a split second.

  She’d known he had to be good at his job, or else the US State Department wouldn’t have assigned him to head up the team guarding her. She just hadn’t realized how good. Nor had she realized how far he’d go to defend her. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. He’d learned only a short time ago how much it upset her to have her photograph taken, yet he’d already incorporated it into his protective shield around her. And while she knew he would never have killed anyone over a photograph, he hadn’t hesitated to use whatever leverage he had to protect her.

  Just like Andre.

  Her shock faded with that thought. She glanced at his outstretched hand, smiled tremulously, and took it. Then she raised her eyes to his.

  Chapter 6

  Her second week of teaching behind her, Mara said goodbye to her teaching assistant Friday afternoon, then smiled a little tiredly at Liam as she packed up her briefcase. “Are you doing anything special for the weekend?” she asked him.

  “Not really. Our family has a cabin southwest of here in the Rockies, near Dillon Reservoir. You don’t know that area, do you?” She shook her head. “Our cabin’s between Silverthorne and Keystone, maybe an hour and a half from here. Alec and I were thinking of going there together since we’re both off.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said with a touch of wistfulness. “What do you do there?”

  “The usual stuff. Hike. Fish. Laze around. Sleep late and neglect to shave.” He grinned at her. “Hike and fish some more. What are you doing this weekend?”

  Her smile faded. “Whatever Special Agent McKinnon l
ets me do, since he is on duty. Grade papers, I suppose.” She started to walk out of her office, but Liam stopped her.

  “That’s not fair to him,” he told her. “McKinnon’s not like that. Didn’t he take you to Mount Evans last weekend? If there’s something you want to do, just tell him, the same way you tell Alec and me.”

  It is different with him, she thought, especially now, but she couldn’t say that to Liam. Instead she said, “That is the problem. Other than riding, there is nothing I can think of to do. I do not know many people here, not yet. And I do not know of any place to go. If I were at home in Drago there would be many choices. But I am still a stranger here.”

  “Why don’t you just ask McKinnon to show you around? He lives in Denver. I’m sure he knows the area like the back of his hand.” He hesitated. “McKinnon’s got a cabin, too. Near Keystone, he told us. I bet he’d take you there if you asked him. The mountains are especially beautiful this time of year.”

  Mara forced herself to smile at Liam, knowing she would never ask Special Agent McKinnon—and not because of what had happened on Mount Evans. Because of what had happened the next day. I could ask you or Alec, she thought. But not him. Never him. Not now.

  * * *

  That night after dinner Trace heard a knock on his door. “It’s open,” he called, putting down his third newspaper of the day, the one he hadn’t gotten around to finishing that morning. He read three newspapers daily cover to cover: The Denver Post, The New York Times, and The Washington Post. He preferred actual, physical newspapers he could hold in his hand, as opposed to reading his news on the internet. Keira used to tease him about it when they’d been partners, but he’d been reading newsprint since he’d been a twelve-year-old boy reading the newspapers he delivered, and he wasn’t going to change, not after twenty-four years.

  Liam walked in. “Hey, just wanted to let you know the princess is in her bedroom for the night, so I’m done. Alec and I are heading out early tomorrow morning, and I wanted to tell you something before I leave.” He recounted what the princess had told him that afternoon, about wishing she had something to do this weekend. “I had an idea, so I called Keira. She said she and Alyssa would be home tomorrow morning if you want to stop by around ten.”

  At McKinnon’s sudden frown he added softly, “All the princess wants is what most of us take for granted—a normal life. She’s not a social butterfly—the bright lights and the fast-paced lifestyle don’t appeal to her, and—”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Come on, McKinnon. Alec and I have been guarding her for almost six weeks now, same as you. Don’t you think we’d have noticed? She comes home from work and she stays home. She grades papers and plans her classes, and works on her book. She calls Zakhar and talks to her brother or one of her friends, and she rides that horse she loves whenever she can. Except for an occasional outing like Mount Evans, that’s it. Speaking of which, in case you hadn’t noticed, she only rides on the days you’re officially on duty.”

  “I noticed,” Trace growled. “So what?”

  “So she’s not the kind of woman where it’s all about her. She’s thoughtful, considerate, and from what Alec and I can gather sitting in on her classes, she’s a decent teacher—she really cares about her students. So why don’t you cut her some slack? You’re pretty hard on her—Alec and I were talking about it the other night.”

  Trace threw him a forbidding expression, but Liam just smiled. “Yeah, we’re not blind, either. We’ve seen the way she looks at you, and it’s not the way she looks at us. If she were any other woman and she looked at me that way, I—”

  The forbidding expression turned into a scowl, and Trace gritted his teeth. “Get the hell out of here, Jones.”

  “Yes, sir!” Liam threw him a mocking salute. “See you Sunday night.”

  Liam sauntered out and Trace cursed under his breath. He picked up his newspaper and tried to finish the article where he’d left off, but his thoughts strayed to what Liam had said. And what he hadn’t. Damn it, Trace thought, throwing his newspaper aside. Why did he have to bring that subject up? Now I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed almost from the start the princess wasn’t the kind of woman he’d first thought her. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed she’d strictly curtailed her own pleasure in riding to accommodate his working schedule. And it damned well wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed the way she followed him with her eyes.

  At least he didn’t mention my eyes follow her, too, whenever they get the chance, Trace told himself, taking small comfort in his ability to hide his emotions. “Cut her some slack,” he muttered. “Yeah, right. If I don’t keep her at a distance emotionally, there’s not a snowball’s chance I’ll be able to keep her at a distance physically, job or no job.”

  He wanted her. But it was just one of those things he had to live with. He knew there was no future in it, and he wasn’t going down that road. Not if he could help it.

  Last Sunday had been a near thing, and he’d spent Labor Day Monday distancing himself from her. She’d toppled his defenses on Sunday...and she hadn’t done it on purpose. She just had to breathe, to smile, to take his hand, to laugh the way she had at the summit, and his protective instincts kicked into overdrive. He wanted to protect her from everyone and everything...except him. But he was the one she most needed protection from.

  He hadn’t meant to tell her anything about himself. And he sure as hell hadn’t planned to tell her about Afghanistan. But somehow the words had poured out of him like water through a sieve. Then she’d looked at him with compassion in those green eyes, and he’d felt as if he could tell her anything and she’d understand. He’d almost blurted out the reason the Corps had wanted him to re-up, because of his facility with languages. He’d remembered just in the nick of time why he was there with her, and had held his tongue.

  Afterward, he couldn’t help but notice the way she’d darted wistful looks at him every time they’d passed another couple as they finished up their walk alongside Echo Lake. He’d managed to shunt that to the back of his mind—until she’d touched him in the SUV atop Mount Evans. I never burn, he’d told her, but she’d rubbed sunscreen on him—sunscreen, for God’s sake!—and the softness of her fingertips had burned right through him, hotter than the hottest sun. Then she’d touched his lips and he’d almost pulled her into his arms.

  His reaction to her on every level baffled him. Like when they’d been talking about her one-time friend, the achingly beautiful Juliana Richardson. He’d seen the actress in his mind’s eye as they were discussing her, but somehow her perfection had paled in comparison to the warm, animated face of the princess sitting next to him. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew in his heart that if he were given his choice between the two women he would choose the princess. Hands down.

  Not that you’ll ever have either woman, he told himself. The princess was as remote from him as the actress was. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her. And it didn’t stop him from wanting to shield her from anything that might cause her pain.

  His hand had already been reaching for his SIG SAUER when the man called Wally had turned around suddenly at Summit Lake, even before he’d taken the princess’s picture. If it had been a gun in his hand instead of a camera, Wally would have been dead before he got off a shot. But Trace’s brain had registered camera, not gun, and he hadn’t fired. Then he’d heard the princess’s soft cry of dismay, and he’d known in a flash he had to protect her from that, too. Her whole day would have been destroyed if he hadn’t destroyed that picture.

  Yeah, but you didn’t have to threaten the guy after you erased it, did you? Weren’t you just grandstanding for the princess’s benefit? he asked himself. But the answer he got back was, not really.

  Part of his threat had been aimed at making sure no more pictures were tak
en of her, especially once the guy was out of gun range. But another part of the threat was reaction to something he’d never understood before until the princess had expressed it—the violation someone might feel at having their picture taken against their will, especially when it was repeated...endlessly. He couldn’t enforce his threat, but maybe the guy would think twice before he took someone else’s picture unawares.

  When the princess had taken his hand afterward, when she’d looked up at him with unalloyed trust in her eyes, he’d had the slow-motion feeling of falling. He hadn’t expected the trust. Not so quickly after he’d seen the shock on her face at the sudden threat of violence she’d witnessed. But her hand had nestled trustingly in his all the way back to the SUV. She hadn’t said much on the long drive back to Boulder. But her eyes had spoken for her, and they had scared the hell out of him.

  He’d spent most of Monday rebuilding his defenses, but to do that he’d had to resort to treating her as he had before the trip to Mount Evans, with that slightly mocking attitude. He’d watched the smile fade from her eyes, replaced by a flicker of hurt, then blankness—that lack of emotion in her expression she’d told him she’d learned early to keep the paparazzi from knowing what she was thinking. As if that weren’t bad enough, the blankness was followed by the acceptance of his rejection he’d seen in her eyes that first day, an acceptance that contrarily made him so angry he’d wanted to shake her.

  Fortunately for him he’d been off for the next four days, and he hadn’t had to see her...except in his mind. He hadn’t had to think of her...except every other waking moment. And he hadn’t had to dream about her and her lovely green eyes...except he had. The dreams weren’t erotic—not at first. He’d dreamed of her standing on the Mount Evans summit, her green eyes vivid in the smiling face she turned to him. He’d dreamed of her at Summit Lake, snowflakes swirling, her green eyes not smiling at him this time, but filled with trust. And he’d dreamed of the way her green eyes had hurt for him as he talked about the futility of Afghanistan.