Escape
Flicka von Hannover
First,
we had to escape from the hotel.
Flicka hung back in the living room, trying not to tremble. The cool wall behind her back was rough on her palms. Her small evening bag, holding the pieces of her phone and a few sundries, swung from her wrist.
Dieter stood with his hand on the doorknob, staring at his phone. A light backpack strapped to his broad shoulders held the Laurel Tiara, a priceless heirloom set with millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and an impressive number of weapons that Dieter had removed from a false bottom of his suitcase.
Her glittering purse swung from her wrist, a light weight due to her disassembled phone, the loose battery, lip gloss, and a flash drive with all the photos of Flicka’s husband, his real wife Abigai, and their children.
He said, “One more signal, and we’ll go.”
Bright sunlight shone on the back of his neck, picking out the deep gold in his short hair. The right angle of his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, and his dove gray eyes narrowed as he watched his phone’s screen.
He was wearing a tee shirt with the name of some band on it that Flicka didn’t know. The short sleeves bared his arms. His heavy biceps bulged as he held the phone in front of his heart, and the light cotton clung to the round muscles on his chest and shoulders. He wore denim jeans, which shaped to his long legs and slim hips.
She was so used to him wearing suits that these casual clothes were almost a disguise. If she had been looking for professional security personnel escorting a princess, she wouldn’t have looked twice at him, which was probably exactly the point.
Dressed so normally like everyone else on the street, Dieter almost looked like someone else, someone new, an attractive blond man with stormy gray eyes and ripped physique.
Flicka looked away.
Outside the hotel room’s windows, the sun was high in the sky, almost noon. The sun’s rays sparkled on the pristine blue water of Lake Geneva and made the hotel’s lawns glow as if life emitted green light.
For an instant, Flicka wondered if this were the last time she might see Lake Geneva and Montreux. If Pierre caught her, he might lock her up in the Prince’s Palace in Monaco, or he might kill her.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
The Swiss summer light drenching the verdant mountains and trees seemed unbearably beautiful, and she stared at it, trying to memorize the riot of green park grounds, blue water and sky, and bright white sunshine.
Dieter said, “Let’s go.”
He opened the door, and Flicka followed him through. Dieter stayed right by her side, his head twisting as he watched and listened around them.
As they’d discussed, an elevator was open and waiting for them. One of Rogue Security’s technical support personnel, Blaise Lyon, had electronically commandeered this particular elevator and diverted the security cameras along their route. Blaise had an unusual background and even more unusual hobbies.
They walked into the elevator. The doors slid closed, and it descended, making Flicka light-headed.
They fell through the hotel, past where Pierre’s men were undoubtedly searching the halls and past the lobby where his Secret Service must be stationed, hiding behind potted plants and skulking behind the marble staircase, watching for her.
The doors parted.
Cars clattered over the concrete of the underground parking garage, spewing exhaust fumes through the air.
Dieter strode out of the elevator.
Flicka couldn’t make her legs work.
She stood with her back against the wall of the elevator, her hands clasped in front of herself, while the doors gaped.
Out there, Pierre’s Secret Service men might be waiting. Of course, she would have to go through the parking garage to get out of the hotel. They would be standing right there. Quentin Sault would be waiting for her just out of view, and when she emerged, he would grab her arms and shove her back into the elevator or into a car, where Pierre would be angry with her, and he would grab her by the neck and force her down and drag her back to Monaco where she would never get away from him. He would force her at night until she swelled with babies and could never get away.
Her legs trembled and couldn’t move.
Her eyes jittered, but she couldn’t see.
