“Grimaldi?” Eian asked, confusion creasing his eyes.
“The blond guy who isn’t Wulfram von Hannover.Whydid you let him near her?”
Eian stuck his head through the door, peering inside, as Wulf pushed it open. “That’s XanValentine. He’s a musician in a rock band, not a Grimaldi. His wife is Rae’s friend.”
Raphael almost grabbed Eian by the collar, but he respected his operators more than that.“That’s his stage name.Alexandre Grimaldi is Pierre Grimaldi’sfirst goddamn cousin,and he’s killed at least one man, maybe three, maybemore. Get in thereand make sure he doesn’t add to his list of bodies by takingout your primary protection target.”
“Jesus—”Whatever else Eian said trailed off as he marched into the recovery room to stand guard. He crowded a surprised Alexandre out of the way and hovered over the woman and baby.
Yeah, Eian Summerhays would protect Rae and the newborn from anything short of a pack of rabid saber-toothed tigers, and he’d put up a good fight even in that case. Raphael wouldleave Eian in place to keep watch over them while the rest of them rescued Flicka.
Through the closing door, Rae yelled at Raphael, “Is Flicka alive?”
He called back, “Probably. She was yesterday.”
The woman had just given birth. He didn’t want her to worry, but that was the best information he had. He couldn’t promise anything beyond that, and he didn’t want to say any more in front of AlexandreGrimaldi.
He’d already seen the pictures that, he assumed, Monaco’s palace PR department had posted to Flicka’s social media accounts. He’d searched for information on her when they’d landed in New Jersey and found the pics. He’d thought nothing of the caption below the picture—I’m so happy to be back home in Monaco with my husband Prince Pierre!—but he’d clutched the picture as proof she wasalive.
The photo must have been taken the morning after she’d left the warehouse with Pierre’s commandos. Sunlight streamed in the window and brightened her alabaster skin. Flicka’s face had filled out just a little in Geneva despite her attempts to pass on the potatoes at supper every night, and he thought her cheeks had that little bit of fullness that she hadn’t had when she’d been stress-starvingabout Wulfram’s wedding.
Wulfram grabbed Raphael’s arm. “Where is Flicka?”
Raphael led him down the hallway, away from the otherWelfenlegion.“In Monaco, it appears,Durchlaucht.”
The old nickname for Wulfram slipped from his lips, and he almost winced with missing Flicka.
“She texted me yesterday when I was at a wedding,” Wulf said, swallowing hard, “saying that she had been kidnapped andwas being taken somewhere. I didn’t show Rae the text. I didn’t know what to do. I was out of my mind, but I couldn’t leave Rae. She was in distress. I wanted her to go directly to the hospital, but she wouldn’t because of the damned wedding.”
Raphael reached out to Wulfram’s shoulder, an old and unconscious gesture, to steady him. “It appears that she’s in Monaco now. I have no reason to believethis photo is faked, and her hair is longer than it was at your wedding, as you can see.”
Wulfram spread his hands, dismayed. “So, can we send the plane for her, or could she fly commercial and be here by tomorrow morning? Or does she want to be in Monaco? Were we wrong about what happened?”
Wulf meant the night of his wedding, Raphael knew, the night when Flicka had gone missing, as Wulf hadseen it. “We weren’t wrong, and it was worse than I told you.”
Wulfram grabbed a doorframe beside him, and his knuckles reddened. The serene expression on his face became rigid. “How was it worse?”
“She ran to me that night in Montreux when she disappeared—”
His voice was lower. “You knew she wasn’t deadthat night?”
“I helped her escape from the hotel to meet with her lawyer in Paris, andthen I got her to Las Vegas to file the divorce papers as was specified in her prenup.”
Wulf blinked, and his eyelids were the only movement on his stony face. “You had her all along? When I saw you in Theo’s office, I thought you just knew where she was, not that you had been keeping me in the dark all that time.”
“I had reasons.”
Wulf’s large hands curled into fists, though his eyes remainedimmobile. His voice was calm, measured, like he was explaining this thing to Raphael. “Yes, this mythical spy in theWelfenlegion.Flicka is my child,Dieter. You didn’t tell me she was with you and safe, and then I received that text yesterday. It sounded like she expected to die. I’ve been out of my mind.”
Very quietly out of his mind, Raphael assumed. “You saw us on the news from Las Vegas,I assume.”
“And then you disappeared again. It was one short sighting, and then those men threw you into vans. You didn’t return my texts or calls. I almost sent theWelfenlegionto track you down.”
“Glad you didn’t,” Raphael muttered, though he kind of wished theWelfenlegionhad shown upen masseon the doorstep of the Mirabaud mansion. But Piotr Ilyin’s men probably would have shot the threeof them and left their bodies for theWelfenlegionto find. That was the whole point of hostages.
Wulf said, “I don’t believe Pierre Grimaldi has a spy in our camp who would harm us. Even if he has someone feeding him information, that’s different than someone who would harm us at his direction. It’s preposterous that we’re not acting to get Flicka due to the report of one possible spy that isbased on one intelligence source.”
The intelligence source had been Flicka herself, after Pierre had threatened her with it. “Either way, I have a proposition for you,Durchlaucht.Pierre is holding Flicka and not allowing her to leave Monaco. I’m sure of it.”
