My father was a marine and a United States senator before his death two years ago, so if I were there at least someone would believe me when I say I feel like I’m being watched, and maybe help me figure out what’s going on. At the very least, I could go to my parents’ townhouse when I need a good night’s sleep.
Because that hasn’t been happening at all lately. Every noise, every gust of wind or drop of rain on the windows makes me jump and then I can’t get back to sleep. It’s ridiculous, but my overactive imagination is getting the best of me since I began seeing things moved around my apartment.
At first, I thought it was my imagination, but then I tested my theories…taking pictures of each room and countertop in the apartment in the morning before I left and comparing them to how they looked when I got home at night. Yesterday, someone moved my teapot from where I left it next to the sink and put it back on the stove where I normally keep it.
And it completely freaked me out.
I asked Mrs. Winkelhofer if she saw anyone hovering around the building but she hadn’t, so I don’t know what to make of it. I’m careful, sticking to populated routes and going out in groups, but I honestly don’t have any proof other than the relocated teapot. It freaked me out so much I capitulated and told my mother, so now she’s freaking out, which is never a good thing.
The last thing I need is for her to make an impromptu trip.
She’s visited before and it was nice, but it’s December now and the end of the semester is on the horizon, so my students and I are gearing up for finals. I don’t have time for company, and she isn’t good on her own. We became close after Dad passed away, especially with finalizing my divorce soon after. She felt responsible since she set me up with Douglas, and she sometimes goes overboard to make it up to me.
I appreciate the effort she’s making, but I moved to Germany to do something on my own. She and my father dictated pretty much everything I did up until I got married, and now I need to find my own way. Emotionally, anyway.
I drop my bag and shrug out of my coat, kicking off my shoes before heading to the bathroom. I immediately start running water for a bath, dumping in some bubbles and a few drops of essential oils. I strip off my clothes, put them in the pile I’m taking to the dry cleaner in the morning, and pull on my bathrobe. I pad out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of prosecco, my latest guilty pleasure. Then I dig my e-reader out of my purse and walk back to the bathroom.
I’m about to get in the water when paranoia gets the best of me and I go back into the living room to grab my phone. Just in case.
I dig around in my purse, but it isn’t there. Panicking, I run to find the clothes I just took off, digging through the pockets.
Still nothing.
It isn’t in my coat pocket, my laptop bag, or on any of the counters. Did I leave it at school? No, that’s not possible because I checked the weather forecast on the way home. I walked home and didn’t make any stops, so there was no way I left it anywhere. Which means I dropped it.
But I’m always so careful about things like that.
I grab my purse and open it again, ready to dump it out in a last-ditch effort to find the phone, and there it is right on top, mocking me. I stare for a long minute as goose bumps break out all over my body.
I turn around slowly, swallowing down my fear. Is someone here or am I actually losing my mind? A chill races down my spine, and my heart rate kicks up a few notches.
What the hell is going on?
With my phone clutched tightly in my hand, I throw open the hall closet, determined to check every nook and cranny of my small apartment. It’s blissfully empty and I hurry into my bedroom, opening the tall wardrobe that’s provided since there’s no bedroom closet. There’s nothing there but my clothes and shoes, and even though I don’t know what I would do if I found someone, I drop to the floor to look under the bed.
Empty.
Heart still racing and a light sheen of sweat on my upper lip, I look behind the sofa, on the small balcony, and even double-check that my front door is locked and bolted. The apartment is empty.
And I’m losing my mind.
With shaking hands, I unlock my phone and call my mother. I need her to talk me off the ledge because I have no idea how I’m ever going to sleep again.
Chapter 3
Ace
Under the guise of working to hinder the development of a Limaji intelligence agency, I’m busier than I should be since I’m not doing any such thing. In fact, I’m working on helping them start it up. It probably isn’t the most ethical thing I’ve ever done, but I know Erik and the royal family intimately. We’re friends, and I was involved in helping him stay alive during his years in exile.
He's a good man who has the best interests of his country at heart, and while I don’t know what the CIA’s issue is with him wanting his own version of an intelligence agency, I literally have no way to stop him. So now I’m bopping around Europe doing some reconnaissance here and a little intelligence there, but mostly I’m hanging out in Limaj, relaxing.
I’ve just gotten to the airport in Hiskale after one short but intense CIA mission in early December, anxious to head back to my room at the palace and get some rest, when my phone rings. I’ve been up for nearly two days, but when a name I haven’t seen in years flashes on the screen, I answer it briskly. “Mrs. Barrow?”
“Andrew. Thank goodness I found you.”
“What’s wrong?” I know that sound, the panic in a person’s voice, telling me something is going on.
“I need your help.” She’s a normally stoic-sounding woman but that isn’t what I hear now.
