Teachers instructed that the Prince children were royalty.
Employees who’d drop everything if any of us snapped our fingers, not that I’d made a habit of doing so.
Even other family members. We’d been taught from the time we were small children how important being involved in each other’s lives would be. Often to the detriment of privacy.
But an entire town literally giving the shirts off their backs, cash from their wallets, and a vehicle that I had a feeling could withstand the apocalypse was on an entirely different plane of existence.
I’d never been faced with needing the generosity of others. They’d given us a brown bag full of cash like we were criminals on the run and a hunting knife, for fuck’s sake. Did the people believe I’d gone anywhere without a weapon? I snorted inwardly at the thought. However, their sentiments were heartfelt, making it obvious the legacy my father had left on the entire town.
In all the years I’d known my father, his acts of charity had been more about improving our reputation and tax write-offs, not given out of the goodness of his heart.
Or so I’d believed.
Heartache was a luxury allowed more traditional families. The lessons taught in early childhood had included how best to deal with a sense of loss. I hadn’t cried after learning the news about my father. Had I felt some sense of loss? Yes, but within days life was back to normal.
If that was the case, then why was it that I was missing him more on this dark evening than even when attending his funeral? Fleur. Watching her despair blossom like a silent killer, stripping her of the joyous, bubbly personality that had both annoyed and intrigued me.
I was more possessive than ever.
I wasn’t well equipped for expressing gratitude, which thoroughly annoyed Fleur. I’d deal with the aftermath later.
Now it was about interrogating the person the sheriff had captured. Which in and of itself was unusual.
“You can’t handle this like you normally would.” Hearing Fleur’s voice right behind me brought another wave of protectiveness.
“You don’t listen. I told you to remain at the house.”
“All alone? What if another bastard appeared?”
Turning abruptly, she stumbled into me, pressing her soft hands against my chest. Her eyes were full of questions and with her lips pursed, she appeared more vulnerable than usual. “Then stay back. Okay? While I know you can’t understand and certainly aren’t accepting, this is my world.”
“No, this isn’tyourworld. This istheirworld and they’re not only welcoming you into it, they’re offering you a permanent residency, at least in their hearts. You need to act accordingly.”
I shifted hair from her face. “You’re offering me advice on how to handle people now?”
“I am. You’re a rough and tumble guy, but with few people skills.”
“I’ll take that under advisement. Now, stay here. Do not disobey me again.”
She took a decided step away, saluting.
Exhaling, I returned to my task, finding the sheriff and three other men surrounding the captured perpetrator. And I’d be damned if they didn’t have the guy strung up like a turkeyagainst a huge tree. He was bound in rope, the thick strand also wrapped around his neck.
I had to give them credit. They weren’t lightweights in dealing with armed men.
“Mr. Prince. You know Bart. That’s Sam and Tom. The asshole won’t talk. No identification. But he was carrying this.”
The sheriff held out a small caliber handgun, one I knew well. The Beretta 71 was a .22, often carried by intelligent agents or assassins for hire. I had two just like it at home. I took it from his hand, twisting it in mine as if needing to get a feel.
Then without hesitation, I pressed the barrel against the assassin’s head. “Vash pakhan budet ochen’ razocharovan.” While I had no expectations that the man with the scar under his right eye would provide me with an explanation or names, I’d used an old trick taught by my father to find truths without the perpetrator uttering a word.
In this case, speaking to him in Russian, a language I’d studied in high school and college for the very intent and purpose of knowing thy enemy. And my ruse had worked. I could tell by the quick twitch in the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what I’d said to him.
Your Pakhan will be highly disappointed.
And he would be.
“He speaks Russian too,” Bart said. “This asshole was definitely casing the house.”
