“Out.”
Tatum disconnected the call, wondering how exactly a person could fake their death without telling their parents.
Chapter Twelve
Tatum checked the time on the dash of his new rental car. The car arrived this morning, an SUV with tinted windows. He wished it weren’t so shiny. However, in the parking lot of Neese’s posh hotel, a shiny new car blended in much better than a dusty clunker would have.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t come back here, that he would stay away from her, but that was a promise he knew he would break. Sometimes he did that. He swore he wouldn’t do anything stupid, knowing full well he was going to dart across an open street with a sniper at the end just so he could get off a shot at the guy.
The stupid things he did usually paid off. He hoped this was no exception.
He’d taken extreme caution before approaching the hotel, waiting for an hour across the street at a café, observing the comings and goings and making sure no one was observing him.
He’d taken caution with his appearance too. He’d sprayed his hair Bob Barker white and padded his middle so that it hung over his belt. The hand-me-down suit from the consignment store rode up on his ankles. The thick-rimmed glasses were a bit much, but they fit the persona so well he couldn’t pass them up.
Neese would be in meetings with the princess this morning. They were due to visit the Secretary of Defense at his office—a visit Tatum was happy he hadn’t been invited to make. He wanted the chocolates to arrive before she left for the day, wanted to let her know he was thinking of her.
Even though she’d told him goodbye, he knew it wouldn’t the last time he’d see her. He knew he was going to Zimrada and he couldn’t wait to see her face when his boat docked.
When he was sure the situation was clear of danger, he entered the hotel and made his way to the concierge desk.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I hope so. This is a gift for the advisor to the princess of Zimrada.”
The concierge looked at him funny. “There is no advisor to the princess.”
Tatum kicked himself for not getting her official title. “Maybe they don’t call her that. She has long black hair and brown eyes. Really pretty. Her name is Neese?”
He studied Tatum for a moment before taking the box. “I’ll see that they’re delivered.”
Tatum nodded and sauntered out of the lobby like he had all the time in the world. In reality, he was anxious to get out of here and take whatever lurked in the shadows of his life with him.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday morning, Nyssa checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d chosen a formal festival dress for her meeting with the Secretary of Defense. The garnet-red linen wrapped around her middle and across her chest. She fanned it out from the knot at her neck to drape across her shoulders and brush her fingertips. The skirt touched the tops of her leather sandals.
Bright spring sunshine spilled through the window this morning, giving her hope that she wouldn’t freeze in her island clothing. She would have braved the cold to wear this dress. The red was bold, giving her courage in the face of the unknown. The fabric was soft, reminding her to pause and listen instead of blabber. And the fringe tickled her skin like the whisper of new ideas and possibilities.
A knock sounded at the door and she hurried to open it. The concierge, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, held out a gold-topped box. Kingston remained still as the statue he had once again become after tattling on her to the queen. He stood an inch away from the wall, his hands folded before him. No doubt he had already questioned the man about his intentions and the contents of the box.
“This just came,” said the concierge. He pressed his lips together. “I believe it is for you.”
There was something funny in the way he looked at her, like he wasn’t sure he was making the right call.
“Did the messenger leave a name?”
“He did not. But from the physical description he gave, I assumed it was you.”
“Thank you.” She took it from his hands. He did an about-face and trotted off. She schooled her smile. Not many people could stand to be under Kingston’s heavy gaze for long. “I will be ready to leave in ten minutes,” she told him.
He nodded and pulled out his phone to call the driver. They hadn’t talked about his phone call to her mother. She’d given him the silent treatment for a full evening and he seemed to enjoy it, so she decided talking to him as much as possible was a worse punishment. If he wanted to meddle in her life, she’d give him something to meddle in.
“Do you know what’s inside this box?” she asked.
He nodded once.
She toyed with the corner. “It could be from Prince Marius. We have a date tomorrow night.” She hoped not. That could be awkward.
