The Duke's Covert Mission

And had she just been transferred from one untenable situation to another now that she was completely at his mercy?

Chapter Three

That had gone better than he’d planned.

Jerome’s contact had arrived at 9:00 p.m. on the dot. He’d been content to observe the fake princess’s sleeping form from the distance of the basement stairs, despite Jerome’s offer to wake the little lady. Their guest, in fact, seemed eager to leave the damp, musty basement, though Cade suspected it had more to do with an abhorrence for his surroundings than pity for the girl’s trauma-induced exhaustion.

Cade hung back in the archway that connected the living room to the kitchen, while Lenny sat on the floral-print sofa. Jerome paced the width of the room, lighting up one of his foul cigarettes. He darted back and forth with the speed and repetition of a revolving arcade target, giving Cade the urge to pull out his sidearm and shoot him. That would put Jerome out of his manic misery and ease the tension building in the room.

But Cade had a much more pressing issue to deal with than his team leader’s agitation. He focused his powers of observation on the man in the brown Armani suit who had joined them for this late-night meeting. Winston Rademacher pulled a pristine white handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and dusted the arm of the gold plaid sofa before perching there.

Interesting. The man didn’t like to dirty his hands either literally or figuratively.

Jerome blew out a cloud of smoke, then turned and walked right through it. “All I’m saying is, we ought to pawn the jewels we took off the girl and make this deal as profitable as we can.”

“The necklace is a handmade work of art that bears the royal coat-of-arms of Korosol. Pawning it would lead the authorities directly to us.” Rademacher’s thin lips barely moved when he spoke. “It will be returned with the princess.”

Jerome turned again. “You’re the one who lengthened the time frame on this job. You need to compensate us.”

What happened to the loyalty the hundred-grand retainer fee had purchased? Cade thought.

Since the conversation was mostly Jerome’s efforts to finagle more money for the contracted job, Cade tuned him out.

Rademacher was an old acquaintance of sorts. Cade had met him on more than one occasion, though they’d never had a conversation beyond introductory pleasantries. The man was a professional power broker. A favored guest among royals and high society the world over. His dark hair and high cheekbones hinted at his Middle-Eastern ancestry, but Cade couldn’t remember where the man actually hailed from.

He wished he had his computer with him or at least access to some of his information contacts. He hated not knowing more about a man he had to work with than what he’d read in the papers. While Jerome complained and Winston looked bored, Cade ran through what he did know about their employer.

In recent years Rademacher had served as a personal advisor to Prince Markus of Korosol. Markus was the only child of King Easton’s eldest son, Byrum. Since Byrum and his wife had died in a tragic accident while on African safari over a year ago, Markus was next in line to become king. But King Easton, declaring the right of royal privilege, had decided to travel to America and meet his extended family there before officially naming his heir. Cade wondered if Rademacher was working for Markus, if this kidnapping could somehow be used as leverage to ensure Easton named Markus as his successor.

“Hell. We don’t even have decent plumbing here.” Jerome’s whine interrupted Cade’s thoughts. “What kind of house puts a pump in the kitchen and makes you shower outside?”

“Mr. Smython, is there a point to all this?”

Rademacher also had ties with a political group in Korosol that wanted to end the monarchy system altogether and establish an independent republic. His one-time business partner, Remy Sandoval, was the self-proclaimed leader of the Korosolan Democratic Front. For the right price, as Jerome claimed every man had, would Rademacher sell out king and country?

Or was Winston Rademacher’s motive something more personal? Perhaps kidnapping Princess Lucia and demanding a ransom was simply a new type of profit-making business deal the man had put together.

“I don’t care how you dispose of the body, so long as it isn’t found. I thought I’d made it clear that my client didn’t want any casualties.”

Client? Cade tuned back in to the conversation.

“The kid put up a fight.” That was the extent of Jerome’s defense for murdering the chauffeur. “I should have given him a bigger dose of the serum.”

“Yes, indeed.” Rademacher stood, rebuttoned his jacket and smoothed his lapels.

One thing was certain. The man revealed no hint of motive or emotion in the perpetual squint of his dark-brown eyes. He was cold. Clever. Unreadable.

The faintly accented tone of his voice revealed nothing more than irritation with Jerome’s incessant banter. “I have a backup plan in place should you choose to deviate from my instructions again.”

Cade’s self-preservation radar kicked in at the matter-of-fact warning. “Whoa. What do you mean, backup? What else aren’t you telling us?”

Winston looked at Cade and blinked, as if he’d forgotten his presence in the room. Fat chance. Cade didn’t buy the eyebrow arched in aristocratic surprise for one instant.

“I’ve told you everything you need to know…Your Grace.”

Cade had borne the brunt of enough condescending gossip from snobs like Rademacher to let the smirk in his voice bounce off his toughened hide. He’d suffered far worse than mock pity and survived. He walked right up to Winston and used his slight height advantage to look down on the man. “You’ve told us everything except this new backup plan. And who we’re doing this baby-sitting job for.”

Rademacher folded his handkerchief and tucked it into his jacket before responding. He laughed. It was a controlled, low-pitched sound that held no trace of humor. “You’re as persistent a dog as your father was, aren’t you.”

Other than the fist he buried inside his pocket, Cade held himself perfectly still. He let the angry resentment slam through him, then trapped it in the spot where his soul used to be. “I don’t make the same mistakes my father did.”

Winston acknowledged the assertion with a slight nod. “I hope not. Bretford died owing me money. I consider your cooperation on this job as payment in trade. Your services in exchange for your father’s debt.” He splayed his manicured fingers in the air like a magician casting a spell. “It all seems so karmalike, don’t you think?”

“Hey, we were talking about my money.” Jerome waved his pudgy paw at Cade and Winston, intruding on the duel of unbending wills.

Rademacher’s eyelids moved an infinitesimal distance and shut. He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared, as if an annoying gnat had buzzed into his ear. With the standoff broken, Cade stalked to the far end of the room, silently cursing himself for letting wounded pride and old hurts get in the way of finding out what he needed to know.

“I grow tired of this, Smython.” Winston moved only his eyes to look at Jerome.

Cade closed his ears to the conversation and watched their employer make short work of Fire-man. He’d never play cards with a control freak like Rademacher. But his father had.

Cade leaned against the archway, uncomfortable with thoughts of his father even now. Bretford St. John had lost nearly as much money at the tables as he had making bad investments. His addiction to gambling had cost him the family fortune, his son’s respect and ultimately his life.

Their guest wasn’t directly responsible for Bretford St. John’s suicide, of course. His father had been the only one at the house to pull the trigger that night.

But Rademacher’s trade-off burned like salt in an open wound. Cade had yet to meet a man who mourned his father’s death. As a grieving young man, he’d turned to what he thought were family friends and business associates, looking for comfort and understanding. Instead, he’d been greeted with invoices and IOU’s, and branded as the heir to his family’s scandalous past.

“If you’re not satisfied with the arrangements I’ve made, you can easily be replaced on this project.” Winston’s warning was clear, even to Jerome.

Maybe. Jerome tossed his cigarette butt into the stone fireplace that heated the house in the winter. “Is that a threat?”

Winston wasn’t impressed with the flash of anger. “Do I need to make a threat?” He silenced Jerome by refusing to hear any more. He turned his attention to Lenny. “Mr. Gratfield.”

The big man unfolded himself from the couch, rising as if he’d been summoned by a superior officer. “Yes, sir?”

“Get the jewelry and put the items in my attaché case. I’ll use them as a token of the princess’s well-being.” He inclined his head toward the leather briefcase at his feet. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

Lenny took the case and slipped out. As Winston moved to follow him, Cade stepped out and blocked his path. He wasn’t done pressing for answers yet.

“Why the hush-hush about your client?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and demanded a response.

“This may be too complex for you to understand, Sinjun.” Like Jerome and Lenny, Winston slurred Cade’s last name with a trace of their native accent, giving St. John an almost British pronunciation. “I’m a man who makes things happen. I connect the right people so that they can become something greater than themselves. Understandably my client doesn’t wish to be linked to a kidnapping—or the likes of you and your comrades.”

Winston never so much as blinked. He hadn’t even revealed if his client was a he or a she.

“And while you’re making these connections, what do you expect us to do with Princess Lucia? I signed on for a kidnapping, not a double murder.”

Winston laughed. It was an imperious sound, and the smile on his lips never reached the squint in his eyes. “Careful, Sinjun. It almost sounds like you’ve developed a fondness for this girl. You wouldn’t want me to think you’re changing loyalties, would you?”