Page 40 of The Prince of New York

“You’ll be fine. It might take a while, but you’ll be fine. I will hope they back away so that we’re not forced to act, but their level of ambition doesn’t die easily. And that is why I fear their deaths inevitably come at your hand.”

I agreed with him, and because I did, I sighed. “Do you think Madelyn will forgive me for what I must do?”

“I suspect Madelyn would be at the front of the line to get her hits in if we make the mistake of letting her know what is going on. Now that her eyes have been opened to the reality of your situation, I think she has the capacity of becoming a sword capable of even tearing down empires. Do yourself a favor. Don’t underestimate Madelyn. If I were your parents, I would step with care. When there’s a will, there is a way, and Madelyn understands the reality of abuse—and should she have an opportunity to protect you, she will take it.” Terry’s expression turned rather rueful. “I may have proposed that we arm her just in case. She will be spending an hour at the firing range daily until we’re confident of her skills. And yes, she will be given orders to use the weapons we give her if the situation warrants it. Mark my words, Ian. Now that she’s been set free, you will find her to be someone worth worrying about—and your parents have earned her ire. I fear that if you don’t deal with them, she will.”

ELEVEN

I’d practiced to make certain my parents kept their attention on me.

With my briefcasefilled with my parents’ jewels and suppressors, I drove myself to my junkyard while the RPS tailed me. That Terry felt comfortable enough to allow for me to maintain some of my freedom offered some hope I might get through the day without having to use my talent offensively—or witness the RPS kill my parents.

They would if needed, and he’d brought out a rather Royal friend from Montana for the party.

Daphne’s presence, along with her entourage of agents, would give even my parents pause.

The Vampire of Montana’s lethality rating matched mine, and with both of us pointed in the same direction, our foes had zero hope of survival. She’d practiced on terrorists.

I’d practiced to make certain my parents kept their attention on me.

Upon arrival, I parked my family car in its usual spot, noting there was a white rental parked in front of the shed that served as my office. As the shed had nothing of use in it beyond an empty desk and three chairs in case I had a customer or guest, I left it unlocked.

Sometimes, I came to work to find someone waiting for me. That the someone might be two someones, the parents I wished would leave us be, would bother me for a while.

Daphne bounced out of the second SUV and headed my way. I smiled, waited for her to come within reach, and swung her around. As the Montana royals required affection to thrive, I gave her a hug and whispered, “My bet is that they’re in the office waiting to have a word with me.”

“That’s the car from the vineyard,” she confirmed. “It was in the briefing before we left. I’ll go with you. They’re not dumb enough to try us both with Terry hot on our heels. Our mission is to play nice, get a feel for what they’re doing, and learn why they’d risk coming here.”

I nodded, let her go, and waited for Terry to approach before heading to my office.

Sure enough, my parents sat in front of my desk and waited with picture perfect patience, engaging in quiet talk. They wore jeans and t-shirts, which baffled me, as my mother would have loved if she could wear a ballgown each and every day.

I let myself in, headed for my chair, set the briefcase on the floor, and plopped down, daring to kick my feet up and relax. “Please don’t pick a fight. Daphne’s cranky because she’s going to be ruling Montana, and Terry would rather be at home with his newly pregnant princess. Don’t ask me about the other RPS agents. I have an entire herd of them, and the whole lot of them had to deal with me having a fever.”

Both of my parents regarded me with unimpressed expressions, and my mother shook her head in disapproval. “What did you do to get a fever again?”

“Rachel took me out on an obstacle course like she meant it and gave me a concussion. It was revenge for teasing her with beef jerky. I deserved it. After pulling off your disappearing act, which was well done, I’ll give you that, you surely have a good reason to be trying to see me. Let’s just skip straight to the chase. What do you want?”

My mother glanced at my father, and I marveled that the pair managed to hold a silent conversation despite how often they fought and failed to communicate or get along like reasonable adults. My father leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and grunted.

I waited; he’d talk or not at his own time, and I hadn’t survived an entire childhood with them through being impatient.

Daphne and Terry took positions near the door, and it amused me that Her Royal Highness of Montana had managed to mix being Royal with an RPS bearing. While I couldn’t afford to take my attention off my parents, I could hear the other RPS agents shuffling around outside along with the rumble of extra vehicles parking.

Finally, my father sighed. “While we are no longer the monarchs of New York, nor do we wish to return to being the monarchs, we do still have some loyalty to our home kingdom—and to the Royal States. It’s actually a good thing that you’re here, Daphne. It’s about a new terrorist cell, one that originates near our new domicile.”

Shit. Thwarting a terrorism cell was the one thing I could see my parents banding together for and acting on the behalf of others. Our kingdom had been targeted more than a few times, and they hated terrorists almost as much as Daphne. I suspected Daphne respected my parents a little for their stance against terrorism.

If they could kill a terrorist, they would.

As would I.

I lowered my feet from my desk, grabbed the briefcase, and set it on the worn surface, popping it open before turning it to face them. “That intel alone makes me grateful that I decided to bring this along. Everything in here is confirmed to be your personal property, including the suppressors. You can take the briefcase; I’ll replace it. I’m due for a new one.”

I’d owned it for years, and I needed to borrow a page from my sister’s book, leaving as much of the past behind me as I could.

My mother went for her suppressor first, opened it, and after it passed her visual inspection, she put it on. The relief, however brief, would bother me for a while. “We’d figured these would be too much to ask for.”

“They’re yours, bought with your own money. You’re sore out of luck on anything that belongs to the kingdom, but everything in the briefcase belongs to you. Since you’re scratching my back regarding intel on these terrorists, it seems only fair to scratch yours. What can you tell us about this group?”

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