His gaze zeroed in on the hooded man. He’d sat on the edge of the fountain and was unbuttoning his long coat. The prince kept talking into the microphone, keeping the crowd engaged while members of the security team made their way through the onlookers to reach the suspect. “We need free trade. Our people need food.”
“Our people need a leader they can respect!” The protest came from another corner of the audience.
“I agree. For too long, we have been led by men our people fear. Fear doesn’t put food in people’s bellies. Our people are working again. They aren’t afraid to leave their homes and share their opinions and vote however they please.”
A tall man, with hair as black at the prince’s himself, moved in beside him with a whispered warning. “Your Highness. We need to go.”
The security team converged on the fountain as the hooded man stood. “End Ivan!”
“Bomb!”
There were too many screams to make out the words that followed. The crowd split and ran like a tidal surge away from the fountain.
“Stop him!”
“Save the prince!”
Armed men in suits ran forward.
A sniper guarding the gathering from a turret high above the street raised his rifle and took aim at the insurgent. But he was too late.
“Save yourselves!” Prince Ivan warned. His bodyguards swarmed around him and shoved him to the stone steps behind the podium. The square erupted with light and the deafening roar of an explosion.
The prince’s cheek scraped against stone as the black-haired man covered his body with his. His ears were stopped up by the concussive blast. But he heard the screams of his people, the stampede of running feet, gunfire, as if the violence was all happening far in the distance instead of a mere few yards beyond the podium.
He spotted blood on the steps a split second before something sharp and hot seared his skin, cutting through the invisible target on his back.
The prince’s public rallying speech in the heart of Lukinburg’s capital left him wounded. Landmarks had been damaged. People were injured, dead.
The dignitaries from Kansas City wouldn’t be coming.
August—Kansas City, Missouri
After the explosion in the palace square, the businesspeople and government officials Ivan Mostek needed to talk to in Kansas City had refused to travel to Lukinburg. They were concerned for their safety, and rightly so. The shrapnel scars on his back were still pink and tender from that attack.
But he wouldn’t give up on the new government’s vision to reform his country.
So, the prince had come to Kansas City. These negotiations were going to happen, no matter what a few leftovers from the old regime thought of him. They’d lost their power and weren’t above using an assassination to get it back. Perhaps the threats he faced were coming from loyalists who believed the modernization of their country would irrevocably change it, and they’d lose their cultural identity. What they’d lose was any kind of standing as a first world country. Their economy was dying, and the old ways didn’t feed his people.
Ivan Mostek, Crown Prince of Lukinburg, the symbolic leader of his country and heir to the throne, had no intention of giving power back to the thugs that had nearly ruined their country, nor did he intend to destroy any of the things that made Lukinburg so uniquely special. The plan was a good one. But he had to survive first. Survive this trip to the States. Survive until his coronation and hopefully live a long and healthy life afterward as the leader of Lukinburg.
The first step in that plan meant leaving his country and traveling to Kansas City for a week. The second step meant surrounding himself with people he trusted. That was proving more of a challenge than he’d expected since it seemed that no matter what security measures his team put into place, the threats kept coming. So, he’d put in a call to KCPD to ask for help from strangers. The local police had no ties to Lukinburg. He was counting on them to provide a layer of protection that couldn’t be influenced by politics, fear of change or revenge.
Striding up the steps from his limousine, Ivan followed his chief of security, Filip Milevski, into the lobby of Fourth Precinct headquarters. His trusted adviser and good friend, Aleksandr Petrovic, followed right behind him, while another bodyguard, Danya Pavluk, brought up the rear. His third bodyguard and new driver, Eduard Nagy, would park the car and wait for them to finish their respective meetings.
After lining up their visitor badges, Filip, a tall, beefy man with graying sideburns, punched the button to call the elevator. “I will escort you to your meeting with Captain Hendricks. Then Danya and I will meet with the SWAT captain and senior patrol officer to coordinate security at your public appearances.”
Ivan smoothed the knot of his tie and nodded. “Do not forget to have them set up extra officers outside the Lukinburg embassy on Saturday. Your team can work with embassy security inside, but the ball will dramatically increase traffic and bring many wealthy and important local and state people to that part of town.”
“I forget nothing,” Filip huffed, as though it was an insult to remind him. The elevator doors opened, and he waited for the car to empty before leading them inside. “I do not understand why you could not stay at the hotel and let me handle the police department. This Joe Hendricks you are meeting with is not on my list of contacts.” No, but Chief of Police Taylor had recommended the precinct captain when Ivan had called to ask for the secret favor. “I cannot control your safety when you surprise me with meetings that are not on your agenda.”
Ah, yes. Filip loved his routines. If he had any idea what Ivan was planning behind his back, he’d be livid.
“I told you, this is personal. You do not need to be involved.”
“But it is my responsibility—”
“I am inside a police station. I will be fine without you hovering over me.” He grinned at Aleks, who was people watching the comings and goings of officers, detectives, visitors and staff through the lobby checkpoint and service counters. He flicked his friend’s arm to get his attention. “You should have brought a camera,” he teased.
Aleks’s grin formed a bright crescent of white in his long black beard. “Did you see that plaque on the wall? They have created a memorial to a little girl—”
“Aleks...” Ivan urged his friend to join them. “Business first. Sightseeing later. You know we must—”
“Hold that elevator!”
Ivan’s sentence trailed off and he instinctively grabbed the door as a woman with a dirty, soot-streaked blond ponytail darted onto the elevator. She pulled in an equally grimy, handcuffed man by his upper arm and guided him to the corner farthest away from Ivan and his staff, ordering her captive to face the wall. Filip cursed under his breath as he and Danya quickly positioned themselves between Ivan and their guests and allowed the doors to close.
“Thanks.” He saw the woman wore fingerless gloves when she pushed some flyaway strands of hair off her face. He also saw the badge hanging from a chain around her neck. Ivan’s senses tingled with an alertness he had to hide. “Sorry. I didn’t relish dragging this dirtbag up the stairs or waiting for the next elevator.”
She wore a long, dusty man’s coat over jeans and worn leather boots that were nearly as big as his own feet. Gloves? Coat? Boots?
In August?
No wonder there was a sheen of perspiration on her pink cheeks.
As intrigued by her apparent toughness as he was curious about her ratty, overheated appearance, he offered her a succinct nod. “We are happy to oblige the local constabulary.”