Prince Incognito

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Lillian wiped ointment from her fingers onto a towel before trimming a length of clean gauze to cover his injury. “At the time, I just thought he was being controlling. But maybe he had some inkling about what was going to happen.” She looked at him thoughtfully.

He studied her face, trying to read what she was thinking. Her blue eyes were streaked with pale gray and green, giving them an almost aquamarine undertone, stunningly beautiful, like the Mediterranean Sea.

Lillian shrugged and continued her story. “I wanted to see the royal motorcade pass by. The kingdom of Lydia has a royal family, but news about them rarely reaches the United States. I’ve seen pictures of the princesses—they’re so elegant, and always promoting humanitarian causes—but the rest of the royal family is fairly private. I just wanted to catch a glimpse…”

“Did you?”

“Hardly. Soldiers pushed everyone back, and then explosions started going off everywhere. I was afraid we’d all be killed.”

Explosions, yes. He pinched his eyes shut, shadows of memories taunting him from beyond the pain-filled recesses of his mind. Slivers of memories fell down like dust motes shaken free. “They were diversion grenades—classified as nonlethal.”

“What? You remember?” She looked startled, maybe even frightened. “How do you know that?”

But the memory melted away like a snowflake in the sun, evaporating to nothingness even as he reached for it. “I don’t know how I know.” He shook his head, wishing he could as easily shake loose the thoughts held prisoner inside. He sighed. “That might explain why I can’t remember much—the trauma from the blast must have temporarily wiped out my memory.”

“Temporarily.” Lillian repeated. “How soon do you think it will be before you get it back?”

“Hard to say. Hopefully not long. Stun grenades aren’t mean to inflict permanent damage.”

“How is it that you know that, but you don’t remember your own name?”

He thought carefully before answering. “I remember how to speak. I remember how to swim.”

“I’m grateful you remembered that much.” Her small smile seemed intended to encourage him.

It warmed his heart. He wished, for her sake, that he could remember. That he had answers to give her. She’d already helped him so much, and he’d done nothing but get her in trouble. “The concussion may have only affected one area of my brain—my personal memories. Hopefully the blast wasn’t too strong, and I’ll recover my memory soon.”

“Maybe that explains why you weren’t injured any worse than you were.” Lillian taped a bandage securely into place. “Whatever those explosions were, I thought for sure we’d all be killed. I saw you in an alley, and ran for my bike just as you did. When you climbed in the backseat I pedaled for the yacht, dumped you onboard, and we got away from Sardis as quickly as we could. But—” she took a deep breath “—my father talked to my uncle, who told him to throw you overboard.”

“Why?”

“He said you’re dangerous.” Lillian sat back, her hands on her knees as she leaned away from him as though she thought he might be dangerous, too.

“Dangerous?” He mulled over the thought.

“My uncle said you were involved with the insurgents who ambushed the royal motorcade.” Her voice grew thoughtful. “You knew what kind of grenades they were shooting.”

Sensing the uncertainty Lillian struggled with, he scrambled to think of something reassuring he could tell her. But everything beyond the last ten minutes was covered by a dark cloud, and the circumstances she’d found him in certainly sounded suspicious. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

She let out a breath and blinked at the floor, finally meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know.”

Hope flirted with the doubt in her eyes. She wanted to trust him. He wanted to be worthy of that trust, but he didn’t know enough about his own history to know if he was. “So why are you helping me?”

“You were injured. You asked me to help you—to get you out of Lydia before they found you.”

“Before who found me?”

“I suppose it depends on whose side you’re on.” She gave him that wary, uncertain look again.

He wanted to assure her that he was a person of integrity and honor, not someone to be feared, but he couldn’t claim something he didn’t know to be true. The unknowns of his past sat between them like a live grenade that might go off at any moment.

Lillian rose to her feet. “Do you need anything? There’s drinking water there, and a few snacks.” She pointed to a small fridge that served as a nightstand. “Help yourself.”

Her hospitality surprised him. She didn’t know whether he could be trusted, and yet, she’d given up her room for him, and had gone out of her way to make him comfortable.

Lillian stopped halfway to the door. “I’ll be across the hall if you need anything. You might want to lock yourself in the room. Don’t trust my father.”

“Thank you.” He took a step forward, intending to shake her hand.

She shrank back against the door frame.

“I have no intention of hurting you.” He assured her quickly, wishing he had evidence to back up his claim. “I don’t think I’m dangerous.”

Her eyes flickered across the breadth of his shoulders, to the thick biceps that stretched the sleeves of the T-shirt he wore, up to his full height, towering over her in the close confines of the stateroom. “I think—” a tremor cut through her words “—you could be plenty dangerous, if you wanted to be.”

He lowered his head. She had an excellent point. His powerful physique indicated that he lived a lifestyle that required him to be strong. Did that mean he was dangerous? Her uncle and her father thought so.

“Thank you for everything—” he began, startled by the sound of someone knocking on the other side of the heavily lacquered mahogany door.

Lillian looked concerned and stepped away from the door to make room to open it.

As she did so, the door swung open, virtually eliminating any open floor space in the tiny room. He shrank back, intending to get out of her way, but she must have had the same thought, because she stumbled into him and he reached out to steady her just as the door swung open.

Lily’s father stood on the other side, his face red up to his receding hairline, his eyes bulging with anger.

Lily shuffled away, but the move only made her look that much more guilty as she disentangled herself from his arms.

“Lillian,” her father seethed. “What are you doing?”

She opened her mouth to answer.

He raised one hand, silencing her as he addressed the soldier. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“He’s lost his memory from the blasts,” Lily explained. “But he could regain it at any time.”

Lily’s father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. This man is coming with me.”

“Why? Where?” Lillian looked as though she might try to step between them.

“Your uncle David would like to see him.” Her father grabbed the soldier by his arm. “On deck. Now.”

He could have fought the older man, but having just assured Lillian that he wasn’t dangerous, he didn’t figure he ought to strike her father. That left him with no choice but to walk in the direction he was shoved.

“Stay in your room, Lily.”

“No.” The stubborn woman trailed them both up onto the deck.

For one disorientated moment, he thought perhaps a storm had blown up. Then he recognized the familiar sound of a military helicopter’s pulsing rotors.

He tensed, all his instincts telling him there was danger in the darkness.

A man stepped into the dim circle of light provided by a fixture next to the pilothouse door. Other than the military uniform he wore, and his hair more salt than pepper, he looked like Lillian’s father.

The uniformed man—apparently Lily’s uncle David—spoke. “You tried to run away. That was foolish.” He raised a hand, gesturing to somewhere beyond them.

Four uniformed men stepped from the shadows—soldiers, with guns slung across their backs. They stepped toward him as though to apprehend him.

His heart pounded. Should he fight them or go nicely? He didn’t even know who he was—how was he supposed to know how to respond to these men?

“No!” Lillian screamed from behind him, pushing her way between him and the men who approached.

The soldiers reacted, two of them lunging toward him, two others rushing her, intention to harm spelled across their features and their postures.

He made up his mind instantly. He couldn’t let them hurt Lillian.

Whipping his boot around in a high-round kick, he sent the nearest two soldiers sprawling.

THREE

Lillian staggered back, as the soldier who’d rescued her from the sea dispatched a flurry of kicks at the soldiers who swarmed the deck of her father’s sloop. The first two fell and didn’t rise. He disarmed the next, pulling the intimidatingly large gun off the man’s back and knocking him in the head with the end of it, sending him keeling back into the fourth soldier, who drew his gun, only to have it kicked from his hand, clattering across the deck.

It was her uncle David who ended it, pulling out his own gun and grabbing her by the arm, shoving the cold metal up under her jaw so hard her head snapped sideways.

“Stop!”

The soldier spun around, his blue eyes immediately sizing up the situation. “Let her go.”

Lillian glanced at her parents, who were cowering in the doorway of the pilothouse. She waited for them to reprimand her uncle, to demand he put away the gun that he held to her head.

They shrank back, fear on their faces, and said nothing.

“You’ll come with me.” David glowered at the soldier. “And if you make one false move, Lillian won’t be here to save you the next time.”

The soldier closed his eyes in submission.

The other uniformed men rose from where they’d fallen, warily grasping the soldier as the helicopter that had been hovering just beyond the boat moved closer. Lillian saw that her parents had lowered the sails to keep the whirling rotors from harming them. They must have welcomed her uncle aboard as she’d been below, bandaging up the soldier’s face again, the sounds of the helicopter drowned out by the ambient noise of the ship and the sea.

A ladder dangled from the helicopter, and David nodded toward it. “Climb,” he told the soldier.

The man stepped forward, grabbed the rungs, and ascended. One by one, the rest of the soldiers followed him up, disappearing into the shadowy bird that hovered over them in the night sky.

David pulled her toward the ladder.

Finally, her father stepped forward. “You can’t take Lillian.”

“I don’t have any choice.” David lowered the gun, but kept it pointed at her. “You saw how he responded when I threatened her. He didn’t hesitate. She may be the only effective weapon I have against him.”

“You won’t hurt her?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Sandra Bardici peeked her head around her husband’s shoulder. “Can she change into dry clothes first? She doesn’t even have shoes on.”

David Bardici looked up and down her simple outfit of khaki pants and a pale pink T-shirt. “Her clothes will dry soon enough. Can you wear those shoes?” He pointed to her sneakers, which were still on the deck where she’d kicked them off earlier.

While Lily hurried to slip into the shoes, her uncle leaned closer to her father. She had to listen closely to hear him over the roar of the helicopter. “Does she know who he is?”

“He doesn’t even know who he is. The explosions wiped out his memory.”

“Temporarily, I hope.” David grimaced. “His memory may be our only link to vital intelligence. We need that information as soon as possible.”

Lily listened to their conversation with shock pulsing through her veins. She’d never liked her uncle, but to have him suddenly pull a gun on her—worse yet, to use a threat against her life to control the man who’d rescued her from the sea—rocked her world far more than the angry waves stirred up by the low-hovering helicopter’s rotors.

But her uncle David’s behavior fit with his personality, even if it was extreme. And her parents—they’d been acting odd since before the trip to Lydia, and even more so once they’d arrived. Their broken promises compiled a strong case against them. Obviously neither of them was about to challenge David’s demands.

No, she couldn’t expect either of them to help her any more than they’d spoken up to defend her when uncle David had slammed the gun under her jaw. The only person who’d reacted had been the soldier.

The thought of him sent a trickle of comfort through her. She recalled how gently he’d swept the matted hair from her face as he’d propped her up on the life preserver. He’d not only untangled her leg from the rope, but he’d massaged her tight calf muscle, almost as though he’d known the rope had bit into it, causing it to cramp. And then he’d held her, so firmly and so securely, as he’d pulled her back onto the boat.

She couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt so protected.

With the shoes on, she stood, and her mother gave her a cursory hug, as she had so many times when Lily headed back to school for the semester. “Please call and let us know what’s happening.” She looked at David, not even blinking at the gun he brandished. “I don’t suppose you can tell us where you’re headed?”

“North Africa. We need to get going or we won’t have enough fuel left to make it there.” David shoved her toward the ladder.

Lillian looked up at the thunderous bird hovering above them, its dark shape blending with the night sky, making it look infinitely large. She wasn’t particularly keen on ladders or heights, especially ladders ascending to nowhere, with gun-bearing soldiers awaiting her on top.

“Climb up.” Her uncle’s voice grew impatient, the threat of his gun reinforcing each word.

She told herself not to be afraid, not because she felt she could trust her uncle, but because she knew the nameless soldier was up there, and she hoped he could protect her. She grasped the nearest rung and began to climb.

* * *

He tried to shift his body into a less-uncomfortable position, but the soldiers had used a thick zip tie to bind his wrists behind his back, so he had only limited use of his arms. Shifting his back against the cool metal wall of the helicopter, he stared at the soldiers who sat on the other side of the luggage netting, guns resting across their laps, pointed at him.

No one moved. The bird hovered, waiting for the man who’d pulled the gun on Lillian—Lillian’s uncle David.

Please keep her safe. He found himself praying, though he hadn’t realized he was a man of faith. A movement in the doorway caught his attention, and he turned in time to see Lily’s wide-eyed face rise into view, her hands white and trembling as she gripped the doorframe and crawled in.

His heart plummeted. They’d brought her along. She looked terrified. What were they going to do with her?

Her uncle David followed with the gun, the door closed, and the helicopter moved forward through the dark sky.

Lillian turned to face her uncle. “Where should I sit?”

“Here.” He spun her around so that her back was to him, grabbed a zip tie from the nearest soldier, and strapped her wrists together before shoving her through the opening in the luggage netting.

She fell forward, tried to catch herself, slammed her shoulder into the sloping back wall, and slid down to the floor beside him, her arms restrained behind her back.

He wished he could reach out to her and help her in her efforts to sit. She rose halfway up, bracing herself against the steep slope of the back wall as though trying to put some distance between them, but there wasn’t room in the cramped stowage space.

Lillian slumped down again, her face against his arm. A silent sob shuddered up through her, and she sniffed.

He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t want to get her in more trouble by doing so. The soldiers on the other side of the netting had their guns pointed their way, but other than that, didn’t seem to be paying them much attention. Her uncle had disappeared into the seat next to the pilot, and seemed oblivious to his niece or anyone else behind him.

The inside of the helicopter was dark—too dark to make out any details. And the ambient noise of the flying craft drowned out whatever the soldiers were muttering about to each other.

He could only assume it would do the same, masking his words to Lillian. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Her voice sounded small, and her sniffles reverberated against him. “I’ll try to move over, out of your way.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can lean on me. If you stay close, we can talk without being overheard.”

She fell silent. Probably trying to decide if she even wanted to talk to him.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess. You should have left me in that alley and not looked back.”

“Would that have made my uncle less of a horrible man?”

“His horrible actions wouldn’t have been directed at you, then.”

“Then I would never have known how awful he was. I might have continued thinking of him as a respectable person.” She shifted her face around, bracing her cheek against his arm, until her head was tipped up enough that her words were aimed at his ear, and he could hear her clearly, though she kept her voice low. “I would rather know the ugly truth than live in the comfort of a lie.”

“You sound as though you’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve had to do a lot of thinking lately.” She stopped fighting her position and left her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “And I think we need to figure out what’s going on, and get away from my uncle as soon as we can.”

He liked the way she thought. “I agree. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help in sorting out what’s going on.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember you. You pulled me from the alley, you gave me water when I was thirsty and you bandaged my face after I pulled you from the ocean. That’s the total sum of my knowledge at this point.”

She sighed.

“Sorry I can’t be of any more help than that, but it does make me indebted to you, considering you’re the only person I’ve met this evening who hasn’t attacked me.”

“Do you know anything about North Africa?”

“Why?”

“That’s where we’re headed—unless my uncle lied to my parents, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

“This helicopter can only travel about 500 miles without refueling. Assuming it came from Lydia, the northern coast of Africa would be about as far as it could go in one trip.”

Lily sat up a little straighter. “How can you possibly know that, and still not know your own name?”

He shrugged. “Ask me another question. Maybe you can trick me into revealing who I am.”

She huffed, whether out of frustration or incredulity, he wasn’t sure. But she quickly rose to his challenge. “All right. My uncle said that your memory was their only link to vital information that they need right now. Any idea what that means?”

He pinched his eyes shut and tried to think. “I know something they don’t?”

“I’d gathered that much from the context. Whatever it is, they seem intent on gleaning that information from you.”

“How are they going to do that? Traditional interrogation methods won’t work if I can’t access my own memory.” His heart started thumping ominously. If the men were desperate for information, they’d likely resort to drastic measures, but if he had vital intel they couldn’t risk letting him die, so obviously too much torture would be out of the question.

Lillian seemed to realize the answer just as he did. “My uncle said they needed to bring me along because of the way you reacted when they threatened me. He said I was their most valuable weapon against you.”

His blood ran cold, and he realized he’d clenched his hands into fists that were useless, bound as he was. Of course. They wouldn’t torture him—they’d torture her, and make him watch until he spilled every secret he had.

Except that he had no way of spilling any secrets, not if he couldn’t remember anything. Innocent Lillian would suffer, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

The depth of conviction in his voice surprised him. “We’ll have to get away from him quickly. Maybe even as soon as we reach the ground. The faster we can make a break for it, the more likely our plans are to succeed.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something tells me, once we get to wherever we’re headed, there won’t be any way out.”

Lillian panted slightly, clearly wrestling with what he’d told her.

He felt the need to devise a plan. “Do you know anything about North Africa?”

“Not much,” she confessed. “Hasn’t North Africa been in the news for years now because of violence and fighting and militant groups?”

“You’re right. It’s a very unstable part of the world, with an inhospitable desert climate.” An image shifted through his thoughts, blowing like desert sand, and he felt the sting of it, the oppressive heat, the thirst, the desolation. Like the mirage of a desert oasis, it evaporated as he tried to focus on it, leaving only the lingering image of what once was, or might have been. He grasped at it, but it slipped through his fingers like so much blowing sand.

He opened his eyes to find that Lily had straightened up, pulling her face close to his, watching him.

“Did you remember something?” she whispered as though afraid her words might scare off the wisp of memory.

“I think—” he swallowed, trying to chase the thought, but the sand filled in the footprints more quickly than he could follow them “—I think I’ve been there before.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe you’ll know your way around.”

“Maybe.” He swallowed, his thirst intensified by the mere thought of the desert. He wanted to believe Lillian was right, but from the cold clenching of his gut, he was pretty sure his last visit to the northern coast of Africa hadn’t been good at all.

Lily told herself to focus. The mystery of the soldier’s identity teased her imagination, pulling her thoughts away from forming a plan. But she didn’t have time to waste wondering who the man beside her really was. He’d proven himself to be trustworthy—more trustworthy than her parents, and far more than her uncle. So it didn’t matter, then, who he was. He was her only ally, and they needed to work together.

He must have been thinking along the same lines, because he whispered, “It would be helpful if we could get these zip ties off our wrists. We won’t get far without the use of our arms.”

“You’re right. I didn’t get a very close look at what they used, but I think they’re a basic zip tie like any other, with a ratcheting mechanism that keeps them closed tight. I did an internship at a veterinary clinic and a lot of our supplies came zip tied together. I got pretty good at backing the ratchet out.”

“Do you think you could work my hands free?”

“It’s worth a try. Can you get your hands where I can reach them? Don’t let the soldiers see what we’re doing.”

Shifting subtly, Lillian managed to get her hands aimed at the soldier, who’d turned his body at a similar angle toward her. She found his fingers, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, distracting her for a moment with the comfort he offered in that tiny gesture. It reminded her that she wasn’t alone—that even though they were no longer facing one another, he was with her, working for her freedom as much as his.

She found the nylon strap of the zip tie he’d been bound with, and located the ratcheting mechanism with her fingers. If it was like the ones she’d encountered at the vet clinic, all she had to do was squeeze the head to open up the ratchet box, then depress the engaged ratchet enough to slide it out from the rack. In concept, the steps were easy enough for her to envision.