Chapter 11

“What do I need to know?” Stefan asked quietly.

Lauren looked across the limo to O?ros’s answer to James Bond, who was also her date for the evening. The other girls were following in a separate set of limos, but she’d been sent on ahead to be at the Raptis house before her parents arrived.

Her parents. God.

Stefan didn’t press her with another question and instead let her root through her response to the first one on her own. She hadn’t even been surprised when they’d come to her with the news of Smithson’s attendance at the ball. She’d known from the moment she’d seen that damned black-and-white box that he’d be making an appearance in O?ros sometime soon.

Coming in with her parents, though—that was a master stroke. One she should have anticipated.

“My parents won’t cause a scene, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she finally said. “Nor will Smithson. We’re on good terms, as far as anyone knows. My father is eager to see me married off, and it would seem that Smithson has been designated the boy most likely.”

“Though he’s hardly a boy.”

She grimaced. “And he’s nowhere near likely.”

Stefan’s lips twisted in amusement, and Lauren flapped a hand at him. “My personal feelings about him aside, he’s cunning, and he’s got the Midas touch. He’s made an extraordinary amount of money in a comparatively short time, and he’s a fast friend of my parents.”

Stefan glanced at her, one elegant brow lifting. “He didn’t come from money?”

She shook her head. “He met my father when he was a college intern, and he was an orphan, didn’t know his parents, the whole up-from-nothing story. He worked his way through school on his own, learned society manners and negotiating skills as he needed them. He’s my father’s proudest achievement.” She grimaced. “Fortunately, he’s never officially offered to date me, so I’ve never officially turned him down.” She caught herself nervously spinning her bracelet. “I really don’t think my parents have any idea how dangerous Smithson is.”

“And how dangerous is he?”

Lauren colored. “This all sounds completely over-the-top. I’m sorry.”

“You’re genuinely worried. Explain why.”

“I—I’ve started to believe some of the things I’ve been told about him. That he’s a man who operates outside the law. That he’s done things you can’t find in dossiers or police reports. Things that get covered up.” She knew it wasn’t enough, and she swallowed, saying the words for the first time to anyone who wasn’t a trusted member of her staff. “That he’s made deals with crime syndicates all over the world. And that he’s successfully made those deals work, or he’s successfully screwed the people who he’s realized don’t have the strength to screw him back. He’s laundered money, trafficked contraband. He’s got the Russian mob on speed dial. And the Chinese. And the Korean mafia as well.”

“You said you’ve been told this? And you have proof to back it up?”

“Not even remotely. He’s the one who told me.” Stefan’s gaze sharpened on her, and she shook her head. “This is what he’s murmured to me in dinner conversation at my parents’ house over the past few years. The way you might tell someone about the new sport you’ve taken up or the latest diet you’ve tried. I’ve never heard a whisper of any of this outside those conversations, and I’ve been completely unable to verify any of it via a third party.” She glanced out the window, unseeing. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“So if he’s ever questioned...”

“He’ll know I’m the leak.” She shook her head. She couldn’t tell Stefan her real fears, her concern for what Henry would do to her family—her sister. He wouldn’t understand. “I can’t discount what he’s said, though. Henry has never lied to me. He hasn’t had to lie. But I can’t involve the authorities until I have proof. And I have. No. Proof. The few whispers I do catch in the wind turn to smoke by the time I get to the source. I can’t risk moving until I have something real.”

“Understood.” Stefan studied her from his side of the limo. “Explain his attention to you personally.”

She sighed. “I wish I could. He has enough money to attract any woman, and yet he’s been fixated—in my mind alone, perhaps, but it’s my mind that’s in sway here—on me. Since I was barely more than a kid. At first, it was the whole doting-uncle thing, then it got weirder.”

“Sexual.”

“Ugh, no. Not that. Not exactly.” She wasn’t looking directly at Stefan, but she knew his face wouldn’t register any emotion at her words. Not relief, not revulsion, not curiosity. For all his suave good looks and powerfully built body, the royal cousin was the master of the non-expression. “He called me a little snake, once, and then the next time he showed up, he gave me a pin with a snake on it. A terrible thing to give a little girl, right?”

Stefan’s gaze had grown more intent. “A monstrous thing,” he agreed. “I assume you gave the pin back?”

She laughed a little grimly. “I’d been trained better than that. I accepted it as if it was a great honor, and that pleased him. His next gift was a diamond bracelet for my sixteenth birthday, and that of course was lovely. So for him, I think the snake pin was more sort of a power thing. He liked keeping me guessing.”

“Hence the gifts in the black-and-white boxes. Some good, some bad.”

“Hence that, yeah.”

They rounded the corner and entered a large stone gate to a drive that snaked up the side of the mountain. The Raptis estate was outside the capital city, but the countryside had already devolved into the forested paradise she’d only recently begun discovering. “Is this the only way out of the estate?” she asked.

“The only way for public transit. The grounds have other access roads, of course. Those are being watched covertly. We expect no trouble there.”

“Good.” Another wave of shame drifted over her. “Look, this all comes down to me trying to avoid a guy I don’t want to date. I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

“As I told you during your debrief with the queen, there are no apologies necessary for ensuring one’s safety.” He was right, he had said that, while the queen had been searching Lauren’s face for any sign of weakness, any crack in her armor. Lauren knew she’d shown none. From the time she’d been a young child, it had never been the actual bad news that rattled her, it was always the expectation that bad news was about to come around the corner. That was what made her nervous. Once the trouble started, she could handle it.

She hoped.

“In addition, your presence here presents a liability to the Crown, should anything happen to you while you’re a guest in our country. We take that very seriously, no one more so than Queen Catherine.” Stefan waited for her to nod. “Finally, the fact remains that this Smithson made a suspicious delivery that got all the way inside the palace without being flagged, and that’s not acceptable. If you hadn’t noticed it, what would he have done, assuming he’s the one who sent the package?”

“He’d have sent another. Something more noticeable.”

Stefan’s lips twisted. “You speak as if from experience. He’s done that before.”

“A time or two.”

“How far did he go to get noticed?”

She swallowed, remembering the college boy Adam. Sweet and clueless and heartbreakingly obvious in his adoration as she’d tried to push him away after Smithson had reared his nasty head again. Sweet and clueless and in traction in a hospital bed not three days later, with never a suspicion as to how he’d gotten there, other than some hit-and-run asshole who’d clipped his bike. She’d known, of course. The large bouquet of black-and-white roses had been a bit of a tip-off. “Pretty far. As soon as I acknowledge him, though, he goes away. Sometimes he wants to see me, sometimes he merely wants to know I’m aware of him, but he goes away after that. Or at least he has up to now.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I haven’t heard from him in maybe five months. Every time a few months go by, I want to believe he’s forgotten me.”

“It would seem you are not all that forgettable. When did he rename his yachts?”

“I...” Lauren blinked at the sudden change of subject, but she rallied quickly. “Not long ago—maybe a year? He said he liked the sound of the word. I thought it sounded too much like typhoon, but then I looked it up and saw it was a seriously creepy Greek god...”

She broke off, then grimaced as her words caught up to her. “Ah, no offense. I know your ties to Greece are pretty strong here in O?ros.”

Stefan smiled. “None taken. We don’t care much for him either.”

For some reason, that made her feel better, and she exhaled a shaky laugh. “I mean, right? Of all the gods he could have chosen...anyway, I honestly didn’t care. He was always looking to show off, and if this made him happy, then yay.”

“Yay, indeed. Here we are.” Stefan leaned forward and adjusted Lauren’s collar, where the tiny microphone lay embedded among the spray of crystals. “Raptis has woeful security, so he’s accepted ours with open arms. You won’t be scanned. Everyone else will be.”

They exited the car, and Lauren scanned the walkway, shocked at the wave of relief that washed over her as she recognized a familiar face. Her voice shook a little as she spoke. “I thought you were my date tonight, not him.”

Stefan glanced forward, then slid his gaze back to her. He gave her an uncharacteristic smile. “Dimitri is not your enemy, Ms. Grant, at least not tonight. And he’s almost as good in a fight as I am.”

“A fight?” Lauren blinked at him. “I can’t imagine you two getting in a fistfight.”

“O?ros is a small country, but we have big egos. Dimitri Korba possesses one of the biggest.” He winked at her. “Try not to stir up his pride.”

“I—” But Stefan turned from her to greet the owners of the home, Mr. and Mrs. Gaspar Raptis, whose house towered over them in multiple tiers of opulence. When Raptis realized that Lauren was the daughter of his “dear friends,” the Grants, his eyes practically lit up with avarice.

“Welcome!” he beamed, waving enthusiastically at the driveway. “Your parents, they are already here.”

“What?”

Stefan remained at her side, loose and easy, but Lauren felt as if she’d been turned to stone. She pivoted in a careful three-pointed step, smiled an exact three-quarter smile, and tilted her head precisely eleven degrees as she registered the three people striding across the wide white drive, as if they’d emerged from a stroll through some garden idyll.

Three, not two.

She forced herself to focus. Her parents looked as they ever did, her mother blonde and exact, her father equally blond but far more expansive, his formerly excruciatingly fit body only now going to seed as the years, fine food, and expensive alcohol caught up with him. They both smiled at her with reasonable cheer, but then they would. She’d done a good job being the model daughter. They could have no complaints on that score.

Smithson’s, however, was the harder gaze to meet. He was the smartest man she’d ever known, and she’d realized eventually that he had a sort of sixth sense about her. He knew her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities. He could, at the beginning, actually seem to read her thoughts.

She’d gotten very good at helping to convince him of what she was thinking since then, helping him believe what she needed him to believe. And so at this moment, she knew better than to act too coy. He wanted to be coddled and appreciated, yes. But he didn’t want to be discounted. He’d meant to scare her with his little box trick. He had. He’d want to know that.

She stepped forward and hugged her parents—her mother delicately, her father more robustly, ever the doting daughter and proud progeny. Then she turned to Henry Smithson and swiftly raised her hand to strike him.

As she expected, he caught her hand before she could complete the blow.