Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

D espite the security detail that met them at the airport, the tall gates that cordoned off the US Embassy, and the guards that stood by the doors of her family home, the entire situation had Shep’s gut in a knot.

“What do you mean your Ranger team was sent to kill me?”

Her question still hung in his head, the way her eyes had widened, the quick look at York and Tomas.

They’d started to descend for the landing, and maybe then hadn’t been exactly the right time to tell her the entire story, but he couldn’t escape the idea that the entire mission, from the very moment when he and the Ranger team had arrived at the meet in Zermatt three years ago, supposedly to safeguard the exchange, had been a setup. Especially when he’d spotted London.

He couldn’t shake the sense, also, that someone had determined that he should be there.

“We were sent to protect a man named Alan Martin, a CIA agent who was apprehending a rogue agent, a man named Mick Brown.”

“No—he wasn’t . . . I mean . . . I don’t think so . . .” London said. “Mick was my handler.”

“I know. We saw Alan kill him.”

She just stared at him, her beautiful blue eyes wide.

“We weren’t on site at the time—the guys on overwatch saw the whole thing go down. Colt and a couple of the guys were taking position when Alan slit his throat, then took his place for your meet. I was positioned downslope, watching. And that’s when I saw you.”

The landing gear had gone down. “I knew something wasn’t right—even when you were fifteen, you were a patriot. I couldn’t believe that you would betray your country, so I told Colt and his team lead that I knew you. That you weren’t rogue.”

“They were supposed to take me into custody?”

“Yes. Or prevent you from leaving.”

Her mouth had opened. “You stopped them.”

“I told them I’d intercept and find out what was happening.”

“I always thought it was so . . . crazy . . . that you ended up in that chalet with me—” London said.

“I saw you ski down, went to follow you, and I don’t know what triggered the slide, but no, it wasn’t a coincidence.”

Although, even as he’d said it—how was it him that ended up on that mountain that day?

“That’s the part that sits like a burr inside me. Because if I hadn’t been there, you would have been at least apprehended. Maybe even killed.”

The thought turned him cold every time he thought about it.

As it was, they’d survived the avalanche, and three days later, Colt had dug them out, and during the rescue chaos, London had vanished.

“The rogue agent turned out to Alan Martin,” he said. “But I didn’t find that out until Colt tracked me down in Montana a couple years ago.”

London nodded, as if she might be putting the pieces together. “But that’s why Colt wanted you to keep an eye on me . . . to make sure I didn’t have a connection with Martin.”

And suddenly, just like that, it made sense. Yes. Because if Martin knew London had survived, then . . .

He’d find her and finish her.

The plane landed, and his gut tightened, and no, he didn’t like this little excursion, not at all.

They had stepped back in time in this storybook city of Luciella with red-roofed houses, cobblestone streets, and a massive central square cathedral with tall black Gothic spires. A river ran through the city, a drawbridge connecting the two halves. One side, the city center, held municipal buildings and a university, along with a political district with a row of embassies all at the foot of a castle on a hill.

“That’s the Palazzo Reale del Sole,” London said, seated beside him. York and Tomas rode in the SUV behind them. “It has Romanesque, Gothic, and Byzantine influences, with those tall turrets and towers. From the tallest tower, you can see the entire city.” She pointed to a tower jutting from the keep, the ten-story bulk of the castle.

“You’ve been up there?”

“There are a number of state events every year, and I was visiting my parents for one of them. Prince Luka showed me around.”

Prince Luka . He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry. He’s only allowed to marry a royal. They have a hereditary, constitutional monarchy, and King Maximillian is the chief of state as well as the king, so there are rules .”

She pointed out a large cobblestone square with an expansive fountain in the middle, surrounded by a five-story building with flags listing in the breeze, balconies, and a black slate roof. “That’s the Montelenan gymnasium.”

“A gym? Wow, that’s a big place?—”

“No,” she laughed. “A gymnasium. It’s a secondary school. Like a college. And over there is the Ministers Building, for the minister of state. And that gate there leads to Old Town, this quaint area of shops and homes that date back to the tenth century. The central square has a massive Christmas market every year, starting in early November, with a giant tree that they cut from the mountains.”

“Lots to choose from,” Shep said, eyeing the alpine peaks that surrounded the city.

She laughed again, and maybe the darkness had lifted slightly from her eyes.

“The Cryptex complex is located on the far side of the palace, inside the mountain.”

“Inside?”

“Yes. There is a giant satellite dish built into the mountain—you can’t see it from here, but remember the giant satellite dish in the Bond movie GoldenEye ?”

“I didn’t grow up with television.”

“It was the Pierce Brosnan era of Bond movies. Anyway, this dish is just a little smaller but still sits in a crater at the top of the mountain. It’s what provides the massive satellite coverage and networking for the Cryptex compound, as well as security. You can’t fly over it, either, so no one really knows about it—although you can see it from space.”

They had pulled up to the American Embassy now, the US flag waving from the gated entrances, two guards on either side. Their driver showed his pass, and the wrought-iron gates opened. Inside, a creamy-white building rose in a center compound, a black roof and a round window at the apex of the front of the building. Smaller buildings cordoned off the compound from the streets around it.

“Montelena is a mishmash of influences. It used to be part of Austria, then Switzerland tried to grab it, and then finally Italy, to the south. But they secured their independence after the First World War and have hung on to it since. Are you ready to meet my parents?”

She had stiffened a little next to him, and he glanced at her. She swallowed, and for the first time ever, the woman appeared as if she wanted to wriggle out of her skin.

“I met your parents years ago?—”

“You met holiday Sofia and Mitch Brooks. This is Chief of Mission, Madam Ambassador Sofia Brooks and her husband.”

Oh.

Their security had gotten out and opened the door, and Shep stepped out to bright blue skies and the smell of early winter in the air. Snow glistened on the high peaks, but down in the valley, the temperature seemed in the midfifties, and the strangest urge to explore the area swept through him. Probably his mother’s restless genes coming to life in a new place.

“Delaney!”

A woman floated down the front steps. Blonde like her daughter, she wore her hair short, with gold earrings, a necklace, a wide-collared white blouse, black dress pants, heels. She walked straight over to London and pulled her into a hug.

Behind her, a man emerged from the double doors. Dark hair, blue eyes, tall. He seemed almost regal, despite his relaxed, almost convivial expression, like he stored his thoughts and let them brew before letting them escape.

Indeed, these were not the flannel-and-jeans tourists he’d met ever so briefly in Montana.

London let her mother go and turned to her father. “Dad.”

He embraced her. “Sweetheart.”

Her mother stepped up to Shep.

“Madam Ambassador,” he said. “Shep Watson.”

“I remember you, Shep,” she said, and as he frowned, she gave him a hug.

Huh .

“Call me Sofia.” She stepped back, patted his arm.

Her father, too, came over, held out his hand. “Shep. I am going to hear the story of how you’ve ended up in Montelena with my daughter, right?”

He gripped the man’s hand, gave a tight nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Mitch.”

“Right.”

“I hope you’re hungry,” Sofia said. “Our chef makes the most amazing schnitzel and fried potatoes.”

He checked his watch, and then didn’t have a clue what time it might be.

Behind them, Tomas and York had gotten out of their car, and Mitch walked up to them, shook York’s hand, and remanded Tomas into the custody of his security. Mitch and York walked off together, so that was interesting, but Shep followed London into the embassy.

Oops, former palace , given the travertine tile, the columns that bordered an inner entrance to an open area that, once upon a time, might have been a receiving courtyard. Steps led to an expansive meeting room with deep-blue velvet sofas, a massive Turkish carpet, gold brocade draperies at the soaring windows, and a number of small conversation areas around glass tables.

They walked through the reception area, then through double doors at one end to an enormous dining room. A fresco of angels and alps and clouds adorned the ceiling, with more gold brocade draperies at the windows. The long oak table could hold thirty or more.

“In through here,” said Sofia and took them farther into the house, down a corridor, and finally into a smaller area, probably once regal apartments, but here, in a room that could still hold a small convention, was a sitting and dining area.

“My offices are just adjacent, but this is where we meet with many of our guests,” Sofia said, gesturing to the gold-and-blue sofas. A beautiful black Steinway piano sat in the sun in an alcove. A smaller table, with space for maybe ten, was set with four plates. A gloved attendant was pouring water into a pitcher. Sofia spoke to him in . . . Montelenan? Sounded Italian, of course, what with the border so close.

He nodded and left the room through a back door.

London had wandered to the window, staring out. “I love this view of Mount Aleksandar. It’s so . . . impressive.”

He joined her, staring up at the granite spires, snowcapped and lethal.

“Just on the other side of those mountains is a ski area. It’s probably not open yet.”

“The higher runs are,” said Sofia. She’d pulled out her phone, started to text. “And you’re just in time for a blizzard. King Maximillian is quite worried that the Octavia Gala will have to be postponed.” She looked up. “I do hope you’re staying long enough to attend.”

Shep raised an eyebrow. “A ball?”

“Oh, it’s a glorious event. It coincides with Queen Isabella’s birthday and is a true royal ball.” She tucked away her phone. “Your father is on his way. The ball is this weekend. I’m sure we can find something for you both to wear.”

The attendant came back in and set another place at the table right about the time York and Mitch came into the room.

“Darling. Do you remember York Newgate? He was in Russia when we were there.”

“York. Oh, it’s been years. How are you?” Sofia came over, gave him a two-kiss greeting.

“Good. I live in Washington State with my wife and daughter and our one-year-old son.”

The staff had brought out lunch, dinner, whatever, in white stoneware, and Sofia gestured to the table. She sat at one end, Mitch at the other, and Shep sat by London.

The whole thing felt like a spy movie—so maybe they were in a Bond flick, complete with hidden motives and super-secret devices and people hiding guns under the table.

“So, how are your parents?” Sofia asked as she passed London the fried schnitzel. Shep’s stomach betrayed him, growling. His last memory of food was somewhere over Quebec when they’d stopped to refuel and grabbed breakfast.

“Good. Mostly.” Well, as good as they could be, given their grief. But maybe the Ambassador didn’t know—London certainly didn’t. So he didn’t give any more.

“Are they still travelling in that ’74 Winnebago Brave?” This from Mitch. “Your dad had overhauled the engine a couple times, if I remember.”

“It finally died while they were in Canada. During the height of ski season, of course, so they rented a chalet and finished the season.” Oh, this schnitzel nearly melted in his mouth, the potatoes creamy, garlicky, fried in olive oil. “Dad suggested sticking around, but Mom loves to travel, so they upgraded to a ’98 Fleetwood Tioga with an overcab bunk. It’s a 29-footer, so bigger than the one I grew up in. I don’t know where they are right now.”

“And your sister?” Sofia asked, reaching for the salad, what looked like cabbage and carrots and corn, all doused in a cream sauce.

He took in a breath. So they didn’t know.

“Sofia,” Mitch said softly. “I mentioned the accident, right?”

Everyone stilled.

Sofia looked at Mitch and set down the salad. Looked at Shep. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, Shep.”

His chest tightened.

“What happened to Jacey?” London said now, looking at him.

“She was in a skiing accident,” Shep said quietly.

She drew in her breath.

“She died.”

“Oh, Shep, I’m sorry.” She touched her hand to his under the table. Then she took it when he didn’t respond, and, oh well, he squeezed back. It did seem to loosen the unexpected clench in his chest.

“When you’re a backwoods skier and like to ski alone, that can happen. She was found by some other skiers. She’d hit a tree, went into a tree well face-first and suffocated.” He stared at his half-eaten schnitzel, no longer hungry. He left out the rest because, well, the words spoken aloud could tear him apart. The memory found him anyway. No, Jace, I’m not going with you today.

London was looking at him. He took a drink of water, set it down.

“So, what have you been doing since we last saw you?” Sofia said, forcing a smile.

He forced one back. “Since I was sixteen? Um?—”

“He toured with his cousin Gage.”

“I remember him,” Mitch said. “Amazing snowboarder.”

“Yes,” Shep said. “He joined a rescue team in Montana, and I ended up there too, after a little stint in the military.”

“What branch?” This from York.

“Army. Tenth Mountain Division. I was a medic.”

“And now you work in Alaska with Delaney,” Sofia said. “Small world.”

Very small . He nodded.

“Well, we’re glad to see you. When Delaney called and said she wanted to visit, we had no idea she was bringing an entourage.” Sofia wiped her mouth, set her napkin on her plate. “How did you meet York?”

“Work friends,” York said.

“Really,” Mitch said.

“Actually, I need to access the crypto wallet I set up last time I was here,” London said. “I lost my bio card.”

“You need to submit a request at least twenty-four hours in advance to even make an appointment, and then it takes a few days to get the new card,” said Sofia. “I can ask my secretary to assist you.”

“How did you lose your bio card?”

“It went into a river.” She had finished her food, now took a drink of water.

Silence.

“It’s a long story,” said Shep. He still couldn’t figure out why she’d chased him, but the plunge into the river had meant bye-bye, bio card.

“And that other man you brought with you? The one in handcuffs?”

“He’s with me, Mother. He is . . . let’s call him a courier.”

Her mother cast a look at Shep, then back to her. “I thought you were working in Alaska. You’re not still doing translation work for that international security group, are you?”

Shep glanced at Sofia, then to London, who made a face. “No, Mother. I still live in Anchorage—part of Air One Rescue. But York had a plane headed this way, so I hopped a ride. And Tomas is with him.”

Wow, she lied so well, so easily—it sent a cold thread through Shep. Although, if you broke apart the facts, then yes, that seemed mostly accurate. So a lie made up of truths.

“He’s secured in guest quarters upstairs,” York said.

“I’ll have the staff bring him some food.” Sofia gestured to the nearby attendant and spoke again in Italian.

A knock, and a woman entered. “Madam Ambassador, the Minister of Arts is here for your two o’clock appointment.”

“Very good.” Sofia got up. “I’m helping King Maximillian with some seating arrangements for the gala. I’ll be back. In the meantime, Louis will show you to your guest quarters.” She put her hand on London’s shoulder, bent down, and air-kissed her cheek. “I’m so delighted you’re here.”

Then she left the room.

“I think I’ll take that food to Tomas,” said York and also got up.

“I seriously hope I get the blue room,” said London, and winked at Shep. “It has a view of the palace.”

Her father laughed. “Delaney always wanted to be a princess. The problem of growing up on the edge of power. You see the elegance and even live it, but you’re not ever quite royal.” He pushed out his chair. “Let me show you your rooms.”

Shep followed him and London from the room, down the hallway, and up a set of stairs with a wide stone railing, two flights to a private residence. A wide hallway, set in parquet wood, with pictures of the ambassador and her husband with dignitaries hung from the walls. They passed a magnificent sitting area with creamy-white velvet sofas and a picture-window view of the palace, and then Mitch opened a door on that same side. “The blue room, princess.”

London stuck her head in. “Perfect.” Over her shoulder, Shep spotted her sad and lonely backpack, the sum of her belongings after fleeing for her life, sitting on the wide king-size canopy bed. A curved, tufted white sofa sat in front of a hearth, and light streamed in the high leaded windows onto a round writing table with chairs.

“And Shep, you’re across the hall.” Mitch opened up Shep’s room, and he found his view of the city, the cobblestone courtyard, the red-roofed houses, the mountains looming large and imposing in the distance. Also a king-size bed, his duffel bag a lump in the middle, the frame of the bed in dark walnut with spires at the four corners, and a dark-green brocade cover. Leather cigar chairs were parked in front of a similar hearth, and a heavy walnut wardrobe stood against one wall. “It’s said that this was where King Aleksandar was kept under house arrest during the occupation of the Germans in the First World War. It’s where he decided that, from then on, they would be a neutral nation.”

“I saw quite a few guards at the airport.”

“It takes a security force to stay neutral.” Mitch had come in behind him, closing the door. “And there’s the issue of Cryptex. It’s Montelena’s primary source of income. It cannot be compromised.”

Shep nodded, noticed the closed door, the way Mitch stood with his arms folded.

“Sir?”

“I need to know, Shep. Are you still on mission?”

* * *

London had naturally walked over to the window. She’d lived in so many embassy apartments, a few houses, a few rental flats, but none, not even her apartment in Port Fressa, Lauchtenland, had had a view as grand as this view of the castle on the mountainside.

Not ever quite royal.

She’d never wanted to be royal. Not really. Didn’t want to be trapped in that life. But sometimes she wondered what it might be like to live with so much . . . attention.

Still, the castle always intrigued her, perched right on the edge of a cliff, towers on either end of a white stone wall, a winding cobblestone drive leading up to an arched gate.

On her last visit, Prince Luka had pointed out a few hiking paths up the mountain for better views of the castle. Maybe she’d take a hike with Shep while they waited for her appointment.

She walked over to the bed and opened her backpack, pulled out her cell phone. She’d left it off for the trip and now it powered up. Putting in her EarPods, she dialed Ziggy’s number.

“Tell me you’re in Montelena,” said Ziggy. She sounded like she stood outside somewhere, maybe in the rain.

“Yes.”

“And you have the bio card?”

“No. I have to get an appointment. And even after that, it’s a seventy-two-hour wait to get the card. That puts me at Friday.”

“I don’t like this, but okay. And you brought Tomas?”

“Yes. He’s under York’s custody. Thanks for the lift, by the way.”

“York knows the Orphans and speaks Russian and has history with the Petrovs. Use him if you need him. He will deliver Tomas to the Swans after you are done with him.”

She froze, staring at the cold hearth. The room held a chill.

“No. What? What will you?—”

“Calm down. Tomas needs to be rehidden. We will help him secure new papers and disappear.”

Oh. That. Right . “Sorry.”

“Take a breath, London. You can trust me. And, by the way, yourself. You know what you are doing.”

Did she? Because over the past month, she’d felt so far out of her element?—

“To be clear, this is it. My last mission. I am going back to Alaska Air One after this. With”—she swallowed—“Shep.”

“Are you sure he wants you?”

The question knifed through her, turning her a little hollow. “What?”

“You are a much different woman than the one he thought you were. Perhaps?—”

“I’m not a much different woman. I’m London Brooks.”

“You will need to be Laney Steele if you hope to succeed in your mission.”

She shook her head.

“And then maybe you will see that you are?—”

“I know who I am.”

“Do you? Because you came to us. Twice. Even after trying to leave. You have the heart of a Black Swan.”

“Really? What is that?” She had found the remote control for the hearth, now converted to gas, and turned it on. It whooshed to life, the flames flickering orange and yellow. She sat on the curved sofa.

“A black swan is rare yet creates a great impact. A black swan can change the world with its courage and bravery.”

“I’ve read that black swans are bad luck.”

“You make your own luck, Laney.”

“I finish this, and I walk away.”

“With your mountain man?”

She glanced at the door. She’d sort of expected him to come over after he’d gotten settled.

“He was the one from the avalanche?”

She lay down, staring at the ornate ceiling with the medallion around the chandelier. “Yes. He practically tackled me, skis and all, into the chalet—a one-room building with a kitchen and bathroom. The avalanche hit us, and I’m not sure how, but he sort of threw me into the bathtub—this deep claw-foot affair—then the whole chalet exploded with snow. Terrifying. He started on top of me, to protect me, but ended up under the tub in a pocket there. I heard him shouting, and then he shoveled out a space for his hand. I saw it and we got him free and into the tub. We were in this pocket. Shep figured the vent to the fan had come down but kept an access to air. Anyway, that’s where we stayed for three days while his friends tried to find us.”

“And he never said why he was there?”

“He’s a skier, and he loves big snow—I thought maybe . . . but . . .”

“Lucky he was there.”

“Yeah. Real lucky.” She hadn’t really thought about that before—the fact that Shep, the one man she’d pined for, had showed up on the mountain to save her life.

Okay, she had thought about it, but she’d dismissed it as a crazy coincidence.

What if it hadn’t been a coincidence?

“Did you know that Shep was assigned to watch over me?”

Silence. “By whom?”

“Colt Kingston.”

A beat. “He works for the Caleb Group, a sort of off-books, behind-the-scenes, get-’er-done organization created by the current president. Not sure why they’d want to keep an eye on you, but—well, my friend Roy works for them.”

“Shep isn’t a spy.”

“People are not what they seem.”

“Shep is. What you see is what you get. And that’s who I need. Who I want.”

More silence.

“Listen, I’m over Ruslan. It was a long time ago. And Tomas wasn’t real. And Shep . . . he is both real and heroic. And . . . he’s here with me.”

She could almost see Ziggy’s expression, those dark eyes widening, then the frown. “You brought him to Montelena?”

“He refused to stay behind.”

“He will only compromise you.”

“I know what I’m doing?—”

“You won’t be happy until you are true to the person you were made to be.”

Oh. And who exactly was that? She had nothing to fill the silence.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Listen. I’ll check in when I have the bio card.” She pressed End before Ziggy could argue with her. Got up.

Her mother stood in the hallway.

London glanced across the hall at Shep’s closed door as her mother, all grins, pushed into her room. “Okay, we only have three days, but that’s enough. Let me take a look at you.”

London stepped back even as her mom caught her arms.

“You’re too skinny. And you need a haircut. And your eyes—” She stepped up. “It seems you’re not getting enough sleep.”

“Mother. I’m fine.” London walked over to the fire, turned down the heat.

“Okay then, I’m only going to ask once.” She took a breath. “Does he know?”

London rounded.

Madam Ambassador Sofia stood hands on hips, giving her a look that could throw a bomb into world peace.

“Know what?”

“Don’t give me that. I know about your international translation job.”

“My . . .”

“I know you were a Black Swan, darling.”

She blinked.

“Please. First, you disappear for three years, sending me random postcards from exotic places, working for that commerce company, and then you move to Nigeria and fly planes into the bush of Africa?”

“It was a great job.”

“There are terrorists in Nigeria! I read the news. And I get the action reports. Kidnappings all the time. Just two years ago, a doctor and two aid workers were kidnapped?—”

“I know. And they survived, by the way.”

Her mother blinked at her. “Were you involved in that?”

She folded her arms. “I was burned because of it.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes. But that’s over.”

“Over?” Her mother braced her hands on the sofa. “Are you going to stand there and tell me that a member of the Orphans didn’t try to kill you a month ago?”

Her mouth opened.

“I have a wide net, darling.”

London sank back onto the sofa. “How long have you known about the Swans?”

Her mother walked over to her. Sat on the other end of the sofa. “Let’s just say that Pike Maguire asked me before he approached you. I told him that you’d have to decide for yourself.”

“You knew Hawkeye?”

“Back when I was a junior foreign service officer in Russia. Actually, the Swans were partly my idea. I realized we had a need for specially trained women to . . .”

“Acquire information in clandestine ways?”

“It’s sounds more tawdry than it is.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Yes, well, I’ve stayed out of it, mostly, but yes, I have kept updated on your life. Since you never call.”

“This is a little more invasive than installing a location tracker on my phone.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I know you’re good at your job, Delaney. But these Orphans—they are serious. What happened?”

“What do you think happened?”

Her mother drew in a breath. “Oh no . . . you didn’t?—”

“Ziggy took care of it.”

Her mother closed her eyes, just for a moment, and now who was being dramatic? Then, “Right. Good. Well, now that you’re here, you’re safe. Montelena is quite secure. But that doesn’t answer my question, does it?” She leaned forward. “Shep.”

Shep .

“He knows about the Black Swans, yes.”

Another indrawn breath from her mother. “And?”

“And . . . it doesn’t matter, because after this, I’m done.” She got up, walked over to the hearth.

“Back to Alaska?”

“Yes.”

“I like Shep Watson. I do. But, Delaney. Really. He’s so . . . woodsy.”

“He’s a search and rescue tech. And a good one.”

“He doesn’t understand your lifestyle.”

Oh please. “I wasn’t aware that I had a lifestyle, Mother.”

“Prince Luka has asked about you more than once?—”

“Stop. I’m not interested in Prince Luka?—”

“He might be interested in you.”

She held up her hand. “First, you know he can’t marry anyone but a royal?—”

“They changed the law in Lauchtenland. I think for the right woman?—”

“I am not here to catch a prince. I . . . just need a new bio card.”

Her mother made a face, something genuine in her eyes. “I would just like to have you close.”

Oh . She came back to the sofa, sat. “I miss you too.”

Her mother touched her hand. “We have drama because we are so much alike. We’re both trying to change the world, just in our own way.”

“I’m done trying to change the world, Mother. It’s a bad place with bad people, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

She gave her mother’s hand a squeeze, started to pull away, but her mother grabbed it. “I know Ruslan’s death still haunts you. That his betrayal still wounds you. That you feel to blame?—”

“I was eighteen years old, na?ve and stupid.”

“You were in love.”

Her mouth tightened. “Yeah, well, he used me and someone died, so?—”

“You couldn’t have known he was KGB.”

She looked away. “Okay, so yes, I might have trust issues.” She looked at her mother. “But not Shep. He would never betray me.”

“If you don’t trust him, he’ll never have the chance.”

She blinked a moment, then. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“When did you tell him you were a Black Swan?”

Oh. “Yesterday.”

“And yet you spent a year with him. I think you love him, London, because the truth is we can only be betrayed if our heart is involved. And you don’t give away your heart without giving away pieces of yourself . . . which means letting him inside to the real you.”

London stared at her. “He knows the real me.”

“Okay.” Her mother held up her hands. “I believe you.”

Oh, Mother . For a diplomat, she sure knew how to stir up conflict. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be happy. To find a man who sets your heart on fire. With whom every day is a new adventure. And who makes you feel adored. Like a princess.”

“Enough with the princess—that was . . . I was a child .”

“Of course. And now you are a Black Swan. My worry isn’t that Shep will betray you, but . . .”

A beat.

“What?”

“I’m worried that you will betray him.”

London’s mouth opened. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Because—well, because you’re a Black Swan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re . . . impulsive, and . . . well, you yearn for impact, a life out of the ordinary.”

What—had her mother and Ziggy had a coaching call?

“And who taught me that, Madam Ambassador?”

Her mother held up a hand. “Like I said, we are a lot alike. The difference is that I have found a man who is willing to walk into the unexpected with me.”

London’s jaw tightened. “I am happy. I’ve been in love with Shep since that day he held me on rappel as I climbed up the tower back at Glacier Peaks Wilderness Camp. He held me for two hours that day, and . . . frankly, he’s still holding me.”

The thought brought her up, stilled her.

Shep had always been there.

And yet, her mother was right—she had lied to him. Starting in the chalet, all the way to yesterday. And if Tomas hadn’t kidnapped him . . .

Shep would have never known the truth.

Her chest knotted.

“I just don’t want you to settle for anyone less than the man you’re supposed to be with.” Her mother stood up. “Please tell me that you will attend the ball?” She offered the faintest of smiles.

Aw, “When is it?”

“Friday night.”

She’d hoped to be out of the country by then. Still, if things went south, this would give her a reason to stay in country without raising eyebrows. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Her mother smiled. “Prince Luka will be surprised to see you.”

“Mother! That wasn’t a yes. But if I go, I’m going with Shep .”

“Nothing like a little jealousy to put a fire under a man. Or a prince.”

“For the love, it’s like I’m not here. You cannot arrange a marriage for me—align the kingdoms with a royal match. I’m not even royal.”

“Laws are changing every day, honey.” Sofia got up and kissed London on the cheek. “You’ll see. A royal ball is magical—you just might find that you end up in a place you never imagined.”

She only wanted to end up in Shep’s arms, thank you.

Oh, and she’d add the caveat that she didn’t want anyone to die because of her in the process. That was her happy ending.

“I’ll find you just the dress.” Her mother got up and headed to the door. Stopped, her hand on the knob. “I like Shep. I truly do. I hope he turns out to be all you hope for.”

“He already has.”

Her mother gave a slow nod, her mouth pinched. “Whatever you say, Delaney.” She shut the door behind her.

And her mother wondered why London had loved attending boarding school during her high school years.

Still, weirdly, Shep’s voice filtered through her head, stuck there. “I may not be some James Bond . . .”

Yeah, well, she didn’t want him to be either.

And he wouldn’t need to be. Everybody just calm down .

She’d get her bio card, go to a ball, infect the Russian mob with an internet virus, and resume her life in Alaska.

No problem.