Royal Ransom Read online

  His confidence amused her. “Even if you were Alex’s twin, you don’t sound like him or move like him. And what about the language? Alexander is fluent in—”

  “Russian, English, Arabic and French.” Nicholas stood and shook Hunter’s hand. “My sources told me you can handle the job.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Nicholas sized the man up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s dispense with the titles, shall we? Alexander calls me Nicholas.”

  “Just what kind of work do you usually do?” Tashya asked, not the least bit sure he could pull off the impersonation. The man didn’t even smell like her brother, who favored spicy and expensive colognes. His scent was more elemental, a combination of sunshine, earth and soap.

  “That information’s classified.” Hunter looked her straight in the eye with an expression that made her think of sex in the rain—not that she’d ever had sex in the rain. He just had this down-to-earth quality combined with confidence that she found undeniably attractive. And all wrong. This man was nothing like her brother.

  “And actually,” Hunter continued, “we don’t have time for chitchat. I need you to gather videos and pictures of your brother for me. You’ll have to teach me to mimic his voice and habits and movements.”

  “I’m no acting instructor.”

  “I need to have his intonations and movements down cold in less than a day.”

  “A day?” Tashya’s jaw dropped, and she forcibly snapped her mouth closed. Didn’t the best actors study their roles for months?

  Hunter crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at an arrogant angle that Alexander never would use. “That should just barely leave me enough time to memorize the faces and names of our guests for the upcoming ball to honor your queen. And you’ll have to fill me on your brother’s past relationships.”

  “I did as you asked,” Nicholas told Hunter. “No one except me has visited Alexander since his illness. No maids. Not even his personal servants.”

  “Good. Your brother’s illness will be over in a few days.”

  Tashya looked from Nicholas to Hunter and back at her brother, beginning to comprehend the much too enormous task ahead. During the last few years Alexander could have dallied with half the women at court, but he had been discreet. He rarely spoke of his conquests, so just how the hell was she supposed to brief Hunter? Nicholas had saddled her with an impossible task, but she didn’t want to say so for fear her brother might return to his original idea of insisting she leave the country.

  She eyed Nicholas with exasperation. “You expect him to be ready for the ball this Friday?”

  “His boss assured me Hunter accomplishes the impossible on a regular basis.”

  “The mission is doable, but my success will depend on the princess.” Hunter’s voice sounded as casual as if he were discussing taking a walk-on part on the stage—not impersonating a crown Prince of Vashmira so well that not even his intimate acquaintances would be able to discern the deception.

  She bristled at his implication, but kept her tone mild. “Just how will it be my fault—if you fail?”

  “Because I am the best in the world at what I do.”

  “And modest, too?” she teased, captivated by his confidence, worried that no one could pull off the deception, at the same time realizing there was nothing simple about Hunter Leigh.

  Nicholas’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve been assured through channels that Hunter has the adaptability of a chameleon and could easily have been one of Hollywood’s greatest actors.” Nicholas offered his hand to Hunter, nodded at Tashya. “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I promised my bride a ride through the palace grounds.”

  Nicholas strode from his office and left them alone. Tashya’s stomach fluttered. Watching Hunter try and fail to transform himself into her brother would have been interesting and fun—except that the price for failure was too high.

  “WHAT DO WE DO first?” Tashya asked Hunter with a business-like resolve he hadn’t expected from a princess. She might look as if she’d stepped out of some fairy tale with her long, straight dark hair, quiet eyes and aristocratic cheekbones, but beneath the appearance of pampered princess he sensed her strength. A strength he suspected she might need to survive the coming weeks.

  She might hide behind a soft and docile demeanor, but when she’d disagreed with Hunter, for just a moment, anger had flickered in her expressive eyes. Her brother, either accustomed to her acquiescence or distracted by his newly wedded state, hadn’t seemed to notice that Hunter had needled a nerve or two. But Hunter felt comforted that he could penetrate her cool exterior—not very far—just enough to remind him that, although she was royalty, she was also human.

  Enough about the princess, he had work to do, important work. If he completed this assignment satisfactorily, he could expect to be assigned to project Cobra next, an ultrasecret highly classified CIA assignment he’d wanted in on for the past six months. One job at a time, he reminded himself. To get started he needed his tools that, if Nicholas had filled his request, were now inside Alexander’s suite. Too bad Nicholas had sealed the secret tunnels. “You must sneak me into Alexander’s quarters.”

  “Now?” She stood and smoothed her skirt.

  “It’s critical to the mission’s success that everyone remain under the impression Alexander is ill. Friday, when I take his place, I want people to notice the dark shadows under my eyes, not the fact that my feet are one size smaller than your brother’s.”

  “I can slip you into his suite from my quarters,” Tashya offered.

  “How often do you bring a man to your rooms, Princess?”

  Her eyes frosted, obviously not understanding the connection between her statement and his question. “Nicholas may have ordered me to help you, but I have no intention of—”

  “Princess, I don’t give a damn about your intentions. Nor do I care if you’ve bedded every man in Vashmira between the ages of eighteen and eighty.”

  She raised an aristocratic eyebrow, a gesture she must have practiced to put men in their place without having to utter one word. Hell, he didn’t have time to be delicate. Didn’t have time to tiptoe around her sensibilities—not if he intended to impersonate her brother by Friday.

  Still, he couldn’t order her around like a lackey. He settled for making an explanation, something he rarely bothered to do. “My concern isn’t personal curiosity. Will I be noticed when I enter your private suite? Will my accompanying you there cause comments?”

  She pulled herself up so straight that she could have been a boot-camp recruit. “My suite of rooms includes an office, which houses two secretaries and three assistants. Dozens of people go in and out every day.”

  He drilled her with a stare. “And if Hunter Leigh and the princess of Vashmira stroll past all these secretaries and assistants into your office, and we don’t come out for three days, will that cause talk?”

  “It might.” A slight blush rose up her necks to her cheeks. Clearly she didn’t like answering his question and just as clearly she understood the necessity for doing so. He had to give her credit. She’d looked him straight in the eyes, then had responded without hesitation, her voice direct and calm. For some perverse reason, he wanted to pierce her shell again, but he restrained the uncharacteristic impulse.

  Stick to the job. “What time does your staff leave?”

  “Five o’clock.”

  “All right, then. I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours. I’ll take a nap.” He sank into a chair and closed his eyes, grateful for the opportunity to rest. Long ago during his stint in the military, he’d learned to fall asleep almost immediately in what SEALs referred to as a combat nap. The ability to set his internal clock and awaken completely refreshed often came in handy. Rested minds made fewer mistakes. And he couldn’t afford even one.

  Hunter might regret having been pulled off an international hunt for the disgraced Peruvian spy master, Jesus Montesinos, but he was a professional. He
would turn his full attention to his new assignment. He would shed his last persona as easily as a bird of prey molts its feathers. Hunter would emerge from the nest in a few days with new plumage, ready to spread his wings.

  TASHYA COULDN’T BELIEVE the audacity of the newly arrived American. One moment Hunter made unthinkable demands, the next he dismissed her and fell into a deep sleep. Did he think she had nothing better to do than to baby-sit him? She almost chuckled at the thought. The man before her was certainly no baby. He was demanding, arrogant and presumptuous, and she couldn’t decide whether to be amused, insulted or annoyed.

  After all, she was the princess of Vashmira. Men usually fawned over her. They were always polite. Respectful.

  Hunter treated her as a partner, almost as part of a team. He had been incredibly demanding. But when his eyes had flared with approval after she’d straightforwardly answered his questions, she’d felt as if he’d given her a sincere compliment. While she was accustomed to compliments, she rarely received any that were sincere.

  She’d met few men as brash or as take-charge as Hunter Leigh. While she admired him and was sure he did his job with ruthless efficiency, she didn’t know if she liked him. His intensity frightened her a little, intrigued her even more.

  During the time they’d spoken, he hadn’t mentioned one personal thing about himself—except how long it had been since he’d last slept and that his hair wasn’t naturally brown. Even in sleep, he seemed mysterious, sleeping upright in the leather chair, his head propped backward, his lips slightly parted.

  She had the feeling the slightest sound would wake him—that if she touched him, he might threaten her with bodily harm before he came fully awake. Yet, she had no fear he would deliberately harm her physically. He had too much honor. No, what frightened her was something elemental that she couldn’t quite name.

  She would have given up her royal pearls to see his file but knew that a man of his background might not even have a file, and if he did, it probably would be fictitious. The Americans had obviously sent one of their best men, a man comfortable working alone, a man used to infiltrating the enemy. His cover story would be deep and make it difficult, if not impossible, to discover the truth.

  She gazed down at the man sent to protect her. How many foes had those hands fought? His relaxed fingers rested loosely on his muscular thighs, his thick forearms, dusted with swirls of hair, were tanned and strong. A scar ran along his arm from wrist to elbow. A scar that would give him away as an imposter in a heartbeat.

  Leaning closer, she eyed the scar a little more carefully, and her eyes widened with the realization that the jagged puckering of skin was due to cleverly applied makeup. He’d already admitted that his hair color wasn’t his own, and she wondered how much more of his normal appearance he’d altered, and if he could possibly pull off looking like Alexander’s clone.

  He claimed he needed her help, but even asleep, he appeared self-sufficient, as if he trusted no one. She had to be a fool for standing over a sleeping stranger. If he was going to take up the majority of her time between now and Friday, she had to speak with her secretary and make arrangements. She had people to call and meetings to reschedule.

  Throughout the afternoon, Tashya worked in her office, postponing, until after the weekend, her appointments with cabinet officials whose votes she intended to try to influence. Although she didn’t expect to push through her entire agenda, Tashya wanted laws enacted to ensure women earned equal pay for equal work. She wanted much more, of course, but this issue was a priority and could not wait another year.

  She tried to call Alex in the States, but he didn’t answer his phone, and she couldn’t help worrying over his safety. Since their mother had died when they were children, Tashya had been extremely close to both of her brothers. Now that Nicholas was happy with his new wife, she tended to fret more over Alex.

  As the clock struck five, Tashya returned to the royal office where she’d instructed Nicholas’s secretary not to disturb Hunter’s sleep. She found the American agent opening his eyes. “I’ve taken care of the items you requested. Videotapes and photographs of my brother are waiting.”

  “Thanks. Any word on tracking down the shooters?”

  She shook her head. “We aren’t hopeful. There were thousands of people lining the streets, making a getaway relatively easy. The police have yet to find any witnesses. However, they have recovered the empty cartridges—if we find the weapon, forensics can make a positive match.”

  “Please, keep me posted.”

  So, the man did have some manners. “I’ve also asked the kitchen to prepare some food, so we won’t be disturbed for the evening.”

  The moment she spoke those words she realized their provocative quality, but Hunter didn’t deliberately misunderstand and make some suggestive remark. He stood, stretched like a cat awakening from a satisfying sleep. Arms over his head, he bent side to side, his powerful torso flexing. Placing his hands on his trim waist, he rolled his hips in a circle, then dropped his head first to his right shoulder then the other, his bones making a noise like knuckles cracking.

  At the sound she winced slightly. “Next time you want to nap, you might pick a more comfortable spot.” She resisted telling him they had beds in Vashmira.

  “There won’t be a next time,” Hunter murmured.

  “Why not?” He’d fallen asleep so easily she’d have thought it a regular habit.

  “Does Alexander take naps?”

  Point made, he fell into step beside her. Together they exited the royal office and ambled down a long corridor with mosaic tiles and Turkish carpets. Art on loan from the National Museum hung on the walls. From the crystal chandeliers to the people who politely stepped out of their path, Hunter took it all in.

  She expected a million questions. Instead he matter-of-factly told her his requirements. “I’ll need a blueprint of the palace and the grounds. Maps of the country, detailed ones of the cities where Alexander has spent a lot of his time. Does he have an address book?”

  She thought of his little back book with the names of people on five continents, ninety percent of them women. “He probably took that with him.”

  “There isn’t a duplicate?”

  The corridor widened and became busier. She chose a quieter hallway that led to her suite. Hunter’s step never faltered, but his gaze moved back and forth with the vigilance of a man whose life might depend on finding his way through these corridors in the dark.

  “My brother is something of a playboy, not inclined to make backups of his paperwork. He’s rich, charming and titled. Women fling themselves at him with abandon.”

  “If there’s some woman he’s particularly friendly with at the moment, Nicholas will have to find an excuse to keep her away. I’m good—but not good enough to fool someone who knows Alexander intimately.”

  So, he did have some reservations. Perhaps she could save them both a lot of time and effort if she explained exactly what he was up against. “At the ball, you’ll meet many, many women who know my brother quite well.”

  “They’ll see what they want to see—Alexander. Changing my looks will be the easiest part of the deception.”

  She didn’t question him until they were safely ensconced in her offices where he again noted details with a more than observant eye. She guided him through her reception area and office then through a secluded hallway to her private rooms. Connecting her office to her living quarters had proved convenient—as had the private walk-through that connected her suite with Alexander’s.

  She halted and pressed the security panel, inputting the code she and Alexander shared. Hunter scrutinized her every move, no doubt committing the sequence to memory.

  “Why’s the lock between private apartments necessary?” Hunter asked.

  “After our troubles this past year, Ira Hanuck, our palace security chief, insisted on monitoring access by the servants and cleaning crews.”

  She stepped inside Alexander’s apartmen
t, which was decorated in creams, golds and black. The rooms Alexander had claimed for his own gave evidence of his personal flair for the rich and exotic. Pictures from an African photograph safari dotted one wall. Blooming orchids hung in buckets under a huge gold-framed mirror. A gun collection rested inside locked cabinets.

  Seeing Hunter’s reflection reminded her once again of how different he looked from Alexander. “What did you mean when you said changing your looks is the easiest part of the deception?”

  “People aren’t usually as observant as you’d think. Harrison Ford is one of the most recognizable actors in the world. Put him in sunglasses and a hat on a street corner, and most people won’t recognize him, but play his voice on the radio, and he’ll be easily recognized.”

  Hunter opened Alexander’s foyer closet and fingered the numerous jackets of varying colors and materials. His sharp gaze swept over the custom-leather boots lined up neatly along the floor, and then he shut the door. “Your brother’s a clotheshorse?”

  “Wait till you see the walk-in room off his bedroom. Every item he wears is custom tailored. Nicholas claims he’ll have to raise taxes next year just to keep our brother in Armani and Versace.”

  She wondered if he thought Alex terribly vain, but he voiced no opinion. She waited as he thoroughly inspected every knickknack in the foyer before speaking. “That recognition factor you spoke of was a movie star’s face seen by strangers. Many of the people you will meet have known my brother for years.”

  “Have a little faith.”

  She released a sigh of frustration and decided to be blunt. “I don’t think you understand what you’re up against.”

  “And you do?”

  “I live here.”

  “And?”

  “I know my brother.”

  “And?”

  “Are you prepared to sleep with every woman who flirts with you?”