Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
When I pull my gun free, Camille gasps, but I don’t spare her a glance. I locate the waitress who now has the shiv in her hand with the spike running up her forearm so it’s not noticeable to Dmitri, Paul, or the king and queen.
I raise my gun and aim for the back of her head. But I hesitate. The kill shot would not be the wrong move, but this person has information.
Quickly, I drop my aim, focusing on the back of her right knee, and squeeze the trigger once. The crack of the round leaving the gun causes everyone to scream and scatter.
I ignore it all, watching blood spray from the back of the assassin’s knee just before she crumples to the ground. Dmitri moves fast, grabbing Thomas and pulling him away and out a door. Another agent does the same for Juliana, and Paul moves to the waitress on the ground who is writhing in pain and clutching at her wound. Paul picks up the shiv, spares it a curious glance, and then moves his gaze across the floor to me.
I give him a nod and take Camille by the arm. Quickly, I lead her out a side door, traverse several hallways, and escort her to the throne room, our predetermined rendezvous point in case anything happened. The ten agents before the door part and let us in where we find Dmitri with Camille’s parents.
Camille pulls free of my grasp and rushes to her parents, where all three engage in a circular hug.
There’s nothing for me to do here, but a lot to do out there. I want to see what this bitch assassin has to say. I’m assuming Paul is giving her medical care so she doesn’t die on us.
I turn to walk out of the throne room, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Mr. Gale,” King Thomas says as I pivot to face him. His hand moves from my shoulder as he offers it in a handshake. “Thank you for what you just did. Saving me… also saving Camille.”
I reluctantly shake his hand, my eyes moving to Camille who stands beside her mother, their arms around each other’s waists as they watch us. My attention goes back to Thomas. “Just doing my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more to do.”
“Of course,” Thomas says, and I can see he wants to say more—I’m sure an apology, perhaps even an admission he misjudged me—but I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t change anything. Because after we clean everything up, ensure the rest of the palace is safe and interrogate the assassin to verify she is in fact the only one, I’m on a plane out of here.
CHAPTER 24
Camille
Tears stream down my face as Paul drives me from the tarmac at the Bretaria airport back to the palace. Jackson asked if I’d see him off, and there was no way I was going to miss one more opportunity to talk to him, touch him, kiss or hug him. While it shredded my heart, I put on a brave face and went.
It took a few hours for things to calm down after Jackson shot the assassin, who we found out is an immensely popular contract-for-hire killer. But she clammed up and wouldn’t give us any information. She was taken into custody by the Bretaria police, and she’ll eventually stand trial for attempted murder. Maybe they’ll cut a deal if she gives up who hired her. Dmitri did tell me that she’s wanted in other countries, so there’s no telling what will happen when we’re done with her.
With no information forthcoming from the assassin, we had to rely on the information Europol had garnered from Colette Winterbourne, her husband, and their son. Over the last two days, they were all interrogated again, and all three submitted to lie detector tests. While the results are not admissible in any future criminal proceedings, the suspects were shown to be telling the truth that Colette orchestrated all this with no involvement by the husband or son. More importantly, Colette confirmed there are no further plans or payments made for any action against our family.
It’s a relief for sure, but it’s something I just cannot care about right now. Jackson is in the sky on my plane, heading back to his life.
Paul silently reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, offering it to me. I take it with a watery “thank you” and let it soak up the streams of tears.
I probably wouldn’t be crying if our farewells had gone the way Jackson and I both thought they would.
Based on our repeated declarations that this was a casual fling with a defined expiration date, I expected there might be a passionate kiss laced with regret and fondness.