A Player for A Princess

Dear Sirs:

We are holding Miss Wilder at a secure facility on an uncharted island. If you ever want to see her alive again, you have six weeks to complete the following tasks:

1-Cancel the contract with the American tech company.

2-Reinstate Monagasco’s oil leases in Tunis and reinvest the profits in future leases there.

3-Decline the succession referendum naming Rowan Westringham Tate King of Monagasco.

4-Sign the Open Borders Treaty uniting Totringham and Monagasco as one united, free-trade cooperative overseen by elected members of parliament.

5-Sign the pardon for Wade Paxton for his alleged role in the Grand Prix assassination attempt and reinstate him as Prime Minister of the newly united kingdom.

Confirmation these tasks have been completed is required by August 1 or you will receive a piece of Miss Wilder every day until either it is done or until nothing is left.

Enclosed are photos starting the clock, and your first piece of Miss Wilder as a gesture of sincerity.

We look forward to working with you.

* * *

Dropping the sheet, I rip the envelope open looking for what the hell they’ve done to her. “Where is it?” I shout.

My eyes fly to Logan’s, and he slowly reaches into his pocket. “I’m sorry, sir, I wanted to keep it safe.”

“Give it to me!” I’m nearly blind with fury and fear and anger when he produces a small, white bundle.

Snatching it from him, I quickly unroll the parcel, searching for what might be inside. It unrolls and unrolls, “Good god,” I mutter in exasperation and impatience.

Until with a little tap a tooth drops onto the table. I scoop it up in my fingers, feeling my insides straining.

Grasping my forehead, I can’t bear to think how this happened. “Did they use medication. Did she suffer?”

“We have no way of knowing,” Logan says quietly. “Although if you look at her photograph again, you can see this large bruised area.” He moves his finger over my love’s battered face. “It’s possibly a byproduct…”

He doesn’t finish, and I feel as if I might be sick. Dropping into the chair, my face is in my hands, and I clutch my hair trying to hold it together. Rowan’s warm hand covers my shoulder, and he gives me a squeeze.

“Six weeks,” he says quietly. “It’s more than enough time. We will find these bastards. We will stop them, and when we do, they will pay.”

I’m fumbling for control. I take the small tooth and carefully roll it in the damp gauze as if it’s a precious artifact. Pieces of Zee.

“We have to decide how much to tell Ava,” I say quietly. “Until we know how this happened, I’ll take responsibility for keeping it from her.”

Rowan’s expression is grave. “Only for a few days. We will tell her when she’s stronger.”

“We have to double our efforts,” I say, rising from my chair. “Take me to where Freddie is working.”

13

The Women

Zelda

I’m lying on a stiff cot when I wake. The ache in my mouth has diminished, but my head feels like the top of my skull is breaking open. I’m pretty sure that blow to the temple did more than knock me unconscious. The bright light hurts my eyes, and I try to remember the signs of a concussion.

When I try to sit up, my head spins and my hip throbs from where Blix ripped me over the side of the truck and then dropped me flat on the sand.

“Bon bini,” a soft voice is at my side.