Jewel of Solana Page 3

  “I’m not.”

  He nodded. “Good. Sleep well, Alanna.” He hadn’t intended on using her name; it came out as an afterthought. He liked the way it sounded. How it drifted so easily off his lips. She nodded, their eyes locking. His breath caught at the glorious espresso irises. The same ones that had pleaded to him a short time before. He forced himself to close the door. Her scent bombarded the entire length of the hallway—nineteen feet—as he retreated upstairs.

  THE LITTLE REST ALANNA MANAGED in the tiny cabin was plagued by nightmares. Images of Pierre’s death-stare. The vicious snarls of the invading mercenaries. The burning marina.

  She pinched her eyes closed, her father’s terrified face still vivid in her mind. Even worse, Alejandro’s scream. It ripped her soul to shreds.

  Queira Dios, let them be safe.

  The bright Pacific sun streamed through the starboard window, glancing across her eyes in a relentless wake-up signal. She rubbed it away and sat up. With a gasp, she reached for her neck. The sharp edges of Luna de Azul rubbed along her fingers through the shirt. It was still there.

  Not that she expected either gentleman on board to steal it, but she couldn’t take any chances. Something as grand as these jewels could turn even the most honest men into green-eyed ogres. Was it a coincidence the younger man had the most enticing green eyes?

  She couldn’t remember ever having been affected that way by anyone. Literally the breath knocked out of her. Princesses maintained distance at all times. This was the closest she’d ever felt to someone. To a stranger. A foreigner. There was nothing common about Flynn. The spark, the physical charge at first sight. On the worst night of her sheltered life.

  Alanna groaned and dragged her hand down her forehead.

  Enough! Now is not the time to act like a naïve teenager.

  This was nothing more than a passing infatuation. The man had no idea who she was, or what rested on her shoulders. He probably thought of her as an annoying little tagalong, anyway. That’s what Tulio used to call her.

  Her stomach turned.

  Enough time had passed for the crisis at home to be over. Calling her father and Rona would be first priority, after she cleaned herself up. She’d been so distraught the night before she’d just collapsed on the bed.

  Alanna slipped from under the covers and cringed at the sour taste in her mouth. Thankfully, the bathroom had travel-sized toothpaste, soap and shampoo. She stripped off the only set of clothes she had, and slid the necklace inside her bag.

  After a shower, Alanna relished the clean feeling, despite the lack of conditioner.

  Donning the clothes borrowed from Rona, Alanna hadn’t worn any outfit two days in a row. The fabric was wrinkled, and didn’t smell as fresh, but they’d do. When Luna de Azul safely graced her neck again, she used her fingers to brush out the tangles from her long black hair and braided it to the side. Without a hair band or clip, Alanna dug around the room and spotted a twist tie on the bedside lamp cord.

  Who says I’m not resourceful? Again, not ideal but it worked.

  Maneuvering the brand-new yacht was easy enough. Alanna hardly felt any rocking, though they were easily cruising at twenty-five knots. The stabilizers on this thing were exceptional. Alanna moved down the long hallway and climbed the stairs.

  At the sight of the panoramic view, she froze. The shades were up and the entire Pacific spread before her at every angle. A vast, consuming blue, empty and endless.

  Blending with the delicious scent of the Polynesian coffee were male voices beyond the galley. As they continued, Alanna contemplated trying a cup. If it tasted as good as it smelled, it couldn’t hurt, considering her worst night’s sleep was embedded under her eyes like suitcases.

  “You don’t think she’d steal anything, do you?” Dean asked.

  Alanna stopped.

  “And hide it where?” Flynn replied. “She’s tinier than that bag she brought.”

  “That’s when they’re the craftiest.”

  Her face burned. They think I’m a thief?

  “Beautiful, tiny…and pushy,” Dean added.

  Pushy?

  “Coral really made you paranoid, didn’t she?”

  “I prefer to see it as opened my eyes.”

  Cabrones! Alanna wouldn’t dare say the word aloud, but the bastards were already making judgments.

  “Good morning,” she announced in her most jovial voice and rounded the corner. Their stunned faces weren’t nearly as satisfying as seeing Dean splatter his coffee across the controls. Until she did a double-take at Flynn.

  Fresh clothes, showered and smoldering. Cargo shorts never looked so good on a man, and a loose, buttoned kiwi-colored shirt made of light cotton. Standing at the helm gave him a master-of-the-sea aura. Or maybe it was the way he sucked out all the air around her.

  Good Lord, those glittering eyes are distracting.

  “Morning. Sleep well?” Flynn smiled.

  “Not really,” she replied, a bit breathless. “But it’s not a testament to the mattress or the trip. Those were quite comfortable. Thank you for your hospitality,” she drawled. Guilt them with kindness. “Do you have a satellite phone? I need to call my family.”

  “Of course,” Dean answered and grabbed the receiver from the console. Alanna hid a frown, realizing the receiver wasn’t portable, and she’d have to be in front of these two strangers while she contacted home. But at this point, she just really wanted to hear her father’s voice. And put distance between her and this nautical man-siren.

  Alanna dialed her father’s personal line and waited. A lump rose in her throat as it rang…and rang. Then the line switched to a busy signal.

  Strange.

  “They didn’t answer?” Flynn asked.

  “I don’t think it went through.”

  “Try another number.” He stepped closer and eyed the phone. Her fingers fumbled as she dialed the Royal Guardsmen’s office, twice.

  Also a busy signal.

  “The phone lines must be down.” She looked at Flynn, hoping for any confirmation. Or maybe the satellite phone wasn’t working. But those jade eyes narrowed and he set down his mug. First, he took the receiver and hung it up. Then he checked the connection, pressed several buttons and scratched his head.

  “We have a clear signal. Must be on Solana.”

  “Let me try one more number. Maybe it’s just the pal—” Alanna bit her tongue. She couldn’t say palace or they’d figure out the identity of their stowaway. She dialed Rona’s number. Again, busy signal.

  “You said they were terrorists?” Dean butted in. “If they knew what they were doing, they would have taken out coms first.”

  “Palau will have news of anything when we get there later today.”

  Alanna hung the receiver back, numb to the men speaking. She rubbed her neck, checking for the necklace as she gazed over the bright water.

  What if that last fireball had been Rona’s house? Their boat? The cartel might have followed her that far, which meant her friend, and Señor Valera could be dead.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She looked into his soft eyes, the heat of his palm radiating down her arm, the concern on his face unexpectedly soothing. For a moment, she imagined those muscled arms around her. Going against everything she’d been taught as royalty.

  Distance be damned. There’s no instruction for something like this.

  “I’m sure everything is okay,” Flynn said.

  She snapped out of her insane reaction. In the midst of this catastrophe, how can I possibly entertain these thoughts?

  “Why don’t you get some air on deck?” he continued. “You look a little…”

  Lost, numb, love-struck, in shock. She blinked, and then hid her emotions behind a fake scoff. “I don’t get seasick.”

  “I was going to say tense.”

  Sure, that’s one word for it.

  She moved through the galley and beyond the salon, ignoring the posh surroundings. Maybe she was sick. Going th
rough shock, some kind of post-traumatic thing. That had to be the only explanation…

  Alanna appreciated what was Flynn’s attempt at reassuring her. Lord knew she needed consolation after everything she’d seen. The explosions, the destruction, the death.

  But everything wasn’t okay. Those last gunshots were meant for her. The entire Solanian culture was under threat of annihilation, and here she was on a luxury yacht adrift on the South Pacific, sailing away while her people suffered.

  Flynn slid open the door and waited for her. His russet hair ruffled in the breeze now drifting through the salon. Alanna stepped through.

  “You look like you’ll fall over with the next wave. Can I bring you a drink or something?”

  Alanna shook her head and dropped onto the first patio chair she reached. The cushion absorbed her weight, but not her guilt. Her people needed her. Her family needed her. Yet she ran.

  The salty sweet air on her face felt like the first taste of oxygen to a drowning victim. After a few minutes of just sitting and letting her body absorb the rhythm of the ocean, her brain settled. The wind swirled loose strands of her long hair like loving fingers.

  Flynn was right. She needed the sea air. A recharge, someplace to de-stress, and gather positive thoughts. Incredible how a stranger could read her that well. Or perhaps he was just a fellow sea-lover, who escaped to the waters for refuge. Alanna could relate.

  “Drink this.” The deep voice soothed her.

  Her eyes opened to a tumbler of ice water in front of her. She took it and looked up at Flynn. The sun behind his head created an ethereal glow around him, like Michael the Archangel: holy warrior and guardian.

  Flynn sat in the chair next to her and gave a worried smile. It didn’t quite light up his face, but he was still gorgeous.

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  Alanna opened her mouth, but stopped. The man clearly didn’t recognize her or had no clue she was royalty. Perhaps that was a good thing. “I’d rather not,” she replied and sipped the water.

  It was better she remained low-key until things settled at home. One never knew when strangers would try to profit from a situation, or use her status to gain something. Though she doubted Flynn was that kind of man. Something about him told her he was good, honorable.

  “I’m not sure what happened on Solana,” Flynn stated. “But they have a good military there. I’m sure your family is safe.” The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, giving her a peek of smooth, tan skin underneath. And defined muscles. Everything about him conveyed capable—strength.

  “Listen.” He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees. Even through the wind, his musky cologne drifted over her. “We didn’t get much fuel, so we have to stop in Palau to fill up. We can go ashore and find information about Solana. Give you a chance to call your folks again.”

  A hard lump lodged in her throat, reminding her of the jewels around her neck. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  Flynn nodded and continued to study her. When she couldn’t think of anything to say, he finally stood and moved to walk away.

  “Were you in the military?” The question blurted from her lips before she could check herself. Why does it even matter? The way he’d covered her during the gunshots in the cove and how he carried himself conveyed enlisted man.

  Flynn turned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes,” he said, his voice as nondescript as the hard-to-read expression.

  “Army?”

  “Navy.” Despite the waves gently swaying the yacht, Flynn stood firm. Like it would take a hurricane to move him an inch. She should have known he was a Navy man. Knowing that made her calmer.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  Alanna shook her head and watched his eyes. “Did you like being a sailor?”

  A crease formed on Flynn’s forehead. “Parts of it.”

  “Do…do you have a family in Australia?” Alanna cringed after that last question. What a stupid way to see if he was married.

  “Just my father.” He crossed his arms over his chest. There was no mistaking his puzzled frown. She was entering murky waters and should back off. But the lack of ring on his left hand was clearly noticeable. “You refuse to answer questions about yourself, yet you’re playing twenty questions with me.”

  “Is curiosity a crime?”

  “No. But I’m told that reciprocal conversation is a required social courtesy.”

  Alanna blinked. Flynn’s face remained impassive, as if he were reading something from the dictionary. “Is that your way of saying friendship is a two-way street?” she asked.

  “Are we friends?”

  “Well…I’d like to think so.”

  Flynn’s eyes sparked. “I like to know more about someone first. The only things I know of you are your name, your nationality, and your preferences for tea and coconut perfume.”

  Wow. He pays attention. She rubbed her thumbnail along her index finger and dropped her gaze to her lap. “You’re right,” she muttered. “You have no reason to trust me.” With a deep sigh, she lifted her chin. “So how long until we make Palau?”

  “This evening. Do you want us to drop you off on Palau, or you gonna hitch all the way to Manila?”

  “I’ll get off on Palau.” Manila was a bad idea. That’s where the Lozano cartel was based, and even though they had a large U.S. Consulate, it was too close to walking right into the shark’s lair. Then what use would she be to her father? “I won’t inconvenience you both for that long.”

  Alanna had no connections on Palau. No clue of where to stay or who to see for help. Most of the tiny islands around here didn’t have U.S. Consulates—they all shared one on a larger island, like the Marshall Islands or Papua New Guinea. So, if Palau didn’t have one, it was probably best to approach the local government, announce her presence, and ask for assistance. Once she found out about her family, of course.

  “I’ve never seen anyone think harder than me.” Flynn smiled, like they shared an inside joke. “Until you.”

  Alanna’s cheeks heated. “You prefer plastic Barbies who can’t think at all?”

  “Not at all.” His silly smile crawled down her spine.

  “I don’t care who you prefer. It doesn’t matter. How much do I owe you for the trip?”

  “Nothing.”

  Alanna’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Nothing?”

  “Everyone on board during a sea trial and delivery earns their keep.”

  “Like a job?”

  “Of course. How good are you with a polishing rag?”

  “Uh…not very.”

  “How about a squeegee?”

  “A what?”

  Flynn turned on his heel. He grabbed the stair’s railing that led to the lower deck. “You’re gonna learn today, Princess.”

  “WHERE IS LUNA DE AZUL?” Santos Lozano lit a cigar and gazed out over the sapphire ocean from his expansive patio. The secluded mansion was one of several he owned through the islands, but this one was his favorite. It had the best view, offered the quickest escape route, and easiest staging point for all his operations.

  Several of his men loaded supplies onto his mega-yacht, Pacific Tempest, docked in the private bay north of Manila. The air heavy with humidity, a line of sweat trickled down Lozano’s back. Rain wasn’t too far off. The heat never bothered him, which is why this lifestyle and line of work suited him so well.

  It was the cold he couldn’t stand. And darkness.

  “Raul said Bendetto doesn’t know,” Ricardo answered. His eldest son stood next to him outside, overlooking the yacht’s preparations. “The princess took it just before she escaped.”

  Ricardo was a spitting image of his austere father, with a touch of his mother’s Filipino blood. The young man was Lozano’s pride and joy, and eventual successor of his massive empire. If only he’d employ more brutal methods, or demanded the respect with as hard a hand as his younger brother, Raul. No one would dare confront the Lozano cartel
for generations.

  Lozano blew out a smoke ring and turned to his son. None of the six surrounding guards moved, dressed in gray suits, each with two or three handguns hidden in their jackets.

  “So not only did Bendetto let a twenty-year-old girl escape, but he misplaced his form of payment as well.”

  “Seems that way. But the island is under his control, and the amepphire mines. The rest of the Peraltas are dead.”

  “Not all,” Lozano corrected. “Prince André is still in the United States.” Bendetto swore he’d take care of the issue, ensuring no threat of a Peralta returning to reclaim a throne.

  Lozano’s top general had already started to fail on his promises.

  “I say we give him a chance to correct the mistakes.” Ricardo lit a cigarette. His son preferred golf shirts and linen pants, but Lozano liked seeing him in suits and ties. The clothes demanded more respect than the casual, spoiled-boy image.

  “You’re defending Bendetto?”

  “Not entirely.” The young man adjusted the pistol at his waist and blew the smoke away from his father. At least carried his own weapon. One lesson learned. “An operation this size with this many moveable parts is bound to have a few snags. I want to see how he handles the wrenches in the wheel.”

  Lozano scowled. His son was rational and educated, but still too soft and slow to act. He had a lot to learn before he took over. First and foremost was how to earn and keep the loyalty of his men. Which was only gained through brutality. No mercy, no weakness.

  “What did Raul say to that?”

  Ricardo’s jaw tensed. “He’s eager to take over at your orders. Then again, when is he not?”

  There was no mistaking the rivalry between his sons. Raul was currently on Solana, overseeing the mercenary army that was taking over their new prize, and keeping tabs on Bendetto. It was because of Raul’s lust for violence that the elder Lozano sent his youngest son instead of Ricardo. Something Ricardo resented, but wouldn’t dare voice to his father. Not that he had to. Lozano would do what he had to do to make them learn, even if it meant pitting them against each other.

  “Giving Bendetto time to fix his follies is a folly of its own,” Lozano said. “It’s only a matter of time before the international community steps in and asserts their military authority. We must be fully ingrained and in control when that happens. The UN and U.S. don’t care about justice. Only stability. If the people aren’t being slaughtered anymore, they’ll let a country fend for itself.”