Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
James
The leather steering wheel creaked under my grip as I watched the coffee shop's entrance. Princess Evangeline had been inside with her friends for over forty minutes, and something felt off. The Halloween decorations in the window cast eerie shadows across the street, matching my darkening mood.
We established this coffee shop routine three weeks ago after I identified it as one of the few venues that met my security requirements—single street access, clear sightlines, and staff I'd already vetted.
Evangeline's afternoon study sessions with her friends had become a regular part of our schedule, one of the few normal activities I could allow her in public.
A tap on my window made me tense. I lowered it to find Marcus Wolfe standing there—an ex-SAS operator who'd worked royal security for years before going private.
We'd crossed paths on several high-profile assignments in London.
He wore casual clothes, the kind that professionals use for surveillance.
"Banks," he nodded, his scarred face serious despite the ghost of a smile.
"Didn't expect to see you playing babysitter.
I'm on a job myself—industrialist's daughter, thinks she's being followed.
" He gestured toward a sleek Mercedes parked down the street.
"Spotted your setup and thought I'd check in. "
"It's a temporary assignment," I replied, keeping my eyes trained on the coffee shop entrance. "Cover for someone."
He nodded, understanding the unspoken details. "The princess is... challenging. I worked on a security detail in Madrid when she visited last year." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You might want to check if she's still inside."
My attention snapped fully to him. "What do you mean?"
"She's got a talent for... creative exits. Last year in Spain, she slipped away from her security team through a restaurant kitchen. Took them nearly three hours to locate her at an underground club."
Every muscle in my body went rigid. The terror that shot through me had nothing to do with professional duty—somewhere between protecting and wanting her, she'd stopped being just another client.
The thought of her vulnerable and unprotected made my vision narrow to a dangerous point.
This was precisely why I'd tried to maintain distance and fought against the pull I felt toward her.
When your judgment was compromised, people died.
‘Fuck,’ I muttered, pushing past Marcus and yanking open the coffee shop door. The bell chimed mockingly as I strode inside, scanning every corner.
Fuck. I'd made a tactical error, focusing too heavily on street-level threats while assuming the café's kitchen staff provided natural security for the rear exit. Weeks of eighteen-hour days and constant vigilance had dulled my edge—exactly the kind of mistake that got people killed.
"Sir?" A barista approached cautiously. "Are you looking for someone?"
"The princess," I growled. "Where did she go?"
The young woman hesitated, her eyes darting toward the back of the shop. "I'm not supposed to—"
I pulled out my security credentials. "This isn't a game. Where is she!"
The barista swallowed hard. "Sofia let them through the kitchen with her friends. About fifteen minutes ago."
I was already moving. The bathrooms were empty. I charged through the swinging doors into the kitchen, startling the staff. The back door stood open, leading to an alley that stretched in both directions, empty except for scattered leaves and garbage bins.
"Three women passed through here!" I demanded.
A young cook nodded. "About fifteen minutes ago. They took a taxi from the alley."
My phone was in my hand before I hit the main street again.
Evangeline's number went straight to voicemail—her phone was switched off.
Her phone's last GPS ping showed right here at the café before going dark.
Without the standard tracking devices that royal protocols prohibited, I was flying blind.
Marcus appeared behind me. "I'll check the traffic cameras at both ends of the alley. We'll find which direction they went."
I nodded and strode back to my car, pulling up the tracking software. Royal security protocols meant she didn't have any other standard tracking devices—a measure meant to prevent stalkers, now working against me.
I needed someone local with connections. I pulled up Carl's number—the driver who'd worked with us at the charity gala. Carl was Luxembourg-born and raised, with fifteen years of private security experience in the city.
Next: her friends, Octavia and Gabriela.
I pulled up their details from my background files and started a location trace on Octavia's device.
The ping came back twenty minutes later—they'd been moving fast along Avenue de la Liberté, but the trail had gone cold at the city center.
There were too many possible destinations from there.
Something caught my eye near the dumpster—a crumpled receipt. I picked it up and examined it. The taxi company name was stamped across the top: Luxembourg City Cabs.
My phone rang—Marcus.
"Cameras picked up a black cab turning left out of the alley at 8:42. Couldn't see the license plate clearly."
"Company name?" I asked.
"Couldn't make it out." He paused. "Need backup?"
"Not yet," I replied. "But stay close."
They could have split up, creating false trails. This was Luxembourg on Halloween night– dozens of potential destinations, hundreds of places she could vanish into.
My fist slammed into the steering wheel.
The princess was out there somewhere, vulnerable, unprotected.
After the dead kitten, after that note..
. The memory of her face that night, pale and haunted, flashed through my mind.
She knew something, was hiding something, and now she'd put herself directly in harm's way.
The last two weeks replayed in my mind—her haunted expression whenever I questioned her about the threat, the way she'd withdraw into herself. She was carrying something heavy, something she refused to share.
I dialed Luxembourg City Cabs, identifying myself as security for the Bellavista royal family.
"We need information on a pickup from Café Loren about fifteen minutes ago," I said, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
"I cannot disclose customer information, sir," came the practiced response.
"This is a security matter involving the Bellavista crown," I countered. "I can have the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom on the phone in thirty seconds if you need higher clearance."
Silence, then: "One moment, sir."
I pulled up guest lists for every major Halloween event in the city while cross-referencing with what little movement data I had.
The dispatcher returned. "They picked up three women at that location at 8:40 PM."
The Underground. I flagged it in my initial Luxembourg security assessment months ago—a converted warehouse with multiple exits and minimal lighting.
It's a security nightmare on the best of days, but on Halloween night with hundreds of costumed partiers?
Someone might as well have designed it for an ambush.
My phone rang again—Carl.
"Banks, I've got contacts working at tonight's event. Three women matching their description entered The Underground about five minutes ago. One was wearing a silver mask."
That confirmed it. The club would be packed and dark, and hundreds of costumed people would fill multiple areas.
I pressed the accelerator, weaving through traffic. The princess thought she could disappear into the crowd, become just another masked party-goer. But she'd forgotten something crucial—before I was a bodyguard, I was a hunter.
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I hadn't been this angry—or this afraid—since Iraq.
The note's words echoed in my mind: "I know what you've done, princess." Someone was watching her, hunting her, and now she'd handed them the perfect opportunity.
I grabbed my backup phone and dialed Colonel Harrison—my former commanding officer, who now worked in intelligence.
"Harrison," I said as soon as he picked up. "I need a favor. Urgent."
"Banks?" He sounded alert despite the late hour. "What's the situation?"
"The princess I'm guarding slipped security. She's at a nightclub called The Underground in Luxembourg City."
"Not your night, is it?" His voice held no humor.
"I need people inside now. Someone with access, someone who can keep eyes on her until I get there."
"I've got an asset in Luxembourg," he said without hesitation. "Anton Keller—ex-military, very reliable. He's already working at at The Underground tonight. I'll redirect him to assist you."
"Thanks."
"James," he said before I could hang up. "Is this just a princess running wild, or something more?"
My grip tightened on the phone. "Someone's been threatening her. Left a dead animal at her door with a note."
"Christ." A pause. "There's something you should know. Been meaning to call you. We've picked up some chatter about the Bellavista royal family. Specifically, about the princess."
My blood ran cold. "What kind of chatter?"
"Remember that incident five years ago? The one the palace covered up?" Harrison's voice lowered. "Our intelligence suggests there might be more to it than what's in the official record. Something in her past that could be relevant to these threats."
"Anything specific?" I pressed, taking a sharp turn.
"Nothing concrete yet. But there's a name you should watch for—Nikolai Voss. He's in Luxembourg and has been for about a week. Known mercenary with Eastern European connections, suspected of involvement in several high-profile kidnappings."
The back of my neck prickled. "Why would he target the princess?"
"Unknown. But his presence isn't coincidental. Keep your eyes open."
I ended the call as my phone pinged with Anton's contact. The club was a converted warehouse with multiple exits—a security nightmare.