Chapter 2
BASH
The drive from North Carolina to the Pacific Northwest should’ve been relaxing. I loved long-distance drives as they always helped me clear my head, and the scenery had been beautiful, even if it had been hot as fuck in the Midwest.
But this time, I couldn’t find that elusive peace of mind.
Mama was on my mind, of course. Lung cancer, it turned out, was absolute hell, physically and emotionally and financially.
I was worried sick about her and the thought of not being close to home for a whole year was killing me, but we needed the extra money this job would bring.
Being a Secret Service agent had resulted in a good starting salary, but Washington DC wasn’t cheap, not even when having a roommate, so I hadn’t even been able to send that much home.
But this job offered a bonus beyond anything I’d ever seen if I fulfilled the entire contract, all nine months. It would pay for Mama’s treatments and be our ticket out of financial ruin.
Prince Gregory Edward William Mountbatten-Windsor. Fourth in line to the British throne. Future Duke of York. And for the next year, my responsibility.
No pressure there.
I’d been briefing myself on the file for weeks, memorizing every detail until I could recite his biographical information like a radio check.
Twenty-one years old, studying International Relations, had visited America several times but never the Pacific Northwest. He had one older sister, Princess Charlotte, who was engaged to be married to some Lord next year.
Wealthy beyond comprehension, privileged beyond belief, and according to the tabloid photos that had been easily available online, apparently incapable of keeping his hands off women.
Prince Playboy, they called him. Real original.
My first impression of him on the Zoom call had been very different, but I’d wait with my judgment until I’d met him in person.
The Pacific Northwest was nothing like North Carolina.
Instead of the familiar red clay and tobacco fields, I was driving through towering evergreens and misty mountains that looked like something out of a damn fairy tale.
Even the air smelled different—clean and sharp, without the humidity that slapped you in the face as soon as you set foot outside back home.
I rolled down the window and let the August air fill the truck’s cab. Back home, it would still be hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement. Even in DC, summers were usually humid and muggy as fuck. Here, it was a balmy seventy-five degrees.
Glenn would’ve loved this place.
The thought hit me like it always did—sudden and sharp, leaving me breathless for a moment before I could shove it back down where it belonged.
Three years, and I still caught myself thinking about what Glenn would’ve said about this assignment, how proud he would’ve been that his little brother had not only made the Secret Service but was protecting actual royalty.
You always did aim high, Bash, I could almost hear him saying in that lazy drawl we’d both embraced. Make the family proud.
I would. Failure was not an option, as they’d drilled into us at Camp Lejeune, not only for my career but for everything Glenn had stood for.
Honor. Duty. Protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Even if the person I was protecting probably had more money in his checking account than my entire hometown had seen in the past decade.
The GPS announced that I was ten miles out from Cascade Bay University, and my shoulders automatically straightened. Time to get my head in the game.
According to the briefing materials, the university was founded in 1889 as a land-grant college and had grown into one of the most liberal institutions on the West Coast. It had nearly eighteen thousand students, a sprawling campus built on bluffs overlooking the Puget Sound, and a student body that was as diverse as it was politically active.
In other words, it was exactly the kind of place where a British prince might disappear in the crowds and experience life as a normal person.
A commoner, as the initial briefing had worded it. A commoner like me.
Not that it was any of my business what Prince Gregory—Eddie, I reminded myself—chose to explore during his time here. My job was to keep him safe, maintain his cover, and make sure he got through his year abroad without ending up dead, kidnapped, or exposed. Everything else was above my pay grade.
The university campus was even more beautiful than the photos had suggested.
Rolling hills covered in massive Douglas firs, red brick buildings that looked charming and sturdy at the same time, and everywhere I looked, signs of the progressive culture I’d read about.
Rainbow flags hung from residence-hall windows, and posters calling for protests and demonstrations hung everywhere.
It was a far cry from what I was used to.
I found visitor parking near the admissions office and spent a few minutes observing.
Students walked by in everything from designer clothes to what looked like pajamas, couples of every possible combination holding hands without anyone batting an eye.
The whole place thrummed with an energy that was foreign but not unpleasant, like everyone here was exactly where they wanted to be, doing exactly what they wanted to do.
Lucky them.
The student ID process was surprisingly efficient, considering I was posing as a transfer student.
Basil Puller, International Relations major, originally from North Carolina.
My name was real and so was my hometown, but everything else was fabricated, including my age.
On paper, I was twenty-two rather than twenty-seven—five years that made a big difference at that age.
My boss had grinned as she told me that for once, my youthful features would come in handy.
She wasn’t wrong. I always had looked younger than I was.
In the Marines, my nickname had been Babyface.
“Welcome to Cascade Bay!” the student worker chirped as she handed me my ID card.
She had purple hair and at least six piercings that I could see.
“Are you super excited about living in Cascade Hall? It’s, like, the nicest housing on campus.
You and your partner must have some serious connections to get a spot there as a transfer. ”
“Something like that,” I replied, flashing her a friendly smile. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“Oh my god, I love your accent!” She practically bounced in her seat.
“Are you from the South? That’s so cool.
We don’t get many Southern students here.
You’re going to love it, I promise. Everyone’s super welcoming, and there’s always something happening on campus.
Are you planning to rush any fraternities?
Because fair warning, some can be a tad problematic, but there are some good alternatives if you’re looking for community. ”
I blinked, trying to process the rapid-fire information dump. “No fraternities for me, but thanks for the heads up. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She beamed at me and waved as I headed for the exit. “See you around campus!”
Cascade Hall turned out to be everything the housing materials had promised—a modern, four-story building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the water that was to die for.
The lobby was all clean lines and contemporary furniture, with study nooks scattered throughout and what appeared to be a coffee bar in one corner.
I automatically catalogued the security features as I made my way to the elevator. Key card access at the main entrance, cameras in the lobby and hallways, resident advisor desk with clear sight lines to all entry points. Good. Not perfect, but good enough for our purposes.
The third floor was quiet when I stepped off the elevator, most students probably settling in elsewhere on campus. I found room 3B and used my key card, pushing open the door to what would be my home for the next year.
The mini-apartment was bigger than I’d expected. Large windows looked out over the campus toward the water, and the view from the tiny balcony was pretty damn nice. Not a bad place to wake up with a cup of coffee.
The set-up had a decent-sized common area with a couch and coffee table, and in the kitchenette, we had a dining table for two.
There were two doors, one leading to the bedroom and another one to the bathroom, which was not en suite, thank fuck.
I’d be sleeping on the couch and it would’ve sucked to always have to go through Eddie’s room for the bathroom.
I dropped my single duffle bag on the couch, then walked right back out and spent a few hours familiarizing myself with the campus.
I walked all the paths until I knew exactly where every building was located, where we’d be able to find shelter in case of an emergency, and what areas we’d need to avoid.
At three, I met with Heather Werner, the head of the Campus Police.
She was a no-nonsense fifty-something woman, who was briskly efficient and professional.
She and the Dean were the only people who knew who “Eddie” really was.
Heather and I had both argued for more people to be in the know, but we’d been outvoted.
Apparently, the fear that someone would leak the news was too big, and I could understand that.
At least Heather and I were on the same page, and she promised me all the support I needed, which included her private cell number in case I ever needed to get a hold of her urgently.
I gave her mine too, obviously. And she was aware of my concealed carry permit, so legally, I was covered there too.
“The Dean has informed all your professors of your special status,” Heather said. “They know you’re here as an auditing student and aren’t required to take any exams.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to pass these courses otherwise.”