Royal Distraction Lucy McConnell (ebook reader online TXT) 📖

He threaded their fingers together. “But you have to say it like an American. Accent the I. Niiice.”

“N-ice,” she tried, and failed in a cute way. She shook her head. “I will remember this, always.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You make it sound like I’ll never see you again.” He made a left and put them back on track to get her where she needed to be. The sooner she was safely in her room, the better.

“I’m leaving Saturday.”

“We have tomorrow.”

“I have meetings.”

“Friday?”

“A guided tour of the legislative building and the Supreme Court—a welcome packet from your president. I’m done at four,” she added timidly.

He paused. It almost sounded like she felt like she had to offer but hoped he’d say no. “I’m working at six,” he replied.

Her shoulders dropped. “Then I guess this really is goodbye.”

Tatum wanted to tell her about their plans to move to the island, that he could see her again, soon, if everything worked out. He wanted to beg her help in getting the contract so they could be together. But he couldn’t discuss the contract with anyone but the royal family, and he especially didn’t want to put her in any danger or compromise her position in the royal household. He pulled up to the front of the hotel and ran around to get her door. “I’ll be right back,” he told the attendant as he handed over the keys.

“I’ll leave it in the visitor parking lot, there.” He pointed, and Tatum nodded.

Neese took his offered hand as she exited the vehicle. “Thank you for an … American afternoon.” A smile finally touched her lips and he had the intense desire to do the same.

Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he walked her to the large double doors. “Dessert and bowling—I’ve finally met the perfect date and she’s leaving the country.”

Her palm came to his cheek. “If you’re ever in Zimrada, look me up.”

“I plan on it.”

She placed a lingering kiss on both his cheeks, her sweet scent filling his senses and urging him to hold on to her and never let go. But if he was being watched, he didn’t want to give the assassin any reason to turn his attention to Neese. Instead, he plotted how long it would take to book a flight to Zimrada.

He waited until Neese was in the elevator before heading back outside.

“I’ll get your car, sir.” The older gentleman made for the visitor parking lot.

“No need.” He held his hand out. “I could use the walk.”

The attendant nodded and handed over the keys. Tatum wasn’t thinking about where he was or where he was going; his mind was on Neese, replaying that moment when she’d taken his face in her hands and pulled him close. She had such fire.

A car swerved towards him, causing Tatum to jump to the side. Tatum zeroed in on the driver. The bald head and beady eyes were hard to mistake. The assassin had found him.

Two things registered at the same time. One: the blue sedan was not the car tailing him all day. Two: he could hear the assassin unclick his seat belt to get out of the car. Tatum didn’t stick around to find out what he wanted. He didn’t need to; he had a pretty good idea what the guy was after and it wasn’t something Tatum was willing to hand over. He liked all nine lives tucked away in his back pocket. This guy had already taken one—so he was down to eight. Without a gun, he couldn’t survive a firefight.

He sprinted down the sidewalk, drawing the ugly man as far away from Neese as he could get. Tatum was in great shape, and he was suddenly ticked off.

Ticked that he had spent two months in physical therapy because of this schlep.

Ticked that he’d not dared tell his parents he’d been shot.

Ticked that this guy shot him. He let the heavy footfalls get closer as he neared a deserted street. He wanted to face the assassin, to get his ugly mug out of his memory, to master it, master him, and be free.

Knowing the guy was closing in, Tatum ran through the weapons at his disposal. Though he didn’t have his gun, he wasn’t unprotected. He could use the stick laying in the gutter, the garbage bag hanging out of the receptacle, or the broken beer bottle. He wasn’t that desperate. Like any good navy man, he kept a knife close. This particular knife rested in a hidden sheath in his belt. Made for self-protection, there was a loop that stuck out an inch and a half above the leather on his left side. He hooked his middle finger through the steel and removed the curved blade. Wicked sharp, the weapon was designed for slashing down, like a Samaria sword, and he’d put it to good use if needed.

Tatum let up on his speed even more—sheesh, how out of shape was this guy? He ran like he didn’t want to catch Tatum.

Tatum braced for the tackle, knowing he would have done the same thing at this moment. His legs were suddenly tangled up and he went down, rolling as best he could to protect his still-healing shoulder. He landed on his back with the assassin hugging his middle. The killer clawed his way up Tatum’s front, going for his throat with his bare hands.

Idiot.

Tatum had no patience for a sloppy job. He pushed the blade out, slicing the man’s upper arm and then pulled it back, tearing a bloody X right through the muscle. The blood spurted and then ran in rivulets down his bare arm. Tatum noted the damage he’d done to the man’s tattoo, a skull with wings.

With a scream of rage, the man rolled off of him. Clutching his useless arm, he got to his feet, staggering back. “You’re gonna pay.” He spit out the words, and then spit at Tatum.

Tatum was just as quick to his