Rebecca York - Royal Lockdown

It was a slot in the wall where room dividers had once been folded when not in use. The dividers had been removed from the reception area, but the slot remained, and Shane hoped to hell it would make a good hiding place.

As he moved Ariana swiftly through the crowd, he could imagine what Ty Jones and the other Secret Service agents were doing right now. Could they get the president and vice president out of the reception area? Or were they stuck with his method of hiding and hoping for the best?

One more question about Ty circled in Shane’s mind. Had his old friend gotten the same text message? Are you afraid of the dark?

Various scenarios raged through his thoughts as the armed men ruthlessly herded the guests into the center of the room.

Shouts of “Move it!” and “Hurry up,” were accompanied by hard shoves.

When an older man stumbled, one of the assailants kicked him and ordered him onto his feet.

“My heart,” the victim shouted.

“Quiet! Move.”

The man scrambled up, and Shane wondered if the guy was going to make it out of the room alive—whether or not the bad guys shot him.

Who were these guys, anyway? And how had they gotten past the tight security and into the reception?

His mind flashed to the waitstaff that had earlier been passing champagne and canapés. Had these four men come in with the catering company? On the face of it, the plan seemed damned ballsy. But he knew that these thugs had done something few men would attempt at a reception attended by both the president and the vice president of the United States.

They must have been up here previously casing the tower. With part of his mind, Shane wondered what would have happened if he’d run into them yesterday.

That was then and this was now.

In the darkness, Shane kept moving, pulling Ariana away from the center of the action. Yet he couldn’t keep a tiny doubt from creeping into his mind. Was he going the right way or turned around in the dark?

What if he was actually putting Ariana in more danger?

He led her along the wall, praying that he knew where he was going.

His tension grew as the seconds ticked by and he didn’t come to the slot in the wall. Then finally his fingers brushed against the edge of the hiding place he’d discovered yesterday. Breathing out a small sigh, he stopped short.

“Right here,” he whispered as he moved Ariana into the narrow opening in the wall, hoping that the dark would hide them when the assailants did a thorough search of the room, which they surely would as soon as they had better control over the crowd.

He followed Ariana into the opening, then turned to face the middle of the room again. One of the armed men was shouting another order to the formally dressed herd. “Put out the candles on the table.”

Nobody moved.

In the next second, a burst of automatic-weapons fire split the air. One of the male guests went down, groaning. Shouts and screams erupted throughout the reception area.

“It’s the ambassador from Wintonia,” someone gasped out. “He needs a doctor.”

“Leave him!” The order came from the captor who was directing the action.

Behind Shane, Ariana made a gagging sound. Shane turned and cupped her head, pressing her face against his chest as he stroked her back. She was trembling, but he felt her struggling to control herself.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispered.

Although she nodded against his chest, he wondered if she really believed him. More important, did he believe it himself?

“Hang tight,” he murmured.

“I’m trying.”

He gathered her closer, cradling her delicate body in his arms. “Pretend we’re still dancing.”

“Oh sure.”

Because he knew it would distract her, he said, “I kept hoping I could get you off by yourself. I wasn’t looking for this particular excuse.”

“I knew you were thinking about it,” she answered.

He nuzzled his lips against the top of her head. “So what would you like to do with me?”

“I’m too well trained to tell you my fantasies.”

“You should learn to go with the flow.”

The banter helped temporarily, until the gunman-in-chief issued another order.

“Shut up and put out the candles before I take out someone else.”

Shane turned halfway around so that he could see the room.

This time, people scrambled frantically to obey, and the room went from candlelit to gloomy. Now the only light came from the moon.

A woman went down on her knees beside the ambassador.

“He’s dead. You killed him,” she sobbed.

“Quiet. Or you’ll be dead, too,” one of the armed men barked out.

The woman tried to muffle her sobs as a man lifted her up and pulled her away, but Shane could still hear her weeping. He wondered if she was going to survive the night. Or if he and Ariana would, for that matter.

“Hands up. Nobody move.”

Obedient in their fright, everybody in the center of the room raised their hands and stood still.

Shane could only see shadows now, but he imagined the men with the night-vision goggles looking like figures out of a horror movie.

“I’m speaking to the Secret Service now,” the chief gunman said. “Three people have already been killed. Take out your weapons and put them on the floor or more innocent people will die. If you want that on your heads, then stand there like dummies.”

Nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the whisper of sidearms being drawn from concealed holsters.

As he strained his eyes and listened, Shane assessed his chances of acquiring one of those weapons. Not good. Not when the opposition could see the room perfectly, and he had only moonlight to guide him in a room full of frightened people who were ready to go into panic mode.

A few moments ago they had been happily celebrating an international trade agreement. Now they were living their worst nightmare.

“Okay. Now, to the Secret Service and everybody else, take out your cell phones, walkie-talkies, any other communication devices. Drop them.”

Again, the crowd obeyed. He heard cell phones hitting the floor all over the room. He still had his own phone—for all the good it did him. The authorities must know what was going on at the top of the Hancock Tower. If they could mount a rescue attempt, they would.

On the other hand, maybe he’d be able to give the police some information. He could always dial 911. Or he could contact his brother, Chase, who might be downstairs in one of the limousines parked along the curb. But he couldn’t risk making a call until he got Ariana out of the reception room.

He turned back to her, gathering her close, and he realized that she had stopped trembling.

When he shifted his stance, she raised her head. “ Je suis bien .”

He knew she wasn’t really okay. But she was showing her royal training and her moral fiber. How many women would have remembered to reassure the guy in hiding with her?

“Uh-huh,” he whispered. She had to be scared out of her mind, but at least the darkness had spared her the sight of the ambassador getting killed. Or maybe the darkness had made it worse.

His mind scrambled frantically for a plan that would keep her safe.

The men out there were obviously ruthless. Obviously willing to kill to get what they wanted. And he didn’t even know what that was yet. The sounds outside their hiding place told him the captors were gathering up the discarded weapons and cell phones.

A man in the crowd voiced Shane’s thoughts. “What do you want?”

None of the captors spoke. Instead, the question was answered with a burst of gunfire. Another one of the guests screamed and fell to the ground, and Ariana cringed.