from a distance. “This has happened too many times.”
Last night bumped it up to disappearance number five.
“Would we all like to find out how he does it?” No one was foolish enough to respond. “The last time he slipped you, I took the liberty of installing security cameras at his go-to hot spot.” The Bearded Bunting, a bar well outside the city’s nightlife district. It attracted few tourists—the bar was mostly a place for locals coming together to drink and dance and hook up. Basically, a melting pot of Kris’s favorite pastimes. “Let’s watch, shall we?”
Pressing play, Frankie turned her back on the screen under the pretense of assessing the reactions of her team. In truth, she couldn’t stomach watching it again.
She knew by the slight roll of Hanna’s eyes that Kris was dancing up close with several women in the bar’s back courtyard. Knew by Peter’s growing frown that his own face was captured as Kris wove past him to get inside, gesturing to the guard that he was grabbing another drink. Next up was a camera switch, and her team looked momentarily alarmed as they struggled to find him in the crowd. Not just due to the long shot taken from the rear of the room, but the ludicrous fashion trend that had exploded throughout the city since the brothers had arrived—cowboy chic. There were plaid shirts in every color combination, blue jeans, kerchiefs and cowboy hats. Kris wasn’t as easy to spot as he should have been leaning in to talk with a woman in a cute sundress, who looked delightedly shocked by whatever he’d suggested. And Frankie knew by the cringes of every single guard when Kris ducked beneath the crowd cover, removed his telltale checkered shirt and hat, and straightened in a white tank with the woman wrapped around his waist. As he wove through the crowd, she tugged a cap over his hair, wrapped her arms around his neck, and angled her head to kiss the side of his face—her long hair effectively shielding him as he ducked out the door.
Frankie lifted the remote and hit pause over her shoulder.
No one spoke.
“Comments? Questions?” she asked. “Last words?”
“They kind of looked good together.” Hanna was still staring at the screen.
Frankie ignored her as she scanned her team, trying to forget that just hours ago, she’d sat balled up in front of the screen, clammy and cold over watching Kris with another woman. “Anyone else?”
“We apologize for this reoccurrence.” This from one of the guards who’d been positioned across the street from the bar’s front entrance. “Now we know his tactic, it won’t happen again.”
“You know why it won’t happen again?” She ground her teeth as she took a beat. “Because the next time he leaves these walls, I’m coming with you.”
Her vision blurred with nerves. For months, she’d avoided Kris. She’d ensured her job didn’t require her to interact directly with the royal family. She’d existed behind the scenes—the puppet master of the interwoven network of palace security. A role that continued to terrify her, even as she strode down the halls with the confidence of someone who fully believed she belonged.
A lesson from her father.
Convince them with your own conviction and they’ll never think to look past it.
“Dismissed,” she said, and turned her back.
The group filed out in silence.
When the door clicked closed, Frankie held still. She sensed the young woman’s presence as keenly as she could smell whatever sweetened product kept that blond hair shining.
“Yes, Johansson?”
After a moment, Hanna appeared at her side. “Do you swim, ma’am?”
Instantly knowing where this was going, Frankie met her stare flatly. “No.”
“Ski?”
“No.”
Hanna clicked her fingers, looking away. “Bake?” she asked, her tone spiking doubtfully.
“Yes,” Frankie said. “I bake. I also enjoy book clubs and sewing my own dresses.”
“Hey.” Hanna frowned. “That felt targeted.”
“Stop trying to find a way to outdo me. I’m your superior. I win at everything.” But Frankie flashed her a smile. Since Frankie had first taken down this guard during training, Hanna had become determined to beat her in return. At what, it didn’t seem to matter, which made Frankie suspect it was less of a competition and more an attempt at bonding. Frankie was only three years older than her, after all. “Now, what are you really doing here?”
Hanna’s gaze slid to the paused image of the crowded bar. “It just . . . it sounded like you were planning on personally catching the prince mid-escape next time.”