So yes… this is a real and important job. I know it. Kynan knows it. Her family knows it.
I’ll never explain it away to my dad, though. He’ll still see me giving up an honorable career in the navy whereby I’d protect millions of Americans versus protecting one measly person, and not even an American at that.
Sighing, I sit up in my chair, elbows on the armrests, and clasp my hands in front of me. “I know she’s a high-value target. The highest we’ve ever protected, and I’m glad you trust me to be her last line of defense. I’m fully on board.”
And I am fully on board in my duties, but it still doesn’t mean I have to like who I’m protecting. I’ll just have to put aside feelings about who I’m protecting and remember the why of it.
“You’ll need to pack,” Kynan says, picking up a folder and handing it across his desk. The dossier holds information about Camille, the royal family, and the details on her upcoming travels. I place it on my lap to review later. “You’ll leave in two days. August was going to head up the detail, but he’s come down with the flu. He insists he’s fine to go, but I want everyone at 110 percent so I axed him. Ladd will head the generalized protection services for her trip to the States with a team under him. You’ll, of course, have charge of the princess personally, and both of you will coordinate with their security forces.”
I’m glad to know Ladd is going. He’s probably the person I’m closest to here at Jameson since we started at roughly the same time. His background is army and CIA, and he’s older than most of our agents, but he’s as solid as they come.
“Security forces?” I ask curiously. His choice of words is odd.
Kynan shrugs. “Bretaria has no known enemies and no national military. It has virtually no trade relations, its ownership of the ruby mines operating more like a private business. Because it’s a city-state, it has a police agency to handle protection of the public, but there isn’t a need for a military. As such, King Thomas has his own private security force that protects the palace compound and all those who reside within.”
“Fascinating.” I might not have warm and fuzzies for my charge, but I find their island sovereignty and its vast differences incredibly interesting.
Imagine… no military.
“Just remember,” Kynan intones with a pointed look, “we’ve been hired by the US government, not Bretaria. You don’t answer to the king or to his security forces, but you will need to work in conjunction with them. You’ll need to cooperate, but they also know if they want our aid, we are in charge of the US operations when she comes here.”
I nod in understanding. Often, heads of foreign states will hire us directly, but that’s usually for black ops work. When foreign diplomats travel through the United States, we will provide our own government agencies at said diplomat’s disposal. Protection is often handled through the Secret Service and at our government’s expense and pleasure and is in turn passed off to the taxpayers.
In this instance, Bretaria holds no formal relationship with our government, and there are no trade relations. Our government can’t legitimately use its resources—funded by tax dollars—to protect the princess.
It can, however, use private slush funds and pools of pork-barrel money to hire our agency, and I’m sure the request to help protect Princess Camille was filtered down from a high-ranking member of Congress, or perhaps even the president.
Regardless, my first-in-line boss is Kynan, but after that, I will answer to my government and not to the Bretarian people I’ll be working with. It will make for an interesting dynamic.
“And once we take over her protection?” I ask Kynan, as he’s clearly had more than one conversation with the Bretarians about our assistance.
“You’ll be her shadow,” he says with a smirk and leans back in his chair. I grimace and think that perhaps I’ll wear earbuds and crank some Metallica, so I don’t have to listen to her prattle, as I’m sure princesses are prone to do.
I’m not sure where my notions come from. I don’t know a single princess. Haven’t seen a movie or read a book about one. I know Princess Diana was a big commodity, but I don’t know much about her as she died when I was young, and what I see in the news about other royals is that they’re fond of fancy clothes and polo ponies. I guess that’s why I don’t think there will be much substance, and someone without substance is nothing but fluff, which I find irritating.
“Jackson,” Kynan grumbles irritably. “You haven’t heard a damn word I’ve said.”
A slight flush crawls up the back of my neck, and I manage a sheepish look of apology. “Sorry… mind drifted to the task.”
Kynan rolls his eyes. “While in Bretaria, your services won’t be overly important. The palace sits in the center of the island atop a fortified butte protected by twenty-foot stone walls built a few hundred years ago. It would be nearly impossible for someone to breach the family compound to kidnap Princess Camille, and in her almost twenty-five years of existence, an attempt has never been made.”
“She’d be vulnerable to an inside job,” I point out.
Kynan nods. “I’m sure they’ve considered that, and I hope their vetting process is thorough. But it’s also why they want you there earlier than expected so they can test our mettle.”
“I get that,” I mutter. While we are the best at what we do, none of us would be offended by being tested. “They won’t be disappointed in what they see.”
“Got that right,” Kynan growls, his pride in the company he’s built and the respect it’s earned evident in his tone.
I have the same pride in Jameson. I just wish my dad would respect it as well so I can have pure fulfillment in what I’m doing.
CHAPTER 2
Camille
“I pulled out the melon-colored dress for you,” Netty says as she bustles about my suite. “It’s perfect for your afternoon tea with Mrs. Delmonde and her very handsome son.”
I sit at my vanity table, examining my brows for stray hairs to pluck, and heave a sigh. I set my tweezers down and turn in my seat. “Mrs. Delmonde’s son is in no way worthy of me or my title. It’s a waste of time.”
Netty doesn’t look at me but clucks her dismissal. “Of course he’s worthy. His family is solid and runs a shipping empire.”
I scoff and turn back to my mirror, nabbing the tweezers. “He’s not royalty. Princesses do not marry non-royals, no matter how wealthy they are.”
Which isn’t true. My parents would love me to marry a royal, but a very rich man would work just as nicely. As evidenced by the fact they’ve set me up with a Delmonde.
Netty makes that clucking sound again, something I’ve heard my entire life; it’s how she expresses her disapproval of my thoughts. I should bristle at not being taken seriously, but why bother? I’m expected to marry and produce an heir before I succeed the throne upon my father’s demise.
It’s not that I can’t choose to hold off on marriage and motherhood until after he dies—which I hope doesn’t happen ever—but my parents constantly bestow upon me the importance of succession to the throne and carrying on our lineage, which puts a lot of pressure on a young woman’s shoulders.