Croft Mayhem

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-7741-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 356 Seiten

Reihe: Mayhem

The most dreaded of assignments for Interpol Agent Clara Meadows involve pandering to the whims of royalty. Attending pretentious soirees and private functions is the bane of her life, and on occasion, known to go horribly wrong. When a hot-blooded and recklessly flirtatious aristocrat holes up in a foreign embassy, she jeopardizes peace and actively resists a high-stakes extraction. A year after the Vienna fiasco, Meadows again finds herself assigned to the beck and call of the same petulant crown princess, but this time in an eastern seaboard rural town. As a passionate environmentalist, Princess Sabrina of Luxembourg is a patron of and speaker at a three-day symposium on environmental sustainability, held at the exclusive Ravens Nest Eco Resort. Her suspicions are raised when her whole security team-and translator-suddenly falls ill, compelling her to seek the services of a private security firm, despite her grave misgivings. With her whereabouts concealed and her father also at risk of mortal danger, the princess finds herself thrown into trusting a team of strangers. Freelance security consultants Gareth Steed and Daniel Wolff are pulled into the thick of chaos, as the women they are assigned to protect are targeted. For both of them, this mission is personal. While their resolve is put to extreme tests, they find their way, with Princess Sabrina, to survive. Forced to flee from a ruthless international assassin, Agents Emma Finch and Rohan Rook join the group to provide support, as they escape to the furthest corners of Northern Ireland to Wolff's ancestral home. This unforeseen necessity exposes Daniel's hidden aristocratic title, his complex family dynamics, and how his past had intersected with the princess. Mayhem is the 6th book in the Ravens Nest series. This time, the team races against the clock to identify the culprits behind the brazen attacks on their protectees. They get more than they bargained for when defending the successor to the throne of

Alex Croft has lived and worked as a healthcare professional in four countries, whilst travelling to many more. Drawing on life experience and exposure to different cultures, the author weaves aspects of medical treatment modalities, humanity, the power of conviction and intrigue into the story lines. Mayhem is the sixth book in the series set in part in Ravens Nest. A fan of different genres of fiction, the author incorporates elements of suspense, humor, romance and fantasy into contemporary writing to enhance the reading experience.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Croft, Alex

Leseproben

Prologue

Twelve months ago: Embassy of the Republic of Lithuania, Vienna, Austria, September 16th.

Interpol Agent Clara Meadows clasped her hands in front of her flowing cornflower-blue cocktail dress that highlighted her fair Swedish complexion. She calmly nodded as the ambassador continued his hushed and frustrated monologue. A tirade, even. For a man with a reputation of being a teetotaler, he was nursing his third alcoholic beverage in thirty minutes. Too bad she could not reach for a sparkling drink to dull the pounding headache settling in behind her eyes. She watched the tray of liquid temptation floating by.

This champagne and caviar soiree, at this embassy, was one she would have rather passed on, especially on this day... Exactly her dumb luck that she is one of the few agents with a good working knowledge of both Luxembourgish—a language spoken by less than half a million people worldwide—and Lithuanian, spoken by a mere magnitude more. She stifled a sigh while cursing about drawing the short straw, considering her part in this unfolding disaster not of her making.

Yep. This is going to be another long night.

Classical music played in the background—Handel. The room was packed with foreign dignitaries dressed in formalwear, celebrating some obscure fete. Honestly, it was hard to keep up at this time of year, ordered from one function to the next. God forbid there be a drunken miscommunication among nations. Yet this is what her role, primarily as a linguist for Interpol stationed in Brussels, sometimes entailed. Dreaded babysitting duties.

So many languages, so many cultures, so many opportunities to unknowingly—and knowingly—offend... She was fluent in six major languages and could manage translating ten with impressive accuracy at a push. Meadows had a good handle on quite a few more, but not enough to accurately interpret the nuances of spoken language.

Gazing out over the crowd, it always amused her how the shortest of statesmen were accompanied by long-legged beauties. Evidently, the bigger and bouncier their boobs in snug-fitting gala gowns—conveniently situated at eye-level, the better. Tonight was no exception. The less these birds spoke and understood of the conversations around them, the more desirable they were, for security reasons of course. Can’t be too careful. Some invitees attended with their wives, but mostly mistresses abounded in this European old boys’ club. Things became less decorous after a few hours of indulging in flowing rivers of champagne and small talk, hence the familiar faces of underlings or bodyguards waiting in the wings to whisk their bosses to a mostly dignified exit.

She blew out a held breath as the ambassador apologized for possibly the fifteenth time when a swear word slipped out. The normally composed gray-haired man clearly felt helpless given their current predicament. He looked up at her tall frame with a nervousness twitch that distorted the side of his mouth. At least he had the decency not to stare at her assets.

No matter what was uttered in her presence, Clara Meadows had learned not to show emotions when on the job. As an Interpol agent and linguist, she had to be an independent observer in assessing situations and relaying words: words with meaning, words not directed at her... Sometimes she had to make judgment calls on paraphrasing muttered obscenities—for the good of all nations. The past few days were especially illuminating with profanities. Meadows hardly blinked as she ran a hand through her long golden-blonde hair. She desperately needed a change of scenery; to get back to the important things—making a difference in the world and assisting in matters close to her heart that had attracted her to the job in the first place. Not these frivolous fests. She swallowed her irritation.

Ironic that this iconic Palais des Beaux Arts corner tower, completed by 1909, revered the female gender. It stood triumphant as an unscathed structural survivor of the First and Second World War. The interior featured larger-than-life raised murals, or more correctly, reliefs, of women depicted in gold and surrounded by floral stucco above the marble staircase adorned with golden handrails. Viewed from outside, this Baroque-reminiscent architectural marvel featured two groups of a trio of women, holding a golden globe on either side of the building, just below the clock tower. Other feminine figures were decoratively sculpted on the exterior facade. Yet, it took one rash decision from a heedless and willing, hot and bothered, thrill-seeking daughter of a monarch—with the destructive force of a tornado, to concoct a diplomatic crisis of international proportions.

Looking past the opulence of dark wood paneling, elegant velvet drapes, the magnificent crystal chandeliers, and exquisite architecture, her eyes drifted from catering staff serving artisan hors d’oeuvres to the herd of armed security personnel blocking access to the upper levels. In constant communication with one another, they looked poised for trouble, and their suits barely hid concealed weapons. Apart from the senior diplomats present, guests had to leave their electronic devices at the door. A hand-held metal detector assured no weapons or recording devices made it inside.

The grandiose spectacle was a far cry from the tranquility of two nights ago when this entertainment wing had been converted into an intimate dining area for two, complete with softly playing classical music, red roses and... candlelight. She shuddered and rolled her eyes at the thought. Talk about being a third wheel. There were no security personnel in sight that evening. Judging by the multitude of inconspicuously mounted and strategically placed cameras, there was no need either—at least not when the only guests had been her and the entitled troublemaker.

“I can’t believe Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Sabrina would disgracefully defy her parents like this and reside on foreign soil for three days straight—with a man she has just met.”

Forbidden fruit is the sweetest.

Having spent two seemingly endless days forced to play Cupid, or more gender appropriately, Venus or Aphrodite, Meadows had no misgivings that the dark-haired, brown-eyed Princess Sabrina listened to no one. Especially, she would not heed precautions of anyone with authority or with a grasp on real-world threats, such as those of which her protected life had shielded her from. She traveled complete with her personal paparazzi-banishing clean-up crew throwing money and threats at any indiscretions or transgressions perpetrated. Granted, it was effective—and much needed.

In being dragged from one exclusive nightclub to the next by the beautiful and entitled heiress while witnessing her incessant flirting with any half decent-looking celebrity, which included her open hunting and shameless hooking up with the son of an infamous Lithuanian oligarch... Sabrina lived by her own rules, and on a whim. She clearly had her own issues that would have been more appropriately explored and worked out in extensive private psychotherapy sessions, and on her own time. She decried her assigned security team when they advised—no, insisted—that she not break protocol and leave them banished outside the embassy doorstep. Meadows’ own pleas for her to continue the evening at the discreet and hugely overpriced heritage-listed palatial hotel she was residing at, and not to stay behind and spend the night on inaccessible foreign soil, fell on deaf ears. But alas, the spoiled, petulant, wayward prima-donna wanted to rough it out at the consulate, despite not having a handle on the language that her flame of the evening spoke. And his comprehension of English was rather... rudimentary.

“The language of love transcends the spoken word.”

Meadows had swallowed a snort and caught herself as she almost laughed aloud at that utterly idiotic declaration, fearing she would get fired for disrespecting royalty. She was mortified at her narrow escape from committing her first work-related infraction, but that lady had managed to push all of her buttons and then some. Being a sober witness to the princess’s exploits had taken its toll on her. Alas, it was clear the eyelid-batting woman was done with talking and demanded her privacy to devour her prey. Clara had hurriedly made her escape as those two locked lips. Waiting around any longer would have felt indecent, and no money or authority in the world could have compelled her to stay.

That was three days ago... and there had been radio silence from the princess since. This had made Interpol Agent Clara Meadows the last person, aside from the non-cooperative foreign embassy staff, to see Her Royal Highness Princess Sabrina alive.

How long until she would get tired of her latest boy toy? Or he of her?

Apparently long enough for her parents to activate panic stations and believe her to be abducted, or worse... The latter was hard for Meadows to imagine but certainly not impossible, or unheard of. Even simple items like suitcases leaving embassies were nowadays considered suspicious.

And so the huntress became the hunted, similar to the...