With a quick step, she hurried past him. No doubt the handsome gentleman would soon learn who she was and her position in the royal family. For now, she wanted him to know her as the girl in the black dress.
Tatum licked the caramel off his thumb. The tarts were every bit as good as the woman had said. He’d had three before he made himself step away from the table. There was a small sign telling them that the oranges were from Zimrada. One more sweet reason to secure this contract.
Turning to peruse the room, he took in the many palm fronds and tropical decorations. The party designer had gone for an island theme, though they leaned more towards Pacific tropical than Atlantic subtropical. The quartet was in the center of the room on a raised platform in a white gazebo. They wore dull black while they played subdued versions of 1950s love songs and movie themes.
His gaze bounced across faces, trying to locate the princess. She shouldn’t be hard to find, but there were several women with dark hair wearing wrapping-type dresses. He’d done a quick Google search on his phone, but the royals of Zimrada didn’t have a web presence. There were a few pictures of the pink palace with white trim. Pink? His grandma lived in a pink house, but she was an eccentric old woman. He sighed as memories of summer afternoons playing in a sprinkler on her lawn bombarded him.
Just as he was putting his phone back in his jacket, he caught sight of someone he had hoped never to see this side of death again. His muscles strained against the jacket as he stared at the man who’d put a bullet through his flesh. He was near the prince of Riodan, though not near enough to assume they were together. However …
Tatum’s brain clicked on, downloading information into his consciousness to evaluate the situation and make a plan. Riodan was one of the small island nations near the Bermuda triangle. They exported fruit and nuts, and as far as he could surmise, had no reason to wish the Middle Eastern prince he had been protecting removed from power.
Prince Marius moved through the crowd quickly, acknowledging those who wanted to shake his hand and hurrying past those who would pull him into a long conversation. The assassin peeled off, headed towards the buffet where Tatum stood. The prince didn’t glance at the assassin in parting, which led Tatum to believe the prince wasn’t involved with the shady assassin.
If not, then why was the killer here?
Tatum moved quickly to the side of the buffet table, where dozens of palm fronds lined the wall. Park benches, strategically placed, created the illusion of relaxing in a tropical paradise.
The killer shoved a caramel tart into his mouth. His bald head gleamed in the soft lights. He had an overlarge forehead and no eyebrows, giving him a specter look. It was the no eyebrows that had stuck in Tatum’s head and replayed like a broken record. The killer was surprised he’d hit Tatum and his forehead had wrinkled, but there weren’t any eyebrows to lift. Tatum had used that image to find out some information on the guy.
When Tatum said he was shady, he meant the man had no moral code. He worked for himself, taking whatever contracts he could get. He wasn’t picky about who he killed, didn’t have loyalties or an agenda, and his track record was a C at best.
If the man had tracked Tatum to this very spot, then he wouldn’t hesitate to kill on sight. After reviewing the man’s hits and attempted hits, Tatum was pretty sure he could avoid being killed as long as the man stayed on his radar.
However, allowing the situation to escalate wasn’t going to win him any points with the royal princess. Offering his protection while fending off an attempt on his life wasn’t exactly a good first interview. Not only would he ruin the princess’s party, he’d probably make a mess.
And there was his injured shoulder to take into account. While he was confident that at a hundred percent he could defend himself, this lesser version wasn’t as self-assured.
One final thought crossed his mind. The orange caramel tarts really were good and he’d hate to ruin them by throwing the guy into the buffet table.
So, instead of causing a scene, Tatum nonchalantly took a couple steps backward, disappearing into the thick greenery.
“Hello, Mister Ambassador.” Nyssa inclined her head towards the short man with the white beard from Belize. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Our family has been blessed to work with your country and I am honored you would attend the ball this evening.”
“You honor me with your kindness, princess.” The ambassador bowed. “Please, you must call me Barros, for we are friends now, are we not?”
Nyssa smiled. “Good friends.” She patted his wrinkled hand. “If you will excuse me. There are many to greet and the night carries on.” They said their goodbyes and Nyssa looked for her mystery man. She’d spent forty-five minutes greeting guests and charming dignitaries. Her mother and father would be proud of her diplomacy and kindness. The hotel had taken a picture of her with an opera star, a Broadway actor, a Hollywood director, a senator, a congresswoman, and her good friend Barros. She saw more flashes when she closed her eyes than when she kept them open.
With a pang, she realized she was searching for her mystery man. With the time that passed, and the distance it allowed from his fresh, soapy smell and the wings of butterflies in her stomach, she could remember details about him. Like how his hair hung over his forehead, or the edge of silver in
