Free A Player for A Princess: Dirty Players Duet #2 by Tia Louise Page B

it away. Cal said she’s completely recovered! She’s at the palace with Rowan and the country loves her.
    “Of course they do,” I say softly to myself, reading the signs as I pass.
    I notice none of the buildings are taller than the palm trees, and I vaguely recall Seth saying something about that when we were driving down the first time, before we took the unexpected detour into St. Croix.
    The black American Express card is in my clutch, and I pick up the pace a bit, wanting to be done with this obligation and running back to Cal in as little time as needed.
    I pass a sign for a crafts store and another that says Simply Delicious. “I suppose that’s a restaurant.” Wrong, it’s a market.
    At last I see the sign for Maria’s. It’s a two-story white structure that faces the shore. I’m approaching it from the opposite side, and it’s larger than I expected. I was expecting a private residence or a small, five to six bedroom establishment.
    “Leave it to Seth to give himself the better room,” I say under my breath.
    The hotel lobby is like the entrance to an embassy—or the waiting room of a nice hospital. Square, navy leather chairs are positioned around the space, mixed in with potted palms. A large check-in counter is staffed with locals in white shirts with navy epaulets on the shoulders and little hats. It takes me a moment to recognize the nautical theme.
    Pulling out my phone, I text Seth . I’m in the lobby. Let’s get this over with.
    I walk over to one of the low chairs and sit while I wait for his response. It doesn’t take long. Give me just a second. I’ll come down and get you.
    I’m growing irritated. I don’t understand why he played games the first night, considering we were right on the shoreline. It’s like he walked me further into town just to hide where he was staying. What kind of bullshit are you up to, Seth? I muse. Why would he feel the need to hide his location?
    The optimism I discovered only moments ago dims, and my survival instinct rises in my chest. Something feels wrong here. Standing, I’m about to cut out and reschedule, taking Cal up on his offer to escort me here next time, when the elevator door opens, and I see my partner in crime emerge.
    He’s dressed in dark jeans and that same long-sleeved navy sweater he had on when we left Monagasco. His eyes dart around the lobby as he looks for me, and I survey his body language. I’ve worked with Seth for years, and when he’s pulling a stunt, his shoulders hunch and his green eyes dart around the perimeter looking for cops. It’s his tell, and he’s doing it right now. I’m on my feet stepping around a palm when his eyes hit mine.
    His auburn brow lowers and his jaw sets. “Zee.” His voice is low, and he makes a beeline for me.
    That does it. I’m out of here. I do a quick step to the side, keeping as many chairs, sofas, palm trees, and trash cans between him and me as possible as I head for the door.
    “Stop,” he hisses, darting to the side, trying to catch me. “What are you doing?”
    “You’re not at someone’s house. What is this?”
    I’m out of obstacles between us, and I’m going to have to make a break for the door, but he’s on me. His iron grip closes around my upper arm so tight, I wince.
    “OW!” I exclaim, and he squeezes me harder.
    “Shut up,” he snaps, continuing to the door and pushing outside.
    Now I’m really panicking. “What are you doing?”
    It’s the only thing I’m able to say before a black SUV pulls up beside us and the doors open. I jerk and try to feint right, but it’s too late. Seth shoves me inside, following right behind. The doors are still open when I see a face that shoots ice through my stomach.
    Sitting in the passenger’s seat, wearing a navy suit, his greasy, black hair slicked back and his thin mustache twisting is Wade Paxton.
    “We meet again, Miss Wilder,” he says, and I immediately start to scream.
    “NO!” I thrust away, charging across