Free Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) by Susan Vaughan Page B

for years to return the crown jewels, and now this KGB-type creep wanted him to leave them hidden? Had he fallen down the damn rabbit hole or was there something funny in the colonel’s cigarette smoke?
    Another second and it hit him. Not silly smoke, but political smoke and mirrors. Dirty smoke. Without the crown and scepter and the other trappings of royalty, would there even be a coronation? A ruthless prime minister could foment general unrest and eliminate the royals altogether. Maybe the entire democracy while he was at it.
    All Cort had to do was... nothing. Yerik’s mistake was in thinking the threat of a beating would accomplish that. A fist in the gut or a broken nose and the promise of pain weren’t enough to stop him from turning his life around. “So what’s in it for me if I go along with this plot?”
    Yerik clucked his tongue, a disgustingly wet sound. “ Plot is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of the plan as an alternative. And you? I will allow you to live, Mr. Jones.”
    “For sure I can trust you on that. Why bother? You could kill me today and your worries would be over.”
    “A tempting suggestion. However, your sudden death or disappearance would lead to more investigation than the prime minister would appreciate. So you will be allowed to live. Unless you resume your search. Then I must re-examine our bargain.” He dropped the butt and ground it into the throw rug with his heel.
    Cort couldn’t figure out what the catch was. Except that once the coronation date passed, probably so would he. “Say I agree. Then you walk away and leave me alone?”
    “In principle. You will be watched. Closely. Trust but verify, I believe one of your presidents was fond of saying.” He held up a fist.
    A signal? Cort braced himself.
    In a practiced move, the two clones grasped both arms and secured his wrists with a zip tie. Clone One slugged him in the chin. Pain ripped through his head as it snapped sideways. His brain did a sickening spin. Black spots danced around the room. The other clone kicked his legs and he toppled to the floor.
    “Fuck you, Colonel!” Cort spat through bloodied lips.
    “One final word of advice and a warning, Mr. Jones,” Yerik said. He once again held the automatic. “I understand you and Ms. Marton are working together. From reports, it appears you’ve moved in with her. You will recover from the little reminder my assistants will administer, but would she? You will say nothing of this conversation to her or to anyone else. If you do, not you, but the lovely Ms. Marton will suffer. I assume I need not be explicit.”
    A poisonous storm broke loose in Cort’s head. He exploded upward. “You fucking cowardly bastard!”
    The two no-necks tackled him before he could reach Yerik. Their powerful fists rammed into his ribs, his chest, his jaw. One kicked him in the back. He welcomed the blows, each one splintering knives into a new part of his body. Oblivion would come. The suffering was temporary.
    Pain cleared the mind. Pain clarified. Pain focused.

Chapter 8
     
    As the sun was setting, Mara drove the Versa into a space behind her building. Cort was waiting for her. The surrounding buildings reached up to the sky, painting his rugged features in shadows. His raw masculinity frightened her a little. At the same time, his protective aura, as if he’d never allow harm to come to her, slid warmth into her stomach. Maintaining detachment around him took effort. She slid out and grabbed her tennis bag and tote from the back.
    “Hey.” He stepped forward and took her tote. At the brush of his fingers against hers, her pulse did a little dance. “Everything all right?”
    When she looked up at him, she gasped. A greenish bruise surrounded one eye. Scrapes and scabbed-over cuts marred his jaw. “What in the world happened to you?”
    He hoisted a shoulder in a show of nonchalance but winced at the movement. “Nothing serious. Got in the way of a load of falling