In Shining Armor Read online

  IN SHINING ARMOR

  Runaway Billionaires: Flicka

  Book 2

  By: Blair Babylon

  IN SHINING ARMOR

  Runaway Billionaires: Flicka

  Book 2

  By: Blair Babylon

  Flicka won’t allow herself to be terrified.

  She’s on the run from her cheating, soon-to-be ex-husband Prince Pierre and his Secret Service, and she doesn’t have a passport, credit cards, or money. She needs to get to Paris to talk to her lawyers about divorcing that bastard.

  The only thing standing between her and the cheating prince is Dieter Schwarz, her bodyguard, her protector, and her ex-lover. He’s six feet, four inches of sarcasm, black humor, and rock-hard muscle. A former Swiss commando, he now owns Rogue Security—a band of former special operations soldiers, SEALs, hackers, and spies—which will take any dirty covert operation for the right price.

  With Monaco’s Secret Service tracking her, even Dieter and the Rogues might not be able to keep her safe from her ex.

  And once again, she’s falling in love with Dieter, which might be the most dangerous thing of all.

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  Published by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Copyright 2018 by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Table of Contents

  A Myth, Told By A Mercenary

  An Inadvisable Plan

  Into the Lions’ Den

  The Cavalry

  Chattiness Pays Off

  Escape

  High-Speed Train to Paris

  When Dieter Met Flicka

  Freedom

  Her Guardian Angel

  Decision: London

  The Pitfall of Perfect Logic

  First Betrayal

  Not Her First Time

  Terms and Conditions

  Golden Glow

  Library

  First Dance

  Raphael

  Last Night

  Why Flicka Married Pierre Grimaldi

  Regrets and Recriminations

  Mass Text

  Vodka By Any Other Name

  Drunk

  Insomnia, Again

  The Fate of the Croissant

  Listening Pays Off

  Kidnapping

  Change of Venue

  Run

  Just A Little Mental Trick

  Shopping in Paris

  Taking Flicka To Bed

  One Last Night

  Counterfeit Passports

  Kill Zone

  Scorpio

  A Proposal at Thirty Thousand Feet

  Sighting

  Monaco

  Sneak Peek at In A Faraway Land

  A Note From Blair Babylon

  ~~~~

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  Dear Reader

  A Myth, Told By A Mercenary

  Dieter Schwarz

  Specialist Dieter Leo Schwarz, as he calls himself, is sitting in a hardback chair, facing you. The black pants with large pockets he wears bring to mind the blank uniform of a mercenary, or at least a military unit that will deny it’s associated with any nation. His powerful arms are bare below the short sleeves of his black tee shirt, and he’s leaning to brace his forearms on his thighs and clasp his hands between his knees. It’s a supplicant’s position, but you get the feeling that what he wants, you can’t give him.

  He begins, “Have you ever heard the story of the Frog Prince?”

  His next breath is a deep one, in through his nose, and anger sparks in his gray eyes. The sinews in his neck stand out like he might leap to his feet and close the gap between you, and you wonder if you will survive this interview.

  His weapons—guns and knives and a bladed thing you don’t recognize—are piled on a table by his side but within his reach.

  He says, “First, there was an evil sorcerer. There’s always a powerful bad guy in these stories. And there was a prince. Maybe he was a handsome prince back then, before the world scarred and coarsened him.”

  Dieter rubs the thick skin over his knuckles and one cord of scar tissue that runs up his arm to his black tee shirt. You wonder whether he’s killed people with those strong, scarred hands.

  He says, “The handsome prince was born into the world of castles and wealth, of ruthless monarchs and oligarchs, people who used money and power to rule the world from their mountaintop castles and skyscraper penthouses.

  “The evil sorcerer made an attempt to take over the town or kingdom or whatever, and maybe the prince was complicit. Maybe the prince had only seen the world from his high castle and never realized that the scurrying reptiles and slimy things slithering in the streets below his window were people with dreams and lives, who were just trying to survive. Maybe the prince fell under the spell of the evil sorcerer, at least a little. I hope that’s true, but it might have been just that the prince enjoyed terrible things.

  “But it is true that the sorcerer lured the prince with things he longed for, things his royal family could never give him, things like danger and chaos.”

  Dieter glances at the pile of weapons on the table and continues, “But consorting with the evil sorcerer meant that the prince had to leave his high castle, and when he did, he saw how the reptiles lived and were crushed underfoot by people like himself and the sorcerer.

  “But he kept working with the sorcerer, dabbling in black magic and the black market.

  “Until one day, he looked into the eyes of some of the belly-crawling things he was about to crush. He saw that they were sparks of life in the void. He couldn’t do it. He walked away.

  “The prince defied the sorcerer and saved the children, and the enraged sorcerer hunted for the prince.

  “The prince turned himself into a frog. The sorcerer thought it was a punishment.”

  Dieter’s gray eyes lit with something sinister. “What the sorcerer didn’t realize is that the prince wanted to swim in the muck, to fight the snakes, and to live a life that was red of tooth and claw. He thrived on the violence, on the blood, on every day being a battle for survival and supremacy. He became the carnivorous warrior of the swamp, and he found brothers in arms with the same taste for violence. The Frog Prince lived far from the castles and penthouses, where the evil sorcerer could not find him.”

  Dieter’s grin turned sheepish. “I always liked amphibious assaults. Ironic, yes?”

  He shakes off the joke and continues, “But the sorcerer had left a flaw in the spell he’d cast on the Frog Prince. If a princess kisses the Frog Prince, he will lose everything and be forced to return to being a prince in a high castle.

  “Luckily, the Frog Prince didn’t love princesses. He’d always been attracted to the witches and the dark fairies, the dragons and rabid wolves in human form. The women he kissed were as soulless as the monarchs and oligarchs he’d grown up with, the ones who hoarded diamonds and rubies at the cost of so many human lives. He thought he didn’t deserve anything better than a woman who was as lethal, as evil, as violent as he was. He thought he deserved a sociopath, so that’s what he found.

  “But one princess was an enchantress, and the Frog Prince didn’t realize she was lifting him up and cleaning off the muck until it was too late. A mercenary Frog Prince isn’t worthy of a real princess, one who lights up the sky simply by existing and who wants to use her royal power to m
ake the world a better place.

  “He’d never met anyone like her.

  “No one had ever seen the good in him before.

  “The Frog Prince fell insanely, obsessively in love with the princess. He walked behind her into the high palaces, creeping near the walls and in the darkness, trying to protect her from the ruthless and evil monarchs and oligarchs he’d known all his life.

  “The evil rulers surrounded his princess in those castles. The Frog Prince saw the princes who had looked the other way when the sorcerer had worked his evil charms. He saw the princes who had reaped the benefits of black magic.

  “He wrestled with being a frog in the world of princes, and he watched the princes give her the diamonds and rubies they had hoarded.

  “A Frog Prince can’t offer mud and swampland to a princess.

  “He would have to reclaim his castle, which meant he would have to return to the ruthless and evil society of the monarchs and oligarchs, to be worthy of her.

  “But the evil sorcerer was still out there, waiting for the Frog Prince to emerge to take his castle back.

  “He saw the evil sorcerer at a ball the princess attended.

  “The Frog Prince was beneath the sorcerer’s notice, and the sorcerer’s dark gaze did not settle on the frog standing in the shadows, his fingers brushing the handguns under his tuxedo.

  “If the Frog Prince tried to walk in the world of men again, the evil sorcerer would certainly kill the princess, even if it was only to make the Frog Prince suffer. The Frog Prince knew he couldn’t protect the princess from the sorcerer, even with his own life.

  “To protect her that night, the Frog Prince went back to the swamp. To protect her forever, he stayed there.”

  Dieter grimaces, and his clasped hands clench around each other. “If something had happened to Flicka, I would have done something reprehensible. Inside, I’m still a soulless prince of the high castles, one of the monarchs and oligarchs in this hellhole world. In my rage, I don’t know whether I would have been able to draw a line. So, to protect her and innocent people, I left.”

  An Inadvisable Plan

  Flicka von Hannover

  I can see him lying to Wulfram for me,

  and I can see that it is killing him.

  A rattling, a buzzing, an annoying hiss pressed on Flicka von Hannover’s ears and roused her from a blackout sleep.

  Pain. All over.

  Especially her head.

  There had been a dream, something that meant warmth and comfort, but it had disintegrated when she tried to grab it. The feeling lingered, though, a calm glow that reassured her everything would be all right.

  Buzzing, again.

  A phone?

  She raised her head off the pillow.

  Bad move.

  The room spun.

  Flicka dug her fingers into the white sheets around her, trying to hold on and not puke. Her knuckles hurt.

  Hangover, an epic one from the throbbing in her head and the dry leather of her tongue.

  She’d kind of thought she was immune to hangovers, considering how much she drank every night of her life. Her liver was a champ that ate through alcohol like a rabid gopher. This was an unpleasant surprise.

  Getting smashed had never made her whole body hurt, though.

  Soreness squeezed the joints of her shoulders, elbows, and hips.

  Her neck hurt, too, a lot. Her spine spiked pain, and her front ached like deep bruises. Even the inside of her throat hurt.

  Her arms felt bruised, too, and wrenched.

  And her nether-parts, or whatever the kids were calling it these days, felt sore and even stung.

  A man’s voice said, “Ja, Durchlaucht?”

  That was Dieter Schwarz’s low rumble and his nickname for Flicka’s older brother, Wulfram.

  Dieter Schwarz, her ex?

  Oh, Jesus. What had she done?

  Flicka half-sat up, clutching the blankets to her shoulders.

  Okay, she was wearing a tee shirt and was not naked.

  But it wasn’t her tee shirt.

  Dieter sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. His military-style haircut cut a precise, blond line above his strong neck and wide, wide shoulders. A white tee shirt and black pajama pants covered his broad back and narrow waist.

  He held his hand, palm toward her, for silence.

  Bad things wavered at the edges of Flicka’s mind, reasons she should stay quiet, reasons she should hide.

  The urge to run seized her.

  Her heart hammered.

  Dieter rubbed his face and asked, “Did she make it back to his suite last night?”

  His suite?

  Things tumbled into her head.

  Images emerged from her troubled mind first.

  Chandeliers floating far above, hovering near the vaulted ceiling like flying crystal palaces.

  Guests wearing white tie and tails or sumptuous evening dresses, trimmed with the glittering diamond stars and bright sashes of royal honors.

  Tiaras in women’s hair.

  That was the wedding and reception for her brother Wulfram von Hannover and his new wife, Rae Stone-von Hannover. After months of planning and a postponement, it had finally happened yesterday.

  She remembered Dieter, looking down at her, a crease of concern between his eyebrows, worry clouding his dove gray eyes. The warmth of his body radiated through his clothes, brushing her bare shoulders and arms as the crowd waltzed around them. Flicka had danced with Dieter, held safely in his arms in the darkened ballroom while music drifted through the air, and he had shielded her with his body when Alexandre Grimaldi had nearly brutally murdered someone again.

  The images of large pictures scattered over a coffee table came to her, depicting Flicka’s husband, Pierre Grimaldi, Prince of Monaco, with another woman and their four children. The woman was Abigai Caillemotte. Pierre had married her before God and her family. He was in love with her. He had danced with Abigai at his wedding to Flicka, and he had spent Flicka’s wedding night in Abigai’s arms. Cramps creased Flicka’s chest, all the breath rushing out of her again, like a baseball bat swung hard.

  She had trusted Pierre. She had loved him. Humiliation and grief sliced at her.

  And then afterward, Pierre had told his Secret Service colonel, Quentin Sault, to grab her. They had held her, held her down, and Pierre had shouted that he would force Flicka to have babies because he had married her to produce heirs for Monaco and because he had wanted her Hannover title. And then—

  And then—

  And then her throat had deep bruises, and her shoulders felt wrenched, and she hurt between her legs because Pierre had stabbed himself into her.

  Beside the bed, Dieter said, “Scheisse. And he waited this long to call us?”

  She looked up at Dieter’s back.

  And when Pierre had fallen drunkenly asleep, she had run to Dieter Schwarz because he was the only person on Earth she could imagine running to. Pierre had said he would kill Flicka’s brother Wulfram and his new wife if she went to them. He said he had someone on their security team who would do it.

  But Dieter, he was an avenging archangel of fury. No one could hurt him, and no one could hurt her while she was with him.

  Dieter stood, and the bed rose under Flicka. “Did you try tracing her phone?”

  And now he was lying to Wulfram for her. The two men had been closest friends for so long, over a decade. Dieter Schwarz might be sarcastic and grumpy, but he was loyal to Wulfram before anything else. Lying must be killing him.

  Dieter spoke into his phone. “Did they check the surveillance footage? Did she leave the hotel?”

  Flicka dragged the blankets up farther around her shoulders, trying to hide the bruises that must be around her neck and to stop her head from spinning so hard. Her shoulders creaked with strain.

  He said, “Scheisse! Do they have any actual information for us?”

  Flicka waited, trying to breathe through her nose, just in
case her brother could somehow hear her. Her heart slammed in her chest, and her temples throbbed.

  Dieter said, “I’ll be right there, Durchlaucht. Keep Sault and Grimaldi there. I’ll need to talk to them.” He paused. “We’ll find her, Wulfram. Don’t worry. Keep Rae from worrying. I’ll find her.”

  Memories assailed Flicka, growing in vividness and horror as her brain sparked through the sleepiness: Pierre’s rage, her own terror, and the vastness of her relief when Dieter had opened his door and she had tumbled inside.

  Dieter said, “Suze Meier, one of the nannies, is keeping Alina. I’ll call and see if I can spend a few more days here. In the meantime, I’ll organize Rogue Security to trace where Flicka went. I’m sure we’ll have everything taken care of in a few days.”

  He turned and looked right into Flicka’s eyes while he said to Wulfram, “No matter what happens, I’ll find Flicka, and I’ll keep her safe. You can count on me.”

  Tears rose in her eyes, and the room turned watery.

  Because she knew he couldn’t.

  Not even Dieter, the archangel of her dreams, CEO of the private firm Rogue Security, could keep her safe from Prince Pierre Grimaldi, the head of a whole country or would be soon, and the owner of an army and a Secret Service.

  Dieter hung up the phone. He asked her, “Where is your passport?”

  Flicka swallowed hard, trying to moisten her cotton-lined throat. “In the safe in Pierre’s suite. In the bedroom.” She gestured at the safe set into Dieter’s wall. “It’s in the same place as your safe.”

  “What’s the combination?”

  “Twelve, nine, seven. That was the year the Grimaldi family overran the Prince’s Palace and took control of Monaco, 1297. Pierre always uses the same one.”

  Dieter stared at her for a moment. “Okay, then. So that’s the combo. I need to talk Wulfram into changing the meeting to Pierre’s suite so I can get your passport. And I have to concentrate on not murdering that son of a bitch when I lay eyes on him.”