The Dauntless Read online

  “Huntley, what happened with Dupree?”

  “Why should I tell you? Give me one good reason!”

  He has been firing back responses, but he pauses for a long moment before he says softly, “Because not only was I your mother’s handler, but I’m also … your grandfather. And I’m worried about you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait! I didn’t know—until recently. I knew you as Calliope Cassleberry your whole life. Your mother never told me that she and my son—”

  “Son? You’re saying that you are Ares Von Allister’s father?”

  “Yes. Your mother, who was known as Kelley Bond, and my son were friends in high school. Kelley’s stepfather was abusive. He beat her badly, left her to die really. My son found her, took her to a hospital a couple of towns away, and checked her in under a false name—Charlotte Cassleberry.” He lets out a little chuckle. “Charlotte was the name of my late wife’s terrier. Anyway, she was in the hospital for quite a while and had numerous surgeries, which dramatically changed her looks. But there was still the issue of needing to hide from her stepfather. With my resources, we were able to give her a new legal identity.

  “After her college graduation, she got in touch with me. Her stepfather was still looking for her, and she and my son had had no contact because of it, but she was applying for a government job and was worried her background might not hold up to scrutiny.

  “I worked for the CIA, training potential agents. When she told me that she had taken martial arts and mastered basic weaponry during college, I recruited her on the spot. Until you, she was the best I’d ever trained. She went on to be an outstanding and highly decorated agent.”

  I soak in what he said, knowing that he’s not lying about this. Ari and I have yet to share what we discovered in the Montrovian safety deposit box with Black X. It seemed pretty trivial in comparison to the nuclear threat.

  “And how did you come to train me?”

  “I was offered a position by a double black covert agency known as Black X. My death was faked, and I ran a top-secret facility that trained young men and women—something I was good at. I never expected them to send you. I wanted to tell you the truth. The truth about your mother. The truth about me. I was told that it would impede your training. But had I known you were my granddaughter or that Blackwood had been created solely for you—”

  “What would you have done differently?” I rudely interrupt.

  He sighs heavily. “I don’t know. But I do know that the only way to get out of this mess is to get through it.”

  “When did you find out?” I ask in my harshest tone.

  “On your birthday.”

  “And your son—is he really dead?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I’m glad about that actually. Because, if he wasn’t, I’d have to kill him myself. What is the purpose of Black X?”

  “That’s simple. To stop whatever your mother discovered. You haven’t asked again who runs Black X.”

  “That’s because I don’t care anymore. Good-bye, Grandpa. Don’t ever contact me again. And for your information, Dupree shot all but two of his men for being stupid, and then he held a gun to my head. He fired, but at the last moment, he must have slightly moved the gun because he killed himself instead,” I say, abruptly ending the call.

  I pace back and forth in front of a large grouping of sculptures featuring a steel clock surrounded by vibrant-colored spheres and circus performers, one a fourteen-foot-tall stilts walker. I stop pacing to sit on one of the spheres as I contemplate what I just learned.

  I feel a little bad about the way I just spoke to the dean, a man I’d respected for six years. The man who had been a sort of father figure to me. I shake those thoughts from my head. It doesn’t really matter at this point.

  I’m here. In Omaha. Keeping a promise to a friend.

  I’m not letting anyone control my actions anymore. In fact, I gave myself a mission.

  Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

  Recover the precious memories of your final days with your mother by visiting the places in the photos she left behind.

  At first, that was it.

  But then I added something else.

  Discover who owns the emerald rings.

  And destroy their secret society.

  I glance down at my backpack. The one I used when traveling with my mother. The one I now keep along with a few outfits on the gorgeous black jet I still haven’t technically purchased from Lorenzo. I didn’t even bother to pack. Just called the crew and hopped on the plane. I’m going to have to get used to not having an on-call concierge to handle my wardrobe.

  My phone buzzes with a call from Ari. “Did you see the news from Montrovia?”

  “Yeah, this morning.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Where are you?” I fire back.

  “Well, after almost dying, I got to thinking about life. And death. And … I asked Allie to marry me.”

  Oh, jeez. We are just alike.

  I roll my eyes. “Tell me you didn’t elope.”

  “Are you kidding? Allie wants a wedding fit for a princess.”

  “Her family paying?” I ask, knowing that, if the dean tells Black X that I quit, our money might very well disappear.

  “Not funny,” he says. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Not that worried. It’s been nearly twelve hours since the news broke in Montrovia.”

  “Sorry, we were—”

  “Enjoying life?”

  “Yes, very much. I say, we forget about Montrovia and find a new place to live. And back to my first question. Where are you?”

  “Omaha.”

  “Isn’t that a little drastic?” He laughs.

  “The Olympic swim trials happen to be here. I promised Daniel I’d come. And just so you know, I quit Black X.”

  “Can you wait until after my nearly royal wedding?”

  “Ari, maybe the DNA tests were a setup to make us believe it. Maybe Terrance lied. Who knows?”

  “Your mother—our mother—wrote the truth in the letter we found in the safety deposit box.”

  “I’m not sure I trust anyone anymore.”

  “Not even me?” There’s a long silence as he waits for me to break. “Seriously? I almost died for you,” he finally says.

  I sigh. “I almost died, too. There’s a lot you don’t know, Ari.”

  “I guess I’m coming to Omaha then. Allie has to leave for a photo shoot. I was going to go with her. Figured we deserved a little time together. Not to mention, I’m pretty beat up from wrecking the motorcycle.”

  “We’re both alive, Ari. That’s all that matters. Take the time off. Get better. Enjoy Allie. There will be no more missions. I’m okay,” I say with conviction, thankful for Blackwood Academy’s course on effective lying.

  “Okay then. Huntley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not alone anymore. You have me. Don’t forget that.”

  “Tell Allie congrats. That I want to see a picture of the ring. And that we’ll celebrate soon.” Even though I’m sad about my situation, I am happy for my brother.

  “We’re going to buy the ring today, and then I’m sure she will be shouting it from the rooftops,” he says, ending the call.

  I considered texting Daniel before I left Montrovia, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was going to text him when I got here, but instead, I’ve been wandering outside the Omaha convention center where the event is being held, Lorenzo’s vows on repeat in my head.

  “Whatever our future holds, Lee, you must know that you, and only you, hold my heart. You give my life beauty and joy. You’re like a song, the melody of you playing within every beat of my heart. I will love you until the end of my days. That is my solemn vow to you.”

  What I haven’t come to terms with yet and why I keep pacing is if Lorenzo meant what
he said. All I know is that he hasn’t texted or called me—which in and of itself is probably the answer. It’s just not the answer that my heart is willing to accept.

  But then again, I’m the one who walked out on him.

  I didn’t want to. But I knew I had to. Yes, initially, I felt betrayed. But I know in the furthest depths of my heart that he loves me.

  And that’s the real reason I left.

  I want what’s best for both Lorenzo and Montrovia.

  I was lying when I told him I don’t care what happens there. His country and my life are inexplicably entwined. My mother had discovered the plot to destroy it, and I am fated to do the same.

  Hopefully, before it’s too late.

  There’s a commotion to my left, near one of the exit doors. Voices yell out his name while Secret Service parades Daniel through the throng, allowing him to stop briefly to sign autographs. I jump up onto one of the orange spheres and call out to him.

  When he spots me, I get a wink, and a single dimple punctuates the smile on his handsome face. He strides toward me, holding out his hand to help me off the tall sphere.

  “Are you trying out for the circus, or are you here for me?” he asks.

  “I came for the cornfields and tractors.”

  “Nah,” he says, giving me a cocky grin, “you’re definitely here for me.”

  “Well, I think I still owe you a pizza and a shirt,” I tease, taking his hand and leaping into his arms.

  He responds with a quick kiss on the lips. “I know exactly why you’re here.” His eyes flash sympathy before I get the dimple again. “We’re having a slumber party.”

  He tightly holds my hand as we walk across the street and to his hotel, Secret Service in tow. The way he’s holding my hand feels protective, not romantic, and I know everything he said was for the benefit of the crowd.

  We are whisked up the elevators to the hotel’s Presidential suite.

  “My parents are coming later in the week,” Daniel says. “But, for now, this is all ours.”

  I walk past comfortable furnishings and come to a stop at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Missouri River. It’s pretty but definitely not Montrovia, the place my heart longs for.

  Did I make a mistake? Should I have gone to the palace with him, told his mother of our engagement, and done the press conference? Would I have still been able to figure out the conspiracy to end the world while planning a royal wedding?

  “Did you compete today?”

  “Nope, you’re right on time. Just practice heats today, and then tomorrow, I’ll have the two-hundred meter freestyle and, hopefully, will follow it up with the two-hundred meter freestyle semifinal. Have you watched it yet?”

  “Watched what?”

  “Their press conference?”

  “They went through with it?” I ask, my heart dropping into my stomach and causing me to feel sick. “I thought maybe …”

  Daniel nods. “Yeah, they did. Tell me what happened.”

  “I was with him last night,” I stutter out.

  Daniel’s eyes go wide with understanding. “I warned you.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I say, shaking my head. “He proposed. We were to tell his mother of our courtship today.”

  “Why weren’t you the one holding the press conference then?” He studies my face more closely. “And what’s up with the bruise on your cheek? Did Enzo—”

  “No, he would never! I was in a bit of a fender bender in London. I’m fine, just pretty banged up.” I take his hand and lead him to the couch, where we sit down. “We woke up to the news that his mother had already announced his engagement to Lizzie and the upcoming press conference.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Let me guess. Lorenzo had no idea, and I’m the runner-up.”

  “No,” I reply, looking into his eyes and sliding my hand down his cheek. “You’re my friend, and”—my voice cracks—“I could use one of those about now.”

  “Has he tried to contact you?”

  Tears fill my eyes as I shake my head. “Has Lizzie contacted you?”

  “Only to tell me that she was going through with it and that there would be a press conference today. Part of me wants to watch it,” he admits.

  “Surely, we can think of something better to do.” Anything to not see Lorenzo fawn over Lizzie.

  “Like what?” Daniel asks, flashing a dimple and eyeing the sleek four-poster bed in the master bedroom.

  I swallow hard, knowing that I can’t hide the way I feel about that.

  “You really do love him, don’t you?” Daniel suddenly stands up. “Enough of this.” He grabs the phone and orders bowls of pasta, three pizzas, and some French fries.

  “We’re going to watch the press conference before the food arrives and have ourselves a little pity party, and then we are going to focus on me qualifying for the Olympics.” He picks up the television remote, using it to find the press conference on the internet, then sits next to me and tightly grips my hand when Lorenzo and Lizzie fill the screen.

  I audibly suck in my breath when I see Lorenzo. He looks … stressed. He’s wearing a dark suit, and the sexy stubble that touched nearly every part of me last night is still gracing his cheeks. I shake my head to ward away the memories.

  Lizzie looks regal, her hair expertly coiffed, her figure clad in a conservative designer dress, and a pleasant smile is plastered on her face—the perfect future queen.

  The reporter starts off with a single heartbreaking question. “Are you in love?”

  “It is an arranged marriage,” Lorenzo states diplomatically. “To be honest, we were both shocked at the announcement. My mother, in all her excitement, might have jumped the gun a little.”

  “But we are thrilled,” Lizzie states.

  “My questions for this interview were predetermined and approved by the palace,” the reporter states, “but I am allowed to ask one question based off our social media poll. This might be a little awkward, Lady Elizabeth, but it’s what our viewers want to know. Lorenzo, what about Huntley Von Allister?”

  Yes, what about Huntley?

  Lorenzo swallows hard. “It is difficult when a man must choose between his predetermined path, what’s good for his country, and his heart. I was born to serve the people of Montrovia. To be your king. And with that comes great responsibility.”

  Lizzie gives Lorenzo a sweet smile and a pat on the hand, making me want to wring her regal neck.

  “To marry?” the reporter asks.

  “To continue the Vallenta bloodline. With the numerous attempts on my life, my father—God rest his soul—moved up the timeline for my choosing a bride, and my mother has accelerated our plans even further.”

  “Is there a wedding date?”

  “Yes,” Lizzie says with a beaming, soon-to-be queen smile. “It will be held on Saturday, the seventeenth of December.”

  Less than six months away.

  “And where will the wedding be held? At the chapel, here at the palace, as is the tradition?”

  “No,” Lorenzo states firmly. “It will be at the National Cathedral on the Plaza de Vallenta.”

  “This is so fake,” Daniel says. “They are both just acting.”

  “Are you kidding? They look like the perfect happy couple.”

  “That’s because you’re seeing it with your heart and not watching it critically,” he counters.

  Am I doing that? I was trained to think critically. To study body language and nonverbal clues to know when someone is lying.

  He rewinds it.

  “Look,” Daniel says, “they’re not touching. Only when the reporter asks about you does Lizzie put her hand on top of his, and look at what he does.”

  “He does nothing,” I say, squinting my eyes as the video continues.

  “Exactly. He should caress it or something. When he spoke of you, he was looking straight at the camera, like he was trying to speak directly to you and not to the reporter. Lorenzo is trying to be diplomatic,
but the set of his jaw—”

  “Can we see the ring?” the reporter asks next, causing me to feel nauseous, knowing that the ring he chose for me is now going to reside on her finger.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” Lizzie gushes, showing off a pretty diamond.

  “What can you tell us about the ring?” the reporter asks.

  “Over the past few centuries,” Lorenzo states, looking directly at the camera again, “the custom has been for the future groom to research the offerings within our royal collection and choose just the right ring for his bride, and while I very recently chose a ring with great meaning to give to my future queen, I decided to buck tradition and acquire a new one for Lizzie.”

  And that message does get through.

  I think about the ring he chose for me, the reasoning behind it, and the meaningful things he said.

  “It’s quite the sparkler,” the reporter gushes as Lizzie slightly moves it, allowing it to shimmer for the camera.

  The reporter grabs her notes. “Friends, you are looking at a classic platinum Cartier engagement ring featuring a center nine-carat radiant-cut diamond with an additional carat of brilliant-cut diamonds wrapping the band.” She turns back to the couple. “Is there a significance to your choice?”

  “I just thought it was simple, classic, and beautiful,” Lizzie says.

  I take the remote from Daniel and stop the video, but it doesn’t have the desired effect of making it go away. Instead, Lorenzo’s face is frozen on the screen, staring straight at me. I fumble around, hitting rewind and then pause again before finally just turning the damn thing off.

  Daniel and I eat dinner in silence, our thoughts elsewhere, but afterward, he challenges me to Battleground.

  We play for hours, getting caught up in the game and maybe, sorta having fun.

  “I have to be up early tomorrow,” he says. “I suppose we should get to bed.”

  I quizzically look at him. “You said you have the whole floor?”

  “Don’t make me sleep alone tonight.” He has a pathetic look that I couldn’t turn down if I tried.