The Christmas Princess (13 page)

“How’d you start working for him?”

She grinned. “I was working part-time for the alumni newsletter my senior year. There was a standing assignment to try to get an interview with Gerard Littrell. He always said no. But when I researched him, I realized that the foundation Leslie and Tris—” She raised her eyebrows. He nodded, yes, he knew who Tris was, along with the foundation that employed her and Leslie. “—worked for had helped save his family home in Old Town Alexandria. Which where he still lived then.

“When I was here for a break between graduations and going full-time with the newsletter, I used that to get in the door and to start talking to him. His computer wasn’t working — you would not believe how old that thing was. I took off the back, blew out the dust, put it together, and it started up again. Then I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He demanded I return the next day. I did. And I never went back to the newsletter.”

“Did you get the interview?”

“No. But I did do an article eventually. With his knowledge. I let him read it before I submitted it, but told him I wouldn’t change anything.” The memory made her smile. Then something killed the smile. “I still miss him. At first, it was … so hard.”

Hunter knew she’d met Reese Warrington barely two months after Littrell’s death. She’d just moved into her apartment. From the reports, she hadn’t know many people, because she’d devoted herself so much to Littrell.

“Then the Vegetable Consortium,” he said.

He knew all this. Why was he getting her to talk about her past?

She nodded. “I’d been job-hunting for months. Nobody was looking for a nurse-nanny-nag. King Jozef said at breakfast that those skills would make me an excellent assistant to an ambassador.”

Ah. That must explain it. At some level, he’d realized it would benefit the operation for him to know how she was answering the king’s questions about her life. Even though he’d bet King Jozef had as complete a file on April Gareaux as he did.

The difference was, the king hadn’t followed her for days, hadn’t lived with her for more than a week, hadn’t stayed outside her bedroom night after night.

Her wry smile faded. “I’m so grateful Zoe’s giving me a chance.”

“A chance to sell the world on Brussels sprouts? Dream job.”

“They have Vitamin C and protein and fiber and antioxidants.”

“And taste like bitter cardboard.”

“You have to cook them right. If you overcook them, that’s when they get bitter and— What?”

“You don’t like them, either.”

She sucked in a breath, clearly ready to defend them. Then the breath came out in a rush and she slumped. “No, I don’t. And I’m terrible at trying to pretend I do, and being all enthusiastic about them. I’m afraid lobbying for Brussels sprouts is not a good career path for me. Only job I’ve ever been really good at was helping Gerard. In a way, this—” Her gesture took in the embassy. “—came at a good time. To get my thoughts straight about what I want to do, what I can do. Oh, and about the end of my engagement to Reese, of course.”

She was so transparent. She’d as good as forgotten her ex-fiancé. How on earth had she gotten engaged to the jerk?

He watched her hand idly stroking Rufus. The animal’s coat already looked better. The food or the love?

Abruptly, he said, “You’re right, you can’t do here what you did for Littrell. Madame would see you as a rival and probably poison you.”

Her mouth twisted. “Before or after poisoning me for being an interloper?”

His mouth twitched. “Same time. She’s a very efficient woman.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She and Sharon—”

“Sharon.” Some of Hunter’s adrenaline retreated. “When did they leave.”

Derek squared his shoulders. “She left with Sharon in the embassy car at 2:12. Rufus, too.”

Their leaving right after he’d gone into a meeting with the Bariavakian security detail the king had depleted with his leave-giving was no accident.

Of course she took the dog. “Where?”

“Sharon didn’t say—” Hunter would have asked, but Kenton wouldn’t. Sharon knew that. “She told Madame that April would be back here for dinner.”

Sure, leave him in the dark, but wouldn’t want to upset Madame.

Tris knocked on the open door as she stepped into Leslie’s office down the hall from her own at the historic preservation foundation.

“Here’s the file from 1954 on that eighteenth-century church in Texas. We have
got
to get all the archives digitized.”

Leslie kept typing as she said, “Every time it’s in the budget, we end up using the money to save more buildings instead. And you’re usually leading the charge.”

“Those buildings were now-or-never. Digitizing can wait.” Over Leslie’s chuckle, she added, “Heard anything more from April?”

Leslie stopped chuckling, stopped typing, and turned to face Tris. “No. This isn’t like her. She was really good about checking in when she was working for Littrell and when she started seeing Reese Warrington.”

“But she hasn’t been good about it since the summer.”

“It’s natural that she didn’t stay in touch as much once they got serious.”

“Especially since Reese is doing his best to isolate her from us. I know, I know, that’s not a battle you’re prepared to have with her right now. But, really, Les—”

“But remember the dog. If Reese — and more important his mother — are okay with her adopting a dog, maybe it’s better than we’ve feared.”

Tris gave a slow nod. “Maybe. And I will say, it’s not like she could go missing without her fiancé noticing — I’m kidding. Don’t look so worried. Just because she wasn’t with us for Thanksgiving and she’s not calling as much doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong. This time I mean it seriously, because I know that’s what’s at the back of your mind, Les. But Reese Warrington would have raised the alarm. She’s living with him for heaven’s sake. Not to mention the people where she works— What?”

“I called her office. Left a message. Then I tried her boss, Zoe. I heard her tell her assistant to say she wasn’t in.”

“She wouldn’t do that if April were missing,” Tris said with certainty. “She’d want to find out from you where April is. See? It’s okay. April’s just busy.”

The friends looked at each other. Logic didn’t wipe out concern.

Leslie let out a breath. “I’ve made a plan. I’m going to try her again tonight. I haven’t wanted to fill her phone with nagging
call me
messages, but this time, if I don’t get her, I’ll leave a message.”

“And if she doesn’t call back?”

“I’ll give it forty-eight more hours, then I’m calling the Warringtons.”

If April could have window-shopped at any establishment in Washington, it would have been at Maurice de Chartier, Clothier.

Except Maurice’s, as it was known to customers and wish-they-could-be customers alike, was entirely too self-confident to have a window. That was for plebian establishments that needed to lure people in.

Instead, April knew from walking past it many times, it had an austere black door between frosted sidelights that gave the illusion that a passerby might be able to see in if she pressed her nose to the glass. Simply entering that door was often worthy of inclusion in the about-town columns and blogs.

April wondered if anyone had ever been mentioned for going in by way of the alley.

Not that she was complaining. Griping that Rupert drove right past the acclaimed black door, and turned into the alley would be petty.

Besides, who would she gripe to?

Hunter had been more distant than ever since she and Sharon returned just before dinner. King Jozef had invited Sharon to join them. He and Sharon had chatted amiably, April had done her best, and Hunter had been silent.

He’d walked Sharon to her car, parked inside the gates, and they stood there, despite a light rain beginning to fall. From a back hall window, April had watched them. Hunter stiff, Sharon at ease.

At one point Hunter spoke loudly enough that she was pretty sure he’d said, “Then take me off.” Sharon said, “No.”

When Hunter pivoted to start toward the building, Sharon gave a brief, grim smile, then got in her car.

April turned away from the window, meeting King Jozef’s eyes as he did the same from a window farther down the hall. He nodded, with a hint of a smile, then turned and went the other direction.

Now, Hunter told Rupert he would call when they were ready to leave, got out of the car, gesturing for her to follow out the same door. As soon as she’d slid across the seat and started to straighten into the bracing cold, he clasped her arm. She was starting to get used to that. Really she was.

With the cold rain heavier now, he guided her into the alcove by the back door before reaching back and shutting the car door with his free hand.

The metal security door opened. Hunter’s hold on her arm, and the memory of previous collisions, kept her a step behind him as he entered the building first. He pulled her closer to his back.

“Ah,
bonjour
. It has been so long, Monsieur Pierce. I had thought, perhaps, that you no longer found Maurice’s designs suitable,” intoned a deep, accented voice from somewhere beyond Hunter.

But all she could see was the back of Hunter’s overcoat, and the way his thick hair curved into a comma as the base of his skull, as if it would become a curl if he let it grow.

“Hope springs eternal, huh, Maurice?”

She gawked. She must have misheard. As hard as it had been to believe that he knew Etienne, it was impossible to imagine he knew Maurice,
too
.

Hunter closed the door and stepped aside, opening her view of the utilitarian hallway.

Maurice de Chartier was tall and slender, his hair close-cropped. He wore jeans and running shoes — like an ordinary person. The sleeves of his lemon shirt that appeared to be made of the finest wool she’d ever seen were folded back to reveal powerful wrists and hands the color of tea. His smile was rueful as he looked at Hunter.

She followed that gaze and couldn’t look away.

Mischief — honest to God mischief, and with a sprinkle of amusement, no less — sparked Hunter’s eyes golden.

“This is the young woman I called about, Maurice.”

Reason told April that to understand this interaction she really should look at how Maurice de Chartier responded, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Hunter. With his eyes glinting and his wide mouth twitching up, his jaw softened. Oh, it was still reliable and strong, but not quite so domineering.

“Your coat, ma’am?”

She blinked at the low voice and found at her shoulder a dark-skinned woman who was probably Zoe’s age but looked younger.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Would you care for something to drink? Our special carrot juice refresher? Sparkling water? Wine? Latte? Tea?”

“It all sounds good. Perhaps later?”

“While you decide, may I take your bag?” The woman’s voice was so smooth it was hard to tell, but April thought there might have been a criticism of the canvas bag she carried in addition to her purse.

“Yes. It has muffins in it I baked this afternoon. They’re wrapped in towels to keep them warm, and I need the towels back, because they belong to—” She stifled the urge to glance at Hunter as she stumbled to keep from mentioning details. “—uh, someone else.”

“Muffins?” The woman’s voice was as low and smooth as before, but the cool distance was gone. “You baked
us
muffins?”

“Where?”

She ignored Hunter’s question and nodded to the woman. “Cranberry. I hope you like them. They’re a small thank you for being so kind by working this evening to help me.”

The woman looked toward Maurice de Chartier, apparently for a decision. April looked toward him, too, and almost jumped.

He was watching her with an intensity that rivaled some of Hunter’s looks. She forced herself to look back steadily.

Maurice de Chartier burst out laughing. The sound was deep and warm — and unexpected. “An original! You are a complete original and I will dress you to show all the world that quality. Tonya!”

“Yes, Maurice.” The woman smiled.

“You like cranberry muffins, do you not?”

“I love them.”

“Then let us have cranberry muffins and tea before we begin.”

“We will talk about this later,” Hunter said to April as they entered a cluttered office.

She and Tonya talked about recipes and baking. After his first muffin, Maurice watched her steadily, his gaze sharp yet abstracted. Hunter also said nothing. But he ate two muffins, his focus seeming to take in the entire office without zeroing in on any one thing, or person. Certainly not on her.

After twenty-two minutes — but who was counting? — of Maurice de Chartier staring at her and Hunter Pierce not, she could have cheered when Maurice abruptly stood.

“This is most unorthodox, but it has been helpful,” he said. “I have seen the woman inside and have now a concept deeper than form, deeper than color, of how to dress her. Now,” he pronounced, “we start.”

April was considering his words and how similar they were to what Etienne had said, which reminded her that Etienne had said something about seeing Maurice.
This
Maurice? Could there be another one that both he and Hunter knew? But what possible connection could these three men have?

Ideas tumbled through her head as everyone else stood. April followed Maurice out, but not before noticing Hunter snag the last muffin.

“Those were for me and Tonya,” Maurice said, aggrieved.

“I’ll make mo—”

Hunter passed her, so close in the narrow hall that his breath stirred her hair. “You will
not
make more unless you make them at the embassy, and we both know that won’t happen,” he said in a low tone.

“Why do you frown so?” Maurice demanded. He put a large palm to the small of her back to hurry her through a doorway after Sandra.

“A little nervous, I guess,” she said. And it wasn’t a lie, now that she thought about it. “This is all rather intimidating.”

“Intimidating? This?” Maurice’s gesture encompassed the room.