The Reluctant Knight

Amelia
Price

Copyright 2016
Jess Mountifield

Cover Copyright
2016 Elizabeth Mackey

Smashwords
edition

All rights
reserved.

This novel is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals,
organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author.

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author.

My thanks most
definitely go to my own knight in shining armour, my husband Phil.
I always look forward to the adventures we go on together. Also to
my friends, Bear, Kate, Sophie, David, Alex and Chris, who not only
put up with, but seem to enjoy my conversations about my characters
and what they get up to. You guys help me feel accepted in all my
weirdness.

To my writer's
group for the encouragement, the companionship while writing, and
the advice when I'm stuck with plot holes. I always look forward to
our meet-ups, especially in November.

Also a big thank
you to Ella for the editing. You're a dream to work with and I know
the effort and guidance you've given for the whole series makes it
so much better than it could have been otherwise.

Similarly
Elizabeth Mackey has done wonders once more. I keep saying this but
I think this is the best cover yet. Love how you take such random
suggestions and make something amazing every time.

Finally, my
biggest thanks always go to God, who somehow keeps me going and
knows exactly when I need to hear His voice.

To Amelia Grace.
One day I'll come find you.

A phone buzzing
woke Mycroft from his doze. He glanced in the direction of the
noise and saw it was the phone Amelia used to contact him, but when
he glanced at the screen he noticed the message wasn't from her. It
was an unknown number.

I'm sorry. I
couldn't stop them. She'll be dead in a few days. Delra

Mycroft blinked a
few times and sat up, his thoughts rapidly processing all the
information this message gave away: firstly, Amelia was in danger;
secondly, whoever this Mr Delra was he hadn't actually ever wanted
Amelia to be hurt; and thirdly, he now knew not only of Mycroft's
arrangement with her, but also had access to all the text-based
communication between them.

A shiver ran down
Mycroft's spine as he threw back the covers on the bed. He had no
time to waste. If something had happened to Amelia, he needed to
find out what as soon as possible. She wasn't ready to get herself
out of the more serious levels of trouble his station could bring
her.

The housekeeper
started when he strode down into the kitchen. She was preparing
food for later and her mouth fell open when she saw he wasn't even
dressed. Never had she seen him in anything but a suit.

“Where's Daniels?
Oh, and I won't be needing breakfast this morning.”

“Daniels isn't
here. He just popped out. The hotel called him to pick up
something. He said you'd mentioned it yesterday and he knew what he
was getting.”

Mycroft walked
away as soon as she was half way through speaking. Daniels was
expecting to pick up Amelia, but the hotel probably found her
belongings in the room without her and phoned the emergency number
he'd given them.

Sometimes the
uninquisitive nature of his servants backfired spectacularly. This
was definitely one of those times.

Mycroft hurried to
his computer and logged in. Several seconds later he was accessing
the cameras for the hotel's CCTV and scrolling through the feeds
for the one outside Amelia's room door.

It only took him a
few minutes to find the right one. Minutes that could easily be
precious, but he knew he had to think rationally and couldn't dwell
on lost time. Panicking now would gain Amelia nothing.

He started the
feed at the time he left the night before, knowing she'd been fine
and safe then. Not long after, his own agents cleared out of the
rooms nearby, as he'd instructed them to do. After that, he watched
it on high speed through the night.

More minutes
ticked by while nothing happened for hours of the footage. Over the
course of the early morning a few people wandered down the
corridor, but most were staff. Regardless of what they wore,
Mycroft studied their features and actions. Some of them might be
relevant for later.

About half an hour
before Amelia was due to check out of the room, he saw the door
open. She stepped out, wearing the clothes she'd had on the night
before, including the coat she'd hidden the revealing dress in. He
could at least appreciate her modesty, even as the memory of her in
nothing but the underwear she'd worn underneath popped into his
head.

With a frown of
annoyance, Mycroft pushed the thought from his mind. Now was not
the time for such sentiment. He could do little but watch while she
wandered down the hall, followed only a few seconds later by two
men.

Mycroft didn't
need to watch the rest of the footage to know they'd taken Amelia.
The message alone confirmed what had happened, but he had to keep
watching. He had to know exactly what they'd done to her. A part of
him hoped her training had at least made it difficult.

As he pulled up
the next camera feed to see outside the lift, he knew it hadn't.
The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. She
thought she was safe and was off in her own little world. No doubt,
thinking of him and the night before. While he sat there, a weight
sinking into the base of his empty stomach, the men attacked her
and swiftly overpowered her feeble attempts to struggle. She barely
put up a fight.

He sighed and
slouched backwards. So far her training had been wasted. Right
before they yanked a black bag over her head, he saw one thing that
gave him hope, the fire in her eyes. She wasn't panicking, she was
thinking.

Before Mycroft
could watch where they took her his desk phone rang. He picked it
up, hoping it would be Daniels with more news.

“Is Amelia safe?”
Sherlock asked.

“You got a message
as well?” Mycroft replied, knowing there was no other explanation
for the phone call out of the blue.”

“Yes. Who sent
it?”

“The man behind
the recent activity. The Russians have her, Sherlock.” Mycroft did
his best to keep his voice even, but this was his brother he was
talking to. Neither of them needed to speak to know they had to
find her before she was out of the country or there might be little
either of them could do to get her back safely.

“How long
ago?”

“Almost two
hours.”

“There's a
chance.”

“It's slim.”

“We'll work
together,” Sherlock said. Mycroft nodded and knew that, for her,
they could work together.

“I'll be there
shortly.”

“No. She was taken
from my main hotel. Go there. Daniels is already there.” There was
an awkward silence after this, and Mycroft knew he needed to
clarify. That this was one situation where he didn't want his
younger brother to think him too lazy to respond to her kidnapping
instead of sending someone inferior. “He went before I knew.”

“Understood.”
Sherlock hung up and Mycroft knew he couldn't waste any more time.
He paused the footage. The rest could be watched on the way. No
more time could be wasted if they were to catch up.

It took him half
the time he usually allowed to get dressed, but most people would
never tell the difference. Another few minutes later he had all the
equipment he thought he might need slung in a bag over his arm.
Daniels would have the rest in the car.

“Tell Daniels to
stay at the hotel. He'll ring for instructions shortly,” Mycroft
said to his housekeeper. Giving no other explanation for his less
than normal departure, he walked out of the house and along the
path towards the nearest road that would have regular taxi drivers
passing by.

Half an hour after
he got off the phone with Sherlock, Mycroft was sitting in a taxi,
making his way to the hotel. By the time he got there and
ascertained where Amelia had been taken from and in what vehicle,
Mycroft knew he and his brother would be at least three hours
behind. If the Russians had planned well, Amelia could be out of
the country by now and Mycroft's ability to rescue her before she
was harmed would be severely hampered.

While on the way
to the hotel, Mycroft opened the laptop back up again and finished
watching the CCTV footage. As he expected, the men made her leave
her handbag, along with everything in it, in the room, never
touching it themselves and not letting her take anything from it,
as far as he could tell. The cameras only afforded him a couple of
angles, and he got no clear shots of their faces. They knew where
they would be seen and made sure not to reveal anything identifying
when passing the cameras.

From there, the
Russians took her down a staff lift and then bundled her into a
catering trolley. She tried to struggle back out of it again, but a
swift backhander swung her head back into the metal strut. From the
way her head lolled in response he could tell it at least dazed
her, if not entirely knocked her out.

After that, they
had no resistance in getting her out of the hotel. She was bundled
into the back of a van, one of the men getting in with her. No
doubt to keep her quiet and compliant. The other then hoped into
the driver's seat. Five seconds later the van pulled off.

Thankfully, the
CCTV got a good look at the license plate of the van, but he knew
that only meant they would change vehicle soon. Given how far
behind he was, it was safe to assume they'd be in something
different by now and he would have to work hard to find the next
mode of transport if he stood any chance of catching up.

He sent a
description of the van and the registration to his secretary and
Sherlock. It would be unlikely that his younger brother would be
able to do anything with the information, but if they were to work
together he needed to share everything. Hopefully, his brother
would do the same, even if he hadn't always in the past.

As he'd feared, it
was gone midday by the time Mycroft paid the taxi-driver and got
out. Despite the driver doing his best to get Mycroft there
swiftly, and being paid handsomely for the effort, he was three
hours and seven minutes behind Amelia.

Before Mycroft
could take more than a few steps towards the hotel, Sherlock came
out, Amelia's small handbag tucked under one arm. Farther up the
street Daniels stood, waiting by the car.

“There was a third
man, watching the front of the hotel,” Sherlock said, skipping any
kind of greeting. He left on a motorbike and went eastwards. So did
the van, according to the single witness I found of that.”

“Channel tunnel,
then?”

“At this point
it's the most likely, but they're bound to change cars.”

“Of course.
Come.”

Mycroft led them
both to the car and neither wasted any time in getting in. Daniels
was behind the wheel and ready to pull off before they were seated.
He didn't say a word but looked at Mycroft in the rear view mirror.
Daniels knew how serious the situation was.

Not saying a word
to anyone, Mycroft handed his spare laptop to Sherlock and
re-opened his own. He would look for the van while his younger
brother searched for the motorbike. Both of them would have access
to the entire city's CCTV footage to track the cars, something
Mycroft had done for Amelia in the past. It was against the
standard regulations for access, to give his younger brother
unlimited usage of it, but it was an infraction that would go
unpunished even in the unlikely scenario that it was even
noticed.

“Head East, to the
M20,” Mycroft said a couple of seconds later, seeing the van on a
CCTV camera several roads up, heading in that direction still.

For the next
twenty minutes Mycroft and Sherlock directed Daniels through the
London traffic towards a fixed point near Left Hook Boxing Gym and
Shadwell station. The motorbike arrived there first, and the driver
disappeared into a building nearby without removing his helmet.
Again they had no clear shot of a face.

About ten minutes
later the van pulled into the car park nearby. They parked up out
of view of any of the cameras. Mycroft knew they switched to
another vehicle at this point but had no idea what. Several
different cars pulled out of the same car park and he had no way of
knowing which one of them Amelia was in.