Cold Flame Read online

  They thought the work was too boring or beneath them.

  I doubted I would ever understand people.

  As he waited for an answer, I reined in my wandering thoughts and replied, “I haven’t needed one, sir.”

  “You’re going to need one.”

  I put some serious thought into finding some nice, quiet place within walking distance and living on the street, wandering around like I had before coming to California. Did I really need a job? I could go roam to the mountains and live as a hermit for the rest of my life. Hermits flew under the radar, broke a lot of laws, but didn’t pay taxes—or have to go to work.

  I tried to identify the cons of becoming a hermit and struggled to find anything I truly considered to be a disadvantage. After some thought, I decided I’d miss having a bed sometimes.

  Beds were nice after a long day.

  Living in California had taught me a lot about life, and I did the mental math.

  Nope. I couldn’t afford a phone, not without dipping into the money I hadn’t touched since coming to the kingdom. I definitely couldn’t afford the phone bill, either.

  “Will I be required to use a personal phone, sir?”

  “We don’t have any spare phones right now.”

  I read between the lines; if he wanted me to have a phone, I’d have to get one myself. “What will the phone need to do?”

  “I would get a good mid-range model or the best you can afford; I expect you’ll have to be able to do conference calls and access the digital archive. While low-end models can handle conference calls, the digital archive requires a better phone.”

  Well, I guess I’d find out if Terry was still keeping an eye on me by the end of the day. “I can get a phone, sir. I do have a credit card for emergencies.”

  Well, almost. Sometimes, refugees like me got access to a credit card, but the government hadn’t offered one to me. I also hadn’t asked.

  I could only hope my boss didn’t look closely at my financial situation.

  While he didn’t question my statement, he did raise a brow. “Keep the receipt, and I will see if we have room in the budget to compensate you for part of the phone’s retail value.”

  Something was better than nothing, although it wouldn’t spare me from having to use my card from Montana. “I will, sir. Is there anything else?”

  Once again, my new boss took his time looking me over. “Clothes.”

  I considered lighting the entire California Royal Archive on fire. “What are the dress code requirements?”

  “You’re in a library. You aren’t attending a funeral.”

  My outfit did tend to be appropriate for funerals—or for RPS agents. “Any other requirements, sir?”

  “High heels are barred. They’re bad for your feet, and they’re a hazard when working with the stacks.”

  I changed my mind; I would forgo lighting the archive on fire. “Understood, sir.”

  “It will take the day to get a suitable laptop prepared for you, so consider this a paid day off. I will get the authorizations to pay you for six days of work a week with the appropriate overtime bonuses.”

  My new boss believed he could perform miracles, and I wished him the best of luck dealing with the assholes in charge of immigration in California. “Thank you, sir.”

  The head librarian rose, plucked a business card from a holder on his desk, and strode to me, holding it out. “Please text me when you have your new phone so I can record your number.”

  “Yes, sir.” I took the card, which informed me I worked for Hadrian A. E., Head Librarian. I wondered at the use of initials instead of his last name. I put it in my wallet with my identification. “What time would you like me to start work tomorrow?”

  “We open at six for staff, and I will have you booked in for nine hours a day. You will have paid lunch, and we typically have complementary platters for any employees who are too busy to leave the archive for the day.”

  Free food appealed to my skinflint heart, although it had been years since I’d had lunch—or breakfast. Nine hours a day would stink, but I could get in early and work late if needed. I’d only get paid the nine hours, but it beat the other work arrangements I’d faced since coming to California.

  The system sucked, and I’d gotten a hefty dose of life’s realities that other royals lacked.

  The report would give me a chance to highlight the failures of the system and figure out if there was a way to lift everyone up while taking a bat to the knees of the overly rich and powerful.

  But, I’d also have to deal with the reality of why having powerhouses overseeing things could be a good thing.

  I’d have my work cut out for me, and I didn’t look forward to it.

  The three months couldn’t end soon enough, and after excusing myself, I left, preparing to deal with a living nightmare so I could deal with the newest way the immigration system meant to screw me over in an effort to drive me out before I was eligible for citizenship.

  I’d teach California an important lesson about the nature of New Yorkers. They could try to beat me down, but I’d win.

  I lived to spite their system, and they’d foolishly given me an opportunity.

  Six

  Caller ID was my friend.

  Despite not having touched the bank card in years, it worked without incident. I drew out five hundred in cash to get through the next few weeks and prepared to spend an excessive amount on a new phone. I’d pay for the phone with my bank card, too, which would inevitably draw Terry’s attention, assuming he was still monitoring my activities.

  At the phone store, I browsed, noted prices, and decided I’d go big or go home; if I was going to be stuck with a phone I didn’t want, I’d be stuck with an excellent phone, one I wouldn’t have to replace for a while. Cringing over how much I would spend, I cornered a salesperson, pointed at the one I wanted, asked for the best model they had, and began the unpleasant process of picking a plan.

  I figured I’d need unlimited data, and the cheapest plan with unlimited data would cost me a hundred a month. While I twitched over the price, there wasn’t much I could do about it. For an extra twenty, I could get the bells and whistles I remembered from New York when handling life as a royal.

  Caller ID was my friend, and there was no way I was going to live without it. I had enjoyed life without having to use a calendar for everything, but I would need one for the next three months of my life.

  If I didn’t schedule things carefully, I’d have a huge mess on my hands.

  A tablet would make my life easier, and the phone store sold them. Already regretting my decision, I invested in one, got a digital pen for it, and added it to my bill.

  Ready to cry at how much I was throwing away for a job I hadn’t had a choice in, I paid for my purchases. The machine pinged, confirmed my transaction was approved, and I became the not-so-proud owner of two gadgets, both of which had access to the internet.

  I stared at the store employee, horror over having rejoined the ranks of spoiled rotten wealthy people sinking in. “What have I done?”

  Buyer’s remorse must not have been new to the guy, who grinned at me. “You gave yourself a present of the best toys on the market. It’s okay. You’ll love them. They’re great.”

  Well, I appreciated his approach; he seemed to think I deserved a present to myself. “I hope so.”

  Could I love them? Or would they be chucked out the window the instant my three-month stint at the archive ended? The world remained full of mysteries.

  Muttering curses, I sent my new boss a text, identifying myself and informing him I had acquired a phone and a tablet for myself. To my surprise, he began to send a reply right away. He asked for a copy of the receipt for both devices; the tablet would be useful in places the laptop couldn’t readily go.

  I photographed the receipt and sent it over. Then, armed with my new phone, I searched for clothing stores nearby.

  The sheer number of them threw me for a loop. Where the
hell was I supposed to find decent clothes that didn’t make it look like I was about to attend a funeral?

  My phone didn’t have answers for me, but I could use the damned thing to call the only person I knew who might be help me with my clothing problem.

  Terry might forgive me for abusing his number and asking for suggestions on where to get clothes. Digging through my wallet, I located the slip of worn paper with his number and dialed it.

  On the third ring, he answered, “Finally found something you couldn’t handle on your own, Rachel?”

  Damn, he was good. Then I remembered Caller ID would have informed him a Rachel wanted to speak with him. “I can’t believe this number still works.”

  “As it’s your way of reaching me, it’s permanently assigned to me. What can I do for you? Is it an emergency?”

  “Is finding clothing that isn’t appropriate for a funeral an emergency?”

  The RPS agent laughed. “You need help with clothes?”

  “I’m completely useless at this, Terry.”

  “I’d gathered that much. I can help you. Where are you, how much are you planning on spending, and what do you need the clothing for?”

  “I got suckered into working for the California Royal Archive. I’m on a research project, and the head librarian doesn’t think I should look like I’m attending a funeral.”

  “You’re wearing a black blazer, white blouse, and skirt, aren’t you?”

  “I have five of these, one for each day of the week. It has worked for me.” I gave him my location and waited for him to figure out what he wanted to do about my situation.

  “There is a café down the street from you. Go get a coffee. I’ll be there in an hour. I need to get a different vehicle, as I’d rather not advertise you’re keeping company with an RPS agent.”

  “Is there a reason why?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain when I pick you up. I was about to make contact with you, so I’m glad you gave me a call.”

  “Is there trouble?”

  “That depends on what you consider to be trouble.”

  “I’m going to go to the café. I also used my bank card today, because I’m convinced the universe hates me.”

  “The money is yours, Rachel. Use it. That’s what it’s there for.”

  “I’ve been doing okay,” I protested.

  “What did you have for dinner?” he challenged.

  Damn. How had I gotten the feisty agent? “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “The day before?”

  “Probably macaroni and cheese.”

  “And the day before that?”

  “Definitely macaroni and cheese, but I added peas to it.”

  The peas had been a splurge purchase, as I’d felt sorry for myself for having to move again.

  Terry sighed. “When was the last time you had something that wasn’t macaroni and cheese?”

  “But I like macaroni and cheese.”

  “Do you actually like it, or is it just cheap and tolerable?”

  I wanted to be like Terry if I ever got my act together; he knew his business, and apparently, he knew mine, too. “I do actually like it. It was my favorite rebellion food growing up.”

  “It’s unhealthy.”

  RPS agents. At the end of the day, they cared about one thing: protecting their principals. That protection went right down to the diet level once they went into superagent mode, although the New York agents were less inclined to have a fit over what I ate.

  My New York agents had only cared about my parents, not me.

  Shaking my head, I headed for the café as directed. “You’re going to be hovering, aren’t you?”

  “With the situation as it is, yes. I’ll be contriving reasons to be at the California Royal Archive during your shifts, and with your consent, I’d like to give you a tracking device for when you’re not in visual. It’ll take at least a week for the trackers to arrive from Montana, but I’d really like you to use them.”

  “A tracking device?”

  “Yes. You’d attach it to your clothes or wear it in your hair. I can put the trackers on just about anything.”

  “Like a hair clip?”

  “Even a fabric tie.”

  I loathed the idea of being tracked, but I also understood his point of view—and the prices he likely paid for putting up with a less-than-ideal principal. “All right. We can discuss that once you get here.”

  “Good. Enjoy your coffee and stay in the café. You should be safe enough for now.”

  The ‘for now’ part of things bothered me. Terry hung up, and I frowned, narrowing my eyes while adding his contact information into my phone. To hide who he was, I listed him as T, which would obscure who he was to everyone else.

  In truth, it’d been so long since I’d had coffee, I didn’t remember what it tasted like; I got a tea instead, as I drank tea at home due to its low cost per cup and caffeine content.

  I could have five cups of tea for every cup of coffee, and that was reason enough for it to take over my life as my drink of choice. With my upcoming schedule, I’d want some coffee to get me through it. That supported Terry’s belief I had unhealthy habits, including my fixation on macaroni and cheese.

  According to the royal chefs in every palace I’d ever visited, macaroni and cheese was a sin. Any royal child with even a hint of a rebellious streak had likely gotten their hands on some just to have it.

  Terry would have to pry my neon-orange dinner out of my unconscious hands. As he was an RPS agent, he’d skip the dead hands thing, but he would likely knock me out to do his dirty work if I didn’t cooperate.

  He seemed like the type.

  True to his word, Terry showed up an hour later. He hadn’t changed all that much, and I supposed I hadn’t, either, as he spotted me and walked over without missing a beat. “You really do look like you’re about to attend someone’s funeral.”

  “Thanks. Glad to see you, too, Terry.”

  “Your sarcasm is in excellent form. I’ll be right back.” He swerved to the counter to get a drink, and I pondered what had him flustered. The RPS agent I remembered didn’t do flustered. He did calm, collected, and unflappable with a side of manipulative and cunning.

  A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of coffee. “New York has put a recovery bounty out on your living head.”

  Well, that was going to ruin my day or make it amazing. “I’m costing my parents a ridiculous amount of money right now, aren’t I?”

  “To the tune of ten million dollars for information on your whereabouts resulting in your recovery.”

  Huh. I had real monetary value to my parents, who disliked spending on anything they viewed as frivolous. Like their children.

  “That’s going to complicate things for me.”

  “Only partially. The pictures they distributed of you are old. You’re also wearing horrific amounts of makeup. Frankly, you don’t look anything like the person they’re looking for, which is beneficial. Rachel is a common name, and since you’re not using your family name here, that’ll help some, too. Montana is considering expanding your detail but getting a second agent into California without tipping someone off that there’s a situation would be difficult at best. Our other option is to officially amend your refugee claim. With a recovery bounty out for you, such a thing is an option, especially if you do not wish to return to New York.”

  “Do I look like I want to return to New York?”

  “You look like you’re so desperate to stay in California you’re willing to live in a closet.”

  I had missed the feisty RPS agent. “You checked into my new apartment, didn’t you?”

  “Not precisely, but I know how California treats migrant workers in the refugee program, as they only want dedicated people staying in the kingdom through the entire five-year process to be eligible to obtain citizenship. I’ve been following your general movements. Thanks to His Royal Majesty, I’ve had access to the immigration database, which has your address in
it. I check it daily. California tracks travel notices in the same database, so whenever your travel notice pops in, I plan to move.”

  Damn it. Even when I tried to lay low and keep from bothering anyone, I’d sent Terry packing all across California. “I keep making you move every few months. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s part of my job, and the RPS helps with the moves. It’s simple for me to relocate as I need to evaluate all parts of California, and Montana and California enjoy a strong relationship right now. I just notify California’s RPS I’m moving. They don’t ask why.”

  I sipped my tea. “Why are my parents after me?”

  “They expected you to come crawling back begging for forgiveness years ago. Prince Ian has been pressuring them to name you the heir because you’re the best choice for the job.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Terry smirked and relaxed into his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s an extensive list.”

  “I have my tea, I have a seat, and I am a master at procrastination. Clothing shopping is not for me. Frankly, I might try to make you pick my clothes for me. I’ll just try on what you tell me to try on and buy it if it fits. I’m useless. I have five of these outfits so I don’t have to decide what to wear to work.”

  “I’m not sure how it is possible for a New York princess to be incapable of shopping for her own clothes.”

  “You’re assuming I shopped for my own clothes in New York. Does this make you want to adjust your list?”

  “Not particularly. Prince Ian’s primary argument for you ruling New York is a mix of your education and ethics. He is very vocal about New York suffering due to the shortsightedness of its current monarchs. He’s also gone on an extensive campaign eliminating your siblings as suitable candidates to be the heir. Interestingly enough, they’re in agreement. They’re generally backing Prince Ian’s recommendation that you should be the queen. The ones that aren’t backing his recommendation are backing him as the choice instead.”

  “Seriously? This bickering led my parents to put a fucking bounty out on my head?”