Chapter 2 - THE FROG IN THE PURSE
The thing Emma pulled from her purse was a small green rubber frog with bulging yellow eyes.
Marco’s hand went to his holster. Two men near the windows stepped back so quickly that one bumped into a bookcase.
I stared at the toy, then at my security chief. “Is there a reason six grown men are afraid of a bath toy?”
“Boss,” Marco said carefully, “we’ve seen stranger things used to deliver messages.”
Emma frowned. “He’s not a message. He’s Prince Ribbit.”
“Of course he is,” I said.
“You have to kiss him.”
“I’m not kissing a frog.”
“Then he can’t turn into a prince, and the wedding will be ruined.”
I had negotiated with men who would cut out a rival’s tongue over a disputed shipping lane. Yet a four-year-old was looking at me as though I had endangered the future of an entire kingdom.
I took the frog and pressed a quick kiss to its rubber head.
Emma clapped. “Now he’s a prince!”
Marco made a strangled sound.
“Laugh,” I warned him, “and you’re guarding the garage for a month.”
He straightened. “I’m not laughing, boss.”
“You’re crying.”
“Dust.”
There was no dust in my office.
Emma reclaimed Prince Ribbit and tugged me toward the hallway. I made it three steps before Isabella caught up with us.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “She was supposed to be coloring in the kitchen. I didn’t know she’d come up here.”
Emma slipped behind my leg. “Mommy, the princess said yes.”
“I heard, sweetheart.”
Isabella looked at the men, then at the pink tiara still sitting on my head. Her expression was a complicated mixture of mortification and the desperate urge not to smile.
I removed the tiara and held it out to Emma. “Your princess has other obligations.”
Emma’s smile faded. “But you promised.”
“I said five minutes.”
“That’s enough for the ceremony. Not enough for cake.”
“Then the wedding will have to survive without me eating cake.”
She considered this with grave disappointment. “That’s very sad for you.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Then I noticed the frog’s belly. A tiny white square had been taped beneath it. It wasn’t part of the toy. The paper was folded twice and secured with clear tape.
I took it gently from Emma. “Where did this come from?”
“From the frog,” she said.
“Who gave you the frog?”
Emma’s expression changed. “The nice man downstairs.”
Isabella went still.
“What nice man?” I asked.
“The one who said Mommy had a surprise. He gave me Prince Ribbit and told me to bring him to you.”
My security team moved at once. Marco took the frog and examined it without opening the note. Another guard checked the corridor cameras. I crouched in front of Emma, keeping my voice calm.
“What did the man look like?”
“He had a gray coat. And a little scratch on his face.” She touched her cheek. “He smelled like pennies.”
Isabella pulled Emma close. “You spoke to a stranger?”
“He knew my name, Mommy.”
That was the first thing that truly frightened me.
Marco unfolded the note using a pair of tweezers. There were only seven words, written in block capitals.
**ASK ISABELLA WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BROTHER.**
I read it twice.
My brother, Anthony, had been dead for eight years. He’d supposedly died in a car bomb intended for me. The driver had been identified, the case had been closed, and my family had buried an empty casket because the explosion left almost nothing to identify.
Isabella stared at the note as if she had seen a ghost.
I looked up. “What happened to my brother?”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Then the lights in the hallway went dark.
May you like
A gunshot cracked from somewhere below us.
And Emma, still clutching the rubber frog, whispered, “That’s the man who gave it to me.”
