Royal Lockdown. Rebecca York

wasn’t Santa Claus. Far from it.

      He pulled out his gas mask and made sure it was ready to go over his face when he needed it. He checked the focus on his night-vision goggles.

      Then he went on to the hostage kit, starting with the duct tape and ending with the hypodermic needles.

      Everything was ready. Now all he had to do was wait for dark.

      Chapter One

       8:15 P.M., August 1

      “May I see your picture ID, sir?”

      The armed man made the request politely. But Shane Peters harbored no illusions about what would happen if he refused. He’d be hauled off to a cell in a Boston police station and held for investigation.

      “Of course,” he answered as he pulled his wallet from an inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and extracted his driver’s license.

      The Secret Service agent checked the ID carefully, then asked for his Social Security number, which was matched against a list of guests cleared to attend the reception on the observation deck of the John Hancock Tower, New England’s tallest building.

      Since 9/11, the Boston landmark had been closed to the public. But one of the lessees had been instrumental in arranging an international trade agreement that had just been signed by the president of the United States. Tonight the observation floor was open for a reception in honor of the agreement, and guests had come from all over the world.

      To commemorate the momentous occasion, President Stack and Vice President Davis would both be attending the event. Of course, that was highly unusual, since protocol dictated that they remain in separate locations as much as possible. But they would only be together on site briefly.

      Because of the unprecedented joint appearance, the Secret Service had gone into overdrive on background checks for everyone scheduled to be in the tower—from the honored guests to the waiters and kitchen staff.

      The line to pass through security moved slowly. Shane watched some of the formally dressed men and women being ushered through the metal detector. He knew that in his custom-tailored tuxedo, he could pass for a member of the upper classes. But he was also aware that men and women with any security experience tended to mark him down as “dangerous.” So he wasn’t surprised when he was singled out for the wanding treatment.

      He struggled to stand cooperatively as he let the guy do his job. Too bad he knew the drill better than the man wielding the wand.

      Shane owned his own high-powered company called Executive Security. That much was on the public record. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. He was also a member of Eclipse, an elite force that took on jobs too sensitive for the FBI or the CIA.

      He and the other members of Eclipse had all met in the Special Forces. Most of them would be here tonight, although only some of them were actually on duty.

      They hadn’t been on a mission together in several months, and Shane was looking forward to seeing the guys. Of course, if they knew what “Wild Man Peters” was up to tonight, they’d haul him off to the funny farm before he made it into the reception room.

      He repressed a grin as the guard sent him on his way—without even checking the special pocket sewn under the arm of his tuxedo jacket. Sewing wasn’t one of his favorite skills, but he’d made the modifications himself, to keep the alteration secret.

      He waited at the elevator, then rode upstairs with a nice selection of the rich and famous. Most of them had the look of confidence and well-being that money brought. It amused Shane to think that he could buy and sell most of them.

      Between his security business and Eclipse, he’d made all the money he was ever going to need. He could retire to his very comfortable underground mansion in the White Mountains and keep busy with his electronics inventions. But inventor was only a small part of his job description. He was too restless to work in the lab every day.

      Instead he thrived on challenges—like the one he’d set for himself tonight.

      The elevator stopped at the sixtieth floor, and the glittering crowd exited, ready to party. Before they were permitted to enter the reception room, they were treated to a second security check.

      Although some of the guests muttered about being stopped again, Shane had been expecting it.

      This time one of the Secret Service agents recognized him and let him step through the metal detector. Instead, the agent singled out a balding insurance executive for the wand treatment.

      After clearing the metal detector, Shane stepped aside to let another couple hurry past, then strode toward the reception hall, where candles flickered in the center of white linen tablecloths. At the edge of the room, floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of the city lights. The windows were part of the reflective glass skin that covered the whole building. Shane remembered that early in the life of the building, a number of them had fallen out and crashed to the sidewalk.

      Note to self—stay away from the windows.

      “Champagne, sir?”

      “Thank you.” He accepted a flute from one of the formally clad waiters. But after taking a sip, he set the glass down on one of the tray stands scattered around the sides of the room. Right now he needed a clear head. Later he could celebrate with some bubbly.

      The reception hall was already fairly crowded, and he recognized dignitaries from countries as diverse as China and France. He looked around to see if he could spot King Frederick of Beau Pays. He’d been happy to see the king’s name on the guest list. Before Frederick LeBron had taken the throne of his small Alpine country, he’d pursued a variety of interests. He’d earned several advanced degrees from the Sorbonne, in Paris, then made a point of taking some top-secret political and military jobs, just like a regular working spook. He’d been the translator on a hostage rescue mission to the Middle East with Shane, the men who now made up Eclipse and three other highly trained operatives.

      The mission had blown up in their faces when one of the members had jumped the gun and gone in too soon. Luckily, they’d gotten most of the hostages out alive, although three had died, including the U.S. secretary of state.

      Wishing he hadn’t flashed on the gory details of that long-ago mission, Shane swiftly tried to rearrange his features into a more party-like alignment.

      But thinking of LeBron had brought back disturbing mental images from the past.

      Shane felt a cold chill ripple over his skin. Suddenly, with terrible certainty, he knew that something bad was going to happen here tonight.

      As soon as the thought surfaced, he firmly shoved it out of his mind. He was nervous about his private plans for the evening. That was all.

      Or was fate telling him that he’d better abort the harebrained scheme before he got into serious trouble?

      He usually listened to his sixth sense. Now he cursed his unexpected attack of nerves.

      Sorry that he’d put down the champagne flute, he looked around the room and spotted Ty Jones over by the French doors to the balcony.

      The man was six feet tall. At two hundred pounds, he was fit and muscular, not a bodybuilder, just a Secret Service agent who stayed in shape.

      As usual, his blond hair was falling across his forehead.

      Ty’s gaze swept the crowd, checking for anything or anyone that looked out of place. When he spotted Shane, they smiled at each other. Ty was one of the Eclipse team. But his day job was with the Secret Service, and he was with the vice president’s security detail. Which either meant that the VP was already on site or would be soon.

      When Ty went back to his surveillance assignment, Shane crossed to the special display that had been set up before any guests had arrived at the reception.

      In a heavy Lucite case, guarded with a silent alarm, was the priceless Beau Pays sapphire that the first king of the small Alpine country had given his wife on their wedding