Anger surged through my chest as I stalked to the window and turned the blinds down. Taking slow steps so I wouldn’t wake Dad, I walked into the living room to close the blinds. Standing outside was a woman taking pictures of Dad asleep in the recliner.
“Get the hell out of here!” I ran to the window and twisted the blinds closed.
“What? What’s going on?” Dad tried to sit up in his seat.
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” I couldn’t disguise the anger in my voice. They had been taking pictures of my father! He was sick. Did they have no morals?
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” He wrestled with the handle on the side of his seat. “Is someone outside?”
“I’ve got it, Dad. I’ll tell the security detail.” Grabbing my coat, I yanked the door open and waved at the car idling in the driveway.
“Becca!” The sound of a camera drew my attention to the side of my house. The female photographer was snapping pictures. “Get the hell out of here! This is private property.” I dug in my pocket for my cell phone, intent on calling the police.
“Stop where you are!” Becca was moving across the lawn in angry strides.
“I’m calling the cops, ass**le!” The other photographer ran past the house and toward a van at the end of the street.
The cops said they would send a car out, but they wouldn’t be able to stay at the house all night. I growled in frustration and asked Becca to stay and make sure no one bothered my dad. After she made some calls, another bodyguard showed up to stay. I grilled him, making sure he understood no one was to come on the property at all.
Dad spent a good amount of time trying to calm me down, but it only made me angrier. No one should be taking pictures of my father. Especially to sell to papers or tabloids. When I realized my anger was making him agitated I tried to relax—no reason to have him stressed over something I was handling.
I got him his medicine and helped him to bed even though he tried to wave me away. Patricia would be over bright and early so I didn’t have to worry about him tomorrow. He hated having someone check on him every day, but I needed to know he was okay.
I didn’t say anything in the car on the way to my house. When they told me someone would be staying overnight, I didn’t argue. Duvall seemed to understand my quiet and spoke to Parker, who had taken a seat on the couch. Jess and Bert had already gone to bed, so the house was relatively quiet. I showed Parker where the bathroom was and told him to help himself in the kitchen before I went to my room.
Opening the computer, I searched for the specialist Alex had provided information about. Dr. Bielefeld was originally from Germany, but currently worked in France and Lilaria, enjoying a dual citizenship. He’d been written into many medical journals for his work with holistic and natural methods for dealing with cancer. I read for hours, searching through the articles for patient health and longevity. While some of his patients responded well to his methods, others required a balance of the normal medicines with the herbal supplements.
From what I could tell, he seemed to believe each person required a program tailored for their individual needs. He apparently didn’t have a problem mixing the more Western medicines with his holistic approach and obviously had a great understanding of them both. All the testimonials were glowing and happy; even the families of patients who died seemed to believe he had helped their loved one’s quality of life.
At some point I switched topics. I read through all the paperwork about my family and their flight from Lilaria. Before they left, their name could be traced back for centuries. It was intimidating to see an outline of every ancestor and their achievements. There was so much history that I got sucked in and didn’t realize how much time had slipped by. It was a bit like reading a historical novel, only I was somehow related to these people.
Eventually I leaned back on the bed and glanced at my clock. It was after three in the morning. I dragged myself down the hall to the bathroom. If I waited until the morning, I’d likely not get a shower. Jess and Bert were both bathroom hogs.
I leaned against the tiled wall and let the hot water run over my back. In less than two days my entire world had been turned upside down. Not just tilted or spun around and confused, but turned completely inside out. Nothing made sense. Every decision felt wrong. Every direction I looked led down a path I was unsure about. For years I had worked toward one goal, stayed focused on the one place I wanted to get. But now that goal felt like it wasn’t quite right. I wanted to know more about where I came from. I wanted to take my father to a place where he could get the best possible care. I needed to know if I was meant to sit on the council of a queen or if this was all just a weird fluke in my life.
So I held onto the one thing I knew to be true. Family always came first.
Chapter Ten
How to Become a Bodyguard
—Guns and Bullets Magazine
The car pulled up to the school and I took a deep breath. Duvall looked back at me and I nodded my head. The press was waiting this time, ready for me to show up. Duvall opened my door and helped me push through the people gawking at me.
The security guards at the front door waved me past without even looking at my ID. Apparently my face had been plastered on enough TVs they all knew me on sight. We took the stairs, but instead of heading for my office, I went to Dr. Geller’s. I rapped on the door, hoping to catch him before anyone else showed up.
“Come in.”
“Wait out here.” I looked at Becca and Duvall. There was no compromise here. I would be going in this office by myself. Duvall grimaced but nodded. I’d take that small victory.