At the apartment, House threw open the door so hard it bounced on its hinges and almost flew back to hit him in the face. He made a quick search, confirming Alex wasn't home. Strangely her purse was sitting on the sofa and House sat down to go through it. He upended it, spilling all the contents out over the coffee table. The small change purse where she kept her money and credit cards was gone, along with her keys. But her cell phone – showing one message waiting for her – was still there.
She'd probably gone to the grocery store.
Something inside him snapped and he jumped up and headed down the corridor, stopping at the first locked door that he came to. He took a few steps back and then ran limpingly at it with all his strength, knocking into it with his shoulder and arm. Nothing happened to the door, but House bounced off it in pain.
It always worked in the movies.
He swore viciously at the stubborn piece of wood and at his own inability to break it.
House decided to take a different tack. Balancing his weight carefully on his damaged right leg, holding on to the wall for good measure, he kicked at the door with his left and was rewarded by the sound of splintering timber. He kicked again and again, realizing that even if it didn't get the door open, it felt good to be taking his anger out on something.
Eventually the doorknob fell off and then, another kick later, the lock gave way and the door flung open.
House had to take a moment to catch his breath and make sure that both legs could hold him. His right was aching from balancing his weight; his left trembled from the exertion of kicking. When he finally felt able to stand, he staggered the few steps into the room.
It was dark, the curtains pulled closed but for a sliver down the middle that let in enough sunshine to make out the details. Dust danced in the shard of light, disturbed for the first time in almost two years, House figured. He took a deep breath. It was the master bedroom, the kind of room he'd expected to find in an apartment of this size. And it was completely furnished, the bed neatly made, looking for all the world as if someone had just stepped out of it a moment ago.
The large, four-poster bed dominated the room. Off to one side, near a fireplace, sat a soft-green sofa scattered with plump throw pillows. A door on the opposite side of the room appeared to lead into an en suite bathroom. Next to the bed stood a white-painted crib, change table and other items of baby furniture – it looked as if it had been moved there in haste because it was all jumbled in together, and it was a tight fit between the bed and wall. If they'd had a crib in the room, there were plenty of other, more practical places to put it.
A dresser sat just inside the door, to House's right. He turned to look at it and picked up a silver frame from on top. It showed a beautiful older woman – Alex's mother, he knew from watching the news report. They looked similar, although in contrast to Alex's rich brown eyes, her mother's eyes were bright blue, like his. He picked up the next frame and winced at the picture. A man, a woman, a baby. They were in a park, sitting on the grass. The baby was being held by the man, the woman – Alex – looked at them both with a loving smile.
House felt sick thinking about Alex and her perfect little family. Living in their perfect little apartment. A beautiful bedroom where she and Kevin made love – he tried not to picture it but his brain betrayed him; the image of Alex lying naked in the bed, her luscious hair spread across the pillows as a man – not him – leaned over to kiss her. The baby would have slept safely in the room opposite theirs, protected by its wallpapered smiling-in-the-face-of-bad-weather ducks.
All of it destroyed in the most cruel and terrifying way possible.
House felt like he couldn't breathe – the dust was choking him – and he turned from the room, heading back out into the living room where he collapsed on the sofa.
His anger began to wane, replaced by a sick fog of bewilderment.
What the hell did he do now?
He looked at the pile of crap from Alex's purse and reached out to pick up the romance novel that had fallen out. He managed a grim, mocking smile – as much as he loved Prescription Passion, he didn't get her fondness for these books. For lack of anything else to do, House opened the book and began to read.
Princess Alexandra Maria Feliciana Di Giorgio looked around the humble abode that
was to be her home. It was a far cry from the suite of rooms she enjoyed at the
palace. But if it meant escaping Frederick's clutches and not giving in to her
father's plans for her life, it was worth it.
She sat down on the lumpy sofa and sighed hard, exhausted by the past few weeks
of activity. Losing her grandmother had been devastating, even after her long battle
with cancer. But her father's coronation and then his hasty decision about the man
he wanted Alexandra to wed was more than she could take.
House stopped, in shock.
Princess Alexandra?
He looked at the book – it was torn and dog-eared, clearly it was a well-loved favorite.
Or perhaps it didn't leave her side.
He remembered the morning in hospital when he'd had to go through her purse to find her cell phone and call Kate. He flicked the book over and looked at the cover: a woman in a tiara was swooning the arms of a dark-haired man in a tuxedo. The Italian Princess's Marriage Bargain. Yes, it was the same one, he was sure of it.
With a trembling sense of dread, House read the blurb on the back.
Alex George – the pseudonym of Her Royal Highness, Princess Alexandra, crown princess
of Evenovia, is in hiding from her family. Her father wants to marry her off to the cruel and
vicious tyrant, German billionaire Frederick Gutenberg, while all Alex wants is the
chance to live a normal life. She thinks she's safe but then her secret, ordinary life is
disrupted in a chance encounter with the debonair and charming sheriff of the small
town she's chosen to hide in. Can the sheriff keep her safe and protect her when the
ruthless Frederick comes to claim his bride?
He blew out a breath.
Princess Alexandra?
It was more than a coincidence. With nothing better to do, he sat back and began reading the story, skimming through pages of dialogue and sex scenes, pausing to read more thoroughly at the passages that described the princess and her background.
Princess Alexandra.
It was amazing, really, House thought, how thoroughly Alex had been able to adapt her life to match the character in the book. The birthday deadline by which she was supposed to return to her family, the secret support from her mother, her terror of Frederick and his cruel streak, even the virginity – although the character in the book was twenty-two, not thirty-six. He even remembered Alex sharing the tearful story of her grandmother's battle with cancer – it had all been a complete fantasy.
And Frederick, the shadowy enemy he'd been up against this whole time, didn't even exist.
House could imagine how it had happened – maybe she'd been reading the book on the plane on the way back from Paris, her mother's ruined body in the hold. Or perhaps she'd picked it up after the ordeal was over, needing an escape from the horrors she'd been through. Either way, through coincidence or a really fucked up fate, she'd started reading a story whose central character shared her name, Alexandra. Her tormented subconscious had taken that as a starting point and run with it.
Her delusion was sophisticated. The need for secrecy over her "true identity" meant it was unlikely any of her friends or colleagues would have known that Alex was leading a completely fictitious life. After all, he'd been the closest person in her life for months now and she'd never given him the "royal" story, sticking doggedly to her "European aristocrat" line. Lie. And given she and Kevin had only moved to Princeton a few months before the tragedy, she probably hadn't had time to develop a network of friends who would have noticed her strange behavior.
But there was Kate.
House rummaged through the pile until he found Alex's cell phone. He found Kate in the contacts and dialed, not entirely sure what he was going to say when she answered. He was saved from saying anything when the call went to voicemail. He didn't bother leaving a message.
Wearily, House got up and wandered into the bedroom. He felt a cold shudder as he walked through the apartment, knowing now what had happened there. He didn't want to begin to think about what it would have been like for Alex. To watch her husband shot execution-style, according to the news reports. The media had no detail on how Jack had been killed, just that he'd been taken forcibly from her arms.
He felt a surge of protectiveness for his own child and checked his watch. Where could she be?
In the bedroom House ignored the cheerful marching ducks. He lay down on the bed to wait. They'd find a way through this. They had to. He'd get Alex the best psychiatric help available; they'd deal with it. She'd suffered an unimaginable loss, but he could help fill that gap. He'd be more attentive, he'd be more grateful when she cooked and cleaned up after him. He'd be the best father imaginable and change any diaper, any time, even the explosive ones.
House closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the past few days and the horror of the past few hours weighing heavily on him. He still hadn't cured the patient.
For the first time ever, House couldn't bring himself to care.
-
-
Alex watched from across the street as Greg came home. She then went to the side of the building where the courtyard garden was. It was possible to see into the apartment a little from there – as she'd discovered that very first day she'd met Greg.
She watched him pace around; she heard the violence and didn't have to work hard to guess that he was breaking down one of the doors to the locked rooms. Fool. All he'd find was the remnants of someone else's life. What did it matter? His incessant curiosity was both one of his most endearing traits and his most annoying.
Now that she'd had time to process the information that he was working for Frederick, Alex had got over her sense of betrayal. Oh, it was still there, and she knew that once she was safe, there'd be plenty of time for the tears and grief for herself, her fatherless child, and the life she thought she might have had.
But for now her priority was to get away safely. She had to protect her family – and that meant herself and her baby, because no one else appeared to be trustworthy. Family was more important than anything.
For that she needed the money she'd hidden in the bag under the bed. And she had to make sure that Greg could never find her again. He was too dangerous to her and to their baby. She'd let him get close to her – close enough to learn her secrets – and now she was paying the price. He would have to, too.
Alex stayed crouched in her hiding spot, watching as he returned to the living room, sat heavily on the sofa and then began going through her things. He wasn't even trying to be careful, she realized. There was no way she wouldn't have noticed what he'd done. All it meant was that she was right: time had run out. They were ready to take her away, to return her to Frederick and her fate, and Alex had just a few hours to escape, if that.
Her legs and back began to ache; the baby protested the cramped position with feet and elbows. Her stomach grumbled her hunger. But Alex waited until the sun fell below the horizon. She knew he was in the bedroom. No movement had occurred for some time – he must have fallen asleep.
It was risky, but Alex didn't have a choice.
She got up, shaking out the pins and needles in her feet. She let herself into the apartment as quietly as possible, listening for any sounds in the evening gloom. Sure enough, she could hear his snores from down the corridor. Picking her way carefully over to the cupboard in the corner, Alex pulled out the supplies she'd been hoarding ever since she'd come to Princeton to escape. It wasn't much, but it was enough to help her if she needed it. She had no gun – she couldn't stomach the idea of shooting someone – but she had a knife, which looked threatening, even if she had no intention of using it. There were a few other things she'd collected: rope, handcuffs, electrical tape, pepper spray. All carefully put away for the day when she had to protect herself.
She gathered the few things she needed and then padded quietly into the bedroom. He didn't budge – she knew what he was like when he'd been working on a case like the one he had this week. His exhaustion would be overwhelming and he'd sleep deeply for hours.
The knowledge gave her a stab of fresh grief – she knew him so well. At least she thought she had, and yet all the time he'd been colluding with her enemies.
Crawling awkwardly on her hands and knees, Alex pulled out the gym bag from underneath the bed and took it out to the living room. With the light from a streetlamp coming in through one of the windows, she confirmed that the cash was all still in there. At least ten thousand dollars, by now, she figured. More than enough to get her to Mexico and pay for her care until the baby came.
She grabbed a couple of apples, stuffed her strewn belongings back into her purse and zipped up the gym bag again. There. Everything was ready for her to make her escape. Just one last thing to take care of.
She returned to the bedroom, the knife gripped tightly in her hand.