Chapter 1: Royal Princess Disappears, Takes up a New Life, Finds Love

ASSOCIATED PRESS: Friday. Police and secret service personnel remain in a frenzy over the sudden disappearance of visiting royal family member Princess Caroline. They remain hopeful that Princess Caroline will be found today after vanishing in the middle of the night from her heavily guarded hotel suite in downtown Washington. The beautiful, well-known, and popular Princess is on a state tour of several major east coast cities, and was scheduled to open a wing of a new hospital named after her late grandfather...

I stood, stretched, and looked around the dimly lit table at my four friends. "Hey, I'm heading home. I have to work tomorrow. You guys keep burning the midnight oil, but there's not much action here. Next time let's come on the weekend. Thursdays are dead. Thanks for getting us together. We'll do this again."

I got a chorus of goodbyes from my four friends. I chugged one last swallow of the beer I'd been milking for an hour, and headed from the bar across the lobby of the Washingtonian Hotel to the elevator for the parking garage and my car. I don't think I'd stayed out this late for six months, or even before that on a couple of hot dates that I'd had before Marjorie had moved in with me and declared that she was my 'official' girlfriend. We were early risers, so we tended to go to bed early too.

Marjorie had been gone a month by then, initially declaring that she was confused and no longer my girlfriend. She was upwardly mobile, and had decided that Matt Bower might help her 'find herself.' The bastard had offered an incentive to win her away from me – a two-week vacation in Cancun that he'd pay for. She did allow as how we'd had a great romance and fabulous sex life, that she might like to 'visit' me periodically, a euphemism for wanting me as an occasional fuck buddy. Since Marjorie was a hot fuck and I still had feelings for her; I told her that I welcomed the continued relationship, although I hadn't seen her or talked with her since she left. Thinking of her made me sad because she'd moved on. I still loved her.

I took the elevator up to level three of the parking garage, and walked to my car, mindful of my own security. I'd unfortunately had to park in a dimly lit section of the car park. I turned into the aisle between my car and the next, got in the car, and locked the doors as I started up. A few minutes later I headed north on Georgia Avenue heading home from downtown Washington.

I'd driven for ten minutes when a female voice from the backseat said, "Please don't freak out or get all flustered ... or anything at all. I promise I'm not here to hurt you. I just needed a ride and a place to hide. You didn't lock your car, so I just got in and lay down back here."

Besides leaping upwards so I almost hit my head on the roof of the car – held in only by my seat belt, I swerved a few times and fortunately didn't hit anything, my adrenalin had surged, and I was in fight-flight-fright mode big time. My heart rate shot up to two- or three-hundred beats per minute, and my blood pressure spiked nearly rupturing my aorta.

I eeked out in a scared tone, "WOOOOOOOOooooo! What do you want? I don't have much money. Take everything, but don't hurt me." I decided this was not a time to display my brave face, if I even had one.

"I only want a ride silly. You're just giving me a ride." The female accent was unmistakably English.

"Where to? Don't hurt me. I'll take you anywhere, and I promise I won't say anything – I promise I won't call the police."

The female voice giggled, "I wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm going to ... wherever you are – the further from downtown, the better. Just drive, and don't get a traffic citation."

My brain had started emergency processing, looking for ways to run the car to the side of the road and leap out, except the neighborhood I was in did not invite doing that. I'd be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

The female voice from the floor of the back seat asked, "Are you a nice man?"

I timorously responded in a rapid voice, "Last I looked? Why are you hiding back there? Did you rob someone at the hotel? Are you wanted by the police?"

"None of that, but please take me with you. I'll pay you ... well, eventually. I don't have any money with me right now. I just need your help."

A fraction of my brain allowed the fact that this situation was not threatening. I asked, "Do you have a name? I'm Jim." I still worried about being garroted by my unexpected passenger, but she seemed to want to hug the floor mats in the back.

She replied in a muffled tone from the floor, "My given name is Caroline, but my friends sometimes call me Carrie. You're not a James?"

"Formally, yes, James, but I never use it. My mother calls me James and always has when she was mad at me. I'm friendly Jim – Jim Westerly." I started to relax a little more. The girl's voice didn't sound threatening at all.

I asked, "Do you have a weapon?"

"No. It's only me back here." I breathed easier, but wondered if she knew karate and could snap my neck in a microsecond.

She explained, "I'm on the floor because I don't want any security cameras to see me. I'll explain when you get to your destination. Please just drive to wherever you were headed and please act normally. I promise I'm not a threat, that no harm will come to you, and that I'm not going to rob you."

I glanced back as we passed under a light. The mid-twenties girl cowering the backseat was attractive as she smiled up at me from the floorboards with her head against the right-side door. I couldn't possibly imagine anyone wanting her for anything other than as a hot girlfriend. She looked more scared than I was, clutching one of my dark jackets around her shoulders.

"Where do you live?" she asked in a pleasant tone.

"Silver Spring."

"Where's that?"

"About six or seven miles north of downtown Washington. You have an accent. Where are you from?"

She laughed gaily, "United Kingdom. I'll give you details once we get to your place."

"Are you kidnapping me?"

"No, more the other way around, but I'm a willing party, and I promise I'll pay you for your troubles ... someday."

My blood pressure had returned to a more modest condition, my pulse had slowed to 180 instead of 500, and my inclination to pull the car over and run had subsided. I kept driving.

"Carrie, what's going on?"

"I've been help captive, and now I'm escaping?"

"Who held you against your will?" I suddenly found myself wanting to protect this sweet spoken young woman.

"Well, no one, the way you're thinking, but everyone, otherwise. I just was born into a life of commitments that piled up until I can't take it anymore. The privileges mean little to me ... Now, I'm free ... at least for a while. I'm sure they'll catch me and make me go back."

"Who's 'they'?"

"I'll tell you later. Would you allow me to sleep on your sofa or floor until tomorrow? Please. I won't be a problem. I promise I won't steal anything or hurt you or do anything bad – really. It's not my nature. When you hear my story, I'm sure you'll understand."

"Errr. You're sure you won't ... you know, attack me or something?"

"No, I promise. I'm more scared of you than the other way around. Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

I responded in a nervous tone, "I'm a computer systems specialist for Barton Computer Systems, or BCS. I build systems for people, big ones that take a year or more to design and build. They're office is near where I live." I added, "If I don't show up tomorrow, they'll come looking for me. I'm important there." I hoped the bold-faced lie might discourage any mistreatment my passenger might have planned for me. Even as a supervisor of twenty or so serious geeks, I wouldn't be missed for a week or more. Work was pretty laid back and measured on results instead of punching a time clock.

"That does sound important," Carrie said in a sincere tone. She politely asked, "What were you doing in the city – at the hotel?"

"One of my old friends from out of town was in the city on business; he was staying at the hotel. A few of us from college got together for dinner and drinks. It went later than I had planned. Was that where you were – at the hotel?"

"Yes. I arrived yesterday." After a pause, she asked, "How much further?"

"Five or ten minutes depending on how we hit the traffic lights."

"Hurry. My leg is cramping." Now, I was sure I wasn't in any danger if she were complaining of her own self-inflicted pain. I sensed her trying to roll onto her back and extend her leg vertically behind me.

As we neared my condo, I said, "Almost there?"

"Are there security cameras?"

"Yes."

"Can you get to your flat and avoid them?"

"Probably. You're trying to hide for sure."

"Yes. Can I wear your coat?"

"Yes, and there's a baseball hat back there somewhere too. Put that on and pull it down over your eyes." I realized I was now complicit in helping this girl avoid security and helping her hide. How did I get trapped into this?

I pulled the car into a relatively dark corner of the parking lot for my building. We were even away from other cars. I got out and helped Carrie out the back door of the car on the driver's side. I nodded, "Follow me."

Carrie cascaded out of the back on her hands and knees, and stood in my jacket. The sleeves were at least six inches longer than her arms, and the hat fit loosely on her head. I could see she had long dark hair tucked under the hat. As she stood, the top of her head didn't even come up to my chin. She gave me a weak smile and indicated with a shrug that she was in my hands.

Instead of the direct route to the front foyer of the building, I led us to the 'Resident's Only' side door that I needed a key fob to enter. I waved my key, and we went in. I said, "The entrance and elevators have cameras; there are none in this area. We'll walk up to ten."

"Walk! Ten!" she protested, but then started to trudge to the emergency stairs ahead of me.

I followed her up, watching her sweet little butt wiggle enticingly inside my jacket with each stair. The higher in the building we got, the slower she moved. I could tell she wasn't used to this kind of exercise. The more I was in her presence the less worried I was for my own safety, and the more I felt concerned for my new friend.

We were both panting by the time I let us into my unit on the tenth floor. I noted the kitchen clock said twelve-fifteen.

I gestured to my sofa. "If you're serious about sleeping, there's option one. I also have a day bed in my second bedroom, but it'll take me a minute to get it prepared because of all the stuff piled up on it."

"Oh, no. I don't want to be a burden; the sofa is fine. Do you have a bathroom?"

I showed her to the guest bath and left her. She came back five minutes later wearing one of my t-shirts and obviously nothing else under it, save for some knickers. She looked cute and coquettish. I'd gotten a couple of sheets and blankets, and set them on one end of the sofa.

Carrie said as she gestured to wearing my garment, "I hope this is OK. I saw your shirt in the wardrobe and opted for a sleeper. My jeans were tight. I'm not supposed to wear them in public because they're not dignified. Ughh! If I had my way, I'd never be dignified the rest of my life."

I nodded. She looked much better in the shirt than I ever did, even as it hung long and loosely on her small frame except for the two sharp points at the end of her breasts that made the shirt hang out away from her body. I marveled at her now that I could assess her in good lighting: mid-twenties, great legs, a graceful neck, a sweet face, and long brown hair. She was gorgeous ... and she looked familiar, but I couldn't place her.

I stammered out, "I put blankets and stuff there. If you need more, let me know. Now who are you and what are you escaping from?"

"Thank you. I'll be fine." She sat demurely on the edge of the sofa. "As for the rest, I'll tell you tomorrow morning. It's a long story, and we're both tired. Let's sleep."

I slipped into the master bedroom, and a few minutes later, I was in my own bed. My last thought was to wonder about whom Carrie really was, why she was on the run, and what the new day would bring.

I leaped awake and out of bed as consciousness swept over me. Why? It was morning, and the sun was shining outside. The scantily clad body of a female I barely knew lay beside me – actually had curled up beside me and cuddled into my warmth. She was fast asleep but had somehow managed to get me to spoon around her; however, the tidal wave of motion of the bed that I'd created in my start awoke the pretty girl.

Carrie looked up at me and gave me the best smile of anyone I'd ever met, her beautiful mussed hair flowing around her face on my pillow. She stretched in a sexy way as she smiled. "Your sofa was lumpy, so I decided to use the other side of your bed. I hope that was all right? You were nice and warm too."

"Yes ... Yeah ... I just forgot for a second that you were here with me." I could still feel the adrenalin pumping through my veins.

Carrie sat up, and I again remembered that she was nearly naked beneath my shirt that she'd commandeered the night before. I had more than one impure thought, but I turned and went into my bathroom, closing the door as I did my morning business.

Carrie was gone from my bed when I came out. I could hear her in the other bathroom taking a shower. I had more impure thoughts as I dressed.

In the kitchen I set out two cereal bowls, and started some coffee. I flipped on the television that sat on my kitchen counter, and then moved to set out cereal, milk, and other fixings for breakfast.

Carrie appeared wearing the same clothes she had on the night before, except she wore another of my short-sleeve shirts that she must have found in the guest room closet. I liked the way she looked in my clothes. I felt a special connection with her.

I gestured to a counter chair, and started to talk about breakfast with her.

Just then the television came to life, something obviously important from the mundane reports of doom and gloom around the world. I turned the volume up.

A reporter standing in front of the hotel I was at the night before talked at a rapid rate, "Police have no clues to the disappearance of Princess Caroline last night. Security forces discovered early this morning she was missing from her room at the posh Washingtonian Hotel. Security footage from the hotel's many security cameras is now being reviewed for clues. Fears are that the princess has been kidnapped and that ransom demands may be forthcoming. Princess Caroline was scheduled to appear at the setting of a wreath for..."

I noted that the reporter standing in front of the Washingtonian Hotel could have just as well have been standing inside the Fukushima nuclear reactor in Japan, since the background did little to enhance her story. Did people really think she'd been there the entire time since the princess had disappeared?

The television screen changed to a stock photo of Princess Caroline. I studied the picture and slowly turned to the beautiful girl on the other side of my kitchen counter eating granola and wearing my shirt in a sexy way. Yes, it was her without a shadow of a doubt. She smiled back at me acknowledging my ability to put two and two together. My knees went weak, and my whole body started to tremble. I stumbled backwards until I was leaning against the counter.

"Errr, Princess..."

"NO!" she commanded and slapped her palm on the counter for emphasis. "I am Carrie; please call me that. PLEASE help me NOT have to return to that life, at least for a few days or as long as we can. Don't turn me in." By the end of her pleas, she was almost in tears.

I pleaded too, "Carrie, there will be video coverage of me leaving the hotel in my car. The police will be here in short order to check me out. You've set me up to go to jail for the rest of my life. They'll think I kidnapped you." I leaned against the counter opposite her and tried to think about the full import of hiding a member of the royal family, even if it were with her consent.

"NO!" she loudly insisted. "I would never do that to you. You are obviously a kind and helpful man. I lay awake last night waiting for you to accost me, but all you did was fall asleep. I like you. I trust you. I felt in luck when I found your car unlocked. I will not let anything happen to you."

"They'll think I hypnotized you ... or that you're a victim of the Stockholm Syndrome where you take kindly to the plight of your kidnappers."

"I am quite sane as any test will show. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"But I guarantee they will search every room in this place, even under my beds."

She pondered that thought for a bit and scanned the room. Finally, she announced, "I'm small. I'll hide in the oven of your cooking range."

Carrie came around the counter into my small kitchen. She peered into the door of the oven. "Oh, yes. If we remove the racks and the cooking elements I can fit in there just fine."

I rolled my eyes. This whole situation had disaster written all over it – big, egregious, fucking disaster. Visions of walking a prison yard and being the prison 'girlfriend' of some guy twice my size named Bubba flashed through my mind.

I went to the front window and looked out, expecting to see the entire apartment complex surrounded by a small army of heavily armed SWAT personnel, but nothing was happening outside that wasn't normal. I checked the edge of the woods in case they were hiding, but saw nothing.

Carrie said, "You should go to work, as you normally would. Leave me here. I'll watch by the window. If I see someone coming, I'll hide."

I said, "I can think of a thousand reasons why this is such a bad idea, but I ... I guess ... I don't know what to do."

"Go and do your normal things. That'd be best. I won't make a stir, I promise. I may even be gone by the time you get back from work. I wrote down your name and address so I can thank you if that's the case."

"How'd you get my name and address?"

"I went through your wallet last night and read your driver's license ... and I didn't take any money either."

I groaned and asked, "Where will you go?"

Carrie shrugged, obviously communicating that she had no idea where to turn next.

I shook my head. My appetite had vanished completely. I went and sat with my head in my hands trying to think clearly. The shortfall in my normal sleep wasn't helping me any either. I drank a cup of coffee hoping that the caffeine would have some positive effect on my coping mechanism. It didn't.

Finally, I stood. "I will go to work, but only for a half day or so. I'll bring some work home or something; that's not abnormal. Please don't go out and don't get seen by anyone. Stay away from the windows. Don't call anybody either; NSA or the FBI or someone has everybody in the country bugged. There's a little food in the refrigerator; help yourself to anything. Let's figure out your next steps when I get home."

She nodded and seemed to agree.

A few minutes later I left for work. Every fiber of my body felt under threat, expecting a bullet to take me out for kidnapping or some other great felony. The authorities would throw the book at me.

At work, I was not the least productive. I sat and stared at my computer screen for hours, my hands unmoving on the keyboard. I liked the pretty girl – the princess. I had a real live PRINCESS staying in my apartment. I was in trouble so deep I would fry to a cinder. What could I do? Did I just take her somewhere and drop her off and speed away? No that seemed cruel given her wishes.

My friend Carl came by at one point after lunch and peered into my small office, "Bad night? Man, you still look hung over. You and your buds must have really tied one on."

"Yeah, plus I didn't get much sleep to top it off. I think I might go home early and work over the weekend. I was even thinking of taking off a couple of days next week. Maybe I'll just start early days next week. I'll make up the time somehow."

"Well, you aren't getting much done here it appears." Carl waltzed away towards the coffee room.

About once an hour, I also used my iPhone to listen to the local news on my headphones. I heard increased news coverage about the missing princess including an immense amount of unfounded speculation about who had taken her captive, why, and how. Everyone seemed to expect ransom demands to materialize any second.

The speculations included kidnapping by some rampant fraternity as a prank, by ISIS, by the evangelical right, by the atheistic left, and lastly by a secret organization she was about to expose – the same organization really responsible for JFK's assassination and the 9-11 attacks. The possibility that she walked away on her own was not even considered. After all, she was a princess with unbounded riches and privilege at her disposal.

I left work at two o'clock, and headed home. I tried to think about what to do with Carrie; however, I couldn't even pose a question the right way to make the problems she'd created go away.

I went into my apartment, but no one seemed to be there. I walked through the entire twelve hundred square feet, looked under the beds, and no one was there. Then, I remembered her challenge about the oven. I went to the kitchen and opened the oven door.

Carrie smiled up at me from inside the small insulated box. "See. The only reason you found me is that we talked about me hiding here this morning." She uncurled her lithe body from inside the confines of my stove, and stood. At least I had a clean oven.

"Point made," I conceded reluctantly.

"How was work?" Carrie came into my personal space, stood on tiptoe, and kissed my cheek.

"Work was fine ... and that was unexpected." I tried to think if I had ever been kissed by a princess before, and obviously I hadn't.

"I've been a snoop all day. You said to help myself to anything at all. I like what I've found out about you."

"Oh, God. What did you do? Do I have any secrets left?"

"Nope," she grinned. "I like the books you've read. I even found your journal and read it. You're a thoughtful man with a lot of love inside you. We think alike on so many issues; I often felt that I was reading something I might have written."

"Carrie, that's my diary. You weren't supposed to read that; it's private." I flopped down on my sofa and held my head in both hands. The same splitting headache had returned.

She smiled and danced away with a laugh, "Not any more. I learned a lot about you and how you think. I like you – a lot. You really are a nice man, and I can tell we're very compatible with one another. You'll like me a lot when you get to know me better." She moved near and sat beside me on the sofa and asked, "Tell me more about Marjorie?"

I snorted, "Old girlfriend. Ditched me about four weeks ago to move on to someone she thought would be more to her liking. She told me that she wanted me as a fu..." I abruptly stopped myself.

Carrie laughed, "What? A fuck buddy? I'm not totally naïve, you know. I can even swear up a good storm like any good footballer when I get angry. Anyway, Marjorie apparently still likes you to give you that status, and you obviously miss her."

"I'm not sure. I haven't heard from her since she left with all her stuff. She hurt me. If you read my journal, you know I'm trying to forget her."

"Well, she left a few odds and ends here at your condo; good for me: some cosmetics and girly stuff; not much though. I have a favor to ask; would you go to a store for me? I made a list."

Carrie magically produced a piece of paper with two columns of things on it. There had to have been at least fifty things on the list. Her handwriting was meticulous and on the small side, so she'd fit a lot onto the single page.

She said, "Now that you know who I am, you know I'm eventually good for the money. I walked away with nothing. I had credit cards, but I knew if I used them the authorities would know right away where I was. I didn't take my mobile for the same reason, and all my cash was from the U.K."

I glanced at the list as she talked. About half the items were cosmetics. There were also a few clothing items, such as underwear. She also wanted a small carry-on bag or backpack for the stuff.

I enquired, "Carrie, I'll get these things for you, but what do you plan to do?"

She shrugged slightly, "Could I stay here until things calm down, maybe a couple of days? I promise I'll be good as gold, and I'll even clean and cook – I do know how. I've seen it done."

I rubbed my temples with both hands. "You mean I'll have a royal princess hanging around my condo doing the cleaning and cooking? Now that's a twist on things. I'm the commoner; am I not supposed to be doting on you?"

"Yes. No. What I mean is ... that's the life I want to get away from. I want to be a normal girl. I don't want people bowing and getting all unsettled about meeting me. I want to date, hang out with friends, cook for someone, have to clean up my own stuff, go to a club occasionally, fall in love and have a normal family, and ... just be normal. I have a long list of things I want to do with my life, and none of it involves being a princess. I even want to go line dancing at a country and western bar; would you take me sometime soon?"

"Well, on that basis, yes, you can hang out here, but eventually you'll have to go out in public. You can't hide forever."

"But I'll change my appearance. I'll put my hair up under a hat and try to look like a small guy."

I allowed my gaze to drop to her bust line. I chortled, "You will never be able to look like a small guy."

"Well, you know what I mean. I'll just look different. Don't be so literal."

I ignored her comment; "I'll go to a couple of stores after we have dinner."

After dinner took a little longer. I'd no sooner made the offer than there was a knock on my door.

Carrie scrambled back to the kitchen, and worked her way into the oven as I sauntered to the door. I wondered what she'd done with the racks and heating elements. I did notice that she had a piece of dark cloth over the small window into the oven.

I answered the door, and four imposing men stood there; two were in Maryland State Trooper uniforms. One of the detectives said, "James Westerly?"

As my knees started knocking, I smiled and tried to act nonchalant, "That's me. What can I do for you?" I felt my legs going weak, and felt as though I had lights flashing all over my face announcing that Carrie was inside my condo.

"We traced your car after it exited the parking facility at the Washingtonian Hotel last night."

"Yes, I was in their dining room and bar for several hours with friends. I think I left between eleven-thirty and midnight."

"We saw you on the video there. We've already talked to some of your friends too," volunteered the other detective. He was not at all confrontational or obnoxious.

I asked, "Did something happen to one of them? Did I do something wrong?" I tried to sound concerned, and I even straightened my posture to be more alert to their response. I expected the two darts from a Taser to strike me in the chest momentarily, rendering me a writhing and slightly electrocuted mass of quivering flesh on my floor as I was put in handcuffs and leg-irons.

"No. They're all fine. We're looking for a person who was staying in the hotel but disappeared. You didn't happen to see anybody as you left the hotel did you?"

I shook my head and made as though I was remembering. "I left the bar, went to my car, and drove home. I think I got home about twelve-fifteen maybe. Slept. Got up and went to work, although I admit to a bit of a hangover this morning. At the hotel, I only saw the desk clerk as I walked to the garage elevator. I didn't see anyone else in the garage." I tried to sound genuine, but I was shaking. I also told only the truth.

"May we take a look around your condo?"

I moved away from the door. "Sure. Come on in. This is the living room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one. There is a bathroom there that also services my guest bedroom. The master is there with an ensuite bath – not much; it's 1,200 square feet."

The officers fanned out. I stood at the end of the kitchen counter trying to see my condo through their eyes. What would they be looking for? Hiding places? Did Carrie leave any telltale signs? I made sure to not look at the oven.

One detective came out of the guest bedroom. "Anybody live here with you?"

"No. Just me. I had a live-in girlfriend up until a couple of weeks ago. I think she left some stuff. I haven't felt motivated to clear it out yet. If you want I can give you her name."

He looked satisfied with that answer, and returned to the room. I heard a closet door slide open. I could hear the same in the master bedroom. One officer came from the guest bedroom, glanced behind the sofa and the living room drapes, and then moved to my front door.