But she wasn’t fooling herself about why he was here or her value to him. She had some freedom of movement for as along as he perceived a value, but what about once she had nothing more to offer?
Would Joe really set her free?
She shivered at the possibility of remaining a prisoner of this black-ops group who didn’t exist in the known world of espionage.
“Are you okay?”
Gabrielle stilled at his deep voice so close to her ear, then pushed herself away from his chest. His gaze was both sharp and tired. She wondered if he ever rested.
He was here with her in spite of not agreeing with this mission. He’d told her he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She believed him.
“I’m fine. How did I end up this way?” She glanced between them.
“You were having a nightmare. I didn’t think you’d want to scream and put the entire airplane into a panic.”
She flushed with embarrassment at the definite possibility since she’d been deep into a blood-drenched nightmare when she’d heard him trying to wake her. He’d saved her that humiliation.
“No, of course not. Merci.” Gabrielle shifted away until she sat properly in her own seat and brushed loose hairs off her face. Her stomach rumbled softly. She must have slept through breakfast. “How close are we to landing?”
“About twenty minutes.” Carlos dropped his chin down as though he wanted only her to hear him, so she leaned close again. “When we arrive, follow the instructions I gave you.”
She nodded, paying more attention to the perfect shape of his mouth at eye level. So firm and male, and kissable. She wished he’d never kissed her and shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.
Had to be hormones waking from too long in hibernation that kept her wondering if he’d kiss her again.
“Need me to go over it once more?” he asked.
“What?” She raised her eyes to meet his curious ones.
He sighed. “When we exit the plane-”
Gabrielle’s mind whipped back into gear. “I got it the first time we went through this,” she said, cutting him off, but keeping her voice low. “Stay next to you. Don’t talk to anyone. Tell you if I see anyone I recognize. Don’t use your name or give mine unless it is absolutely necessary. Tell customs we’re here on vacation, et cetera and so on.” She frowned at him. “I got the other fifty dos and don’ts, too. I’m not a moron.”
His eyes twinkled in spite of her harpy tone. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but I probably slept past breakfast.”
Carlos waved at the flight attendant. She came right over, brilliant smile on her pretty face when she leaned down to hear him. She nodded and returned to the galley.
“What was that all about?” Gabrielle cringed at her crabby attitude, but the woman had been ogling Carlos.
And he seemed fine with it. Men.
“I asked her to bring you some food.” His mouth twitched, fighting a smile.
How could she fault any woman for ogling a man who looked that good in a black, button-down shirt and black jeans after flying all night?
She wanted to shrink and hide in the blanket. Mornings weren’t her best time of day. She rarely spoke to anyone before having a shower, tea, and breakfast.
She felt the need to apologize, but not to the person who had taken her prisoner. In a compromise with her conscience, she said, “That might improve my mood.”
“I’ve noticed.” The smile that broke free reached his eyes this time. Gorgeous deep brown eyes fringed with black lashes.
She couldn’t hold on to her anger in the face of his good nature and smiled back. “I’m sorry to be so grumpy. But I’m used to being alone in the morning. I normally have time to acquire a personality before I leave the house.”
Something she said drew an odd look through his eyes, but the fleeting expression vanished just as quickly.
The flight attendant brought her breakfast and nicely reminded Gabrielle she only had about ten minutes to eat.
“Merci.” Gabrielle finished quickly, handing her tray to the flight attendant on the last pass through before landing.
Other than popping a couple mints in his mouth from the tin he shared with her, Carlos remained quiet throughout the landing and changing airplanes to the one for Carcassonne. He kept her close to him, his eyes constantly scanning.
But his eyes showed the lack of rest. Based on what she’d heard during the meeting, he hadn’t slept much in several days.
Gabrielle feigned sleep until Carlos dropped his head back and let his eyes close. She doubted he was ever in a deep sleep, but sensed he wouldn’t even try to rest when she was alert. She could tell he watched her constantly, even when he didn’t seem to be noticing her.
How would she slip away with him so vigilant?
Why did she feel so guilty about planning her escape? She’d do her part of this mission first to assure they were able to protect the young girls being targeted.
But she had to find a way to leave because she doubted Joe would let her walk around with knowledge of his group even if she didn’t have a name for them.
When she escaped, Gabrielle had to disappear permanently.
“YOU’RE NEVER HOME when I am so why does it matter how much I’m gone?” Gotthard asked, regretting the call he’d made home. He should have realized his wife, Martina, wouldn’t see it as an effort on his part to stay in touch, but rather an opening to rag on him.
“I might not mind if I could find you once in a while.”
“You have my cell phone and I return calls when I can.” Gotthard used his Bluetooth so he could type hands-free, but this call would be short. No one at the BAD operations center made a call to anyone on a cell phone long enough to be traced, no matter if they were talking to their ninety-year-old grandmother.
“Why can’t I at least know where you are? What can be so top secret about working on the interior design of an airplane?”
“For one thing, the design is for another country, and number two, I signed a security agreement. I’d breach the contract by telling anyone, including you.”
“At least-”
“I’m sorry, Martina, but I have someone buzzing me. I’ve got to go. I…” Just say it. I love you. He wanted to, really, but…“Miss you. Talk to you later.”
Gotthard hung up, waded through a few moments of guilt, then returned to toying with the code from Linette’s postcard. He’d been sending messages out through a system he’d created that sent postings in several mixed forms to different blogs and electronic-board sites. He signed each message with Bee Happee at the bottom and included a code word in the text.
“What you got big guy?” Hunter sauntered into the IT center at BAD, located beneath the city of Nashville and connected by underground tunnels to the high-rise AT amp;T building, which housed the business front for BAD.
“Not much new, except for this.” Gotthard turned and lifted several documents he’d printed out. “I’ve been cross-referencing names and found a common link between the three teens, Linette, and Gabrielle.”
Hunter took the papers and started reading. “What is it?”
“Look at the ancestry. There’s a D-ange-ruese notation showing up in each direct lineage of a firstborn or an only child. What I’ve found online indicates it’s a bloodline that might go back two thousand years.”
“Sounds like one of the zillion myths being peddled on the Net.” Hunter leaned down, studying the notations, then shook his head. “Damn Internet is the best and worst thing that ever happened to this world.”
“Myth or not, Amelia, Gabrielle, Linette, and the two other teens we can’t locate all have that designation in common plus they’re all either an only child or a firstborn. Mandy is the only exception, but it’s something.”
Hunter squinted his eyes in thought. “Huh. I’ve got friends in Europe who specialize in really obscure ancestry. Let me put some professionals on this.”
ONCE SHE DEPLANED in Carcassonn
e, Gabrielle breathed easier again, aware of Carlos only by the occasional touch of his hand to guide her back to him if she strayed.
Was it her imagination or had he withdrawn from her?
He hadn’t joked or touched her unnecessarily since leaving the Charles de Gaulle Airport.
Now she was thinking like a high school teenager, worried the hot guy in school didn’t notice her. Her cheeks heated at the memory of this hot guy running her into a bathroom to put clothes on at the cabin.
He’d noticed her, but not in a flattering way.
She pulled a carry-on bag Joe’s people had packed for her after she’d listed all the things she needed. How had anyone shopped that fast? Every item she’d requested had been included, no questions asked.
At the first ladies’ room they reached, Gabrielle moved out of the flow, but stopped short of the entrance when Carlos caught her arm.
Swinging a glare first at his hand, then at his face, she kept her voice low and didn’t soften the bite of annoyance sparking intentionally. “Do you really expect me to endure this trip without using the loo?”
The crowd noise swallowed a sound that accompanied the scowling curl of his lips. He took a breath, seeming to draw patience from that simple act, and leaned close when he spoke.
“I hadn’t planned to give you this until later.”
He drew her into his arms intimately, as if…to kiss her?
Gabrielle held her breath, all thoughts of the ladies’ room vanishing at the prospect of another kiss. She had no idea what had prompted this and would normally be worried over acting appropriately in public, but they were anonymous to this crowd.
One thought ventured to the surface. I might not get this chance again. She’d denied herself the simplest of joys over the past ten years. What was the harm in a kiss?
When he slid a hand around her back, she turned her face up to his, staring into eyes dark as charred whiskey. He paused and his gaze burned with something she was afraid to give a name. She swallowed, her breathing shallow and expectant.
Her skin rippled with anticipation. Want.
His jaw tensed. He glanced over her head and slipped a hand under the back of her sweater, raising a gasp from her when his warm fingers touched her skin.
A quick kiss was okay, but nothing overly demonstrative. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Just be still and put your head against my shoulder.”
She frowned, then complied. He hugged her closer with one arm while his fingers on the other hand moved around and clipped something on her waistband at her right hip.
She ground her teeth. He was putting a tracking device on her. “Do you really think I’ll just leave it stuck there if I want to run?”
Another deep sigh fluttered her hair, sending a brush of mint breath past her nose. “It’s not…that type of unit. I have no way to check a public bathroom to make sure it’s safe for you so I put a panic button on your jeans. Don’t put your hand on your hip unless you need help. It only takes a touch to send an alert to my receiver.”
Now she really felt like a witch for sniping at him.
He added, “If you ran, I’d find you and return you to Joe, who would lock you up for a very long time. Your chances of getting out of all this are better if you stay with me.”
Any warm feeling she’d tendered for him disappeared under a blow of irritation. She stepped out of his arms, feeling justified in her foul mood.
“I need some time so don’t come rushing in to check on me,” she warned.
“How long?”
“I have to freshen up and change clothes if we’re going straight to the school. I’m not in proper attire.”
Carlos eyed her suspiciously.
She’d shared all she considered necessary.
He checked his watch. “You have ten minutes. Tops.”
She couldn’t possibly do everything she had in mind in ten minutes. Maybe with a little practice, but she hadn’t tried this execution in the past two years. The last thing she wanted was for Carlos to come charging into the ladies’ room at the wrong moment. He’d intimidated her into going along with him when they’d first met and he wanted the key to her Jeep. Maybe she could use the same strategy on him.
Gabrielle gripped the handle of her luggage tightly and stepped up to push her face close to his, hoping she sounded as threatening as her frame of mind.
“I have been knocked overboard, shot at, kidnapped, handcuffed, terrified, and held prisoner. I will not be told how long to take in the loo.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Sure you got enough to eat on the plane?”
She growled and stomped away toward the bathroom entrance.
“Ten minutes, Gabrielle, or I will come get you.”
FOURTEEN
VESTAVIA STOOD NEAR the door to the conference room at Trojan Prodigy. He shook the hands of the four Fras arriving for a meeting he’d requested. He took his time with each wrinkled, but firm, hand he gripped.
The wall of glass on this side of the thirty-second floor overlooked the Brickell business district. Bulletproof glass had been installed inside the tinted windows, assuring safety. In addition, a fine mesh was interwoven into the extra glass that prevented any viewing from outside during daylight or such as now, when darkness wrapped the bustling city.
Coming from D.C., Chicago, New York, and Seattle, these four Fras were the backbone of the North American Fratelli, the ones who swayed the others.
This was the perfect example of why a group of twelve Fras could never rule one continent successfully. Too easy for one man to manipulate the power.
“You each have a copy of the file on our current project.” Vestavia waved his hand at the five place settings with folders. Once the men were seated around one end of the fourteen-foot-long walnut conference table and reviewing the files, Vestavia served them each their preferred beverage, which meant Scotch, whiskey, or gin.
At thirty-eight, he was the youngest of all twelve Fras, the present group ranging from fifty-two to seventy years of age. Another reminder that he was the most recent follower elevated to this level, which had come on the heels of the unexpected death of Fra Bacchus last year.
This North American contingent believed poor Bacchus had succumbed to a heart attack in his sleep.
That was a version of the truth.
Had they suspected foul play in any way, an autopsy would have been scheduled at a private clinic. That would have revealed a synthetic chemical in a blood sample from Bacchus, the catalyst for the heart failure.
But Vestavia had been careful when he eliminated the only Fra who had suspected his every move from the outset and constantly questioned his allegiance to the Fratelli.
Now, he was the celebrated brother and Bacchus was off meeting his maker.
Some of the most powerful men in North America sat at the table, none of whom had any idea an Angeli sat among them.
They believed the Angeli had been a myth, but Vestavia was very real. The Fras would know his power when he and six more Angeli emerged to guide a new world once the groundwork had been completed. For now, he would pretend deference to men unworthy to sit in the same room with him.
He had been the first Angeli to infiltrate the Fratelli, the most powerful organization in the world-at the moment. A collection of brilliant men flush with geniuses, but the Fras were not capable of a true Renaissance. They understood the mechanics of collapsing major industrial nations, but not the art of overtaking each nation methodically.
“Everything will be in place for Friday.” Vestavia took the open seat at the head of the table. “To assure success, we must not allow the United States to lose focus on the oil issues.”
Fra Diablo, the senior of the group, who could influence the votes, had supported Vestavia’s promotion to Fra. Drooping jowls moved when he lifted his head and shoved a bushy white eyebrow up. Skin sagged under his eyes, and his nose turned down, stopping short of being a hook. He drew deep breaths, h
is exhales wheezing slightly.
“With fuel prices climbing higher than any country anticipated, particularly the United States, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Diablo noted. “What about the teenagers?”
“The last one will be picked up this week,” Vestavia assured him.
“Isn’t that cutting it a little close with the presidential election next week?” Fra Benedict, the Banker as Vestavia thought of him, was always first to criticize. More round than tall, Benedict could always be counted on for a frown and a negative attitude. He pointed out every potential fault, no matter how minuscule, so he could be the one to claim to have foreseen a failure when it occurred.
Temper, temper. Vestavia had climbed quickly by presenting a sincere mix of humility and confidence to the Fras, but to hold a meek front in the face of inferior beings was a test of his discipline.
“Everything will be in place in time,” Vestavia said with a finality he hoped would end that discussion. “Timing is the key to success, just as timing was crucial five months ago in orchestrating the meeting that takes place this week in the Capitol Building.” He let that sink in, reminding them none of this would have happened without his ability to plan. “To rush any part of this schedule is as dangerous as running behind. We are currently on time.”
None of this bunch would insult another Fra or behave improperly. They believed in order and respect. As contradictory as it sounded, they would kill for the order but allowed “no unnecessary deaths.” No unnecessary actions that would draw attention to the order.
To commit such an act would show a lack of respect for the Fratelli.
At least Vestavia had the sense to see the absurdity in that thinking since deaths were unavoidable when conquering.
Fra Morton had the habit of lifting his hand a couple inches off the table, index finger extended, every time he spoke, as if to mark his place. “No one suspects the teens disappearing?”
Vestavia shook his head. “No. We’ve been very careful in our selection and solicitations. They each appear to leave the school willingly.”
Whispered Lies Page 18
