Morton nodded his balding head, lips pinched in thought, and placed his hand flat on the table. He wore the understated brown suit of a nobody on his gangly body, which matched his nondescript face. A casual observance would dismiss his simple question and quiet acceptance as a pushover, but Vestavia never took anything casually. He’d investigated every one of them thoroughly.
Morton sat on the boards of six international firms, three of which held major defense contracts.
He was no pushover.
Fra Dempsey made notes during every meeting. He paused in writing. “What about the Venezuelan? Is he suspicious about what the teens will be used for?”
“No.” Vestavia rested his arms on each side of his file, making a show of being relaxed. “I’ve assured that Durand Anguis has more to worry about than the fate of the teens and ensured he will perform his tasks on time.”
“Impressive…if all goes as expected.” At fifty-two, Dempsey was one of the most accomplished Fra whose holdings included high-rise buildings all over the world and a luxury yacht manufacturer that custom-built vessels for world leaders as well as ships for international trade…and private submarines. Trim body, thick gray hair, and deep tan, he reminded Vestavia of a movie star known for that look whose name he couldn’t bring to mind.
“All will go as I explained in the original presentation for this project.” Vestavia would have preferred Mandy had been delivered to him, but she knew nothing significant and had been a sacrificial lamb. He’d only ordered the kidnapping to draw the attention of the Mirage, who took the bait the minute Durand’s involvement was leaked.
The only mistake in that plan had been in not capturing Mirage, but Vestavia would find this freelance informant soon and silence the rat.
“I sense a concern, my brothers.” Stilted quiet fingered across the table and got under Vestavia’s skin. Were they questioning him? Him. Fighting the urge to snap at them, Vestavia turned to the strength his ancestors had passed down through genetics rich with strategic ability and showed a tranquil countenance.
Benedict never wrote a thing in the meetings, but lifted a gold pen in his pudgy hand, fingering it like worry beads. “What if the Venezuelan fails or if one of the teens doesn’t come through or-”
What if you got laid by a woman who looked like Josie? Vestavia wanted to counter. The percentage of possibility had to be the same. Hard to imagine Benedict the Banker controlled 20 percent of all the money transfers between the United States and overseas.
Vestavia lifted a hand to stop Benedict the Banker before he bit his lip trying to get another worry on the table. “As I explained last time, we have three teens and only need one. The other two are insurance. This is a simple plan, but a well-constructed one that will have far-reaching results.”
Diablo had supported Vestavia’s rise to this level and proved to be the strongest voice in the group. He cleared his throat, effectively taking the floor.
“I hope I speak for all present to say I think you’ve done an outstanding job of planning this next step.” Diablo paused as if waiting to see if anyone would contradict him before continuing. “Of all the places we tested the biological agents in the last three years, the United States bounced back the quickest. We’ll see faster results of future testing once we have this country in a more tenable position. After Friday, the world will get a firsthand look at how the greatest industrial nation handles a crisis with longer impact than airplanes ripping through high-rise towers. And we shall see which of the predators on other continents make the first move.”
“Good.” Vestavia held a calm face though he wanted to smile, to enjoy the moment, but he’d celebrate for a week with Josie at his private island. Soon. “I’m ready for the second half of the funds.” But it took a majority to move the funds, and the four Fras in the room besides him held proxies from the other seven not present.
“If we are all in agreement, the eleven million will be moved in twenty-four hours.” Fra Diablo passed a pointed gaze around the table, waiting for a response from each.
Morton lifted the one finger again and nodded. Dempsey tapped his pen against the leather cover to his writing pad, but gave a dip of his head in acknowledgment.
All eyes turned to Benedict, who sighed heavily, making a production of any decision, then finally said, “I’m agreed.”
When they stood to leave, Vestavia caught the severe glance Diablo sent him that was just as pointed and full of warning, his message clear. Don’t make me regret supporting you.
The men rose and filed out. All except Diablo, who extended his hand.
When they shook, Vestavia leaned close. “There’s no reason to worry, but I needed to see you today for another issue as well. I need your support for one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Diablo’s eyes relayed his hesitance.
“A necessary death.”
“Beyond what is already proposed?”
“Yes. One that is not entirely related to the event Friday, but is important to the security of our organization.”
“Who? Why didn’t you bring this up in the meeting so all the Fras would be included in the decision?”
Vestavia took care with his words so as not to insult a Fra directly, but they were all suspect in his book. “Because there’s been an operation breach on the teens and Mirage. We have a mole working for one of our Fras who is leaking information and must be dealt with…if it isn’t a Fra.”
A STEADY FLOW of passengers moved past Carlos in both directions through the airport in Carcassonne. Conversation was a blurred mix of languages, but most sounded French.
He gave the second hand on his watch one extra round past ten minutes, then shook his head. Gabrielle had taken less time to shower and change before they left the cabin, so freshening up shouldn’t take this long.
He’d started toward the ladies’ room, one spot no man wanted to enter uninvited. With any luck, using the excuse he was checking on his traveling companion, who had been ill, would save him some grief.
As he reached the entrance, two young ladies strolled out, wheeling their suitcases behind them and chatting. They glanced up annoyed, then their eyes widened. They ran slow gazes over him, smiled and murmured something in French with a seductive tone.
Carlos winked. They blushed and scurried off.
Right behind them, a shapely woman in a deep-cinnamon-colored skirt suit with gorgeous legs and matching short pumps exited the room. She was looking down, grumbling about something while she fiddled with a button on her coat.
A coat like Gabrielle’s and pulling an identical suitcase.
Carlos hesitated in step at the same moment she stopped abruptly in front of him and looked up. He worked to find his voice. “Gabrielle?”
“Take this.” She shoved the luggage handle at him, muttering, “You can pull that while I finish dressing. C’est des conneries! You should try doing all this in ten minutes.”
She stalked off, then glanced to each side of her and swung around to face him. Her hair was swept up into a chic twist that showed off her high cheekbones. The angry gaze she shot him narrowed the longer she stood there waiting.
“Now what?” Her accent deepened.
Carlos caught himself and stepped forward next to her, surprised by the change that flowed over her like a thundering rain. She’d gone into the bathroom a cute, frumpy mess and emerged a polished butterfly with sharp teeth.
“You look…nice,” he finally managed to say. Not really. She looked stunning in that getup and sexy as hell.
He bet she’d look even better out of it.
“That compliment does not negate rushing me,” she snapped. “And don’t ask me if I’m hungry.”
“Are you?” He grinned. She was a bossy little thing at the oddest times.
Her answer was an indignant huff. She straightened her back and held her hand out for the handle of her luggage, pursed lips now the ripe color of a split watermelon.
All at once, he was hungry.
Another look at those legs and he was starving in a way food wouldn’t sate him.
She moved her hands toward her hips.
Carlos tensed. “Don’t.”
“It’s okay.” She stuck her hands on each hip and nothing happened, no alarm buzzed on his phone. “I moved the little bugger to a more suitable spot.”
Carlos tapped a thumb against the handle of her suitcase, seeing this next couple days as a battle of wills. An annoying prospect, but with an upside. Pretentious women with snobby attitudes generally turned him off.
The more she took on the air of nobility, the less he’d have to worry about this wild attraction to her.
He passed her the handle of her suitcase. “We’ll discuss that later, but don’t change anything I do ever again.”
That should get her back up a bit, bring out the truly obnoxious arrogance he expected from the highly born.
Instead, the air went out of Gabrielle with that one reprimand. “I’m sorry, I was just, you know, worried I would bump the thing and cause a commotion.” Her eyes were skittering around anywhere but his face.
He’d embarrassed her, again. Seemed to be his specialty with this woman. Carlos took her chin to make her look at him. “No harm done, really.”
Doubt stared back at him so he added, “I had no idea you were doing all that, but you look very pretty.” Compliments fed a woman’s confidence, but in this case he meant every word.
Her gaze softened. Those melon-colored lips puckered, then rounded.
Stupid comment, because now he was thinking about how attractive she really was and how much he’d like to kiss her again. She looked more kissable than she had when she woke in his arms on the first flight. Hard to imagine, but true. When she’d come out of the nightmare, he’d stared into eyes puffy from heavy sleep, hair mussed, and a face so innocent he had to remind himself why she was with him and fought with every muscle to keep from crushing his mouth to hers.
Gabrielle’s lips parted. Her tongue slipped out and brushed her bottom lip, leaving a slick path.
Carlos’s body clenched. This was going to be a problem.
A man wearing an overcoat made an abrupt turn next to her.
Carlos snatched Gabrielle to his side.
“You’re going to wrinkle my clothes worse than the luggage has,” she groused, and smoothed her jacket.
He couldn’t believe how fast her mood switched from angry to hurt to irritated. “Wrinkling your clothes is the least of my concerns when someone makes a quick move near you.”
She twisted, eyes searching the crowd. “Who?”
“Nobody, this time,” he whispered. “But you have to be on guard from here on and do what I tell you.” He gave her that last order in a nicer tone.
For all his effort, he got a droll look in return that said she was getting tired of being told what to do. This was exactly why Carlos had to escort her. Retter would have lost patience by now and intimidated her into submission, which could have turned her catatonic or screaming.
Or Retter would have seduced her to get his way.
That would have worked, but just the idea of Retter getting his hands on her in any way unleashed a black mood Carlos didn’t want to identify the source of.
Korbin and Rae passed by, but Korbin slowed and ran an appraising gaze up and down Gabrielle.
That just pissed Carlos off, which didn’t improve his tone when he told Gabrielle, “Let’s go.”
She made another huffy noise that he translated as she’d go but that he hadn’t heard the end of her complaints. He nudged her toward baggage claim again.
Carlos kept stealing glances, trying to decide what was different about Gabrielle beyond her clothes, hair pinned up in a sexy twist, and the light makeup that brought out her crystal eyes.
Male heads turned, but she didn’t appear to notice.
Carlos put on his aviator sunshades and scanned constantly, not really expecting a threat here, but always prepared. When she shifted toward the corral of limo drivers, he stepped ahead of her, blocking Gabrielle from a short man dressed in a tailored black suit that reeked of money.
The little man held a white card with ascension below a gold crest with a flying falcon.
Gabrielle stepped up next to Carlos.
The driver said, “Mademoiselle S?”
“Oui, but I prefer English since my companion does not speak French fluently.” Her terse tone indicated any other action would be unacceptable.
Carlos considered giving this guy a shorter nose when the driver sniffed in disdain at his not speaking the local language.
“As you wish, Mademoiselle S, and I will call ahead to inform the office of your request.” The driver took over the luggage except for Gabrielle’s computer bag, which Carlos kept.
He leaned close to her so the driver wouldn’t hear. “You just keep impressing me.”
The smile she tried to smother spread her full lips wide. The dimples winked again. She was the vision of a young, carefree, sophisticated woman in that moment, taking Carlos’s breath.
A woman who might have more secrets than him.
Dangerous combination.
Carlos and Gabrielle loaded into a black stretch limo and rode silently as the car left the airport. He rarely saw cities from this vantage point. Normally he came in under the cover of darkness and left just as silently.
Carlos had expected his cell phone to ding with incoming text messages, but when he checked, he had no signal. “Is there no cellular service here?”
“Yes, but the service has been affected this week by major repairs being made to aging towers. It will normally return quickly…within an hour.”
When the driver headed due east instead of turning north, Gabrielle questioned his route.
“There is a detour for a repair being done on the direct route that would detain us longer than taking the road through la cité,” the driver explained, using a local term for “the city.”
A tiny gasp escaped Gabrielle and Carlos smiled at her excitement.
“The castle was built in the 1100s,” she told him, quietly explaining how there had been a bloody crusade here at one time. The driver kept to the paved highway to Carcassonne and turned north, driving them past one side of the castle. Visitors walked dusty roads up to the walled fortress and towers that seemed to float above the ground in the hazy morning.
“Sixty towers and barbicans,” she continued, playing his personal tour guide.
Carlos had to admit the sight of such a well-preserved medieval city with miles of walls was an incredible vision, and he’d have asked what a barbican was if not for enjoying her voice too much to interrupt. The castle took on a magical quality when she described it.
“When the apples fall and rot on the ground, it can smell like cider,” she went on.
“Mmm.” But Carlos was inhaling the delicate perfume she must have put on in the airport. And his sightseeing had narrowed to observing the graceful shape of her slender neck. So inviting and so damn kissable. He should have been looking at the cobbled streets and landscape, but nothing beyond the window held his attention like the woman next to him.
“This castle was supposedly the inspiration for the movie Sleeping Beauty and I think they used it in Robin Hood,” she finished breathlessly as they exited Carcassonne and drove along roads snaking through an expanse of flatlands and vineyards. She sat back against the seat and added, “As grand as that is, the École d’Ascension castle is magnificent.”
“Looking forward to seeing it again?” He wanted to run his finger along her neck, to feel the smooth skin.
To touch so much more.
“Oui,” she whispered, then met his gaze. Her eyes flared for an instant. Just enough to let him know she’d picked up on his thoughts.
He silently cursed himself for letting her see that when he had more to think about than how much he wanted her. Carlos let a blank mask drop over his face. She blinked as if she’d been confused, then shrugged.
&nb
sp; The driver cruised northeast for the next forty minutes. Gabrielle returned to pointing out everything from flowering hedge roses to two-hundred-year-old plane trees along the narrow highway they traveled that had no shoulders. Poplar trees cut across rolling hills carpeted with vineyards before they turned down a dusty road that could use some of the rain threatening.
Even the gloomy weather couldn’t dampen her spirits.
When the castle housing the school came into view, Gabrielle sat up. “It rises from the mist like something in a storybook.”
“Yep, just like a fairy tale,” Carlos muttered, seeing it differently. More like a logistic nightmare for Korbin and Rae, who wouldn’t be able to get close. Formidable stone walls wrapped a fortress that probably covered twenty-five acres. Low-hanging clouds hovered above the castle. Not a tree grew on the land immediately surrounding the compound. Great defense strategy from back when they cleared the surrounding area so guards could see an enemy approaching.
The École d’Ascension had the distinct privilege of being one of the only private grand schools of France where heads of state and royalty had studied. The other schools were government-owned and just as exclusive.
“I used to have picnics over there when the school allowed us outside the walls with security.” She pointed at where a string of trees ran alongside a stream half a kilometer away. The closest cover. “The gardens inside are wonderful, but I always wanted a fountain. I wanted a place inside with running water where I could just walk out to the courtyard anytime without security hovering.”
Carlos ignored the scenery when he noticed the tremble in her fingers.
The driver was speaking into his cell phone so Carlos leaned over and whispered close to her cheek. “What are you worried about?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, then turned her face to him and said, “I know it’s silly, but I spent most of the years here terrified of being sent to LaCrosse’s office, and now I’m going to face the man I worked so hard to avoid as a student.” She smiled sheepishly. “He’s brilliant and dedicated to the school. I make him sound like an ogre, but it was probably more his size and position that had scared us as children.”
Whispered Lies Page 19
