The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “I’m so sorry. For everything.” The sadness in his eyes spoiled the poker face.

  “What do you mean by that? What everything? You say that like there’s something more, something that I don’t know about?”

  He responded with a deep sigh and looked out the window. “Where are we?”

  “Almost there,” the driver said.

  “Where are we going anyway? Not that I care as long as it’s as far away from you and your resolved terrorist as possible.”

  “You get half your wish. We’re going to a safe house. Together.”

  “I don’t need a safe house. I have a home which is a perfectly safe place.” Sophia realized the truth of her words. Now she knew how Dorothy felt in the Wizard of Oz.

  He turned and looked at her. If she were a piece of chocolate she’d have melted into a delicious pool at this point. He took his time and she almost broke the silence, but thank God her impatience didn’t get the better of her. Thank God he didn’t get the better of her. Yet.

  “As you know by now Ms. Alano, this is not a game. Azzam bin Naah—let’s call him Azzam—poses a real threat and now he’s after you as well as me.”

  “What makes you think that?” Her voice shook slightly with the strain, but she forced herself to meet his glare.

  “Because we were together, he may believe that he can use you to get to me. He may even believe, however mistakenly, that you are my…lover.” He paused and lifted a brow and one side of his mouth.

  Before she could open her mouth, he continued. “According to his professional and personal habits, that makes you an especially important target.”

  She sucked in a breath. She couldn’t help it. He put his hand on her arm. Somehow, his hold was comforting.

  “That makes you my charge. I will be your bodyguard from this instant forward until Azzam is eliminated.”

  The car came to a screeching halt, and they both looked out the windshield to see where they’d landed.

  “The governor’s mansion?” She turned back to him and squeaked, “This is our safe house? The governor’s mansion?”

  “It would seem so. Could you think of a better place?” He looked pleased.

  Sophia shook her head and despaired of ever figuring this Chauncey character out. What had she gotten herself into? She glanced back at the mansion and thought maybe she should try clicking her heels together three times.

  The driver got out of the car and opened her door. “This is it. They’re all in there waiting for you—including the governor himself.” The man flashed a smile. “My name is Joe. I’m the governor’s bodyguard.” He looked over her shoulder and nodded at Chauncey like it was some secret bodyguard code.

  She plopped back on the seat. “Wake me when the dream is over, would you? This is all too crazy for me.” She looked at Joe. “I’m Sophia Alano and earlier today I was a decorator, however now I’ve apparently been transformed into some kind of Bond girl assassin’s target—by him.” She glared at Chauncey and shook his hand off her arm. He remained unreadable.

  “Time to go.” Chauncey touched her shoulder in that gentle way she’d felt earlier. She resisted the urge to sink into him and shook him off again. He followed her out of the car, and she hurried ahead toward the tall double entrance doors of the mansion. This place had to be safe. Chauncey stepped up behind her as they stood on the threshold. She felt a tingle, but it could have been anything, she told herself. Probably fear.

  Chapter 4

  What was he thinking? Had he actually promised Sophia he’d be her bodyguard “from this moment forward”? Chauncey was not accustomed to working this hard to maintain his cool, but he had to admit he was starting to feel the strain. It was the blasted girl or woman or whatever she was—a true pixie. Joe led them inside a vast black-and-white checkered entryway lit by an enormous crystal chandelier. It looked a bit Old World, which surprised him. More like something he’d find back in the good old UK.

  “Oh brother,” Sophia muttered.

  “Something wrong?” he slowed to peer down at her.

  “Nothing a good decorator couldn’t cure. I’m surprised, really.”

  “Not up to your superior professional decorating sensibilities?” He goaded, hoping to spark her ire. Why, he wasn’t sure. But Joe interrupted their exchange as he led them through a massive doorway to their left into a cozier carpeted room.

  “Let’s all get comfortable in here for the moment. PJD and the contingency from the Boston Police Department will join us shortly. Can I get anyone a drink?” Joe addressed the question to him.

  “Bourbon. Straight up.”

  “Didn’t have to think about that for a nanosecond, did you?” Sophia squinted up at him. Then she plopped herself down on a hassock that went with a comfortable-looking chair. He’d have taken the chair, but he thought it better to keep his distance.

  Joe handed him the drink and joined him with one of his own. They both drank the shot down in a gulp. He liked Joe. He glanced back at Sophia who gave them an eyebrow arch.

  “It’s been quite a day we’ve had, little Pixie. Why don’t you join us in a drink? May help.” Couldn’t hurt, he thought.

  She looked at him and didn’t say anything for a minute. He figured she was giving him the silent treatment for whatever reason her pretty little red head might have concocted, but then she laughed.

  “I’m too far gone for that kind of help. I need a shot of something stronger than bourbon to knock me out so I can wake up from this nightmare.” She paused and stared him down again with that would-be tough look of hers, which would have made him smile under different circumstances. He didn’t know why he enjoyed toying with her so much; ripping the thin veneer of tough girl bravery from her was irresistible fun. She was nowhere near as cynical or cool as she pretended. She was competing with a world-class champion at that game now.

  “I suppose this is another day at the office for you?”

  The question was for him, not Joe. They both looked at him, expecting an interesting answer. He decided to be honest rather than cavalier as was his normal habit.

  “It seems lately. But I’ve only been on the run for two weeks. Before that I’d never so much as daydreamed of jumping off a tall ship.”

  “Never had a mad terrorist after you before?” In spite of her sarcastic tone, he noticed the rise in the tenor of her voice. Her arms tightened their hug around her middle as she sat looking up at him with her suspicious green eyes.

  “No. Although I’ve had numerous mad redheads and blondes chasing me…” He winked to keep it light, lest she get too emotional. He’d seen it happen often enough, though so far she’d been a trooper.

  She snorted. Joe slapped him on the back.

  “Looks like you’ve got yourself into a real pickle now,” Joe remarked. He turned and got them both another drink.

  Chauncey was about to drink down his second shot of some not-too-terrible bourbon, when the doors to the library or study or whatever this room was opened. Three men and two women walked through, all talking at once. One of the women rushed to Sophia’s side as she popped up from her perch.

  The tall man with a serious, inscrutible face approached him with his hand out.

  “Welcome. I’m Governor Douglas. This is Police Chief Dan O’Keefe and you know the Director of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program, David Young.” He gestured to the other two men. All serious customers. The two women were fawning all over Sophia. He didn’t know when he’d seen two more gorgeous knockout blondes who were at the same time so completely opposite in every way. And the contrast with Sophia was eye-opening. Somehow she out-sparked these two women and he couldn’t say how.

  The gracious blonde turned to him.

  “This is my wife, Madeline Grace,” the governor said. “And that’s Grace Young, wife of the spectacularly lucky David, here.” The men all smiled fondly in the direction of the women.

  “Under the circumstances, I couldn’t be more thrilled to meet you all.” He sl
id his eyes over to Sophia. “But we were rather surprised that the governor’s mansion is your idea of a safe house.”

  “Best we could do on short notice,” David said. “Gentlemen, this is Chauncey Miller, his real name. For some reason the code name wasn’t used.” He flicked a glance at his spectacular wife. “We’ll need to come up with a new code identity since there seems to have been a breach of security somewhere along the line.” David Young nodded at him. He hadn’t seen the older man since his father had introduced them when he started out in Scotland Yard’s Flying Squad. There was no one at the Yard he looked up to more—aside from his father. His pain in the neck, difficult, stiff old man had probably thought highly of David too, but it was among his many well-guarded secrets.

  “You mean we used the wrong name?” Sophia tore herself from the clutches of the two Graces and popped over with her mouth agape. She was eyeing him suspiciously as usual.

  “Don’t worry, Pixie…” David began.

  “Don’t you “Pixie” me. I have a right to know who I’ve just been through a shoot-out with.”

  Chauncey folded his arms. “Yes, you do. I’ll tell you all about it later. We have to talk official business right now.”

  “How about Bond for a codename? Suits you somehow,” she said.

  He held his expression in check, though his gut coiled with tension at her words. “We’ll consider it,” Chauncey said as he stared her down. No easy feat, but she backed off.

  “Let’s go get you set up in a guest room,” Madeline said with an outstretched hand.

  The three women left the room, but not without each one of them looking over their shoulder on their way out as if they were sure something untoward might happen the minute they were gone. Maybe they were right.

  He turned back to the governor, David, Dan and Joe. “I can’t wait to hear your explanation for how and why we ended up at the governor’s mansion as the safe house.” He smirked. David flinched. Joe shook his head.

  “No reason except my particular interest in Dan’s Exchange Program with Scotland Yard. Dan and David impressed me with the way they solved their last case—or dare I say caper—in short order.”

  “I heard. A colleague of yours was involved.”

  “Yes, Rick Racer. My Lieutenant Governor. You do your homework, I see.”

  “Nothing else to do on the flight over. Thought I’d see what I was getting myself into here.”

  “Governor Douglas has been very supportive of the Exchange Program—and law enforcement in general,” David began.

  “That’s the tip of the iceberg, the way I understand it. He could be America’s James Bond with his special ops background according to my sources.” Chauncey looked the man in the eye. “Are you moonlighting here, Governor? Or are you strictly in a support role?”

  “The line blurs at times. But I’ll keep on my side of the line of interference if that’s what you’re worried about. You can run your case the way you see fit—you’ll be calling the shots,” he said to the group of them. “But I can be a terrific resource in a pinch.” He spread his hands and smiled.

  Chauncey decided he liked the man. More importantly, he trusted him.

  “With that said, lets proceed,” David took over. “After your distress call I phoned London. Had a conversation with the Assistant Commissioner of the Special Operations Directorate—your boss’s boss in the Counterterrorism Command, and he filled me in on the complete background of your nemesis. I’m afraid he’s fairly formidable.”

  Chauncey felt relieved that David hadn’t phoned his father—otherwise known as his boss’s boss’s boss. He’d looked up to David Young—his new boss—most of his career. Detective “Ace” Young, the former infamous rogue Flying Squad detective, had been on a short list of men he admired most for their how they conducted their careers. It was amazing that his father could be on the same list when the two men were practically opposite. If forced to choose who he idolized most, he’d pick David—but that would be the last secret he would divulge even if tortured by Satan himself.

  “Well funded too, it would seem,” the governor said.

  “We need a plan,” Dan said.

  “The Boston Police Department is on the case then?” Chauncey asked. He’d thought the FBI was in charge of antiterrorism efforts.

  “You’re in the Scotland Yard Exchange Program,” David answered, “and as the target, that puts you and this case squarely in the realm of the BPD. Of course we’ve talked to the SAC—Special Agent in Charge—at the Boston FBI office. He understands since you’re one of us, we’ll lead on the case. But their help could be invaluable nonetheless.”

  “Then what’s the plan? I can’t very well hide out here at the governor’s mansion until Azzam gives up and goes home. No matter how gracious a host you are.” He nodded at Governor Douglas and thought of his lovely wife Madeline showing Sophia to her room. “And what about Sophia? She’s pretty well mixed up in this now.”

  “Yes, that presents a bit of a problem,” David said, and glanced over at the nearby bourbon decanter where Joe poured another round of drinks. Chauncey knew too well the trepidation the man felt. “We’ll have to keep her under our protection as well. I’m afraid she won’t like it. But never fear. I’ve employed my wife’s help with that pickle.” David smiled.

  Joe handed drinks all around.

  “A toast, gentlemen. To a plan.” The governor raised his glass and the rest of them followed suit.

  “What will your wife think of your involvement in all this, Governor?” Chauncey felt compelled to ask.

  “Call me Peter. She’s been in need of my special operations assistance in the past herself. Let’s leave it at that. Both you and Sophia will be safe here for tonight at a minimum—until we can come up with a plan to bring this guy in.”

  “I’ll see that Sophia is taken care of …” David started to say.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take responsibililty for her protection. It’s only proper since I’m responsible for putting her in harm’s way. I can’t escape it.”

  David nodded.

  “At least that’s settled. We’ll have to hold the plan until later. Now we all need to ready ourselves for tonight’s affair. We’re having a reception for the President of Malta, Olivier de Marco, who’s visiting Boston for a short time. It couldn’t be cancelled. You’re all invited. On the upside, it gives us a good excuse to pump up security. Joe has the details. He’ll share them with you and show you to your rooms.” With that, the governor left them.

  The police chief’s phone beeped and he slid it from the holster to answer it. After a brief and gruff conversation he faced them. Joe poured them all another drink. At this rate of drinking Chauncey feared napping through the rest of the evening—reception or no reception. He needed to think.

  “That was my man on the scene in Charlestown. They caught a glimpse of Azzam but lost him going over the bridge in the North End—of all places. He seemed unusually familiar with his surroundings. The theory is he has local help. Any more you can tell us about this guy?” Dan asked.

  “Yes, start from the beginning and leave nothing out,” David said in a boss-like manner, bringing the point home.

  “I killed the terrorist known as The Snake, Azzam’s younger brother. We had the entire cell, along with Azzam, captive in a warehouse in London near the Channel Tunnel. The Snake was one of three casualties in the crossfire when we broke our way in. We were in the process of cuffing the remaining six cell members when Azzam overpowered one of the regular officers. He took a bullet, but got the officer by the throat. I gave the order to stand down and hold fire. Azzam dragged the young cop out the back. I could see the tears in the boy’s terrified eyes and the tremble in his jaw with Azzam’s arm wrapped around his neck. As soon as they disappeared out the door, I called for backup to look for Azzam and his hostage. Told them to hold their fire.

  “I ran and shouted into the phone telling them not to lose sight of them for even one s
econd. We—three of us who weren’t holding the other cell members—took pursuit. Azzam carjacked some unfortunate woman and took the officer with him.” He cleared his throat. No one interrupted.

  “While we scrambled to find a car and give chase, he managed to lose us for not more than two minutes. I knew he’d be heading for the Channel Tunnel.” He paused and remembered the scene he had no desire to remember, and went on. “We found the car within a half kilometer from the tunnel entrance. Azzam had left the officer behind. We found the young man sitting in the front seat with a screwdriver sticking from his chest pinning a note there. It said ‘Miller dies next.’” He took a breath.

  “Nearest we figured is he stole another car and escaped through the tunnel. We called the French authorities and Interpol, but without a description of his vehicle there was little anyone could do to stop him. Descriptions of Azzam himself had been sketchy, but we finally had a good look at him for ourselves. No pictures, but enough for an accurate sketch.”

  David sighed his signature weary sigh and asked, “And that’s why the decision was made to send you here? When did this capture happen?”

  “Two weeks ago. We’ve all had threats. It was—is—part of the job—especially since my transfer to the Counterterrorism Command. As you well know. I led a doubled-up effort to cut off all known sympathizers and their resources with the help of the captured cell members. We found all their places of business—or so we thought.”

  “So what prompted the brass to send you here after two weeks?” Dan wanted to know.

  He was certain David had no trouble guessing the reason, but explained for the others’ sakes.

  “My father wanted me out of the country. Vacation he called it. After shooting and killing Snake, I went through evaluation and there was no need for a vacation.”

  “Psychiatrist?” Dan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your father’s influential, I take it.” Dan caught on.

  “He’s Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Service—more commonly known as Scotland Yard.”