Hitman Wedding
Page 6
“We are going to a safe place.”
“Which tells me nothing.”
“Exactly.”
“Pass me the phone.” He held out his hand.
“Why?”
“I should probably call Marcus and let him know I’m alive.”
“No. You’ll call no one.” She flicked a glance at the driver whose head bopped up and down, his wireless earbuds blasting some tunes. She turned her gaze back to Darren. “For now, whoever sent those helicopters after you, thinks you’re dead.”
“You think the island mastermind is the one behind today’s attack?”
“That seems most likely, but I’m sure you have other enemies, as well.”
“Not ones who would hire a pair of choppers to sink my boat.” His turned-down lips mourned the death of the yacht.
“Your boat sank because it was too pretty. Next time, have an ugly boat.” Ugly things seemed to last forever.
“How about we avoid a next time?”
“Then stop making enemies.”
He glared. Marina proffered Darren a serene smile.
Out whipped his hand, palm raised. “Stop changing the subject and give me the damn phone.”
He’d finally grasped that she stalled. She also wasn’t handing over the phone. “As far as the world knows, you are dead. Get used to it. No calls. No emails. Nothing.”
“What about you? How come you get to be alive and call people?”
“Because I am not being targeted.”
“How can you be sure? How do I know those helicopters weren’t after you? You’re the one, after all, with a chip in her body.”
A deactivated chip. The wound in her arm? When she’d cleaned it in the washroom of the changing area, she’d plucked out the remnants of the chip. She was off-grid.
“I have no enemies.”
“Says the assassin.”
“I am serious. I have no enemies because I eliminate those who would harm me.”
“Seems like a rather aggressive strategy.”
“I am still alive, aren’t I?”
Darren shook his head. “Who are you?”
“Definitely not Francesca Parron anymore.” Her lips twisted. “Thanks to you, that identity is screwed.”
“Boo fucking hoo.”
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated. I spent a lot of time cultivating Francesca, not to mention my modeling career.”
“What’s it like, living a fake life?”
Lonely at times. Especially when she couldn’t be herself. But that sounded like whining, and Marina didn’t whine. “My life is great, and it will be even better once I finish this job and get to spend all the money I’m making.”
At the reminder of the growing bill, he grimaced. “Speaking of the job, exactly how are you going to keep me alive if someone is targeting me? I assume, since I can’t use my real name, you’ve got a plan? And how will we get more money?”
“Sergei will acquire new identities for us to use temporarily.” Never to be used for too long and, once done, the information wiped. Only the short-lived left any traces behind.
“What makes you think I want to work with Sergei?” he asked.
“You hired me.”
“You. Not him.”
Time to explain how it worked. “You hired my services. Those include support from a team. Sergei is the leader of that team. He gives me my orders.”
“No. I give you the orders.”
Darren was so cute when he thought he was in charge. She patted his cheek. “You will do as I say. And I will do as Sergei tells me.” Because rogue agents didn’t get bonuses or a nice flat in St. Petersburg. They did sometimes get an early and quite permanent retirement.
“Like fuck am I doing what some stranger orders.”
“As long as you are in my care, you don’t have a choice.”
“Fine, then you’re fired.”
She couldn’t help but pat this cheek again. “Nice try. That won’t stop me from protecting you. You’re not the only one paying for your protection.”
He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Someone told Sergei to keep you alive.”
“Who?”
She shrugged. “We don’t know who it was. But they are paying us well.”
“Someone hired you to protect me, and you didn’t think to tell me?” He seethed the words through his teeth.
“Did you think to ask?” She said it despite knowing it would make him snap. Men were fairly predictable in that respect.
“Ask? Who the hell are you? You don’t make sense at all. Everything that comes out of your mouth is the complete opposite of what it used to be.”
“Because that was Francesca. Now, you are dealing with me, Marina.” Her lips tugged into a half smile. “Thanks to you, I no longer have to pretend.” She wouldn’t hide her strength or bow to his pressure and demands. He thought she worked out of duress, and while it did play a part, she mostly did her missions, and did them well, because that was her job and she enjoyed it.
“Admitting to a split personality?”
“I am a woman of many layers.” And he was a man who apparently couldn’t handle it.
“Well, I don’t care what you think. I still want the phone,” he stated suddenly. “I need to check on my people. Make sure they made it off the island alive.”
“I will ask Sergei when I call. He’ll know. He can find out anything you want to know. It’s because of him that I know of your secret love for Prince music. Sergei even managed to get an audio of you singing ‘Little Red Corvette’ in the shower.”
“You’re not being funny,” he muttered.
“If I am attempting to be humorous, you will know, and you will laugh because it will be amusing.”
He glared. Which was only right given she’d not said anything entertaining.
Sulking because she wouldn’t give in, Darren stared out the window. She took that reprieve to make some phone calls, keeping the dialogue in Russian for privacy. When Sergei answered with a barked, “Wrong number,” she quickly spoke.
“It’s me, Marina.”
“Where are you? We are having trouble with your signal.”
“I went for a swim in the ocean with the client.”
“This is not a vacation. You are supposed to be protecting the man, not working on your tan.”
“We were attacked.” She quickly detailed what had happened, and Sergei exclaimed more than once. At the end, he laughed. “You brought the client to a naked beach.”
“You’re missing the more important point. Someone is really trying to kill him.”
“Good thing he hired you, then.”
“Actually, he thinks he can fire me. I made it clear he has to obey.”
“I am sure he enjoyed that.”
Nope. Darren still moped. “Did his bodyguard—and fake girlfriend—make it off the island?”
“Yes. There were only a few casualties from the fire, which is where they presume Darren was consumed. They also never found Stefanov.”
Which wasn’t a huge loss. She was pretty sure the man was in cahoots with the island ringleader, the one most everyone had labeled Mastermind.
A pretentious title. Thus far, he’d eluded detection, but Marina was on the case. She jabbed Darren with her toe and said in English, “Your people are safe. They think you are dead.”
“Thanks.” Begrudgingly spoken.
She switched back to Russian. “I’m going to need some supplies.”
“Tell me what you want.” She made a list and, at the same time, got an address for an airfield nearby. When she hung up, Darren addressed her.
“What was that about?”
“Making plans to protect you.”
“Sergei again?”
“Yes. He says hi, that he’s making arrangements, and to expect a very large bill.”
“I’m already paying you five thousand bucks a day.”
“Plus expenses.”
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�What expenses?”
“Anything we require in the course of our mission.”
“But I fired you.”
“You don’t want to fire me.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.”
She flashed him a grin. “You won’t fire the woman who is going to keep you alive.”
“Who just recently wanted me dead?”
She shrugged. “I freely admit that I can be bought. Pay me enough, and I’ll switch sides.”
“That’s very mercenary.”
“It’s called playing the free market.”
“Surely you must have some lines you won’t cross.”
Marina paused to think about it a moment. “One line. I don’t kill children. Unless they bite. Petrov used to bite until I broke all his teeth.”
He blinked at her. Most likely in awe. She knew Petrov certainly never bothered her again, nor did any of the other children.
“What size are you?”
“What does it matter?” he asked. “It’s not like we can go shopping.”
“Not in person, but there are places online.” She fiddled around with the browser on the phone and ran a few orders through the online shopping cart. She finished just as they slowed down. The taxi approached a small airfield.
She tossed a few bills from the wallet she’d confiscated before getting out. The driver would remember them, but by the time anyone asked, hopefully, it wouldn’t matter.
Darren stood by her side as the taxi drove away. “Now what? Can we hire a pilot, do you think?”
“No need. We already have a plane reserved.” Sergei was just that good. She strode toward the office.
He kept pace. “Where are we flying to?”
“You’ll see.”
She quickly did the little paperwork needed, and in moments, they were headed toward a two-prop plane. A little hopper that had him slowing his step. “It only seats two people.”
“Very observant.”
It took him only a half-second longer to figure out why the plane only had two seats.
“Dear God, you’re the pilot!”
She smiled. “I am. I got my license last month.”
Chapter Eight
There are many things that could make a man nervous in his life. Waiting for test results—especially when they involved your man junk. Wondering if the broken condom would have repercussions. And finding out you were about to put your life, much too high above the solid ground, in the hands of the slightly crazy Russian broad you once used to sleep with who thought flying when the enemy had helicopters was a good plan!
“You cannot seriously think this is a good idea.”
Fran waved a hand at him and had one argument for his rant. “Don’t be a baby.”
“I am not being a baby!” he yelled, being a baby. At the realization, he clamped his lips, took a few deep breaths through his nose then, more calmly, said, “This plan of yours is fucking insane.”
“You know what your problem is,” she said, checking the plane, running her hand over the body, looking beneath it at the wheels and undercarriage. “You don’t like other people in charge. You have control issues.”
“I know. It’s why I’m the fucking boss.”
“At your school, yes. Perhaps even at Bad Boy because of your friend Harry. But not with me. You cannot tell me what to do.” She stood and faced him, and while she bore the face of the woman he’d once loved, she was a harder version, assertive on a level he’d not often met even among men. She didn’t back down. She stuck to her guns, and damned if he didn’t respect that.
It was also a lot hotter than it should have been.
He crossed his arms. “Enjoying being the boss has nothing to do with the fact that I’d like an experienced pilot if I’m going to risk my life.”
“You are just chicken to have a woman fly you.”
“It has nothing to do with your gender.”
“Are you sure? Because I have to wonder if you see me piloting as emasculating. Kind of like riding bitch on a bike.” She jabbed his male ego.
He knew she did it on purpose. Knew she goaded him. He still walked into the trap. “I am not sexist.”
“Then prove it. Get in the plane.”
She didn’t leave him a choice.
He sighed and clambered in. Cinched the seatbelt tightly around his waist. The helmet he had to put on didn’t reassure. Real planes don’t use helmets. The goggles were kind of cool, though. If he had a phone, he would have taken a selfie and sent it to Marcus for shits and giggles.
Through the headset, he could hear Marina chattering to herself in Russian. Going through a preflight checklist most likely. He peeked around and tried to not imagine the metal frame as a coffin.
“How far is it?” he asked, interrupting her.
“A full tank of gas.”
“Which takes us how far?”
“Depends on the winds.”
“Would it kill you to tell me what bloody airport we’re going to?”
“Possibly, which means it’s best not to take a chance.”
If the plane weren’t already moving, he might have reached forward to throttle her. As it was, his fingers clutched instead at the seat as the plane taxied, picking up speed, jostling and bouncing as it moved.
When the weightless sensation hit, he stared straight ahead. Reminded himself that thousands of airplanes flew safely each day. Although, when they crashed…
A reminder that didn’t help with his nerves. What goes up, always comes down. Hopefully, not hitting the ground and exploding into flames.
Rather quickly, the plane evened out. Marina chuckled. “You can breathe now.”
After he’d taken a breath, he said through gritted teeth, “I’m fine.”
“Just remember, this is safer than a helicopter.”
“The last helicopter ride I went on, the pilot jumped out, and I almost died.”
She snorted. “Only because your last bodyguard wasn’t as well trained as I am.”
“Marcus is an ex-soldier, not an assassin. And I’ll have you know, he landed our asses just fine.”
“I would have done it better.”
“You can pilot a helicopter?” he asked, the query heavy with skepticism.
“I can drive anything.”
“Including me mental,” he muttered, turning his head to peek out the window.
The midafternoon sun beat down on the world below them, the land vibrant and lush, parceled into sections bisected by the roads. The vehicles among them like ants creeping. The bright blue spots of pools and orange roofs provided contrast to all the greenery. And around all the land…water. Ocean to the left and the right, the narrow island keys surrounded by the sea. It reassured him a little to see that they weren’t going back out over open water. Brazen aerial attacks seemed less likely when flying above land. More eyes, more radar. They had some measure of safety.
I shouldn’t even be worrying about this kind of shit. What the hell is going on? Who is targeting me and the other academy owners?
Had some crazy individual decided to declare war on mercenaries? Seemed kind of stupid, especially since they were hiring mercenaries to complete the job.
Something was missing. Some vital clue that might make sense of it all. He tried running various scenarios through his head, but none made sense.
You know what else didn’t make sense? Fran’s words spoken suddenly in his earpiece.
“Can you repeat that?” he asked. “Because I could have sworn you said to reach under the seat, grab the backpack, and put it on.”
“Or don’t. But landing intact will be harder without a parachute.” Spoken as she wiggled around in the seat in front of him, putting on some gear.
“Why would I need a parachute?” he barked as he leaned over and groped under his seat. His fingers latched on to a canvas bag. “I thought you knew how to fly?” The plane showed no signs of distress as it coasted along.
“I know how to fly.”
“I passed landing. I did, however, fail fuel consumption. Never was good at math.”
Stutter. The engine faltered.
His blood ran cold.
“Did you fuck up the gas?”
“No. I knew we’d run out.” She peered over her seat at him. “Which is why we need to get out now.”
“But I don’t want to jump.” Someone take his damned man card. He was okay with it if he could land in this plane, in one piece.
“Don’t be chicken. We’ll be perfectly safe. The parachutes are almost entirely foolproof.”
“Almost?”
“Sometimes, one fails.” He could hear the nonchalant shrug in her words. “It’s life.”
“Can’t you just be Fran for one single second? Just one,” he shouted.
The engine died, and all he heard was the whistle of the wind as she looked at him. Her features softened. Her lip trembled. “I’m scared, Darren. I don’t know what to do. Save us.”
The sudden switch from in charge to completely submissive hit him hard. No wonder this new Fran mocked him. The Fran he knew in France was a complete sock puppet to his ego, pandering to his alpha personality, catering to his every need.
A complete sham, and he realized that as nice as Fran was, Marina—with her brusque manners and confidence—was even better.
Imagine having this dominant lady in bed.
It was totally the wrong time for a hard-on and epiphanies. “If I live, I’m going to kill you,” he grumbled as he opened the door and gulped at the air rushing below him.
“And here I was going to say we should have sex to celebrate our safe landing.” With those shocking words, she flung herself out of the plane, an aircraft sputtering as the engines died.
He paused, staring out the door. The engine gave one last cough, and then there was only the sound of the whistling wind. How long could the breezes keep the plane aloft?
“Chicken!” He heard her faint mocking. With a big sigh, he dove out of the plane, too.
He closed his eyes against the rushing wind. His goggles protected him, but he didn’t want to see the horizon rushing at him. If he fucked up, that ground wasn’t going to be his friend.