by Kylie Brant
She let the bracelets drop to the floor, but oddly, her release brought no sense of freedom. She was caught like a rabbit in a snare, and her hopes for escape were dissipating by the minute.
She wondered how much time had passed since her phone call with Justice. She had no idea how long she had to make her choice, but intuition told her that time was running out.
“Whitmore told me they’d hired you to help bring Mannen down.” She shifted a bit away from Nick. This proximity to him was growing unbearable. “From the part of the conversation I overheard between the two of you this afternoon, I figure you’re going to pretend to work with him.”
“Something like that. Did Whitmore also tell you that the man Justice believed responsible for leaking your location to Mannen six years ago is dead? Someone shot him on the street yesterday.”
Sara hugged herself, rubbing the sudden chill from her arms. “Not exactly the government’s style, is it?”
The shadows in the room kept Nick’s face in darkness. She wanted, quite desperately, to see his expression when he answered. “No. But it may not have been connected to the man’s link with Mannen.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Coincidences make me nervous.” If Whitmore had suspected the agent, they might have kept him under surveillance for a while. Might even have used him to feed misinformation to Mannen. But they wouldn’t gun him down in the street. That style was all too reminiscent of her experience six years ago.
On the heels of that thought came one even more chilling. Mannen wouldn’t cut the agent loose if that left him without an informant in the department. No, it was far more likely that he’d had no further use for the agent because he’d already picked out his replacement.
Her options were growing increasingly bleak. And as a feeling of hopelessness filled her, she knew she really didn’t have a choice at all. Sliding a glance toward the man beside her, she suppressed an involuntary shiver. She knew the danger associated with putting her welfare in the hands of the Justice Department again.
She could only guess at the danger involved in ever trusting Nick Doucet, even a little.
Nick had promised himself that he would discover all of Sara’s secrets before they left the Keys. They’d been in Paris for eight hours before he’d discovered the first.
“Your eyes are green.”
Plainly uncomfortable, she tried to jerk her chin from his grasp. “Yeah, so?”
Without releasing his hold, he continued to study her. He’d known the basic identifiers, of course. But there were endless variations of color, and he hadn’t expected the shade of hers—the palest jade. He was reminded yet again of a sleek feline. And if the look in them was any indication, he could expect her to start hissing any minute. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and he dropped his hand.
“You said to leave out the contacts,” she reminded him, with a slight edge to her voice. “And you seem to be the one calling all the shots.”
He preferred to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “They aren’t prescription, are they?” She shook her head. He hadn’t thought so. At least he knew she’d had no restrictions on her driver’s license six years ago. He raked his fingers through the strands of her hair. “What’s your natural color?”
She moved away from him—whether from annoyance or for a reason more personal, he couldn’t tell. He had a moment’s regret for having dispensed with the handcuffs. “Brown.”
“Light brown? Brunette?”
She lifted a shoulder in what he could have sworn was embarrassment. “Medium brown, all right? What difference does it make?”
“Your natural coloring makes all the difference in the world when we select your next disguise.”
The look she threw him was cool. “I’ve been managing that effectively on my own for the last six years.”
“Actually, you have. The reddish cast you chose this time, the hazel contacts—both match your skin tone. They look natural, but I think we can still improve on it.” Paying no attention to her narrowed gaze, he cocked his head to consider her. “We’ll darken the hair to a deep brunette, I think. Brown contacts to match.” He squelched a pang at the thought of concealing the color of those arresting eyes yet again, and focused on the matter at hand. “You’re too thin, but with the fashions these days that’s an advantage.” They’d stick to sophisticated clothes for her, he thought. Casual chic would suit her best.
“Why is it necessary to disguise me at all when you’re planning to hide me away until this is over?”
“I don’t intend to hide you away. Not in the way you think.” From the flicker of disappointment on her face he knew he’d guessed correctly. She’d merely hedged her bets when she’d chosen to accompany him. No doubt she’d considered it easier to escape from one man than from several U.S. Marshals. Although he would have liked to believe her motives were more personal, he was nothing if not realistic. Sara still had every intention of fleeing given the opportunity.
He was going to make sure that opportunity never arose.
He’d realized he was taking a huge step away from his famed impartiality when he hadn’t delivered her to Justice as ordered. If he were honest, he’d admit he’d known what he was going to do long before he’d offered her this choice. The realization made him uncomfortable. He could hardly have delivered her to Justice, and certain death. It was a sense of responsibility, nothing more, that had fueled his offer.
But he was very familiar with the mantle of responsibility. This felt like something completely different.
A discreet bell sounded, and he crossed the penthouse to the intercom by the door. Stabbing a finger at the button, he said, “Yes.”
The disembodied voice of the doorman filtered through the system. “Your guests have arrived, sir.”
“Send them up.” He turned back to find Sara regarding him warily.
“What guests?”
“Just some people I hired to help with your new look.” His words didn’t wipe the caution from her expression. It was telling that her continued distrust had the power to wound. And ironic, given the fact that she had all too much reason for the emotion. “I can assure you there won’t be a U.S. Marshal in the bunch.”
A fraction of the tension seeped from her limbs. “You told Whitmore you’d call him.”
“And I will. Later. But not to reveal your location.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and took a moment to consider the scene that had undoubtedly taken place at his beach house within hours of their departure. Whitmore would be infuriated when his agents failed to return with Sara, but Nick wasn’t concerned. This job would be completed on his terms. It was his life on the line. His and Sara’s.
When the buzzer rang he opened the door to four females, and amid introductions, ushered them all inside. “Ladies. Set your packages down anywhere. I’d like you to get started right away. Your subject is right over there.”
They turned as one to regard Sara, whose apprehension was written clearly on her face.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Rose Marie. The tall willowy blonde had her short hair fashioned into pink spikes. She crossed the thick carpeting and threaded her hands into Sara’s hair, holding it away from her head. “What did you use to cut this, chérie, a lawnmower?”
Half-amused, Nick watched carefully to be sure he didn’t have to intercede on the Frenchwoman’s behalf. But Sara was behaving herself for the moment. At least she hadn’t thrown a punch yet, although her hands were curled into fists. Seeming unaware of her danger, Rose Marie turned to look back at Nick. “I’ll have to go shorter, get rid of the damage. Punk is big these days, and she could carry it off. She’s got the bone structure.”
“Something a bit more subdued, I think.” He strolled toward the two women and pretended not to notice the daggers Sara was glaring at him. “A dark brunette, layered cut, but don’t lose all the length.”
The tone of Sara’s voice was quietly lethal. “I’m perfectly capable of choosing—”
�
�Shasta, we’ll want a full wardrobe, fashionable but not faddish. Clean lines, casual elegance.” The short round woman he was addressing nodded furiously as she pulled a measuring tape out of her bags.
“Clair,” he continued, turning toward another woman, “the makeup needs to complement the new look. See what you can do to narrow the shape of the eyes.”
“Really? Seems a shame.”
He couldn’t have agreed more. He crooked a finger at the last woman and they moved away from the bustle in the room. When they were out of hearing of the others he murmured, “Nice work on such short order, Kim. Can we trust them to be discreet?”
The striking redhead’s cool blue eyes were almost level with his own. “Of course, Nick. Have I ever failed you?”
Real affection tinged his voice. “Never.” He’d worked with Kim Baxter for a number of years, and she was nothing if not resourceful. “Just be careful. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and she’ll take the first opportunity to run.”
Kim sent a measuring glance Sara’s way. “She doesn’t look like much of a challenge.”
He followed the direction of the woman’s gaze and watched as Sara battled all the pairs of hands reaching for her. “Don’t underestimate her. I’d hate for her to shoot you, too.”
Shock showed in the woman’s expression, to be replaced by speculation. “Care to explain that?”
He didn’t. “Don’t leave her alone. I want her here when I get back.”
Kim nodded. “She will be.” Moving away, she approached the other women, and Nick went to the door, opened it. Before pulling it shut behind him, he glanced one more time at the small group of women surrounding Sara. For the first time since he’d met her he caught a look of sheer panic on her face. Obviously being the recipient of all that personal attention was even more alarming than being faced with an assassin.
She wouldn’t welcome the unexpected surge of sympathy he felt for her, so he pushed it aside and closed the door.
“Everything’s on schedule.” Holding the phone to his ear, Nick stood before the huge window in the offices he’d rented months ago, and contemplated the bustle of the Parisian streets below.
Victor Mannen’s voice sounded pleased. “Excellent. When can I expect the first shipment?”
“Four weeks. I have half your order filled, and foresee no problem with the rest of it.”
There was a long silence on the line. Then Mannen said, “Perhaps you could speed up the timeline. I’d make it worth your while, of course.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Nick turned away from the bright, summery scene below. “It’s best to procure our items from various countries. There’s less chance of leaving a trail that way. The Indonesian market, especially, requires finesse.”
“Other suppliers have produced faster results.”
“Other suppliers could never handle a shipment of this size.” Nick let the truth of his answer hang between them. “We’re talking four times your usual numbers, with quadruple the profits, for half the overhead. I think it’s worth the wait.”
“Given your reputation, I suppose I’ll be satisfied with that.”
Since Nick had spent years establishing that reputation, he accepted the compliment as his due. “I have associates who can handle the rest of the labor on this end for now. I need to focus on the receiving end.”
“Of course. When will you arrive in Chicago?”
He deliberately kept his answer vague. “Soon. I’ll let you know. I have a few details to clear up first.”
“I can appreciate a man who tends to details. I’m not one to forgive loose ends.”
His mind flashing to Sara, Nick said only, “No. Neither am I.”
Moments later he cut the connection, and sent an inquiring glance at the other man in the room. “Anything?”
Luc LeNoue never looked up from the computer monitor. “Are you kidding? Trace attempts started within five seconds of his answering the line. So far I’ve bounced them off of Tampa, London, Tokyo, and—my personal favorite—Reykjavik. Had enough yet?” he crooned to the machine, his gray gaze avid. “No? How about some Moscow?” He pressed another command on the keyboard, and another red light glowed on the map taking shape on the screen.
“Quit showing off and put an end to it.”
With a noticeable show of reluctance, Luc pressed another command and the screen went blank. Whoever was on the other end of the trace would, within milliseconds, hit a figurative brick wall.
“You’re a fun hater, you know that?” The question was voiced pleasantly enough. Luc clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I was going to goose chase the locator to the Vatican. That always freaks people out.”
“You really have a criminal mind,” Nick said, amused despite himself. He’d employed the other man for almost three years now. While Luc still had a few lessons to learn about following directives, his enthusiasm for his job could be refreshing.
“So.” The other man regarded him fixedly. “Want to lay bets on who ordered the trace?”
Nick lifted a shoulder negligibly. “It could have been Justice, I suppose. I’d be surprised if they didn’t have Mannen’s lines tapped. But I’m also certain he’d give me the number to a secure line. He hasn’t escaped arrest this long by being stupid.”
Luc raked a hand through his short, sandy-colored hair. He hadn’t bothered to dye it back after the last task he’d completed. With his battered, pugilistic features, he resembled a boxer who’d spent too many years in the ring. “So you figure Mannen’s behind it.”
“He’d be a fool to hire me for a job like this and not take some precautions. If he were a fool, I wouldn’t be working with him.”
“So he’s not stupid, just crooked and rich.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, speaking of stupid and crooked…” Luc’s face sobered. “I understand Hinrich and Roven have been asking around for Michel Falcol. Discreetly, of course.”
Raising a brow, Nick considered the information. Falcol was one of a half-dozen international identities he had established for himself, and the one he was using in his dealings with Mannen. The two men had been Mannen’s suppliers in the past, and no doubt were unhappy about being replaced.
“Keep listening. Let me know if the inquiries continue.”
“Sure. I’ve been thinking, though…”
Nick folded his arms and sighed. In his experience, it never boded well when Luc thought too much.
“…maybe I ought to accompany you to the States. Sounds like you might have your hands full.”
“We discussed this. Martin and Kwilisz will come with me. I need you at this end to keep me apprised of developments here.”
“Is Kim going?” Though the man’s tone was studiedly nonchalant, it was plain to discern the source of his sudden interest in accompanying Nick.
“She’ll have to. But I’m counting on you to let me know if our arrangements begin to raise any interest here.”
Luc nodded, although it was plain to see he wasn’t happy about the situation.
Nick gestured to the computer. “I need to make another call. Think you can work your magic again?”
With a spark of his earlier enthusiasm, the other man turned back to the computer and started the necessary program. “United States again?”
“Yes.” There was a spurt of emotion in Nick’s veins, one he was surprised to identify as adrenaline. “It’s time I contacted Whitmore. I’m sure he’s been expecting my call.” The thought of the man’s certain fury at what he would consider Nick’s renegade actions wasn’t a concern. It was time the agent learned that he wasn’t making all the decisions in this case. Governments only employed independent operatives to do what they couldn’t legally do themselves. Were Nick to be caught up in the web he was weaving for Mannen, Justice would disavow any knowledge of his activities. He was assuming all the risks, and Whitmore needed to learn that Nick played by only one set of rules.
Darkness had fallen before Sara heard a noise at the door of the penthouse. Kim, the woman Nick had obviously left to stand guard over her, rose and checked the security hole. A card rattled in the lock, and she moved away as Nick opened the door and stepped inside.
From her stance near the windows Sara watched him freeze and sweep the room with that all-encompassing gaze of his. When his eyes landed on her, he relaxed imperceptibly.
“Did the two of you eat?”
“She wasn’t hungry.” It was Kim who answered. Sara had turned back to the window to stare sightlessly at the glittering skyline and grapple with the emotions tangling in her chest.
He’d come back. Ridiculous, perhaps, but she hadn’t been all that certain that he would. She didn’t know what to expect from Nick Doucet. And she was becoming increasingly concerned about her own state of mind. It would have been simpler, far simpler, if he’d stayed away. Gone about his mysterious business and left her to construct a plan to get back to the States. Alone. It was certain that she couldn’t expect to disappear in Europe with the same ease afforded in her own country. An American woman would stand out, and establishing new identities would be much more difficult, not to mention expensive.
That thought triggered another, and she turned to see Nick closing the door as Kim left. “How’d you get us into this country?”
Taking his time answering, he turned on some more lamps. “I’m assuming you remember the plane ride.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Since he didn’t seem inclined to discuss it, she moved toward him, intent on pressing the issue. “People need passports and probably all kinds of papers to cross borders. I don’t have a passport.”
“Perhaps not. But Amber Jennings does.”
As she gaped at him, he slipped out of the fawn-colored jacket he’d worn over his black slacks and shirt, and rolled his shoulders tiredly. “Has your appetite returned? I haven’t eaten.”
She reached out, tugged at his sleeve when he would have reached for the phone to dial room service. “How’d you do it, Nick?”
