She smiles sadly. “Guess I ought to thank my family for being so crappy, huh?”
“Our past can strengthen us and in your case, that is imminently true.”
I’m stalling for more time with her. While I’m nearly one hundred percent sure that the key won’t blow up and that there won’t be armed guards waiting for us as soon as we exit the private tunnel, I’m hesitant to drive away. Once we leave this place, Morgan is all in, even more so than before. Now she is a willing partner.
She covers my hand with her, squeezing it. “Stop putting off the inevitable.”
With a grimace, I hit the start button and put the car in drive.
Chapter Seven
Morgan
As soon as sunlight hits my face, I brace for impact. Or an explosion.
Surely the airbags will go off at any minute and Ben will be forced to pull over, then bad guys disguised as cops will stop to help us and –
BANG!
We’re dead.
But none of that happens.
Ben mutters what sounds like a prayer before picking up speed. “There is a black Mercedes following us.”
I whip my head around, twisting in my seat so quickly that I almost give myself whiplash. Sure enough, a black luxury car is keep up with us. I groan and settle back into the seat.
My pulse starts to kick up a notch. At the rate my blood pressure’s going, I’m liable to die of a stroke before bullets or an explosion can do the job.
“What the bloody hell?” He suddenly veers off the road, pulling into a deserted car park or parking lot as I still call them.
“Why are you stopping?” I yell at him. Panic revs my heart rate into overdrive.
“I know who’s in the car.” Ben gets out and slams the door, leaning against it all casual like and as if we weren’t being chased by killers!
Men.
The Mercedes parks beside us. A man wearing a grim expression and a tailored suit gets out, and panic clogs my throat. I inch the window down so that I can hear what’s going on.
“Dmitry,” Ben says, then switches languages. Russian, I think. Ben’s last name is Romanov and Dmitry sounds exactly like a bad guy’s name from an action-adventure movie from 1990s. Except this Dmitry is almost as hot as Ben. I’m not into blonds, but if I were, totally my type and OH MY GOD…
What am I doing?
Doing what always get you in trouble.
Not focusing on the issue at hand? Rushing into things without thinking it through?
Answer C- all the above
“Your friend is listening to us,” Dmitry says. Like Ben his accent is mostly British sounding with a hint of something else underneath it. It’s probably badguyese.
“His friend doesn’t speak anything but English,” I point out.
Ben turns around and opens the door, peering inside. “This is my cousin, Dmitry. He’s going to follow us to Paris.”
“You couldn’t have told me that before you jumped out?”
His gaze roams my face. “I’m a little preoccupied with keeping you safe at the moment.”
“You don’t know how thankful and grateful I am for that, but I don’t want to be in the dark. I want to help,” I remind him.
His eyes lose a bit of that cold, glacial sheens that has been slowly creeping in since last night. “I know you do. In the future, I will endeavor to keep you appraised of all things concerning your safety and well-being.”
“Did you just customer service rep me?”
“What?” He pronounces the word like one of the Royals would, sounding so stupidly posh that I want to kick him and kiss him, which seems about right for us.
“Spout off highfalutin words to placate a needy customer.” I raise my brows at him. “I do it at least once a week at PharmGen.”
“I have absolutely no idea what highfalutin means.”
“Consider the context clues, sugar,” I say, giving him by best Georgia drawl and a smirk.
He licks his lips, his gaze drifting down to my mouth. “I won’t leave you in the dark again.”
“Thank you,” I say primly and cross my legs. His eyes follow the movement. I’m both annoyed and pleased that he’s attracted to me… and that I’m attracted to him while we’re fleeing the country.
There should be a compartmentalization section of my brain that I can turn on and off at will. No sexy Ben right now. Only trying to save us Ben.
He nods, then straightens to finish his conversation with his cousin. As soon as they’re done, he gets in the car again and we’re off, heading to Paris.
“It’s only a six hour drive, but we can stop if you need me to.”
“The faster we get this over with the better,” I say.
He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “That’s my brave girl.” Letting go, he punches some buttons on a display in the dash. In most cars, there would be a radio function along with navigation, but like its driver, this is no ordinary car.
“I’m hopping on one of PharmGen’s satellites to monitor the Depository,” he says. “Dmitry will monitor the route and will text us if things look suspicious.”
Everything looks suspicious to me, but I’m no expert. “Should we open the package to see what the key looks like?”
“I already opened it. Dmitry and I surmised that it’s not explosive.”
“That’s… good?”
“Very.” His jaw works. “I don’t have a good feeling about easy, Morgan.”
“You’d rather have hard?”
Tilting his head to one side, he gives me a brief but telling look before focusing on the road. “I’d rather know what’s on the drive so I can make a better decision than this. I hate when someone else calls the shots.”
“What do you think is on the drive?”
“Not sure exactly. Honestly, I’m hoping it’s a cure for the common cold.”
“That would be worth a lot of money.”
He nods. “Enough to kill for.”
We both fall silent, watching cars and trucks weave in and out of lanes. Everyone seems to be in as much of a hurry as we are, but they’re headed to work, not to potentially die.
“Do you feel like talking?” I ask.
“Only if it will make you feel better.”
If only this was a date and he were a potential boyfriend. “I’m not sure if it will. I have so many questions for you.”
“Go on.”
I nibble at my lip, debating if I really want the answers. “Your former life, with bad guys and jumping off roofs… and killing people. Did… you… why?”
“I grew up in that life. My grandfather and brother taught me everything they knew. I was groomed to be a killer for the Bratva.”
My tongue gets stuck to the roof on my mouth for a second. “Are you still close to them?”
“Only my brother, but over the years I’ve drifted away from him as well. It’s not easy to leave everything behind, the man I used to be, but for nearly a decade I did just that. Worked my arse off to get a proper job.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “But now I know it was a setup. For what purpose, I’m not sure, and that scares the fuck out of me.”
“How do you know it was a setup?”
“I spied on Pinter and learned that someone was spying on me at the same time. It was rather disconcerting, especially since I considered myself untraceable. Pride and all that.”
“Maybe they know you.”
“I thought the same thing. But whom? Certainly not Grandfather and my brother has no idea how to arrange for such a thing—at least not without my help. I have two half-brothers, but they are firmly in the sunshine. Their careers so bright that even the Bratva leaves them alone. They’d make shite assassins anyway,” he says and my mind whirls at the possibility of who his half-brothers are. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know.”
My heart pounds in my ears, but I continue, “Actually… how many people have you killed?”
“Including
the man who attempted to kill you?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
“Y-yes.”
“Too many to count.” There is no pride in his voice, only resignation. “Although I guess the last time two times I got to play the hero.”
My brow furrows. “Last two?”
“My sister-in-law had been kidnapped and I helped rescue her.”
“That’s totally a hero thing.” I exhale slowly, my brain trying to come to grips with the fact that I’m not only willing to travel with a killer, but grateful. Who are you to judge, I remind myself. Who knows how I would have turned out had my parents lived? After all, it wasn’t my Granny who taught me how to use a gun.
“I’m the daughter of a killer.”
“Don’t.” He glances at me, making a face. “Just don’t. You don’t need to lie.”
“Seriously, you think I’d lie to make you feel better?”
“I think you have a kind heart,” he says. “Go on. I want to hear your story.”
“Before the massacre,” I swallow, forcing away the memories of that horrible day, “My dad was rumored to have shot a man just for looking at my momma.”
“Rumored is not the same thing as actually committed.”
“That man turned up dead. No one stepped forward with information, but we all knew. My momma wouldn’t speak to him for a long time after that happened, so he left us. I don’t remember it though. Too young.” But I do remember the fights. The screams. The sound of my dad hitting my mother, her wretched sobs as he begged for her forgiveness.
“And how do you know all this?” he asks.
“Granny told me.”
“She sounds perfectly lovely.”
“Her favorite nickname for me was Satan’s spawn and by Satan, she meant her son.” I laugh a little and shake my head. “I actually miss her. She had a mouth on her, but she took me in when the state could have put me in foster care. I was never cold or hungry once I lived with her. Always had clothes and a warm bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Really? Why is that?” I can’t help but ask.
“Because it would be extremely difficult to exhume a body only to murder it, but I would have if she hadn’t taken care of you,” his says in a voice that makes the hair stand up on my arms. “You were only a child, and you can’t help who brought you into this world.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. “You’ve never mentioned your parents, so I’m going to take a big leap and say that they were about as good as mine.”
“You could say that. However, my mother is still alive.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“No.” His mouth thins into a straight line for a moment. “I never want to see her again.”
“Does she need a killin’?” I ask, half-joking. “I’ve got cousins…”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“I was only kidding. Mostly.”
The look on his face is chilling. “I know and that’s why I can’t answer you.”
*
It’s clear from the look on his face that he’s done with the conversation, so I lean my head back and close my eyes. If my day is anything like yesterday and the day before, then I will have very little opportunity to get any sleep.
I wake up twice, both times because we have to show our passports to border guards. I don’t panic, at least outwardly, the first time because I’m sure that Benjamin thought of everything. His casual ease with the border guard relaxes me. While they speak in a mixture of French and English that is hard for me to follow, I smile and nod when it seems appropriate.
“You were brilliant,” he says as we pick up speed once more.
“I didn’t get a chance to see where my passport said I’m from.”
“Canada.”
“But they speak French in some parts.”
He grins. “Some parts. I made sure you were from the non-French speaking part.”
Well, isn’t he prepared? My eyes drift shut as I murmur, “Let me know if I can drive for you.”
“Mmm-hmm,” is all he says.
I crack open one eye. “I know you won’t let me.”
“They drive on the same side as Americans in France, love.”
Opening both eyes, I perk up a little. “Really?”
“Still not driving this.”
Frowning, I close my eyes once more. “Don’t wake me up unless we’re in Paris. Or about to die. Whichever comes first.”
Laughing, he turns on the radio. Classical music fills the air and I fall asleep in minutes.
*
“Morgan,” Ben’s voice drifts into my consciousness says as he gently shakes me. “We’re here.”
Yawning, I stretch and rub my eyes. “We’re in Paris already?”
“No, we’ve stopped in Amiens for the night. I’ve a room at Hotel du Fleurs.” Once more, he steps out before I can ask any questions, but I suppose he’s answered as many as he can.
A valet dressed in a blue and white suit opens my car door.
I swing my legs out first, then allow him to help me to my feet. Since I don’t have a purse, I wait for Ben to join me curbside.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak—”
“Allow me, my love.” Ben hands the valet some money, rattling off something in French as if he were a native speaker. They both laugh and then Ben gives the man even more money.
I guess money talks in any language.
Finally, Ben grabs my hand, lacing our fingers as he leans in to whisper, “I told him we were on our honeymoon and that you were a lovely American visiting for the first time.”
“Is that why he’s smiling so big?”
“No, it’s because I told him that you were anxious to go to bed.”
My face heats.
The valet’s grin widens when he catches my eye.
“I can’t believe you told him that. Not to mention that I don’t have a ring.” I feel something cool slip onto my ring finger. Glancing down I find a wedding band made of diamonds. “Never mind then.” Who in the heck keeps spare rings? Oh, that’s right, he does.
“So glad it fits.”
“You think of everything, sugar,” I coo.
He barely suppresses a smile, but I get a glimpse of his dimples. “There’s a tracking device in the largest diamond. Should we ever be parted, I will be able to find you.”
“As long as I don’t pawn it,” I warn him.
“There is that.”
I drag my gaze from the sparkling diamonds on my finger to look up at him. “Mind telling me how this fit into your plan?”
He gives me a confident smile. “An assassin is always prepared.”
We pass through an enormous arch made of stone into the fairy tale of hotel dreams. The place drips with elegance, from the understated marble floors to the discreet lighting that gives the cavernous room a warm glow.
“I’ve already checked us in.”
A bellman appears with one bag and a Louis Vuitton suitcase on a cart. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”
How original. “Is that my wedding present?” I ask, nodding at the blue and white piece of luggage.
“The ring’s not enough?” He lets go of my hand and places his palm on the small of my back. “I’m hurt, darling.”
I lift my shoulders, playing into casually playful conversation. “I really like that suitcase.”
“Then it’s yours.”
I bat my eyes at him. “You’re so good to me, sugar.”
“That’s a bit much.”
“Not for our honeymoon.” I take a deep breath and throw my shoulders back. “Just you wait until you see all the lingerie I packed in my suitcase.”
“It’s full of guns and ammo.”
The bellhop looks our way and I panic a little. Had he heard that? Should I keep playing the wife bit? Shut the hell up? Ah, who cares?
“I wasn’t planning on wearing nothing but a smile to bed anyway.�
�
“You spoil me, darling.” He plants an affectionate kiss on my upturned face. “I’ll reward you by letting you ride my cock until you scream my name.”
The valet coughs.
My mouth drops open.
Ben’s hand slides down to my butt. The squeeze he gives it is way past obvious.
Until this instant, I never knew how conflicting it is to be annoyed yet turned on at the same time.
As we walk across the room to the elevators, more than one envious look is thrown our way. A part of me wants to strut while the other, smarter part of me that was rolling her eyes the entire time I was flirting with Ben, reminds me that his affection isn’t real.
Oh, and snipers could be hiding behind the love seats placed in small alcoves, waiting to blow our heads off.
I honestly don’t know how anyone can live this way. This is way worse than growing up as a fugitive moonshiner’s daughter. It’s just prettier to look at than a rundown shack and a dirt yard. But at least I was alive in that rundown shack and dirty yard. And all I had to worry about was keeping my nasty cousin, Roger, from messing with me.
There, if someone had a problem, they’d let you know up front, but here…
By the time we get to our room, I’m a mess. Tears are threatening to fall at any second and my throat is so tight that I’m all but blubbering when I tell Ben that I need to use the restroom.
I slam the door behind me, then rest my hands against a granite countertop that looks as though it’s shot with gold. A chandelier dripping with crystals sprays rainbows all over the room. This is probably the most beautiful bathroom I’ve ever seen in my life and I can’t enjoy it one bit.
I sniff back the tears, staring at my mess of a reflection. My eyes are rimmed in red and, though my hair is pulled into a bun, frizzy wispy pieces frame my face, making me look like a crazy woman. Or like I just wrestled a wild boar. My only saving grace is that I haven’t smeared my make-up all over my face.
But that’s only because I’m not wearing any.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“May I come in?”
Sagging against the counter, I say, “Sure.”
Ben’s head appears first, then the rest of him fills the doorway. While the bathroom is large, his presence is bigger. “I know you wanted to get this over with, but you needed a break.”
Hard Target Page 6
