by Leslie Jones
She sailed past Gabe without so much as a glance, relegating him to the role of servant. That meant she also ignored the House Guard at the door to the royals’ living quarters. Ronnie always greeted them. She forced herself to slow down.
She descended the stairs with her fingers trailing along the bannister so she wouldn’t trip in Ronnie’s shoes, aware when tourists and paparazzi noticed her and started to whisper. Cameras and cell phones snapped photos, and she paused, turning to accommodate them. Inside the palais, she felt safe, though she knew that was a fallacy. The danger could come at any time, from any direction. Still, she inclined her head and gave Véronique’s gentle smile.
The Household Guard escorted her to the front entrance, through the breezeway with its rows of columns, to the waiting limousine with its double flags. Crown Princess Véronique de Savoie merited the second-largest limousine in the fleet, which bore the flags of Concordia on the hood and the royal family crest on the doors. Gabe cleared a path through the cameras. He maneuvered around her and opened the rear door. She sat at an angle, then swung her tightly closed legs inside.
The guard clicked the door closed. Gabe swung into the front passenger seat. The driver pulled away immediately.
“Where to?” he asked.
Until now, Christina hadn’t given it a single thought. Gabe, however, answered immediately.
“The baroque gardens at Nanten. Take Rue de Bouclé to Rue du Destin. Follow the signs from there.”
“Gotcha.”
She leaned forward, checking the driver in the rearview mirror. He returned her look briefly, then turned his attention back to the road. Despite the gray suit and tie, gloves, and cap, this was clearly no chauffeur. Gray colored his temples, but his haircut, at least what she could see, was military-short. He was deeply tanned. Strong lines bracketed his mouth and slashed across his forehead and between his eyes. Christina had no doubt if she checked the fall of his suit, she would detect the slight bulge of a weapon under his arm.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
“Gavin Selle.”
She settled back against the butter-soft leather, disgruntled. This grew more ridiculous by the moment. Everyone around her knew exactly what was going on. She was the only idiot in the dark.
“You and I are going to talk.” She addressed the back of Gabe’s head. He did not react.
As the miles unwound, Christina registered the shrewdness of Gabe’s choice. The highways were long and straight, with few trees to distort the landscape. It would be difficult for a tail to remain invisible, and there was little cover or concealment for a sniper, assuming anyone knew their destination. She would bet her last dollar Gabe told no one where he was taking her.
In less than half an hour, Gavin pulled off the highway and wound his way through thick trees to a parking area. The lot was barely half full. He shut off the engine and hopped out, opening Christina’s door while scanning the area around them. She drew the sweet spring air deeply into her lungs. Should she get out? Was she supposed to wait for a signal?
“Princess?”
The title caused her to start. Gavin held out a hand, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Did he know about her? Undoubtedly. No way would Gabe fail to fill in everyone on his team. There seemed to be no condemnation in his eyes, however, as she extended her arm, remembering to place her fingertips into his palm and allow her wrist to arc gracefully downward. His forearm corded under his sleeve as he helped her from the limousine.
Gabe came around the hood of the car and positioned himself to her left. “Let’s go. We’ll talk inside.”
They left the driver behind as they entered Nanten’s famed baroque gardens. Gabe paid the entry fee and ushered her inside the double set of curved columns before anyone could react to Christina’s presence. They walked down a smooth brick path through more trees, then emerged into the open. Christina gave a soft gasp of pleasure.
“This is gorgeous!”
Directly in front of them was a fountain, nestled in the center of a flat octagon that was easily thirty feet on each side. Past the fountain, acres and acres of flower beds spread out before her. She stopped at one of the informational plaques.
“ ‘Famed landscape architect Sébastien Lalor designed the gardens 1673, in the French baroque style,’ ” she read aloud.
“Fascinating,” Gabe said. “Keep walking.”
Christina barely had time to admire the vast beds of perfectly symmetrical curlicued hedges interspersed with flowers and statuary. Gabe hustled her off the main paths, avoiding groups of people, leading her away from the grand central fountain, a breathtaking triple-tiered construct of golden water nymphs, fish, cherubs, and other figures she could not identify, all spouting water or frolicking about.
He finally slowed, far from the entrance and on an unoccupied side path. Christina lifted her face to the warm sun, inhaling the mixed fragrance of greenery and blooms. After two weeks sequestered inside the princess’s apartments, the fresh air felt heavenly.
“I thought you might need to get out of there for a while. Two weeks cooped up anywhere, and I’d be chewing my arm off. Gavin’ll let us know if anyone suspicious comes in, but I think we’re safe enough here.”
Christina flicked him a look of surprise. They were here because he’d been concerned about her? “Thank you.”
They ambled past an enormous urn, flowers circling its base.
“What happened in Iraq?”
The question came out of nowhere. Christina jerked, swiveling her head around to squint at Gabe. She clamped her lips over her first response: It’s none of your business. It was, though, really, wasn’t it? He had the right to know if she was reliable. Trustworthy. Competent.
“The mission was a bust,” she said, trying for matter-of-fact.
“Keep going.”
She fought the impulse to clear her throat. “My mission was to make contact with a smuggling ring, posing as an American importer who didn’t care where the merchandise came from.” Her hand fluttered in the air. “Every year, more than thirty-two thousand exotic birds exported from Singapore and Indonesia make their way into American and European markets. The birds are declared as captive-bred, but strong evidence suggests Singapore, in particular, doesn’t have the breeding capability that the exports would suggest. It’s a scam to circumvent international trade regulations.”
“What happened?” Impatience tinged his tone.
“A lot of these birds are on the endangered-species list,” she continued doggedly. If she was going to humiliate herself, she would do it her way and in her time. “The largest launderer of illegal birds is a company called Exotic Fauna Exports of Baghdad. It was run by two brothers, Yuri and Fedyenka Osinov, Ukrainian immigrants.”
She stopped walking, turning to admire the statue of a maiden pouring liquid from an urn on her shoulder. Water splashed from the urn, across her carved slippers, and into a shallow basin. Christina perched on the lip of the basin and trailed her fingers through the water. Gabe did not sit. She felt him, solid and imposing, at her left shoulder.
“Birds?” Disbelief laced Gabe’s voice. “Your mission was birds?”
“Exotic birds aren’t the only thing they handle,” she said. Her shoulders hunched as she looked anywhere but at him. “They also smuggle exotic animals for illegal—and extremely expensive—fur coats. Ermine and mink. Chinchilla.”
Gabe exhaled an unamused laugh. “Birds. Christ Almighty.”
He infiltrated hostile countries to fight terrorists, rescue hostages, train locals to defend themselves. Small wonder her mission seemed silly to him. She slapped the surface of the water, spraying droplets onto her expensive pantsuit. “Trafficking in illegal wildlife is a fifteen billion dollar a year business, second only to the drug trade. This is not a joke. Psittacines are highly profitable commodities.”
He moved into view. The several feet between them might have been miles. “Go on, then. Tell me about your birds.”
Instinct told her Gabe wanted as many details as possible. “This was information gathering only. Once we found what we were looking for, local law enforcement would go in for the takedown. We needed to find the holding area. The conditions in these places are awful. Rampant disease that then moves into the United States.” She glanced into his face, saw no encouragement, and sighed.
Gabe propped a foot on the lip of the fountain. “Exactly what happened?”
“Bobby Roberts and I arranged to meet with the Osinovs. Bobby was in charge of the whole operation.”
Incredulity colored Gabe’s tone. “No way. Robert Roberts? What, did his parents hate him?”
Christina wiped her fingers dry. “Probably. Everyone else did, too. He believed in volume leadership. If he could say it the loudest, it must be true. He never admitted he was wrong, even when it was brutally obvious he was. Frankly, he was a bully. I think Customs assigned him this case just to get rid of him for a while.”
“Let me guess. He threw you under the bus.” A hard look crept into his eyes.
She cleared her throat and didn’t answer. In fact, Bobby had vilified her. He’d blamed her for every aspect of the mission’s failure. The others followed suit to save their own asses, leaving Christina holding the bag of stink. Ugly rumors spread through agency grapevines and shredded her reputation.
“Okay. Take me through it,” he said after a moment.
“The initial meeting with the Osinovs was productive. We agreed on price and delivery. The next day, we were blindfolded and taken to the holding area,” she said. “Yuri showed us samples of the merchandise. Everything seemed fine.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Samples of birds?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Two Amazons, an African grey, and a cockatoo.”
“So what went wrong? You said they made you.”
Christina thought for a moment. “I don’t know what went wrong. Shay contacted the local police. They were supposed to be standing by to arrest the Osinovs at the warehouse during the transfer, catching them in the act. And liberating the inhabitants of those cages. They never had the chance to move in. Yuri and his men drew on us. Bobby . . . well, he escaped out the back way. I used Yuri as a human shield. They started shooting anyway. I made it out the way Bobby had and went to the hotel room where we’d set up. It had been sanitized, so I went to the airfield. We had a plane standing by to extract us to Italy.”
Would he care about the hours she had struggled to evade the smugglers? The terror when Yuri discovered her? Fedyenka’s fury, his shouted threats?
No.
Christina’s hand rose to her hair, remembered the styling gel, and dropped her arm into her lap. “The Osinovs knew about the airfield, too, because they arrived shortly after I did. There was a firefight. I . . . shot Yuri. Then a squad of SAS soldiers arrived and Fedyenka took off. I don’t know how, but he escaped. The whole mission was a bust. Because of me, Fedyenka moved the holding cages and pens, and we lost the opportunity to shut them down.”
When he remained silent, she added, “Next thing I know, I’m in Azakistan doing paperwork.”
Her boss, Jay Spicer, had protected her by removing her from center stage to allow the rumors to die a natural death. Obviously that hadn’t happened. She gave a deep sigh.
Silence settled between them. Not even the sound of the fountain broke the quiet.
“Thank you,” he finally said, “for going through it with me.”
Gabe straightened and took three steps back onto the path. Looking up, Christina saw a group of visitors wandering their way, chattering away in German. Their smiles dimmed as they took in Gabe’s formidable posture, casting curious looks her way as they hurried past.
She waited for him to blast her, to disparage her as her own people had. When he remained silent, she finally dared to look up. He was examining her, brows furrowed, hands on his hips.
“How can you not know how you were made?”
She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her trousers. “That’s the question of the hour. I’ve been over it and over it. I laid it out for Jay Spicer, my case officer. For Trevor, who led the team that got us out of Dodge. For the review board. I’ve examined every nuance of my behavior, and I just can’t see it.”
He ran a hand along his chin, deep in thought. “It’s not adding up for me. All right. Let’s table it for now. Later I’ll see if I can spot anything that might help you.”
Gabe wanted to help her? She blinked in astonishment.
When he held out his hand to her, she took it without protest. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible working with Gabe. For the moment, anyway, he was being almost nice.
She followed him back onto the path.
Chapter Five
“HERE’S HOW THIS is going to work.”
The mild sun warmed Gabe. Even as his eyes flickered from place to place, group to group, he allowed himself to enjoy the magnificence of the gardens. His Glock snugged close and comforting under his arm, hidden beneath his suit jacket. He missed his boot knives, but at least the specially modified dress shoes would allow him to run, if needed.
“I’m going to be beside you when you make public appearances,” he told her. “Gavin will man the wheel, no exceptions. He’s hands-down the best driver I’ve ever known. Mace will have overwatch—he’ll find high ground with his sniper rifle. Tag and Alex will shadow us.” He glanced at her to make sure she understood. “We’ll all be hooked together by Bluetooth. You’ll also wear a wire as a backup, in case our comms fail. If you see anything that makes you nervous, sing out. Ditto if we do. We’ll tell you exactly where to go and what to do.”
Christina hesitated, but finally nodded.
Something about her story nagged at him. Maybe it was simply that she seemed so ready to accept blame for a mission that, by her own account, failed from all sides, not just hers.
“Why can’t I visit the children?” she asked. “They have leukemia and cancer, for God’s sake. A visit from Princess Véronique would be the highlight of their miserable stay. Lifting their spirits also increases their odds of survival, you know.”
“I’m not willing to risk the children. It would be safer if we weren’t there.” Her empathy inexplicably warmed him.
“I disagree. Also, it’s the perfect venue for my first public appearance as Ronnie. Low-profile, small audience. If your guys have the back end covered, nobody could get to me. Assuming, of course, they wouldn’t blow up the hospital.” Her eyes widened. “They wouldn’t, would they?”
He didn’t think so. He and his team had, in fact, discussed that in great detail. The original assassination attempt had been a clumsy shot from a fair distance, indicating an amateur. Either the princess or her fiancé could have been the target; and, when the bullet went wide, the assassin vanished rather than start spraying bullets into the crowd. In fact, they had concluded the hospital visit would be safe enough for the patients. He’d vetoed the visit hoping Christina would change her mind and stay inside the palace.
Could he now afford to be seen as changing his mind?
Looking into her eyes, he decided that, yes, he could. After all, he needed her cooperation. They needed to be able to trust one another; and, at the moment, trust seemed an impossibility. His decision certainly had nothing to do with the soft plea in her eyes.
“Gabe? Would the children truly be at risk?”
Eyes colored green to match Véronique’s. He found he preferred her own light brown color. He jerked his gaze away from her and focused, instead, on the rainbow spray created by another fountain up ahead.
“I believe this assassin will make a play for you in the most public place possible, with lots of people and even camera crews. I’m not ruling anythi
ng out, but if he tries again very soon, the Veteran’s Hospital opening or the villa in Grasvlakten would be my picks.” Sweeping his gaze across the open space of the gardens, he added, “The first attempt happened in a public venue.”
“Princess Véronique attended a modern dance performance at Le Monnaie Opera House in Brussels on March second with her fiancé and his sister,” Christina said.
As he was well acquainted with every detail of the attempt on Ronnie’s life, Gabe could only assume Christina wanted to impress upon him that she’d done her homework. She grew quiet as they passed an elderly couple sitting on a bench, heads close and hands clasped.
“They left after the performance and were walking across the street to have a nightcap at The Dominican,” she continued, when they were alone again. “Princess Véronique had just stepped past the gate when the wall lamp next to her head shattered. The shot came from farther down Rue Léopold, where it crosses Wolvengracht.”
“From the roof,” Gabe confirmed, before she started describing the dimensions of the dome or the caliber of the rifle used. “Not far. Maybe a hundred, hundred and fifty yards. An easy shot for a professional. Since he missed, he either meant to, or is an amateur.”
They wandered along paths made of white crushed rocks. Ahead of them, an enormous globe of the earth rested atop yet another fountain, water bubbling up from beneath it. All the damned water made it hard for him to hear. He led her away from it, toward the wall separating the gardens from the groves of trees surrounding it.
“But the threat came when they were outside, not inside the theater.”
“Yes,” he said, giving in. “If you really want to go, the hospital is probably safe enough. We can corral the kids and keep the staff away.”
Her smile lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. It took his breath away. “Thank you,” she said.
Since he didn’t trust his voice in that half-second, he merely nodded. “Do you have any questions?”
“Well, I have some obvious ones,” Christina said. “First and foremost, I need weapons. I’d like a subcompact for my purse, preferably a Sig Sauer, and a Baby Browning with an ankle holster. Also an expandable spring baton. A twelve-inch one is fine.”
