Bait

by Leslie Jones

  Deni gave a small smile. “And now, it is time to rebuild your strength. Shall we go to dinner?”

  Chapter Ten

  “AND THEREFORE, WE, as leaders and champions of Europe’s economic growth, must support initiatives that will secure a stable future for our next generations. I urge you to vote in favor of expanded oil drilling in Europe’s north-­central regions. Thank you.”

  Almost as one, the room rose to their feet, the applause genuine. Gabe restrained himself from joining in. Christina had perfectly captured Ronnie’s vivacious passion. The speech had been well-­written, but she’d brought it to life. He could almost believe she supported the princess’s cause. Like the hospital visit the previous day, she commanded attention while remaining gracious and charming.

  As planned, the senior librarian at the Bibliothèque Nationale de Concordia shook her hand and took over the podium, thanking Princess Véronique for her patronage both of the library and of the Women’s Caucus on Economic Diversity. Christina inclined her head, gave a regal wave to the room at large, and followed Gabe and Deni out of the room.

  “Very well spoken,” Deni said. “Princess Véronique herself could not have done better.”

  Gabe nodded to Tag, whom he’d placed in the corridor outside of the auditorium. Tag fell in behind them. They picked up Alex inside the front door. “Any change?”

  “The crowd’s gotten bigger,” Mace reported in his ear. “They’re itching for her to come out.”

  “We should go out the back,” Alex said.

  Gabe hesitated. That would be the move if this were a real protection detail. Christina had nailed it, though, when she insisted they put her out there as bait for the assassin. He knew she was right; it was the whole point of the deception. Still . . . he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “What’s going on?” Christina asked.

  During the speech, she’d taken off the Bluetooth earpiece, so she hadn’t heard Mace’s continuous reports of the anti-­drilling protestors gathering outside the National Library. Now she inserted it into her ear and repeated the question.

  “A group of farmers are protesting your stance on oil drilling,” Gavin said. “I guess not everyone here loves you.”

  Gabe grimaced. “Anyone stand out?”

  “Negative. I’ve been watching them the whole time. There are reporters, too. Whoops. Police just showed up. At least we’ll have crowd control.”

  “Gabe,” Christina said firmly. “Mace has overwatch and Gavin has the limousine. We discussed this. I’m ready.”

  Respect for her courage grew inside him. He made his decision. “Okay. We’re coming out the front door now. Alex, go coordinate with the police.”

  About a hundred protesters milled around outside the library, carrying flags and signs, chanting and singing the Concordian national anthem. They surged forward as they caught sight of their princess, and the shouting increased.

  Gabe and Tag pushed Christina behind them, closing in so she could barely see between them. The half-­dozen police officers ran in front of the crowd, arms outstretched to keep them back. One spoke into his shoulder mike. Calling for reinforcements?

  “Save our food,” Gavin translated. “No more drilling. That sort of garbage.”

  Christina said, “It’s not garbage to them. It’s their livelihood.”

  “There are too many of them,” Gavin said. “They’re all around the limousine. I haven’t had to break any heads yet, but the afternoon’s young.”

  A reporter rushed forward, thrusting a microphone toward her, the cameraman right behind. Others followed. Gabe stepped two paces forward, barring the reporter from access. Rapid French followed.

  Gavin translated. “How do you respond to accusations that you’re in bed with big oil co . . . dammit! You get off my hood! Now!”

  “Gavin, bring the limo up,” Gabe ordered. “We can’t walk out with this crowd in the way. They’re too rowdy. We can’t stay here.”

  The crowd started pushing forward, the voices becoming angry.

  “Four o’clock,” Mace said tersely. “Woman, red coat, pulling something out of her pocket.”

  “Shit.” Tag leaped the steps four at a time, zeroing in on the woman and bearing down on her like a freight train. She saw him coming and turned to run. He caught her by the back of her coat, spinning her around and grabbing her hand. Dipping into her pocket, still controlling her movements, he came up with an apple, bruised and moldy. Swearing, he released the woman, pointed a finger at her nose, and said, “Go home.”

  “Target neutralized,” Mace reported dryly. “Fruit of choice is a rotten apple. Better than a tomato. At least it won’t splatter.”

  “This crowd’s pissed. What the hell’s setting them off?” Gabe asked, frustration in his voice. “We can’t stand out here forever. Gavin, where are you?”

  “Target.” Mace’s voice tensed. “Eleven o’clock. Man, five-­eight, goatee, burn scar on his left cheek.”

  “What’s he doing?” Christina asked. She scanned the crowd.

  “Nothing. He’s across the street, sitting in his car. Watching.”

  “Snap a pic,” Gabe ordered. “We need to know who it is.”

  “Doing it now. And . . . emailed it to Trevor.”

  The chanting grew louder. Emboldened, the crowd pushed closer and closer to the library steps. It was getting ugly.

  “I think if the assassin were here, he would have done something by now,” Christina said.

  “What the hell are they saying, Gavin?” Tag asked, returning to Christina’s side.

  The limo came into view from the parking lot, creeping along, Gavin laying on the horn. Men and women began to bang on the hood and roof. “ ‘No big oil. Farmers unite. Don’t let us starve.’ That’s a good one,” Gavin reported through the Bluetooth. “And then there’s one poor little old lady in a walker, directly in front of me, who wants to save the wildlife from oil spills. I think I’ll run her over.”

  Before Christina could open her mouth to protest, Gavin gunned the engine and let the limousine jump forward a foot. The woman, bent over in a bulky coat, dove out of the way, her wig coming off as she scrambled to her feet. She began to scream obscenities as she shook her fist.

  “Magically no longer needs the walker,” Christina said in disgust. “What’s she? Twenty? Twenty-­five?”

  Several more police cars arrived, driving directly onto the cement and blocking the steps as they angled in. The crowd milled about. Several lobbed apples or potatoes in their direction. Gavin stopped the limousine and jumped out, physically shoving several ­people out of the way until he was able to open the rear passenger door. With Gabe shielding her with his body, she climbed down step by step and ducked into the car.

  Uniformed police began to swarm the area, pushing the crowd back. Someone on a loudspeaker told them, Gavin reported, to disperse or be arrested. Gavin didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. He drove them straight across the concrete apron and onto the street.

  Christina turned to look out the back window. “Well, that didn’t work. Where’s my assassin?”

  Chapter Eleven

  GABE KNOCKED SOFTLY at Christina’s bedroom door. Everything was set. Cars packed, team deployed, path cleared of all unwanted onlookers. It was time for Christina to resume impersonating the Crown Princess of Concordia.

  After Wednesday’s confrontation with rioting farmers, he’d scrubbed the construction site ribbon-­cutting. Christina had grit, he’d give her that. She’d stayed calm and focused, despite the impending riot.

  Yesterday had been peaceful, but now was time for what he considered to be the most dangerous part of this mission—­the drive to Grasvlakten, where they would be out in the open and exposed.

  There was no answer. When he tried the knob, he found the door had been locked. To keep him out?

  He’d
dreamed of her last night. Eyes sparking, fast-­talking and perceptive, she’d visited him in his sleep, sliding in next to him like warm silk in a sizzling fantasy. Whispering hot promises in his ear, she tormented him until he twisted and thrashed in the sheets. He woke frustrated and unfulfilled.

  Shit.

  He pulled a small leather case from his jacket and went to work on the lock. In a few seconds, the lock on the door snicked open. Without apology, he walked into the room. Tough if she didn’t like it. She should have answered the door.

  He found her sprawled across the bed, clad only in a silk robe that had parted at the waist, arms outflung, dead asleep. Her face was smooth and soft. Gabe resisted the urge to climb onto the bed with her and pull her into his arms again. Jesus, he was becoming obsessed with her—­it had to stop. He’d thought her beautiful back in Azakistan, but this forced proximity was so much better—­and so much worse. Reluctantly, he bent down and stroked a hand across her hair. Her eyes opened, confused by sleep.

  “Why are you dressed?”

  Startled, he jerked back. “What?”

  As she fully woke and awareness returned, her face closed down, leaving him with no idea what she was thinking. “Nothing. I was dreaming. Nothing. Is it time to go? Let’s go.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, wobbling a little. His hand shot out and gripped her upper arm, steadying her.

  She’d been dreaming about him? Naked?

  “I’m awake now,” she said, easing her arm free. “Sorry. Thanks. Give me five minutes to dress.” She closed the door in his face.

  When she finally emerged, she had transformed once again into Princess Véronique, wearing a silky white blouse, peach wraparound miniskirt, and six-­inch heels. She slid designer sunglasses onto her nose. He discovered he preferred plain Christina. This woman was above him in every way. Inaccessible, regal, untouchable. And he knew he wanted very much to touch her again.

  They made their way down the back staircase to the limousine. This time, Gabe sat in front, riding shotgun. He’d put Alex in the follow car. Tag guarded the midpoint of their route, and Mace sat overwatch at the three-­quarters mark. They were as ready as they were going to be. Christina slid into the back next to Deni, and the two vehicles pulled out.

  They made the drive in virtual silence. While Gavin focused on the road, Gabe continuously scanned the countryside. The route he had chosen and scouted wound through farmland, avoiding the forests and high areas. It took them a bit out of the way, but it was worth it for the security advantage it gave them.

  As they drove, he processed the information being relayed by Alex, behind them, and Tag, miles ahead. He’d positioned Mace at the critical point, where two highways and three local roads crossed. That was still half an hour away.

  “Nothing unusual headed your way,” Tag said. “Small cars, farmers. A tractor going like thirty miles an hour. Thing’s booking.”

  In his earpiece, Alex choked out a laugh. “That’s nothing. I got passed by an old farm truck piled to the rim with crates of chickens. Cluck, cluck.”

  “Sounds like dinner to me,” Gavin said.

  Gabe ignored them. His primary worry were the windmills that dotted the countryside. Three of them would be close enough for a good sniper to fire on them.

  Ahead of them a herd of sheep milled around the road, a harried young shepherd trying to get them out of the way. Gavin braked. Three cars behind him, the farm truck with the chickens laid on his horn. The shepherd gaped at the official flags adorning the limousine. Gabe tensed, hand clenched around the shotgun at his feet. It was doubtful this was any sort of trap, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Finally, the shepherd coaxed and bullied the sheep off the road far enough for the limousine to drive around them. Gabe did not relax until the herd was far behind them.

  “Black Renault just passed me,” Tag reported. “Driver alone in front. Tinted windows, so I couldn’t see if anyone was in the back.”

  It didn’t necessarily mean anything. There had been any number of vehicles on the roads, and Renaults were common enough in Europe. “Speed?”

  “Normal. Staying with traffic.”

  “Roger that. Alex, close distance to one klick.” At one kilometer, he would be just over half a mile behind them. Close enough to react if an attack came from either direction.

  “Got it.”

  He checked the rearview until he saw Alex’s nondescript Audi. With the oncoming traffic, he seemed to be having trouble getting around the damned chicken truck. The Renault appeared ahead of them. “Christina, Deni, get down, please.”

  “Okay.” A glance in the rearview showed them shifting to lie sideways on the back seat, with Christina covering Deni’s body with her own.

  The road had cleared behind him. Alex pulled into the left lane, but the farm truck drifted left at the same time to straddle both lanes, making it impossible for him to pass.

  “Fuckwad,” he said calmly. “If you’re going to go that fast with crates full of chickens, learn to stay on your own side of the road.”

  Christina poked her head above the seat to look out the back window. “Alex,” she whispered into her earpiece. “That truck is matching your speed.”

  It was true. In the other direction, the Renault was slowing. “Alex, get past that truck. Now. Whatever it takes.” Gabe unholstered his Glock and passed it through the divider to Christina, who left the back seat long enough to accept it. “Keep your head down. This is just in case.” He canted an eye at her, a flicker of humor in it. “Careful, champ. Don’t shoot me by mistake.”

  Despite the worry in her eyes, she arched a saucy brow. “Don’t worry. I’m an excellent shot. If I shoot you, it won’t be by accident.”

  As he turned back to face what he was certain was an attempted ambush, Gabe found a grin tugging at his mouth.

  SQUASHED SIDEWAYS IN the back seat and practically lying on top of Deni, Christina could only follow what was happening by the terse communication flowing through Gabe’s team. She touched her earpiece, grateful that Gabe had given her the Bluetooth.

  “Chicken truck is blocking me,” Alex said. “Keeps swerving in front of me.”

  “Renault is speeding up again,” Gavin bit out. “I can’t take this beast off road here. There are ditches on both sides.”

  Gabe cursed. “They couldn’t have timed it better.”

  In other words, someone either knew or had researched the terrain well enough to set a trap for the limousine. Christina shivered, gripping the handle of the Glock a little tighter. She debated risking another peek. As though reading her mind, Gabe twisted in his seat and pinned her with a look. “Not one muscle.”

  She hated not seeing for herself what was happening. Reluctantly, though, she nodded. The team could not be distracted by her actions right now. Still, if push came to shove, she could help. She popped the magazine on the Glock. Fifteen rounds of .40 caliber ammunition. Not a lot, but it could be a lot worse. Like, if she weren’t armed at all.

  “What is happening?” Deni asked. Without a Bluetooth device, she could only hear the two in the front.

  “Shh,” Christina murmured. “Just hold on. We’re going to be fine.” She hoped.

  “Gavin, floor it.” The stately old limousine leapt forward, shaking and groaning as it hit sixty, sixty-­five, seventy. At the same time, Alex swore. There was a squeal of brakes through her earpiece, the unmistakable sound of metal impacting metal, and then the wild clucking of what seemed like hundreds of chickens.

  “Alex, report.” Gabe’s voice was calm in her ear, a direct contrast to her own pounding heart. “Alex. Are you mobile?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said finally, voice slightly unsteady. “Damned car’s covered in chickens. Gimme thirty seconds to . . .”

  “Shit! Brace for impact!” Gavin shouted, pushing the old car to further acceleration. “Asshole b
locked the road.”

  Christina slipped out of the shoulder portion of the seat belt so it wouldn’t cut her neck when the two cars collided, and braced her arms to cover Deni. The ripping sound of gunfire preceded the driver’s window shattering and a lurch as the limousine swerved. She closed her eyes briefly. Deni squeaked.

  Gabe levered the shotgun out his window and fired, the blast nearly deafening her in the enclosed space. He pumped the action and fired twice more, then the limousine swerved, skidded, and slid. Deni cried out, a terrified sound, and covered her head with her arms. Somehow the tires found traction again, even though the limousine seemed to be moving sideways. Christina brought her forearms vertically in front of her face to protect her head. The impact, when it came, slammed her forward. Another rip of automatic fire. She heard the bullets slam into the metal of the car. There was shouting, and a scream.

  “Got him on the other side,” Alex said. Christina caught the flash of blue as the Audi reached them. “Nope, they’re moving. You swung them around enough. Veer left to get back to the road. Gavin. Left.”

  The limousine shuddered as Gavin wrestled it around and got it back onto the asphalt. “They’re not pursuing.”

  “Nope,” came the cheerful reply as Alex moved in behind them. “I almost clipped one, but the fuckhead jumped out of the way too quick.”

  “You’re still twenty minutes from me,” Mace broke in. “Do you want me to come back?”

  “Negative. Maintain position. They left the chickens. Three men. The Renault’s heading back toward Parvenière.”

  Christina brushed a hand over her hip and down her leg. Glass slid from her skirt to the floorboards. She lifted herself off Deni and slipped her hand into the older woman’s, pulling her upright. “It’s okay, Deni. It’s over.”

  Gavin slowed to a more reasonable speed, so the air rushing through his shattered window didn’t roar. Deni slowly uncurled herself and sat up. Her normally coiffed hair stuck out in all directions, and her suit was rumpled. Of all of them, she looked the most like she’d been to war.