“Sure!”
“I’ve occasionally had to sneak out of places. Most of these hotels can take you out the service entrance or have a private entrance in an underground garage. Quite honestly, knowing Wulfram’s obsession with security and mitigating risk, I’m surprised that he didn’t use it. I’ll suggest that to Wyss.”
“What else does Big Brother do?”
He shrugged and began to smile for the first time since she had accused him of having a violin. “He used to badger Flicka about security when she was a teenager, and we all called him an old fussbudget or Herr General due to his private paramilitary force. Yet, when something like this happens, and it appears that it has happened twice in two days—”
“Twice in two days? Somebody shot at Rae and Wulfram yesterday, too?”
Alex nodded. “—then we all remember why he is so careful, and some of us think seriously about beefing up our own security.”
“Why is he so careful?”
“Hang on.” Alex dialed his phone again. “Monsieur Wyss?” and continued in French for a few minutes. After he hung up, he said, “We’ll meet them at the service entrance in five minutes. In the meantime,” he glanced down at her black cocktail dress embellished with shining, tinkling silver chains, “let’s see if we can make you less recognizable.”
Sneaking Out
Georgie
Georgie tugged the waistband of Alex’s black sweat pants up and cinched the string more tightly. In the full-length mirror, she looked smaller, wearing his over-sized gym clothes rolled up at the ankles and wrists. His sweatshirt was so big that it looked square on her and the shoulder seams rode halfway down her arms.
Her casual clothes were at odds with the ornate gold frame around the mirror stuck on the wall. A regal mirror like that should only reflect ball gowns or white-tie tuxedos.
Alex frowned over her shoulder. “They’ve only seen you with your hair in a bun. Contrary to the usual protocol, you might want to brush out your hair.”
She started pulling hairpins from behind her head. “Do you have a comb or something?”
“Oddly for a man, yes. I have several.”
“That’s convenient.” She dropped the pins on the alabaster marble of his bathroom countertop while he hunted among the drawers. Her hair tumbled and uncoiled behind her back.
He dipped his hand in a drawer and picked out a hair brush. “I found it. I—” He glanced at her. “Wow.”
“What?” She shook her hair out, fluffing it at the roots to get rid of her hairache.
Alex was staring at her hair. “It’s really long.”
“I get it trimmed.”
He looked at her through the mirror, admiration shining in his eyes. “It’s almost to your waist, and it’s really healthy.”
“I’ll take that as a complement from someone who understands.”
He separated a section out and began brushing it, starting from the ends. Her hair curled in wide spirals from being so tightly wound for hours. “It’s so thick, and you don’t have a split end in here. Half those little bottles over there are still full.” He gestured to the corner of the counter, where a bunch of very high-end hair stuff was falling all over the place. “My stylist gave me a big bag of all that stuff and told me to use them, but I don’t know what to do with half of them.”
“I can do that myself.” Georgie made a feint at the hairbrush.
He dodged her grasping hand. “Let me.”
“You have a thing about long hair?” she teased.
His glance at her, making eye contact through the mirror, had decidedly more heat this time. He coiled her long hair around his fist. “I just wish I’d known how long it was, earlier.”
He let her hair fall and continued to brush it out.
Georgie felt the flush first as her cheeks heated, but when she looked back at herself in the mirror, her lips were fuller, and her pupils had dilated so much that there was almost no hazel-brown left in her irises.
Damn. They had only minutes until they had to be downstairs, and then she should never see him again.
Right?
Even if she kind of wanted to know what he might do with her hair locked around his hands?
Idle curiosity was no reason to deviate from her general guidelines that had kept her unattached and free to pursue her redemption.
Yet, as she watched him brush out her hair until it was shining and that look of intense interest that focused his dark eyes on each brush stroke, she remembered that she had his phone number in her phone.
She should delete that as soon as she was alone.
Georgie blurted, “Do you text?”
“Yes.” He smoothed the brush over her scalp and down her back.
“Okay.”
His eyes didn’t even flicker up to hers as he brushed her hair. “There. All done.”
He ran his hand down her hair like he was feeling silk.
“Okay. So we’re ready?” she asked.
“Almost.” Alex left the bathroom for a few seconds while Georgie stared in her own light brown eyes in the mirror and told herself to get a fucking grip.
He came back with two black baseball hats and mirrored sunglasses. He tossed one baseball cap on her head and handed her a pair of the glasses.
The silver-coated sunglasses were too wide for her face, blocking even some of her cheekbones with their rounded-triangle lenses.
She looked like a giant, black bug.
But not like Georgiana Oelrichs.
Alex coiled his hair up inside his hat and donned the sunglasses, which seemed incongruous with his dark blue business suit, but she wasn’t the expert at sneaking around.
He said, “Let’s go.”
Georgie grabbed her purse and followed him through the hallways, her feet quiet on the lush carpeting. Instead of taking the elevator, they walked down the stairway, and at the lobby floor, a concierge met them.
The liveried concierge bowed slightly at the waist. “Mr. Grimaldi, I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”
“Thank you,” Alex said.
The concierge slid his keycard into a different door than the one that led to the lobby, one behind where they stood, and the light on the card reader blinked green with a grinding pop from the door. He stood aside and opened his hand toward the door. “Monsieur?”
“Merci, Monsieur.”
Alex walked through, so Georgie followed. The baking-bread scent of croissants swarmed around them like a fog, so strong that Georgie almost stopped among the gleaming silver countertops and steel shelves to inhale as much as she could.
Good Lord. They were in the kitchens.
The concierge led the way through the white-uniformed chefs, and Georgie trotted to keep up with Alex’s long-legged stride.
Huge steel doors like bank vaults towered in the hallway to the back entrance, which must be the cold rooms and freezers. The concierge opened the last door and said, “Your car is waiting at the end of the loading dock.”
“Thank you.” Alex shook his hand.
Georgie glimpsed a piece of lime green paper move from Alex’s hand to the concierge’s, whose even-toothed smile made him seem very pleased with five minutes worth of work.
“I’ll pay you back,” Georgie said as Alex settled his hand on her lower back and propelled her toward the waiting black car. The growl of the big engine echoed off the dead gray concrete in the parking garage.
At the end of the dock, Alex jumped the foot and a half down and turned to hold her hands as she jumped.
“That was seriously impressive,” Georgie said.
“I’ve had to sneak out of a few hotels in my time,” Alex smirked. In his silver lenses, she could see her own black-hatted, sunglass-shielded reflection.
“Disgruntled husbands?”
“If only it were so simple as one or two irate men.”
“More than two? Impressive.”
“You have no idea.”
The car idled beside them, belching alco
hol-scented exhaust that irritated Georgie’s throat, but Alex wrapped one arm around her waist, dragged her to his body, and kissed her. Shock at his sudden move melted into desire, and she wanted to stay. His warm lips grabbed hers and parted, and Georgie opened her lips to him as he stroked his tongue over hers. She held him around his neck, smooth but for the few silky hairs that had fallen out of his baseball cap. His body under her hands, long and lean and muscled, felt perfect to her.
Alex backed off, still sucking at her lips, and spun her toward the car. The door was open and he bent with her, letting her begin to climb in.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“No. Wulfram’s plane is at Charles de Gaulle. My plane is at Orly.”
“I’ll pay you back,” she insisted. “It’s important to me. It really is.”
“Then you’ll have to call me to arrange that, won’t you?” Mischief snapped in his dark eyes as he began to close the car door, and she tucked her legs inside in a hurry.
He shut the car door and thumped on the roof, stepping back as the car pulled away. Georgie recognized the driver as one of the black-suited men who had surrounded them when Wulfram and Rae had crossed the sidewalk to the waiting SUVs before the gunshots rang out.
Another black car was pulling up behind Georgie’s as they drove away, and she watched out the back windshield.
Alex took off his black baseball hat and shook out his long hair that fluttered in the breeze that funneled through the garage. The man driving the next car jumped out and ran around to open Alex’s door for him, and he stepped inside.
Plane Ride Home
Georgie
Georgie’s car drove her to the airport and to a small terminal on the outskirts of the field, and once again, she recognized the private terminal that private planes departed from. A lot of people were there already, and Rae and Wulfram’s heads stuck out above the crowd.
Georgie scanned again. She didn’t see Lizzy, but finding Lizzy in crowds was a difficult task on the best days. She looked for the hole in the crowd like an empty parking spot in a crowded row, but no dice.
She trotted over to Rae and Wulfram and asked, “Where’s Lizzy?”
Rae hugged her around the neck, hard, and Georgie squeaked a little.
Rae said, “I so glad you’re okay!”
“Well, yeah. But where’s Lizzy?”
Wulfram, ever the calm eye in the storm, glanced over the crowd, verifying that Lizzy was missing. Must be nice to have that eagle’s eye view from up there. “I don’t see her. I’ll confirm her whereabouts.”
He walked away to talk into his phone.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Rae said. “There are four more cars that are still on the freeways.” She looked up, her bright auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight slanting in the windows. “I think this is our plane.” She ducked her head, embarrassed.
“Wow,” Georgie said.
“That’s what I keep saying. I’m afraid that Wulf is getting tired of hearing me going, ‘Wow,’ ‘Wow,’ every time something completely normal for him happens.”
Georgie laughed at her. “You seem to have recovered well from being shot at.”
Rae shrugged. “Just a normal Sunday on the Border. They weren’t even good shots.”
“No one was hurt?”
“That’s the word so far.”
Wulf walked back, as composed as ever. He tucked his cell phone in his pocket.
Rae asked him, “What’s wrong?”
“Lizbeth and Theophile are unaccounted for,” he said. “We have assurances that they are checking the hotel and environs. We won’t leave without them.”
Rae hugged him, but Georgie, ever the New England old money stock, said, “Thank you for the update.”
“My pleasure, Georgiana.”
“Quick question,” she said. “Did you ever know my old, previous last name?”
He smiled a cold, still smile. “I was aware of your name and some of your family’s problems before I hired you. I was not aware that you were acquainted with my sister. I shall have a more detailed discussion about that with her.”
“I’m making reparations,” Georgie said.
Wulfram nodded. “I’m aware of that.”
“You are?” She almost let her mouth drop open.
“It’s why I hired you.”
“Oh.” Her heart beat against her chest walls, and her cheeks burned hot.
“I’ll let you know when we have word of Lizbeth.”
“Thanks.” Georgie walked away on trembling legs to go sit down.
As she walked away, she heard Rae ask, “What was all that about?”
“A private matter,” Wulfram said, his deep voice even.
“Oh, then it’s in the vault. I’ll just have to ask her.”
Georgie heard that bizarre chuckle again that sounded almost like how The Dom would laugh, if The Dom ever laughed.
Georgie curled up with her arms around her knees in a chair and waited to board the plane. Her hair drifted around her, annoying her by catching on everything, so she gathered it into a bundle and braided it, tying the end in a knot to keep it from unraveling.
She smoothed her hands down over Alex’s gym clothes that she was still wearing. They kept her snugly warm, despite the chilly air inside the terminal, and she felt a little like he was hugging her.
It was a nice thought, and she missed him.
Now, that was stupid, missing a guy who was just a wedding fuck.
Who was also an amazing musician, whom she could talk to about music, and who worked on his own music.
Who had saved her from the Russian mobster when she had needed help.
Who had played his violin for her, which she suspected was a rare and precious thing.
Who had not laughed at her for not wanting to walk through the lobby, and who had been very good at helping her escape unnoticed.
Who was very, very good in bed, and that was not something that should be discounted lightly.
Georgie was still stewing about Alex, batting him around in her head, measuring him against the absolute fact that she had no right to fuck around with anyone, when a voice announced in English that the von Hannover group could now board the plane.
Lizzy still hadn’t arrived.
Worry knotted in Georgie’s chest. Alex wasn’t the most important thing in her life at that moment.
Georgie borrowed a tablet from the cache at the front to read a book on the flight and watched for Lizzy.
A half an hour passed. A few more people arrived and took seats.
Wulfram walked from the back and conferred with one of his men in black. Georgie had known Wulfram for a few years, but she wondered absently if his security guy, Dieter Schwarz, was his brother from another mother. They were the same height, same blond military haircut, though Wulfram’s looked a tad more regulation-tight, and they might be able to borrow each other’s black suits if the need arose. The security guy had gray eyes, though, whereas Wulfram’s were that startling dark blue.
After a few moments of whispered, seemingly casual conversation, Wulf began to walk toward the rear of the plane again.
Georgie unbuckled her belt and stood, waving to catch his eye. “Lizzy?”
Wulfram leaned on the aisle seat and said, “They’ve found her, and she’s at the hotel. She’s fine. She’ll be on the later flight.”
Relief poured over her like ice water, and she dropped back in her seat. “Oh, my God. Thank God. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
Wulfram muttered, “Indeed,” and he made his way to the back of the plane.
Georgie could go home and sleep in her dorm room, and then she could muster the diligence to delete Alex G.’s number from her phone.
Where's Lizzy?
Georgie
Monday morning, Georgie woke in her own narrow bed in the dorm after three inadequate hours of sleep. Daylight streamed in the row of windows set high on the wall, dappled with the shadows of leaves from the tall
trees out there. Must be late.
Her neck ached from trying to sleep sitting up on the plane and generally failing, and fatigue still weighed her down from her early morning schlep out to the parking garage to find her car and drive home in the dark.
The other bed, the empty bed, still had no sheets on it from when Lizzy had stripped the bedcovers off to throw them over Theo’s car right before their frantic flight to Paris.
Georgie had been so exhausted from the flight that she had just dumped a couple blankets on Lizzy’s bed in case she stumbled home before Georgie woke up, and they were still folded and stacked on the bottom of the bed.
Lizzy wasn’t back.
She checked her phone, plugged in on her nightstand as always, but the alert line was blank: no messages or missed calls.
Shit.
Georgie sat up and tapped the screen. The call went straight to Lizzy’s voice mail, so she was either still in Paris, on a plane, or her phone was dead.
Or worse.
Georgie always considered the worse.
It was almost eight o’clock. The other plane had been supposed to leave an hour after theirs. She had expected Lizzy to call from the airport when she needed a ride home or get a cab or something.
Georgie’s phone buzzed in her hand, but Rae’s face lit the screen. Georgie answered, “Hello?”
“Georgie?” Rae said. “Is Lizzy there? Please tell me that she came home.”
“No. She’s not here. Has the other plane landed yet?”
“Yes, hours ago. I was just hoping this was a mix-up and she was home with you. Oh, my God.”
“What mix-up?” Georgie’s voice rose. “Is she okay?”
“I just got off the phone with Wulf. I’m on my way to class, and all this happened after I was already in the car. He’s leaving for Paris in a few minutes. Dieter lied to him when he said that they had found everyone. Lizzy and Theo were left behind. There was some sort of a problem, a kidnapping—”
Panic pounded through Georgie. “What?”
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