by It Girls
Erik had not shown up.
She, Renee and Emma were silent on the ride back from the Long Island cemetery to the G.R.C. It was late afternoon when they entered and walked past the huge fireplace and grand staircase, then disappeared into the closet— the entrance to the secret rooms. Rather than going to the conference room, they went to Renee's private office.
Chloe and Emma sat on a cream brocade sofa with dainty legs and scrolled arms. Renee poured each of them a glass of seltzer, passed the crystal glasses, then took her seat at a Renaissance desk. An original Dali hung behind her. "Are you still shaking, Chloe?"
She removed her veiled hat and set it aside. "No. I'm all right. It was just…difficult seeing Marcus's parents there." They'd been so devastated.
"I'm sure it was. Grief is as merciless as guilt."
Renee had known her fair share. Her husband Preston was out of jail now, but only because Renee had cut a deal to work for the Governess to secure his early release.
Emma nodded knowingly, sipped from her glass, then asked, "Why isn't Tatiana here?"
Tatiana Guttmann, a natural beauty, second-generation coffee heiress from Colombia, often worked as Emma's partner on missions. Constantly underestimated, Tatiana used her skills as a former model to mask the fact that she was very smart and an amazingly gifted financial analyst. In her social circle, no one would believe that she'd spent the past year working for Renee as an agent, and that was an enormous asset as well as a necessity. Only secrecy allowed the Roses to function. Without it, they'd be stymied, completely unable to perform and in definite danger.
Renee hesitated only a second. "I'm afraid, my dears, Tatiana is the development— at least, in part."
"What do you mean?" Emma asked Renee.
"She was dating one of the men from the escort service."
Emma's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding."
Chloe couldn't believe it, either. Tatiana was aggressively ambitious about two things: elevating her social standing, and remaining a darling of the press. Dating an outsider— an escort— wouldn't further either goal, and she was all about furthering her goals.
"I wish I were kidding, but I'm not." Renee hid a frown behind her glass. "She found the initial documentation that implicated Marcus. It enabled the Governess's sources to decode other transmissions, and the rest, as they say, is history."
"So if progress resulted, then why are you unhappy with the situation?" Chloe asked. Tatiana would dig for dirt on Marcus. She believed Chloe loved him, and dirt on him would hurt her.
"Unfortunately, her personal association has created a situation that the Governess finds discomfiting. So we're making some adjustments."
"Renee," Chloe interrupted, firming her voice. "I want to know who killed Marcus. They tried to kill me and could try again." Another assassination attempt she did not need.
"I realize that, darling." Renee turned her royal blue gaze on Chloe. "I've pulled Tatiana off the assignment and inserted you to work with Emma."
Chloe looked over at Emma. "You've been working on this already?"
She nodded. "But only as Tatiana's backup. I've never been inside the escort service, and I didn't know about Marcus. I swear it."
Tatiana was just going to love this. She hated Chloe now. Replacing her would only make the rivalry worse. "What are the Governess and her consultants suggesting we do?"
"Identify the Duke, of course." Renee delicately cleared her throat then continued. "And confirm or dismiss charges that some of the women hired by the service as escorts or models are being sold into white slavery and shipped out of the country."
A chill shot up Chloe's spine. "There is no low with that bastard. The Duke will do anything. And you really think Marcus was involved with him?"
"We suspect the Duke is involved," Renee clarified. "And from the documentation Tatiana confiscated, Marcus was definitely in the middle of this."
"It wouldn't surprise me if the Duke is involved. He's neck-deep in every nasty high-society nook-and-cranny," Chloe said. The Roses had already tied him to money laundering, bribery, drugs and a host of other unsavory operations. If they could just catch the jerk, he'd rot in jail forever. "But Marcus?"
"She has a valid point. We can't ignore Tatiana's envy of Chloe, Renee."
"I'm not ignoring anything. Neither is the Governess and her consultants."
Emma reached for her glass. "Do we know how the service is choosing its victims?"
"Not with any degree of certainty, but an apparent pattern is forming." Renee set down her glass. "The known three missing women are all well-educated, well-spoken brunettes in their mid-twenties who can handle themselves in sophisticated settings. They're all beautiful, and they're all Russian."
"So they're targeting vulnerable women," Emma said. "Ones new to the States, or ones without families who'll report them as missing."
"The Governess and her consultants fear that's true, and I agree with them," Renee said. "Intel has the Department of Defense's top profiler consulting on this. She says the lone-victim target carries a high probability."
"Has Tatiana been exposed? Is that why you've pulled her off the mission?"
"We don't think so, but we can't be certain. That's why I've removed her." Renee was decidedly uncomfortable. "We would have preferred she not take on the added risks, but she made the connection and assumed she would be done with the mission and authorities would intercede to mop up."
"What didn't she know, Renee?" Emma asked.
Renee didn't respond.
Chloe's stomach suffered an uneasy pitch. "You and the Governess can't expect us to make ourselves victims they snatch up and export to only God knows where."
"Actually, we do," Renee said.
"What?" Chloe couldn't believe her ears.
"Renee, no," Emma protested. "Absolutely not."
Renee lifted a staying hand. "We won't let events progress to the point that we risk you being exported." Renee cocked her head. "But you do speak Russian, Chloe, which we need for obvious reasons, and you do have the ability to conduct yourself with royal decorum. Both of those assets fit the pattern as we've currently defined it— and they significantly increase your value on the black market. That makes you the perfect agent to partner with Emma on this assignment."
"You can't possibly be serious." Chloe looked from Emma to Renee. "What you're proposing is a lot more dangerous than investigating the high-society criminals we signed on to take down. We excel with the rich and famous, but this assignment reeks of mafia and hard-time criminals. It exceeds our scope."
"That's true," Renee said. "And it is much more likely you'll experience elevated levels of violent conduct. How elevated, we can't accurately predict. But Intel feels certain that the head of this ring is well placed in society— his methodologies are extremely sophisticated and expensive— and that puts this assignment firmly in our domain. I do believe this is the only way to prove or disprove the Duke or Marcus's involvement."
"Tatiana's evidence says Marcus is connected. Intel says Marcus is connected." Emma frowned. "But money-laundering, drugs, racketeering, bribery— those things are more the Duke's style than trading in human flesh. And I can't see Marcus involved in that either."
Chloe weighed that response, but the deductive reasoning didn't sit comfortably with her at instinctive levels. She remembered Marcus ordering her not to wear red, her favorite color for evening wear. How he'd threatened to ruin Jack and had tried to force Chloe to bend to his will. And when she'd broken their engagement, she remembered his warning her that he did not suffer humiliation well. "I can see him doing it, Emma."
"Who?" Renee asked. "The Duke or Marcus?"
Chloe hated admitting it, but she couldn't lie. "Both."
Emma paused. "Since the beginning of this assignment, I've had a feeling in my bones about the Duke."
That did it for Chloe, who'd learned the hard way to respect Emma's bones. "Did this assignment originate with the Governess?" It could
have come down through another Washington powerhouse like Ellie Richardson, the senior senator from New York, or through the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
"As far as I know," Renee said.
Chloe sent her a level look. "Aside from what Tatiana has produced, is there any hard evidence implicating Marcus?"
"Hard evidence, no. But Intel does have circumstantial evidence it didn't disclose," Renee confessed. "Yet that isn't of notable consequence at this point. We need insight and evidence to stop this slave trade, if it's occurring. And if during the course of stopping it, we discover Marcus was active or inactive, then we've proven it. If the Duke is at the helm, then obviously we hope to discover his true identity. That's all."
"That's all?" Chloe couldn't believe her ears.
"Yes," Renee answered, ignoring the incredulity in Chloe's voice. "As soon as he's identified, the Governess will have the appropriate authorities move in, and our covert portion of this assignment will be done."
Chloe sat there, too stunned to speak. The entire four years the Roses had been in operation, they had been trying to determine the Duke's identity, but he'd always stayed a step ahead of them. And now, on this extremely dangerous assignment, Renee talked as if discovering his identity would be a cakewalk?
"I know it sounds simple, after all our years of profiling and tracking this elusive man. But this is our first solid lead on a non-high-society crime, and the Duke won't be expecting us to look at him from this angle. He's finally exposed a weakness." Renee's expression sobered. "The report notifying us of the three Russian women's sudden disappearance came in late last night, Chloe. We think it's a new criminal venture. If this trade is occurring and we don't intercede quickly, then those women could very well end up being slaves— likely in the Far East."
Tense, Chloe lifted a questioning brow. "The Far East?"
Renee explained. "They're the world's most active buyer of sophisticated Western women."
The pressure against Chloe's chest doubled. Her emotions ripped between fear of getting caught up in the white-slave trade and fear that if she didn't at least try to do something then the three missing women would disappear and never be seen or heard from again. Her hand shook.
Inside, she shook all over.
Resigned, she set her glass down on a gleaming table that matched the desk in design, and swallowed hard. "I can hear the news flash now. 'Chloe, Princess of Astoria, principality of Denmark, dead at twenty-six. The princess was murdered last night in New York City's Lower East Side while working as a professional escort…'"
"Chloe, don't even— " Renee started to object.
"No, Renee." Emma swept a hand across her brow. "She's right. It could happen."
Chloe frowned. "True or false, everyone, including my mother, will substitute 'prostitute' for 'escort,' and the royals will pitch yet another bloody fit. My parents will be humiliated, and I'll carry their censure for all of eternity." Chloe frowned and didn't bother to try to hide it. "It's humiliating, Renee."
"She's right about all that, too." Emma added her opinion. "The Governess isn't playing fair on this one. This isn't the type of criminal activity we're trained to derail."
"I know it isn't." Renee laced her hands in her lap and let them see her worry. "The Governess knows it, too. But it is critical that we move quickly to protect these women and, frankly, the Roses have better odds of success than any other agency at her disposal."
Chloe didn't say a word. Emma let out a sigh that showed she, too, had conflicting emotions on this.
Renee leaned back in her seat. "When I opened Gotham Rose Club and approached you two about becoming agents, we discussed the possibility of this type of action. Then, you claimed you understood and agreed to do the work," she reminded them. "What's changed?"
It had been discussed— Chloe recalled it vividly— but then it had been a discussion of a far-fetched, hypothetical situation. Now there were women being restrained against their will and sold as slaves, and she damn well didn't want to be one of them. Chloe shook off an icy chill and shifted uneasily on her seat.
Renee lifted her chin, looked Chloe straight in the eye and then turned her unyielding gaze on Emma. "Are either of you refusing this assignment?"
Neither answered.
"You can refuse, you know," Renee said, her voice soft and without censure. "That's acceptable to do and, considering circumstances, certainly understandable."
Chloe wasn't fooled. Refuse, and horrendous consequences would follow— professional ones, certainly; and likely personal ones, as well.
The silence stretched, then stretched again, with Emma sitting statue-still, staring back at Renee.
To hell with it. Chloe caved. "We can refuse, but if we do, then these women will be dragged through the horrors of hell and it'll be on our shoulders."
"I would never say that, darling."
Renee wouldn't. But she wouldn't have to say it. Every time she looked at Chloe, Chloe would think it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. She hated guilt. "I'm in," she said. "But if I end up dead, Renee, you'd better swear on Preston's head that no one will ever know about this escort business." Bringing Renee's beloved husband into the mix should get Chloe some assurances. "I will not go down in the annals of Astorian history as its first prostitute princess."
"You have my word." Renee smiled. "I'll make you a saint they revere for the next twenty generations."
Emma sighed. "God, Renee. You're ruthless."
Renee ignored that, but wasn't offended by it, which meant she took it as a compliment. "God is already on the job, my dear." She turned a gently disapproving eye on Chloe. "When I told Alan to expect you two downstairs soon to pick up some special equipment, Jimmy overheard me."
"Why is that a problem?" Chloe asked, unable to see it. Jimmy "the Heartbreaker" Valentine overheard everything— and what he didn't overhear, he was briefed on. He had the security clearance, and needed it to appropriately train the Roses.
"Because he was so worried about you being put on this assignment, he took his lunch hour early."
Chloe was lost. "And this is significant because…"
"Because he did it to run over to St. Patrick's to light a candle for you and say a novena."
She had him on his knees. Guilt swam through her stomach. So did resentment. "Well, doesn't that just bolster my confidence?" Chloe said dryly. "Is there a special reason for all this drama, or is he just generally afraid of my incompetence?"
"You've missed your last three training sessions and you're a wee bit heavier than he considers best for your optimum performance."
"It's only ten pounds."
Emma frowned. "Twenty."
"Okay, twenty." After that, Chloe didn't dare think about what was going on for dinner. "I'm not obese, and I haven't forgotten my skills."
"Which is exactly what I told Jimmy," Renee said with a lift of her hand. "But he worries, Chloe. Just as you consider the fate of the Russian women to be in your hands, Jimmy feels the fates of the Rose agents are in his. He's responsible for your physical training, defensive and offensive, and he takes that responsibility very seriously. That's what makes him the best. If you lose, then he's failed you."
She'd never thought about Jimmy's training from that perspective before, but doing so now certainly shifted her thinking. "I'll try harder."
Emma spoke bluntly. "It'll help if you show up."
Renee sent Emma a reprimanding look, then softened her gaze on Chloe and gave her a warm, glowing smile. "He'll be so pleased to hear that."
"So will the priest who hears his confessions at St. Patrick's."
"You do have a unique way of looking at things, Emma." Renee refilled her glass. The seltzer fizzed. "Will you be a dear and excuse Chloe and me for a moment?"
"Of course." She slid Chloe a sympathetic look, snagged her purse and then left Renee's office.
Renee had the grace to wait until the door closed to turn on Chloe. "Now, tell me, darling. Why have you gained this weight? Is your mo
ther driving you to distraction again?"
"Only when she's breathing," Chloe confessed, having finally accepted that her mother would always drive her to distraction. She was thin as a reed and Chloe was naturally curvaceous— not fat, just not model-like, which rated as a mortal sin in her fashion-designer mother's eyes. She considered Chloe unforgivably flawed and extremely overweight and, diligently fulfilling her motherly duty, she rode Chloe constantly about it. It didn't matter that Chloe felt good and looked damn good in her clothes. She had meat on her bones, and that, to her mother, was disgusting.
Which was exactly why Chloe had studied eating disorders— her mother, not she, had one— and why she'd chosen to support the Women's Center as her pet charity. They sponsored an eating disorder program and so much more, offering shelter, career advice and job placement to women struggling to start over and build better lives. Last year alone, Chloe had sponsored events that had raised $14 million for her cause. The struggle continued, however, because the Center needed far more.
Renee let out a little sigh. "Darling, you simply must stop giving her this kind of power over you. I know it's difficult because, after all, she is your mother, but you can choose how deeply you let her affect you."
Chloe wasn't so sure about that. "She has a way of wearing you down, Renee." Especially when she'd spent a lifetime bouncing on your esteem.
"No, dear." Renee scooted to the edge of her seat, leaned toward Chloe and grasped her shoulders. "Look at me."
Renee's eyes were fired with determination. "There is strength in you, Chloe. I knew it the first time I saw you, and I've known it every day of your life since. You have all the assets you used to build your companies available to you to deal with your mother, too. Remember, you doubled your assets before you were twenty-one— tripled them before you turned twenty-five. These are not the accomplishments of a weak woman, darling."
"But that's different. That's just business."
"It's not different," Renee insisted. "Your strength isn't compartmentalized unless you compartmentalize it. Draw on it— you fought so fiercely for your silent partnerships in Perrini's and Adelphio, remember?" Chloe nodded that she did, and Renee went on. "Fight your mother fiercely, too. You can because you're not really fighting against her. You're really fighting for you. Princess or pauper, my dear, you control your life, and you alone are responsible for it."