Bulletproof Princess

by It Girls

  "Yes, ma'am." The tip of his stocking cap bobbed.

  She smiled. "How is Anthony doing?" She bet the baby was growing like crazy.

  Craig beamed with fatherly pride. "He's great. Seven months old today."

  "Already?" She laughed. "I can't believe it."

  He nodded. "Right now, the little guy has a double ear infection. The doc says he might need tubes put in his ears."

  "Really?" That sounded serious.

  "A lot of kids need them, he says. We shouldn't worry."

  "Well, that's good news. Does your insurance cover that?" She didn't recall anything about it specifically in the policy.

  "Oh, yes, ma'am." He smiled. "We've got great medical. It's the life insurance that sucks."

  "It does?" She'd have to check into that.

  Craig nodded. "I worry every day that something will happen to me before Anthony grows up." That worry shone in his eyes. "Debra would never make it alone."

  Chloe frowned. Debra was a stay-at-home mom, which was great for Anthony but it left her and the baby more vulnerable. "I'll see if we can't make it better," she told Craig.

  "You will?" His eyes lit up with relief and then regret. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, Princess Chloe. And I don't want to stir up any trouble." He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I like my job here."

  "Craig, telling me there's a problem isn't stirring up trouble. If I don't know something is wrong, I can't fix it. It's important that you're happy here. I want you to work at Eleanor Towers a long time." She smiled. "And it's not good for Anthony to have his dad worried. I'm sure Debra would rather you weren't, too."

  "Yes, ma'am." He let out a laugh and looked at her with appreciation. "Thanks." He hooked his thumb toward the cars. "I'll go get your Hummer." He ran off with a lighter step.

  Chloe dialed the resident manager. "The life insurance for our employees is substandard. Fix it."

  "It's too expensive, Princess Chloe."

  "Fix it, Charles." She put a bite in her tone. "When our employees have to worry that their children will go without if something happens to them, they're not happy. If they're not happy, then I'm not happy. You don't like me when I'm not happy, Charles, and if this isn't fixed by five o'clock today, I'm going to be very unhappy."

  "I— I'm taking care of it right now. Just this minute."

  "Thank you, Charles," she said stiffly. The guy was a miser. She appreciated his concern about their money, but not at the expense of their employees. "Call me when it's done."

  "Ten minutes. Maybe five."

  To seriously get his attention, she starched her tone and pushed. "Is that the best you can do?"

  "I'm increasing the coverage as we speak. There is no faster way to handle this, Princess Chloe."

  "Charles, you do remember that I own this building, right?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am."

  "And that I monitor your management closely?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Yet this is the second time I've had to call you down for shorting the employees, and I distinctly remember telling you after the first incident to not do that again."

  Dread filled his tone. "Yes, ma'am, you did."

  "I won't ask you for an explanation; there is none. But understand this, Charles. If my employees are shorted a third time, at the end of that call, you'll be unemployed."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Phone me when this is done." She hung up the phone, still furious. People like Craig were solid, loyal employees, damn it. They deserved better than this. At least Craig had talked to her about it. How many things like the life insurance did she never hear about? As soon as this assignment was over, she had to address that. A survey? Personal visits? Something…

  Lucas Perrini swore it was better business to keep your people happy than to spend your time hiring and training new people. Chloe had taken that advice to heart— because it sounded smart, but even more so because it sounded right.

  While Craig retrieved the car, she waited, her mind shifting to the latest missing women, Nadia and Karen, and recalled Jillian's text message. Chloe dialed her.

  The exhaust smell was so strong it was making her stomach queasy. A gust of cold, crisp wind whipped through the garage-door opening to the street. Sweeping her hair back from her face, she stepped outside.

  "Women's Center."

  "Jillian, it's Chloe," she said into her cell phone. "I got your text message. What's up?"

  "Oh, Chloe, you won't believe it. They found them!"

  The FBI found Nadia and Karen. "Are they okay?"

  "Yes. Yes, they're fine. That Brother guy took them to LAX, and Nadia said he told them he was going to the restroom, but something must have happened. The FBI found out— I don't know how— that there was a private flight chartered for Hong Kong, and they had these agents waiting for Nadia and Karen. Somehow, Brother must have known it, because he never came back. He just disappeared."

  Jack. Chloe's throat went tight. "Brother got away, then?" Disappointment ripped through her relief. Two men rode bicycles down the street. Neither wore a helmet. She hoped they didn't crack their heads.

  "I think he did get away. The important thing is Nadia and Karen are safe. They'll be here shortly." Jillian blew out a relieved breath that crackled through the phone. "God, that was too close a call, Chloe."

  "Yes, it was." Closer than Jillian, Nadia and Karen would ever know. "I'm really happy they're okay." She'd be damned elated if she knew what happened to the three Russian women.

  "We're having a celebration lunch for them. That's why I told you to come to the Center. So you could be here for it."

  Chloe checked her watch. She had to meet Jack at 3:30, and a lot to do before then. "I wish I could, but I can't. Toast them for me— and no more answering those kind of ads."

  "I don't think we'll have this problem again. Nadia swears she's sticking to just reading novels until hell freezes over." Jillian giggled, joyful from the heart out. "Oh, I still haven't gotten those photos from you."

  "A friend is sending them. Check e-mail and fax, and call after you look at them."

  "I will."

  Chloe peered through the parked cars. It was taking Craig a long time to retrieve the Hummer. "Everything okay, Craig?" She walked back from the street toward the door to see deeper inside the garage. Why hadn't he answered her?

  Instinctively, she eased her hand into her brown Gucci. If something was wrong and she had to shoot through her purse, she was going to be thoroughly pissed. But she didn't dare to pull her gun on the street. Some idiot would shoot her. "Craig?"

  The starter grinded.

  Oh, he was inside the car. He hadn't heard her. She stepped back outside into the sharp, biting wind. It was bloody cold today. Shivering, she hunched her shoulders and snuggled deep into her coat.

  The starter grinded again.

  She hadn't driven the vehicle much lately, but— Oh, God. A memory from training returned to her with a vengeance. A memory of grinding ignitions being a signal of— "Craig, no! No! Get out of the car! Get out— "

  The Hummer exploded.

  Chapter 13

  A man, about thirtysomething, dressed in baggy pants and a blue stocking cap, dropped a remote on the sidewalk.

  Chloe heard it hit the concrete, glanced down and then up to the guy's face. It was hard-angled and scrubby; he hadn't shaved— and recognition lighted in his eyes. Horror followed.

  He knew her. She glanced back down to the concrete. The detonator.

  He ran.

  She pulled her gun and chased him, skirting a cab and bumping her hip on its front fender. The driver blew his horn, and the runner looked back. He locked onto her with his gaze and kept running, bumping into two men and a woman pushing a shopping cart down the sidewalk. He rolled off her, scrambled up onto his feet, then ran on. "Stupid bitch," he shouted back at Chloe, widening the gap between them.

  Chloe's side ached. Damn it, if Jimmy saw how out of shape she was, he'd give up novenas and tak
e to saying rosaries.

  "I'll be back after you. You're a dead woman," the runner shouted back over his shoulder— and ran right into a stack of boxes outside the front door of Carmine's Deli.

  He fell, and Chloe caught up, drew down on him, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Winded from the run and the adrenaline surge, she warned him, "Do not move."

  He darted a gaze up at her. "You won't shoot, rich bitch."

  Saving her breath, she fired, putting a bullet in his toe.

  He yelped.

  "Next one goes between your eyes." Dialing her cell, she called Jack. The runner shifted off a box of zucchini. Half of it spilled on the sidewalk. "I said don't move. You just tried to kill me," she spat out. "And you did kill my garage attendant. Are you sure you want to try me?"

  "I'm not moving." He held up his hands and stayed put, sprawled on his back. The left knee of his pants had ripped and his skin was scraped and bloody. "I'm totally still, okay?"

  "Quaid." Jack sounded rushed.

  "I need you now."

  "Thrilled to hear it, Princess, but I'm a little busy at the moment. Is this personal or professional? Just want to run the right set of fantasies through my mind."

  "Jack, please." Hold it together. You can do it, Chloe. You can do it. "I'm standing outside Carmine's Deli, holding a man at gunpoint on the street— well, on the sidewalk, actually. He just blew up Craig in my fricking Hummer."

  "Are you all right?"

  He had to be kidding. "Do you want me to just go ahead and shoot him, or do you want to get your ass over here and tell me what to do? I've got a nervous breakdown scheduled for 1:00 and, I swear by all that's holy, I will not be late for it."

  "Two minutes, Chloe," Jack said, serious and sharp. "Just give me two minutes, and then call the police."

  She looked up at the people clearing the corner. "I think someone's probably already called them."

  "I'll handle it, then," he said. "Just try not to shoot him before I can get there. I'd like to find out who hired him. But if you have to shoot him, kill him."

  "Okay. If he makes me shoot him, I'll kill him." That turned the runner sufficiently ashen. "I've got it. Hold on a second, and I'll ask your question." She didn't bother asking his name; he'd just lie to her and piss her off even more. She tilted the phone away and spoke to the man sprawled on the vegetables. "If you don't answer me, I have to kill you. You understand?"

  He nodded.

  "Who hired you to blow up my car?"

  "Chloe," Jack said. "These jerks never answer questions. Think retribution. He's not going to turn and burn his ass."

  But she hadn't already shot those jerks in the toe and she had this one. He knew her retribution would be immediate. His boss's would be delayed. "Let's give him a chance," she said into the phone. "I really don't want to kill him. I'm sure it was just a job and nothing personal. Now if I'd gotten blood on my slacks, then he'd already be dead." She paused a second.

  "Chloe? Honey, you sound a little…strange."

  "Not at all. They're a new design." She paused again. "Adelphio." The runner looked waylaid, baffled and terrified. Excellent. "But I didn't get blood on them, so it's okay for him to live— if he answers the damn question."

  "Greene." The guy yelled up at her. "Greene hired me."

  "Damn," Jack said, hearing the man. "I don't believe it."

  Pleased with herself, she looked down at the runner. "Which Greene? Franklin, Ryan, Julio?"

  "I— I don't know."

  She tilted her head, stared at him down the length of her nose. "That's not the answer I want to hear. Do better."

  Fear flashed over his face. "I swear, I don't know. I didn't see him."

  A man. "Well, what did he sound like?" Chloe persisted, ignoring the people veering far and wide away from them.

  Carmine came to the door. "Princess Chloe?"

  "Just a second," she told the runner, and then turned to the round man wearing a white butcher's apron, standing in the doorway. Carmine was about sixty-five and had a jovial face that at the moment was twisted with worry. "Good morning, Carmine. You doing okay?"

  "I'm fine, thank you." He nodded. "Um, are you going to kill that man?"

  "If he moves, yes, I am," she said frankly. "Or if he doesn't answer my questions. Otherwise, no."

  "Why?" Carmine asked in a totally reasonable voice.

  "He blew up my Hummer." She forced her voice calm. Her heart felt stuck in her ribs. "Craig was in it."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. He liked my pastrami."

  "He was a nice man." Chloe glared at the runner. "He had a wife and a seven-month-old son, you son of a bitch."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, too." Carmine frowned. "Well, okay, then." He hugged the inside of the door. "Um, do you mind if a couple customers come out?"

  "I'm sorry to inconvenience them, but unfortunately I do. This murderer could grab them, or try to escape. Someone else could get hurt." Surreal conversation. Absolutely surreal, but it fit in with the training tactics she was employing. Jimmy swore they worked, and he'd be proud of her handling of this— unless he somehow tapped into her insides. They were like jam. "Best keep them inside for now, where they'll be safe."

  "Okay, then." Carmine nodded. "I'll just close the door, and you let me know when it's all right for them to leave."

  "That'll be fine, Carmine."

  He closed the door halfway, and then opened it again. "Oh, Princess Chloe?"

  "Yes?"

  "If you have to shoot him, try not to hit that third box— the one with the big pineapple on the side. They're hell to get right now, and Mr. O'Grady needs them for his digestion."

  "No problem," she said. "When I shoot, I don't miss."

  "Good. Thank you, then." He moved back and shut the door.

  Chloe looked back to the runner, still sprawled on the zucchini. "You were saying…"

  Gape-jawed, he looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You are one weird-ass, wacky lady."

  "Of course. Didn't Greene tell you that?"

  "No, he sure as hell didn't." The runner sounded angry about that omission, too.

  "So now you know." She dismissed the topic, and returned to the one of interest to her. "You were going to tell me about Greene's voice."

  "He had a guy voice." The runner shrugged. "You know?"

  She didn't know. "Old or young?"

  "I don't know." The runner shrugged and a zucchini rolled off the curb and plopped into the street. "How can you tell?"

  Good question. Unfortunately, she couldn't answer it. "Why did you choose the Hummer?" Even she hadn't known she'd be driving it today.

  "I didn't. Greene told me you had seven cars. Rig 'em all. So I did."

  A spark of panic rose in her. Which problem did she focus on? The runner, or the garage? No one in his right mind walked into a garage billowing smoke, right? It was safe to wait for the police, wasn't it? Damn it. Unsure, she dialed 911, requested a bomb squad and homicide.

  A male officer came on the line. "Are you the lady holding a man at gunpoint outside Carmine's Deli? Princess Chloe?"

  "Yes, I am." And I'm going to throw up or fall on him any time now because my stomach is stuck somewhere in the middle of my backbone and my knees feel like spaghetti. So tell Jack to move his cute ass and get here soon, or I'm going to be a totally neurotic, raging bitch.

  "Did the man you're aiming at set the bombs?"

  "Yes, he did. And he killed my garage attendant, Craig." He was always so nice, and I don't even know his last name. God, that's awful. Debra and Anthony, and he probably had a mother, too. Oh, God. They loved him, and someone's going to have to tell them he got blown up getting me my car. That's no reason to die. That's nothing to have to one day tell his son.

  "You already shot the bomber once?"

  The bomber. The runner. She made the mental shift. "Yes, I did." Jack, would you please get your ass here? This had to be the longest two minutes in history.

  "In the toe?"r />
  Carmine must have called. He'd watched her shoot the bomber from the window. "That's correct." Breathe deeply, you almost coward. Do it for Craig. Do it for Anthony and Debra. A knot of tears welled in her throat. The gun shook. Oh, no. She was going to lose it, and cry in front of this murderer.

  Don't you dare, Chloe. Don't you damn dare.

  "Um, was that deliberate, or did you miss?" the police officer on the phone asked.

  Emma's voice sounded in Chloe's head. Fake it 'til you make it.

  Chloe could do that. Hell, she lived her life faking it. She held the gun steady and frosted her tone. "I don't think he wants to find out."

  "You're okay, right? The FBI called and said you were okay with the gun. You aren't shaken up and ineffective, are you?"

  Ineffective? He meant dangerous. "I'm fine. Pissed down to my Jimmy Choos, mourning a man who died for getting into my car, but otherwise, I'm just fricking fine."

  "We're on our way."

  "Excellent." She bared her teeth.

  The man on the ground cringed.

  "Chloe?" Jack walked slowly toward her. "You okay?"

  Seeing him did something to her, and all the hurt in her heart rushed up her throat. "He killed Craig. He put bombs on all my damn cars, too," she said, shaking. "I shot him in the fricking toe and I ought to shoot him in the fricking head. Anthony doesn't have a father now, and this idiot won't tell me which fricking Greene hired him to kill me."

  "I don't know which fricking Greene hired me."

  "Shut up until I tell you to talk," she shouted at him. "Don't you see this gun?"

  "Okay, honey," Jack said. "He's probably telling the truth." Jack walked closer. "The police are here now, and they're going to arrest him, so you need to put your gun away. You're making them a little nervous."

  She held her aim steady. "He'll run."

  "I won't run," the bomber swore, then looked at Jack. "How can I run? She shot me in the damn toe."

  "See, he can't run," Jack assured her. "And if he tries to, then I'll shoot him."

  Chloe swerved her gaze to Jack. Why did he seem uneasy, almost afraid of her and what she would do? Odd…

  Oh, dear God. She'd gotten emotional and dropped her training role. She was acting like an amateur. And yet she had to accept that this situation was different from any of her assignments. They'd been setups and then FBI or police handled the nasty parts. No one ever knew Chloe had been evidence gathering or building the case. This started with Marcus and it was the first time in her career she'd been targeted for murder. It upset her, yes. That someone else had died in her place tore her apart. But that one of the Greenes would put out a contract on her had a different emotional impact. It thoroughly pissed her off. And whichever one it was would live to regret that.