Honeymoon with a Stranger

by Frances Housden

  Chapter 18

  Lights glowed on the wet sidewalk. Long pale slashes of yellow reflecting the windows of the House of Fortier. Roxie’s edgy silhouette broke up the gleaming pattern as she paced.

  Thierry was late.

  She pulled the black pashmina closer, wrapping it tightly around the shoulders of her red suit for extra warmth. Fifteen minutes. That’s how long she’d been waiting for the French agent, growing more agitated during the last five of them.

  Passing the stone columns of the front entrance once more, she saw the Russian doorman check his watch. “Mademoiselle Roxie,” he called out, “I have to go off duty now. Please come inside to wait.”

  “Don’t worry, Gregor, I’ll be okay. My ride should be here any second. Mac’s friends aren’t the kind to be late because they think it de rigueur.”

  The words were hardly out of her mouth when a car pulled up and double-parked opposite her with the engine running.

  The man inside waved and she stepped off the sidewalk.

  It was an older-model car than Mac usually picked up from the IBIS undercover carpool. Down one side a long scrape in the paintwork showed bare metal.

  She hesitated as the window nearest to her rolled down.

  The car interior was dark. The driver, silhouetted against the lights of passing cars, looked as if he, too, had muffled up against the cold. He waved again. “Mademoiselle Kincaid?”

  “Thierry?”

  “Oui.”

  Roxie heaved a sigh as she reached for the door handle. “I thought you were never going to arrive. Not that I mind really. It’s just that Mac is always punctual and I make sure not to keep him waiting.”

  She swung her legs into the car and shut the door. Then, remembering the scrape down the side, reached for her seat belt.

  “I had car trouble. Someone misjudged the distance and hit me,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the traffic flowing past on their side of the street.

  Roxie grinned as the vehicle shot out into a space between cars. “I know. I just saw the evidence. I hope you don’t have too much paperwork to fill out because of it.”

  She held her breath as Thierry hunched over the wheel like some demon driver and risked their lives and limbs as he cut another driver off while changing lanes, saying, “I think if anyone has a multitude of forms to fill, it will be Mac.”

  “Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “Has he gone after Javier and left me behind again?”

  The driver turned and faced her as if oblivious to the speed they were traveling. Eyes shining pale blue in the lights from the bridge over the Seine as they crossed to the Left Bank, he informed her, “If that is so, I can assure you, he will be very disappointed.”

  Roxie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him smile and realized Dumont was right to let her go. As an agent she was too stupid to live.

  The soft fluorescents overhead disappeared in a blur as Mac raced along the corridor to the control center of the bureau’s Paris branch, shouldering open the door with reckless haste.

  “Where the hell is she? Haven’t you found her yet?” he demanded, fearing to hear the worst.

  He’d had two phone calls earlier, both from Thierry.

  The first, while Mac was still in his parents’ suite at the Hotel George V, to say he’d been in an accident causing him to be delayed collecting Roxie.

  The second, after Thierry had hammered on the door of the fashion house trying to attract the attention of someone inside, and Gregor, the doorman, had informed him that Mademoiselle Roxie had already been collected. By Thierry, no less.

  It took him a moment to realize the voice answering was Jason Hart’s. “There’s no news yet, Mac.”

  No good news.

  Had to be, if they felt it necessary to bring the boss into the situation. But Mac was too anxious for the normal Yes sir, no sir, three bags full… “Fill me in, sir. What have we got?”

  “Thierry just arrived before you did. He got a description of the car. We’ve put out a bulletin for it and brought FIS in, as Roxie did work for them.”

  “Still does,” Mac chipped in.

  “Not according to my information,” Jason told him. “But that’s neither here nor there. Thierry had already noted the number. It’s the same car that sideswiped him before he could get to the couturier’s.”

  Mac’s head was spinning, his thoughts racing round and round. Dear God, he couldn’t have found her just to lose her again.

  Not like this. No wonder she hated the Sevarin family. They were every bit as bad as the vermin living in Paris’s sewers, rats. Just when you thought you’d got rid of them, they popped up and took another bite.

  “What do we do now?” asked Mac.

  They were all staring as if they didn’t recognize him, but they’d never seen Mac when the woman he loved had been kidnapped from under IBIS’s nose, or when he had ever felt so helpless.

  Jason Hart came up and put his hand on Mac’s shoulder in much the same way his pop had before he’d left his parents’ suite.

  Hell, after they’d resolved the situation that had haunted his parents for most of Mac’s life, he’d told them, “Prepare to welcome a daughter-in-law into the family, I intend on getting married.”

  The congratulations were still ringing in his ears when the news arrived that Roxie was missing.

  Cliff Eagles joined Mac and Jason. “Mac,” his SAC said, “we’ve done everything we can for now. The police have joined us, and the FIS, in the search for the car. Somehow, though, I don’t get the impression that his motivation is revenge for that story in the diary reaching public. If that was it, he would have tried to get to Roxie before now.”

  With a jerk of his head, Cliff directed Mac’s attention toward the bank of computers in the room. “Why don’t you sit down over there with Thierry and do what you both do best.”

  Jason followed Mac in the direction of ten or more screens, flashing pictures of everything from written information to maps and satellite feed. “He’s going to call Mac. Take my word on that. We have something he wants in exchange for Roxie.”

  Mac shook his head. “We had. I took care of that business we spoke of this morning.” He checked his watch. “It’s probably over the Atlantic onboard one of our courier planes right now.”

  Jason’s smile held a trace of wickedness. “You know that and I know it, but Javier Sevarin doesn’t. That’s all that counts. Go work out a few scenarios to counter whatever Javier can come up with.”

  Mac grinned for the first time since he’d left Roxie that morning. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll be ready for anything he throws our way.”

  His equilibrium no longer felt as if it had spun off the curve of the world. Mac was ready to get on with what he excelled at.

  Fighting terrorism, whichever face it was wearing that week.

  Though it was 6:00 a.m. on a cold winter’s morning, Mac sweated blood until the call arrived on his cell phone, just as his confidence had begun to fade.

  “McBride speaking,” he answered crisply, as if his personal world wasn’t falling apart.

  “Honesty at last, no more Monsieur Makjzajev….”

  “Who is this?” Mac kept up the pretense, stalled as he checked the signal and read the phone’s screen. Number untraceable…

  “I think you know full well who is calling. I have with me a young lady who has been living with you, one Mademoiselle Roxie Kincaid. If you want her back alive, you will do as I say—”

  “Javier! If you harm one hair on her head…” Mac spoke through clenched teeth, no more pretense. The gloves were off and Mac was in the mood for a bare-fisted bloody-knuckled fight.

  “That, my friend, is entirely up to you, so be quiet and listen. I want Green Shield. You were not the only buyer—”

  “We’ll pay whatever you want,” Mac cut in once more, very conscious of having destroyed his only bargaining chip.

  “No amount of money is enough. Years of work went into that bi
otech weapon, too many. It was my idea, my genius that conceived it and I want Green Shield back.”

  Mac heard Javier catch his breath as if he had said too much, then he went on… “Listen up, this is what you must do if you want your petite amie back in one piece.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “At 10:00 a.m. precisely, I will bring the girl to President Mitterand’s precious glass pyramid at the Louvre to make the exchange. Come alone or the girl dies. And don’t be late, or the result will be the same.”

  Javier hung up before Mac could reply, and it was then he realized everyone in the control room had been standing around him, listening to one side of the conversation.

  He looked at Thierry. “So, which one of our scenarios can we put together in less than four hours that involves a crowd of tourists and a glass pyramid we don’t dare use guns around?”

  She’d walked straight into his trap.

  But at this stage of the game, Roxie was simply congratulating herself on not endangering her life by losing her temper.

  It had been a close-run race. Everything about Javier Sevarin prickled her skin with tension and made her feel she was in a fight with daggers drawn.

  However, since she’d been tied up in a dark room all night, thinking she’d never see Mac or the sun again, it was great to be out in the fresh air, even with said dagger nudging her side.

  Somehow, he’d managed to find parking close by, then walked her through the long tunnel of Passage Richelieu.

  Once they came out into the Carrousel du Louvre, Javier hustled her across the wide Cour Napoléon.

  The courtyard lay over the subterranean hall of the same name, a place that drew in daylight from the huge glass pyramids above it. And by staying outside, he’d made sure there would be no challenge at the metal detectors.

  Every step she took was agony. He kept one arm around her like a lover’s embrace, so tight it dragged on the scar near her shoulder blade, making it difficult to keep her balance.

  “You are fretful to see your lover, non?” Javier whispered his version of sweet nothings against her ear. “I, too, am anxious to meet up with him again.”

  But not for the same reason, I bet.

  Roxie was certain if Javier had his way, neither she nor Mac would come out of this alive.

  No matter that Javier had spoken of an exchange. After a few hours in his company, she was positive his warped sense of justice called for more than that, much more.

  His father’s death alone must have been enough incentive to spark Javier Sevarin’s need for revenge. Yet, that and his good name only accounted for a small portion of the blame he’d heaped on Mac and her.

  Oui, he wanted them dead.

  She’d been so mad at Mac when he’d kept her out of the loop; even his explanation—though beautiful—still hadn’t quite healed the hurt of feeling less.

  Less of an agent than he was.

  Less of an agent than she’d thought.

  But Mac had been right.

  Simply wanting it wasn’t enough.

  The wars that men like Mac fought had few similarities to the one Grandmère had clawed her way through.

  Simply being a Kincaid didn’t automatically make her capable of becoming an agent. She had the fire in her belly, but not the experience, or the training.

  And Dumont hadn’t gone out of his way to insure she got any.

  Like most Frenchmen, Dumont paid homage to women, but he’d never been able to conceal his antifeminist streak during his dealings with her.

  This last episode had probably helped confirm his decision to tell Roxie that her services were no longer required.

  His excuse? The last thought made her lip curl.

  He said Roxie had become notorious through revealing the Sevarin family history to the media. At the time she had thought, Spoken like a man who has skeletons in his closet.

  Though, maybe Dumont had been right about her, for she still hadn’t found the courage to tell Mac she’d been fired.

  And now maybe she would never need to let him know.

  Javier had given them far too long to prepare, and that worried Mac. He’d come to the conclusion Sevarin’s son didn’t actually care about retrieving Green Shield.

  Oh, sure, he’d probably be happy to take the vials and make a bolt for it, but his real targets had to be Mac McBride and Roxie Kincaid. Human sacrifices that would help quench the mean streak running through Sevarin’s genes.

  The receiver in Mac’s left ear had kept him up to date on Roxie and Javier’s progress from the second they had exited his car and set off through the passageway to the Carrousel.

  Two more minutes and they should be in his sights as well as those of his men on the rooftops.

  Mac had placed snipers at the highest points of the Richelieu and Denon wings, whose honeyed-stone facades looked out at the fragile crystalline construction as if it were a diamond set in the middle of a gold pendant.

  And taking no chances, he had placed another two snipers atop the Sully wing that formed the base of the U.

  Their chances of getting a clear shot were minimal, though, as once the Louvre opened, the tourists came pouring in, wandering around the court to take photos.

  Today, for some reason, the pools surrounding the pyramid were empty and the fountains dry.

  And as well as the chance one of their shots might strike the pyramid, flying glass could endanger visitors in the basement reception hall beneath the pyramid.

  Yeah, Javier had put some thought into picking his meeting place for the exchange.

  Roxie scanned the way ahead, certain she would easily pick Mac out from the visitors circling the area. The pools were empty, which was unusual, and a couple of workmen were bent over examining the base of one of them. To her it seemed quiet without the sound of running water.

  For all her certainty, Javier beat her to it by spying Mac first. “There he is, there’s McBride.”

  He ground Mac’s name through his teeth as if he’d prefer to make hamburger of it as he dragged Roxie in Mac’s direction. “So obliging of your gallant to come save his petite amie.”

  She swallowed the lump of emotion blocking her throat. That’s how it looked to her, as well. But all she felt was guilty.

  Mac had said he loved her, but the little thread of resentment that he’d gone after Javier without her, niggling at the back of her mind, had prevented her returning the favor. Stopped her from spilling the words that were always on the tip of her tongue while they made love.

  I love you.

  The phrase leapt into her thoughts so easily, but Mac wasn’t a mind reader.

  Javier hauled her to the back of the pyramid and down one of the paths separating the normally fluid triangular pools from glass. He stopped by one of the thigh-high walls that kept the water contained. “This will do. He can come to us now.”

  She saw Mac was holding a container—Green Shield!

  Roxie knew she couldn’t let Mac give it to Javier. It was too big a sacrifice even to save the woman who held his heart.

  She would have to watch for her chance, grab it and run.

  Mac got within eight feet of Javier before the Frenchman called out a threat. “That’s close enough, McBride. Another step and I’ll show you how easily my knife slips between your woman’s ribs.” He heard Roxie’s swift intake of breath, feeling no doubts that Javier would do as he said.

  Keeping his eyes on Roxie, as if that would give her courage, he answered, “There’s just one problem. I can’t reach across that distance to make the exchange.”

  Mac continued to stare at Roxie, willing her to react as soon he opened an opportunity. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? I give you Green Shield, and you give me the girl.”

  One narrow glance from Javier indicated he didn’t intend making it that easy for Mac.

  “Quite clearly, you can see my half of the bargain.” Javier smiled as if at a sick joke. “I’m hiding nothing from you but my knife.
” He laughed then, and glanced away momentarily.

  A couple of Spanish-speaking tourists wandered past and Mac could see the wheels turning in Javier’s mind, wondering if they might be undercover. Unfortunately, his indecision didn’t last long enough to give Mac an opening.

  Hell, he thought, Thierry was a master of disguise, but his strong features would make a damn ugly woman. No, Thierry was actually one of the men pretending to work on the pool lining.

  Pulling Roxie with him, Javier stepped close. “I have to be certain that the container holds Green Shield.”

  Harsh with frustration, Javier’s voice almost didn’t carry the distance. Max raised his. “What did you say?”

  “Open the box!”

  “Just give me a second.” Mac fumbled with the catch, his fingers not showing their usual dexterity. From under half-shut eyelids he watched Javier crane his neck for a glimpse of the contents.

  Opening the lid, he tilted the container toward Javier.

  “You’ll understand, Sevarin, that the ice cream didn’t keep, but I doubt whether you would have eaten it. And we couldn’t take a chance on Green Shield ending up in the Paris sewer system.”

  Javier appeared satisfied.

  And so he should. IBIS had gone to great lengths to make the vials look exactly the same as the ones Mac had had destroyed.

  He watched Javier’s shoulders relax slightly as the tourists walked out of range around the corner.

  “Soit,” he said, “that will do. Close up the box and slide it over to me.”

  Mac followed half of the instructions. Leaving the lid up, he spun the box like a curling stone skimming across ice, and just as he’d hoped it failed to make the distance and hit the wall.

  “No problem, I’ll get it,” he called to Sevarin, who looked as restless as an unbroken horse, skittish and unstable.

  If he lost control there was no denying that knife might end up between Roxie’s ribs. He couldn’t let that happen. Damn, he should have had Javier shot straight off.

  To hell with the rules of fair play. Javier wouldn’t think twice about breaking them.