“Going somewhere?” he asked, his charming smile quite fake.
She lifted her chin. “You don’t own me.”
He shook his head, his eyes twinkling, and she realized not only had he anticipated her slipping away, he wasn’t angry about it. Not what she’d expected. Go figure. The man was full of surprises, some of them even pleasant.
Taking her elbow, he led her outside toward a white Volvo. He commandeered the driver’s seat, still without one word of rebuke. “There’s a map in the glove compartment. Let’s go find Grendal Archer.”
Wow. Double wow. Ford Braddack was letting her set the schedule, doing as she’d suggested, and that made her feel kind of mushy inside.
Go figure. The man was a mastermind at manipulation. Just when she’d been ready to put up a fight, he’d capitulated with the grace of a matador. Now she felt silly for going behind his back yet glad to have his company.
Ford drove with an ease that she couldn’t have managed. He read French as easily as English and seemed to have an internal compass that kept them on course. While she kept checking the route on the GPS, he made several business calls.
An hour later, after passing a handful of farms and verdant, undulating countryside, he pulled into a tiny mountain village, past a thriving vegetable and flower market. Goats, chickens and cows roamed the streets. The fresh scent of baled hay and grass mixed with cow manure.
Consulting the GPS map, she directed Ford past the prosperous old town down a dirt lane. Steep-roofed cottages decorated the mountainside. In the valley, he pulled up to a broad box farmhouse, with a deep-curving roof that sloped nearly to the ground.
Her neck prickled. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. It’s too quiet.” She eased her hand into her backpack and pulled out her pistol. She expected him to make fun of her instinct.
But again he surprised her. “How’d you sneak that weapon past customs?”
She shrugged. “I guessed the inspectors wouldn’t think a woman with you would carry anything more dangerous in her bag than a tube of lipstick.”
Again, she tensed and expected Ford to scold her.
He held out his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have another weapon, would you?”
“You know how to use one?”
“Yes.”
After giving him a hard look and realizing he meant what he said, she reached into her pack and handed him a second gun. “It’s loaded but the safety is on. You’ve got nine rounds. Here’s another clip.”
“Thanks.”
When he took the gun from her, their fingers touched, and his heat zinged up her arm. Alarmed he could affect her with just a touch, she jerked back. But it wasn’t so much his touch that worried her. It was his surprising reactions to everything that turned her on. She’d never thought a man like him would ask for a gun. She’d thought his style would be to call the cops or a mercenary. But the way he handled the weapon, checking the safety then the chamber, she could tell he knew what he was doing. And she found it sexy.
Damn it. Now was not the time for distractions.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, but no one came outside. In an isolated town like this, visitors must be rare, but not so much as a curtain twitched to indicate anyone eyeing them curiously.
“Now what?” Ford asked, for once willing to follow her lead. She had to admire his uncommon good sense. Hunting for a witness was more her area of expertise than his, and he recognized that. No macho nonsense about her taking charge when she was the expert.
“I’ll knock on the front door.”
“You want me to cover you or go around back?” he asked before she could suggest either option.
She considered the alternatives. “If Grendal answers the door and everything appears normal, then there’s no reason you can’t come inside with me. But if I don’t signal, cover me until I’m in—then go around back.”
“Got it.”
After carefully arranging the backpack to hang from her shoulder, she placed her hand, holding the gun, inside the pack. If all was normal, she needn’t frighten Grendal. But if necessary, she could shoot through the thin material. Opening the car door, she slipped out.
“Be careful,” Ford whispered.
“Roger that,” she replied, warmed by his concern.
She knocked on the door, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Yet even an expert marksman couldn’t pick her off from as far away as the nearest likely hiding spot. In front of the farmhouse, the meadow extended for over three miles before meeting a fence or tree.
When no one answered, she knocked harder. The door creaked open from the force of her pounding. “Hello. Anyone home?”
No one responded. Not even a dog barked.
Freeing her gun from the pack, she stepped over the threshold and immediately crouched to one side. The scent of lemon floor wax lingered with the stink of stale smoke. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the relative darkness and took her bearings. Shutters barred the windows, and drapes had been pulled to keep out light that might have seeped through the cracks. The house didn’t appear large. She stood in the gloomy great room, guessing perhaps two or three bedrooms were in back.
“Hello. Grendal?”
Gripped by tension, Devin proceeded into the smoky room. She circled, holding the gun before her with both hands. Empty.
“Devin,” Ford called from outside. “I’m coming in the front door.”
“Okay.” He’d changed the plan with a take-control decisiveness she’d come to expect, but she was grateful not only for his company, but for the verbal warning. The silent house with its murky shadows multiplied her sense of danger. A few embers burned in the fireplace, but there was no other sign of life.
Ford ducked to enter the low-slung doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Just peachy. No sign of anyone. I’ll check the bedrooms.” A spike of adrenaline rattled her nerves. “My neck itches.”
“Why don’t you go on out and stand guard. I’ll check the rest,” he suggested.
“We’ll go together. Just remember, my instincts are screaming—”
“I know. You have good instincts.”
She didn’t crack a grin at his attempt at humor. Stealing down the hall, she broached the new areas quietly, carefully. The first bedroom was empty. So was the second.
On the bed in the third room, someone or something huddled beside the blankets. She pointed the gun at the unmoving lump while Ford opened the partially pulled drapes. Light filtered through the shutter onto a body.
“Grendal?” she guessed, a sinking feeling in her gut at the knowledge the woman was dead.
Dark brown blotches stained the white sheets. Blood. A bullet hole in her forehead matched one in the shutters. Grendal stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed. Devin’s chest tightened with horror so fierce it hurt. Moisture blurred her eyes, and she quickly turned her back to rein in her runaway emotions.
You’re a P.I. Think like one.
Devin hadn’t seen many dead bodies, but this one didn’t appear too stiff. She guessed they’d missed the killing by perhaps just an hour or two.
If only they’d arrived sooner, maybe they could have saved her. But if they’d arrived sooner, the assassin might have killed Ford and Devin just as efficiently, just as indifferently.
She glanced over at Grendal’s body. Did she have parents who would mourn her? Children who would cry themselves to sleep at night?
What kind of person could do such a thing? And for a living? A chill invaded her bones, and she fought the impulse to run and hide.
Ford plucked a tissue from a box, pulled the blanket over Grendal’s face without touching the material and thrust the tissue in his pocket. “He shot her while she pulled the drapes.”
/> “Ford, look.” Devin pointed to the bedding. Across a lacy white pillow lay a single black rose petal. “She could have thrown away the rest of the flower.”
“We’ve seen enough,” Ford insisted. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once on the road, he tried to call the police on his cell phone. The mountains blocked the satellite reception, and he couldn’t get through.
“I feel responsible for that poor woman’s death,” he said. “Somehow, the Black Rose knew we were coming.” His palm slammed the steering wheel. “How?”
Wearily, she ran her fingers through her hair. “Lots of ways. The pilot filed a flight plan. There could have been a leak at the embassy. Or someone at customs might have reported us coming into the country. Then closer to home, my employees knew my plans. You called your partner and parents from the plane. And made business calls while on the road.”
“Only to Martin and my family.” He shook his head.
“So?”
“Martin and I have been partners for years. He’s so conservative with the company finances he could work for the IRS. He’s even tight-lipped when he drinks. He clears every news release with our attorneys, so he’s not exactly the type to go blabbing sensitive information.”
“There’s your family. They could have let something slip.”
“Not a chance. My parents are part of the New Orleans social set and know how fast gossip travels. When I was in that coma, no one even guessed. Mom can keep a secret. And Red—that’s my dad—is one of the most closemouthed men I know.”
“Someone slipped or was overheard. How else would the Black Rose know we are here?”
“Even if the assassin knew we were in Switzerland,” he said, “how could he have known we were going to see Grendal?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he learned about her the same way I did, through another hotel employee. Or maybe we’re being tracked through our cell phones. Or through your credit card when you made arrangements at the chalet and for this car.” She paused, trying to banish the image of those sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, eyes that would never look on the beautiful Swiss countryside again. “I think we should report her death through an anonymous phone call, then toss our phones, ditch this car and stop using your credit card. We can’t afford to leave a trail or have our names in a police report.”
“Agreed.” He held out his hand for her phone and tossed both into a creek. I’ll call the cops from the hotel lobby when we get back. And I’m hiring a few bodyguards to protect us for the rest of our stay.”
They returned to the hotel with time enough for her to bathe and attempt to force Grendal’s death from her mind. Emotionally exhausted, she sank into the poofy white goose-down mattress which folded around her.
In spite of the comfort, she had trouble falling asleep, still unnerved by the pale corpse on the pristine white sheets. Had her death been their fault? Would the Black Rose have killed the woman if Devin had stayed in Louisiana?
Her mind raced about what to do next. Checking every flower market in Bern in hopes of finding someone who sold black roses seemed futile. Her eyes closed. Perhaps Ford’s banking contacts would divulge hard information.
AT A KNOCK on her door, her eyes sprang open. The dim light of the setting sun indicated she’d fallen asleep. She drew the covers to her chin. “Come in.” Without glancing her way, Ford carried a variety of boxes into her room and set them on the dresser. “Can you be ready in an hour?”
“Sure,” she answered, then cursed under her breath. She’d forgotten to pretend she was ill. Ford had a way of sneaking up on her and arranging her time to dovetail with his plans. Before she could think of another excuse to avoid the party, Ford had departed and shut her door.
Another man might have looked at her, his eyes sparkling as he imagined her naked under the sheets. Ford hadn’t turned his head. That he remained indifferent annoyed her.
Yet as she recalled how they’d worked together as a team this afternoon, her irritation evaporated. She’d known him capable of leadership, but he’d surprised her by following her suggestions without asking questions. On some level, he trusted her ability. Amazed by this insight into his personality, she suddenly wanted to force him to notice her as a woman. Perhaps the party would help erase the chilling image of Grendal’s death.
Suddenly eager to check out the boxes, she flung off the covers and set about fixing herself up to meet a Swiss banker—or so she told herself. Exactly one hour later, she swept downstairs.
His eyes rounded. “Wow!”
Standing in the living room dressed in his tuxedo, Ford looked his normal elegant self. With his dark hair neatly combed, his blue eyes sparkled as he gazed at her with obvious approval. “You’re exquisite. I’ll have to fight men off to dance with you.” His sincere admiration, combined with the formfitting gold-sequined gown, gave her the courage to admit her social inexperience. She felt like a fool, but better to confess her deficiency in private than later, amid strangers. “I don’t dance.”
“All the better. I can keep you to myself for the evening.”
He sounded as if he meant it, but she didn’t believe him. His gallant manners saved her from additional awkward explanations, and she was grateful.
She bit her lip nervously. “Ford, I’m not good at parties.”
He must have heard the quiver of panic in her voice because he stopped and pivoted. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged and noted that his eyes never dropped from hers to her low-cut bodice. Finding a man more concerned with her opinions than how she filled out her dress infused her with additional courage. “Small talk eludes me. I can never think of anything to say.”
“You’re disconcerted over a party?” To his credit, his attitude was more astonishment than condescension, so she didn’t hold the smile twitching at his lips against him. “Is this the same woman who canceled my wedding, kidnapped me, then convinced me to track down an international assassin?”
“Social situations confuse me,” she muttered, wondering how to explain her fears to a man who exuded polished elegance with every breath. “I tend to make a mess of things. I don’t want to embarrass you.”
She thought he’d laugh. Instead he cocked his head to one side, taking her seriously. “If you’re not used to these parties, I can see how they might be intimidating.”
She restrained her impulse to hug him. “I’m not intimidated so much as terrified.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a few pointers. I’m an expert, so stick with me, and you’ll be fine. First, you look fabulous. Every woman will be wild with jealousy. Count any barbs as a compliment. Second, the men will be curious about your past—the less you tell them, the more desirable you’ll become.”
“What about conversation?”
He cast her a devastating smile. “If you get stuck, talk about the weather. Or the flight over. And I’ve found when I have no idea what someone is saying to me, it’s useful to nod wisely and say, ‘Really.’”
“Really?” She grinned.
He took her elbow and escorted her out of the hotel. “Works like a charm.”
Despite his attempt to reassure her, by the time a valet parked their car at the party, a bevy of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. An experienced international traveler, he’d instructed her to keep her passport with her at all times, and during the car ride, he’d asked her to place his documents in her purse. But on such short notice, not even Ford’s pull had enabled him to secure bodyguards until tomorrow.
The sounds of classical music with conversations in a dozen languages drifted outside a massive stone building with soaring columns. She’d hoped for a party of less than fifty people, but that many guests filled the well-worn entrance steps alone. She clutched the purse to her side, and Ford gripped her hand tightly.
“I don’t feel too
well,” she told him, and it wasn’t a lie. Her head throbbed, and she couldn’t blame it on the scent of heady perfumes combined with cigar smoke. Why had she allowed him to talk her into this? She should have stayed at the hotel where she belonged.
“You’ll be fine. Take a deep breath,” he murmured.
She inhaled and let the air out slowly.
“Better?”
“This will end badly, I can feel it.”
“It’s your nerves talking. Security around the embassy is always tight. We’re safe here.”
“I’ll do something to embarrass you, I know it.”
Ford offered her his arm. “If embarrassing me is all that you’re worried about, well, then, I forgive you.”
She shook her head but couldn’t restrain a nervous giggle. Unsure how he’d accomplished it, she realized he’d made her worries seem absurd. “But you don’t know what I’ve done yet!”
“Exactly. So now you won’t have to worry, since I’ve already forgiven you.”
“This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had.” She sighed in resignation as he whisked her through the entrance and into a crowd of elegant women in designer gowns chatting in several languages with debonair men in black tuxedos. But her gaze wasn’t on the people surrounding them. It was on Ford.
His smooth-talking charm had put her at ease, and she wanted to give him a big hug. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re impossible?”
Before he could answer, a shot sounded. Women screamed. Without hesitation, she flung herself at Ford, tackling him to the floor.
Chapter Four
WHAT THE HELL?
Ford had known Devin was edgy, but at the popping sound, she’d exploded, lunged at his hips and mowed him down like an NFL linebacker. He slammed to his back amid a crowd of party-goers. As air burst from his lungs, the chandelier overhead turned into multicolored spinning stars.
Before he could draw a breath, Devin flattened herself on his chest, knocking any remaining wind out of him. When she cradled his head beneath her shoulder in a protective gesture, breathing became impossible.
Born in Danger Page 5