The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  Taking a deep breath, he resumed his role. He smiled for the photographers and forced himself to make small talk with the simpering fool, President de Marco.

  “Where are you taking me? And what’s with Chauncey horning in like that? He’s so overbearing I could scream.” Sophia knew she was chattering like she’d drunk a case of 5 Hour Energy bottles. Unsure if it was her close encounter with the Valentino mirage or outrage at Chauncey’s intrusion, she put her hand to her chest—not to relive her embarrassing moment but to calm her stomping heartbeat.

  “To the bar for a drink. We both need one after that.”

  “Brilliant idea,” Sophia said when she stepped up to the bar in front of Grace. “What do you mean by ‘after that’?”

  Grace whispered, “We almost blew your cover—and in front of the press and everyone.” She said to the bartender, “Two cosmos—hold the ice.”

  After they found a corner and drank a couple of cosmos, Sophia had her pumping heart under control, but her thoughts turned to the audition for the decorating show.

  “I can’t believe after all our work I won’t be able to do the shoot tomorrow morning. What if they won’t reschedule?” Sophia resisted slugging down her third drink to chase the negative thought away.

  “It’s a shame to cancel it at the last minute,” Grace said. “They’ll be steamed.”

  “You didn’t tell them yet?” Sophia felt a palpitation return—but in a good way this time. “Maybe we shouldn’t cancel.” Her mind buzzed to life and a spark livened up her system at once. “I’ll do it—I’ll get out of here first thing in the morning—early before anyone else is up and I’ll be at the shoot as scheduled.” The words gushed out from the force of her churning mind.

  “Chauncey would never allow it. Neither would the governor. How will you get past those two?” Grace looked at her as if they were playing a game.

  “I can sneak out—with your help. This is too important to miss. Besides, Azzam has no idea I’m here and if I can sneak out early, we can get the shoot done first thing—we have an 8:00 a.m. start, right?”

  “I don’t know, Pixie. David is very concerned for your safety…”

  “Grace, you know how important this is. It’s a chance of a lifetime and I don’t want to blow it because of some terrorist creep. He’s not after me anyway—he’s after Chauncey.”

  “I suppose you’re right—it would only be for a few hours. After the shoot starts I’ll let them know and they can protect you in Charlestown.” Grace smiled.

  “Perfect! It’ll be too late for them to stop me then. Besides, I’m not a prisoner. They can protect me just as well at the shoot as here.”

  “Maybe we should tell them and insist that you have to be there. Then you won’t have to sneak out.”

  “No—no way. I’m not taking a chance. Chauncey already assumes it’s been canceled. He doesn’t get it.”

  “He doesn’t understand how important it is—to both of us.”

  “No. He’d never understand—he saves the world for a living—why would he consider a decorating show important? If I asked and he said no, then he’d be on the lookout for me to sneak out—I don’t want to take that chance.” Sophia grabbed Grace by the hand. “I need your help to pull it off, Grace.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ll need you to drive the getaway car.”

  “What?” Grace looked around to see if anyone around them had heard.

  Sophia lowered her voice. “You’ll have to pick me up outside the gate in the morning at say…five. That should be early enough.”

  “You’re sure?” Grace bit her lip.

  “I’ll call you to confirm in the morning. This is important Grace. You know how much I want this, right?”

  “I know, I know. I do too. Getaway car driver is perfect for me,” Grace calculated, but then her brow furrowed.

  “What?”

  “David is going to be very upset with me about this. And Pix, what if you really are in danger?”

  “Nonsense. Azzam’s long gone. Do you see him here tonight? These men are paid to be paranoid. I don’t know why they’re worried about me. Chauncey is the target. He’s the one that killed Azzam’s brother. What did I ever do? I’m an inconsequential decorator.” Who needed this career breakthrough so she could become consequential.

  “Just the same, what if…”

  “We’ll call in the bodyguards at 8:01 as soon as the shoot starts and they can resume their hovering detail in the name of protection.”

  “Okay, but promise to wear a disguise.”

  “What? Not this outfit.”

  “No—but promise you’ll wear something to cover your hair and eyes.”

  “Sure. I’m sure I can dig something up.” She pushed the fake eyeglasses up on her nose. Looked like she’d have to wear these hideous glasses again tomorrow—courtesy of Chauncey.

  Chapter 5

  Sophia had no trouble waking up bright and early—in spite of a slight headache.

  “I’m borrowing the upstairs maid’s cell phone since I’m not supposed to make calls on the house phone. I feel like a prisoner,” Sophia told Grace without taking a breath. She looked out the window of her room at a giant oak or maple or some such tree and envisioned herself climbing out onto the branch and shimmying down. Her instant shudder told her she wasn’t ready to go gothic.

  “What time is it?” Grace sounded groggy. “It’s a good thing David’s a sound sleeper. Wait a minute till I get to another room.” There was a pause on the line before Grace was back. “You didn’t change your mind? You’re still going to defy orders and sneak out to go to the shoot?” she whispered.

  Sophia could hear Grace’s mind backpedaling. “What if I am?” She realized she sounded like a pouty twelve-year-old. “You’re not backing out are you? I need your help. I need you to drive the getaway car, Grace. You’re my only hope.”

  “You sound so MacArthur Park. Don’t worry. I’ll pick you up—but I’m alerting David the minute we start shooting at eight sharp. He’s going to be so mad. But we can pull this off. Don’t worry.” Grace’s smile-filled voice trilled across the line, warming Sophia and reminding her why she loved her friend, even though she was also her boss and annoyingly romantic-minded.

  “I’ll get myself to the back door and out the service entrance. I doubt anyone will stop me, but I don’t want anyone to see me either, so I’ll have to pretend I’m the hired help or something. Bring me a good professional camera-ready outfit to change into. I had a whole outfit prepared, but at this point I can’t afford to be choosy. You know my good colors.”

  “Yes—green. I have something in mind. This is exciting, but you can’t tell that I helped you or David’ll have my neck—or he’ll take back the pearls that I have around my neck, at the very least.” Grace paused.

  Sophia felt unsure. Her plan seemed like the sensible thing to do. The terrorist guy was long gone and looking for Chauncey, not her, right?

  “I won’t say a word. These men are so overprotective—the whole lot of them are poster boys for the superhero complex. Psychologists would have a field day with them. I may make an emergency call to the psych ward when I leave and warn them of this crazy group of zealots.”

  Grace laughed. “Too true. I’ll be in the service alley in twenty-two minutes.”

  “Twenty-two minutes? Seriously? Grace, sometimes you’re scary with your driving. Sometimes I think you’re one of them—the wheelman—or wheel-lady, in this case.”

  “Exactly. I’m one of us. See you, and bring the phone you’re on. I’ll buy another one for your maid.”

  “I wish she was my maid. Twenty-two minutes.” Sophia clicked off and looked around at the measly selection of apparel. She threw on a T-shirt, no bra. Her mind instantly went to Chauncey’s comments about her figure and she heated up. We’ve become surprisingly intimate in such a short time, haven’t we? She felt a millisecond of guilt about leaving him to worry and then shoved that asi
de as she slipped on her shoes. Passing the mirror, she realized how revealing the T-shirt was, but there was no time to worry. She needed to be casual and look like the help, not a fashionista.

  She slipped down the stairs in the dim morning light. It wasn’t yet 5:00 a.m. and she knew she needed to get out before the hour struck. The maid told her the house would get busy then. On her way down the back hall toward the kitchen she noticed light and muffled voices coming from under the study door. It was probably the men plotting some scheme. She speeded up her exit through the kitchen. Before she went out the door, she put on a baseball cap, also given to her—for a price—by the kindly capitalist maid, then proceeded into the backyard garden and play area. Looking past the old-fashioned heavy-duty metal swing and slide, she resisted the tug to take a ride. Spotting the path along the wall of a shed toward the back gate, she began to dash but thought better of it. If anyone saw her, she wanted to be able to pass as help and not have her departure immediately reported.

  Chauncey would find out soon enough. She didn’t know what he’d do when he did, but she had better things to think about right now. She glanced at her watch and slipped outside the gate, only to stand face-to-face with an unfamiliar suit wearing an earpiece, arms folded across his massive chest.

  “You’re not Joe.” She meant to think it, not say it. But the man split a grin.

  “You looking for Joe? Got an assignation planned?”

  “Assignation?” Before she bothered trying to figure out his meaning, she spied Grace’s red Mustang approach, then stop. Assignation Man saw the car too.

  “My ride. Gotta go. For my assignation,” she said and jogged toward Grace’s car. Before she got in she saw the guard lift his hand to press a speaker attached to his lapel and his lips moved. She jumped in the car.

  “Step on it. I think Boris the guard is reporting my departure at this very moment—although he doesn’t seem to know who I am. He might be telling Joe.”

  “Why would he tell Joe?” Grace backed the car away in a smooth, quick move. Danica Patrick had nothing on her.

  “I might have mentioned Joe’s name by accident.”

  Grace looked at her funny. “Hopefully Joe won’t know it was me leaving, or if he does suspect it, maybe, just maybe, he’ll keep it to himself,” Sophia wished out loud.

  “More likely he’ll report it directly to Chauncey—or whatever his code name is.”

  Sophia looked in the back seat to see the shopping bag with her change of clothes. “You won’t freak if I climb into the back and change, will you?” She didn’t wait for an answer but noticed that Grace kept her eyes ahead and the wheel steady. In fact, she’d better change quickly because they were about to cross over the bridge to Charlestown in a minute.

  After she got out of the car and stood on the street, her nerves kicked in. It was too late to back out. She peered in the window at Grace. “Sure you can’t stay with me?”

  “Too early. You look fabulous. Go hide out and have some coffee and I’ll meet you at eight at the town house,” Grace said, looking up at her with that confident signature smile.

  “Sure thing.” Too bad she wasn’t sure of a thing. She waved and then almost stumbled on the cracked city sidewalk as she turned to the local breakfast diner. It was perilously close to the neighborhood where they’d last seen their terrorist. Quash that thought and concentrate on walking in these ridiculous platform heels. They were the latest style. Sophia couldn’t fault Grace for that. But they weren’t her style for all the height-adding qualities about them—she almost felt tall. Of course the effect would be ruined if she fell on her butt, so she stepped toward the glass doors of the coffee and sausage shop at an unusually slow pace. No one stared. Not even at her midnight blue silk suit with the plunging neckline. Grace had always encouraged her to show off her assets, but she had so many and she’d always gone with her wits. Sophia didn’t want to be like every other gorgeous bombshell after all. Hah!

  Still no heads turned as she took a seat on the red leatherette-covered stool. The place was busy, but not crowded, and she asked for coffee. She hoped it was strong. But what the heck, she had time for three or four cups before she was scheduled to be at the shoot. Spare time. What a novelty. This would be fun. She could people watch. But she found herself looking around for anyone that reminded her of a terrorist and relaxed when she spotted no men in trench coats.

  Two cups of coffee and three Autos for Sale magazines later, she rose to find the ladies’ room. When she saw the swarthy man wearing a knit cap siting alone at a table in the back, she stumbled and caught herself on a stool. Her heart rate accelerated to an unnatural pace and it wasn’t from the coffee. She turned back around and ripped a ten dollar bill from her bag to give the clerk. She wasn’t sure if it was him, but there was no way she was going to look at the man again and no way she was going anywhere but out of there. She held herself from running for the door—not that she could have in these shoes, she realized, and cursed herself for leaving her less-stylish flats in Grace’s car. Pushing through the door with a shaky hand, she glanced at the reflection in the glass door to see the mysterious man looking at her with a blank face. It was him.

  Sophia rounded the corner faster than she would have thought possible a minute ago, then took her heels off. She ran toward the town house two blocks away, carrying her heels and her purse and her briefcase without breathing. With a quick peek over her shoulder, she ran toward the door and ducked inside the entry. She put her hand to her pounding heart and sucked in a breath. Whoa, Nelly, slow down and collect yourself. Inspecting the damage to her stockinged feet, she brushed them off and put back on the ridiculous shoes, but she felt instantly put together when she did. Maybe there was something to be said for being five fake inches taller. She had to believe she’d been mistaken, or maybe the evil man didn’t recognize her in Grace’s notion of a professional outfit. But there was her hair. Few people forgot her shiny, rusty-red bob. But then she’d planned it that way, keeping it perfectly cut and polished to a magnificent glow.

  She let herself in and her breathing returned to normal the instant she looked around the brilliant room. “I am so glad to see you. You have no idea,” she told the man she’d scolded only two days before. He gave her a skeptical look. She stopped herself from embracing him.

  “You’re taller today. And nicer.” He spun around and marched off to the kitchen muttering. “Damn crazy broad.”

  Once the producer, director, cameras and crew arrived a few minutes later, Sophia began to feel safe. Any nerves she might have had under normal circumstances had better things to do worrying about the coffee shop man. Was he or wasn’t he Azzam? That was the question that tormented her as she stood on her mark and read the teleprompter.

  Chapter 6

  The director watched her intently while the cameras rolled. Sophia finished her quip about fabulous floors and felt good. She was about to wax on with her pithy commentary about the window dressings, when a wood-crunching sound exploded from the front entry. The cameras and director pivoted around sharply toward the commotion. Staring ahead, she froze in place as if they’d pressed her pause button. The door busted open and her worst nightmare plowed in and headed straight for her. It was Azzam, a.k.a. the swarthy coffee shop man. The big gun he carried gave him away.

  So she did what any red-blooded decorator would do. She grabbed the nearest lamp and flung it in his direction before dashing toward the French doors behind her. As she was about to fling the doors open amid screams and crashing all around, she was met head-on with her second worst nightmare.

  Chauncey stood on the threshold. Before she could utter a word he grabbed her arm and yanked her outside, flinging her across the deck. Unfortunately she turned to see their evil terrorist with his gun leveled in their direction and the crew spread out on the floor in various arrays of fear-inspired cowering. Chauncey already had his gun drawn and fired a shot, but missed his target who lunged behind the beautiful white couch. The foolhar
dy Scotland Yard man, her man, rushed into the room after the scrambling terrorist, who, as he half crawled, half ran for the front door where he came in, turned for another shot.

  That’s when she let out her most bloodcurdling scream. She wasn’t sure if he’d collapsed from the noise, or if he was down for cover, or down from a bullet wound, but her Chauncey was down and the evil terrorist had disappeared out the door.

  The room came to life at once in a rush of noise and she rushed to Chauncey’s side. He’d rescued her again and the adrenaline pumping through her blood left her jittery with excitement—or it could have been hysteria. She vowed then and there she’d never admit it to him, though. She would be worried about him, but his pesky arrogance got in the way. She felt a constant need to cut him down to size—before Azzam cut him down altogether.

  He stood and looked straight at her as she rushed toward him in spite of herself. She must be a closet Florence Nightingale.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The flash of concern in his eyes melted her a fraction before she remembered herself.

  “Of course—the evil…bad guy was shooting at you, not me,” she said, and stopped short to assess the damage—to her television show’s set, not him.

  He grabbed her shoulders to get her attention back. “I have to give chase—call Detective Young—I mean David.” He leaned in and gave her an inexplicable kiss smack on the lips—not a brotherly peck—and in front of the set full of people who’d all focused on them at once.

  “Sure,” she managed to say, a little breathless, and maybe even a little dizzy, as she watched him dash to the door, hopping over the broken lamp and a couple of people on his way out. The second he was gone, crew members all crowded her with simultaneous questions, and they heard sirens in the distance. She dug her phone from her bag and hit the speed dial number for Grace. David could wait. Besides, the police were already on it from the sounds of things.