Bet Me

by Catherine Mann

  Kim’s fingers traced over the swirling patterns stitched into the fiery, heavy brocade enclosing her like a swaddling blanket. The cars with her entourage streamed ahead and behind, just as suffocating as ever. She enjoyed her freedom from the strictures of her position at home and when she missed seeing everyone, she now made an annual trip to Cantou to say “howdy.”

  Yet, after she had the chitchat with the department shrink, she realized that sometimes she subconsciously held on to old habits—like how she always picked big, four-wheel drives when car shopping. She needed that sense of metal around her—without the all-service bar and cable television. Hell, there had been three assassination attempts made on her life before she was ten.

  Had those early attempts on her life left a mark that made this recent shooting take a heavier toll on her than normal? What was a normal reaction for being shot at? For having her partner gunned down?

  She shook off the memory and focused on the present. The part about how being chauffeured didn’t set well with her. While they skimmed past fountains and palm trees, she wanted to tap the little conversation window and ask the two undercover cops up front if they’d gotten the final score on last night’s Dodgers game. She’d been too itchy and had taken a late-night run. How odd that her job had brought her full circle back to the old days.

  To Marc. His hot, muscular thigh.

  And his scowling square jaw—with an unexplained new scar.

  Whoever thought up the call sign Joker for this pensive pilot sure had a twisted sense of humor.

  Might as well talk now while she knew they weren’t being listened to. No bugs in the limo. “Have you ever been to Vegas before?”

  His somber expression didn’t change other than the slight upward quirk of one brow. “Do you or do you not remember anything we said to each other?”

  Duh. She wanted to thunk herself on the forehead. “Oh, right, your flag exercises you told me about.”

  “Red Flag and Green Flag—” slowly he nodded yet he seemed to be watching elsewhere even as he spoke to her “—would be a couple of annual exercises, yes.”

  “Practice war.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Like the times you’ve battled in Cantou.” Where did that semicombative comment come from? How simplistic those few words made such a convoluted political situation sound.

  Truly, she’d never thought of him as the enemy in any way. Could she be trying to put emotional distance between them to make up for the physical closeness they would be forced to endure over the next couple of days?

  “Anything is a possibility these days, but we’re hopeful for more stability in the region.”

  She’d been reassured the car wasn’t bugged, but even if it was, nothing they said contained any State secrets. Could she trust Scooter’s tip about the diamonds passing through the casino this weekend? Cantou certainly enjoyed more peace these days, but there were still factions that wanted things to return to the old ways.

  Actually, that wasn’t totally true. They didn’t want a benevolent ruler. They wanted a dictatorship. Nothing she’d seen in the intel on these rebel factions showed anything benevolent. Of course, every country had its radicals….

  She shuddered at the satellite images of extensive torture. Burial sites later found.

  No. If these jewels truly did exist, they would not make it into the hands of those monsters to finance their revolution. The stones, the opportunity for such massive capital, would stop with her. She would find their courier in the Great Wall.

  Marc took her cold hand in his.

  She jerked as if electrified.

  “What?” he said. “We’re a couple. We should get used to touching each other again.”

  Okay, two could play this game—and he was right. She pulled a tighter smile and linked her fingers with his.

  Marc winked, the levity so strange on such a grim face. “Now, that’s my girl.”

  Girl? “Excuse me, but I haven’t been a ‘girl’ in quite a few years.”

  “Pardon me, then.” His leg pressed harder, his arm sliding along the back of the seat—along her shoulders. “Woman. Lady. One hot babe. Take your pick.”

  Awareness seared through her until it was all she could do to hold still because moving would give away how much he still affected her.

  Maybe silence would work best after all.

  She swallowed back any words, along with a crazy, stupid image of what it would be like to kiss him quiet. Not the kind of silence that seemed wise at the moment. Still her gaze held his dark eyes for what must have been at least two traffic lights, and then he broke contact, frowning even deeper, if that was possible.

  The car jerked, slamming her against him.

  “What the—” she yelled, looking forward to the drivers.

  “Down!” Marc shouted, palming her back and pushing her toward the floorboards. “Guns! Outside.”

  Pop, pop, pop cut through the air. A dark blue Mercedes roared beside them. The nose of a gun peeked from the window but no faces—all seen in a blur of peripheral perception on their way to the floor.

  The limo swerved again. Harder. Marc? Was he okay? She didn’t have time to check, only protect. Except he had a gun in his hand that he’d gotten from heaven only knew where.

  Horns honked. Skidding tires squealed as someone outside screamed. What had happened to the cars following and leading them? Her entourage?

  Heart racing, she braced a hand against the door, reaching under her skirt for the gun strapped to her leg to fire back. Peeking up, she took aim through the broken window….

  The Mercedes raced ahead. Away. Disappearing around a corner as quickly as it had slid beside them.

  “Marc? Marc?” She turned to check on him and found him launching toward the front seat, obviously in solid health.

  Then she noticed her driver, the undercover cop in front. The unconscious, possibly dead Vincent slumped over the wheel, his foot resting on the gas. Damn it, why couldn’t he have slouched on the brake? His partner, Tim, hung limp against his shoulder harness. Both men dripped blood.

  No wonder the car swerved so horribly. They were so screwed.

  Marc continued to try to wedge through the communication window, but his shoulders were too broad for him to fit through.

  “Move!” Kim shouted.

  “Right.” Backing out of the window, he grabbed her by the waist and shoved her through. Her costume stuck halfway.

  “Damn it!” She reached and grabbed for the steering wheel as the car careened toward running pedestrians. A new bride ran across the street with her groom wearing Elvis sequins.

  Kim hammered the horn. Hard. Again and again, and yes! The people on the street and the other cars listened and got the hell out of the way, into other lanes or onto a sidewalk. Not that she could even hear the horn. Adrenaline sang in her ears, threatening to drown out anything Marc might have said, as the sides of the window bit into her hips while she hung suspended over the driver’s seat.

  The limo still swerved, going forty-five miles per hour. They were safe for the moment, until Marc could wedge her through and into the front seat where she could reach the pedals. Thank heaven for the lack of traffic or they would all be taking the eternal dirt nap.

  Marc ripped the bulkier part of the costume from around her waist, while she swerved the limo around obstacles. With inches to spare, she avoided an ATM on the corner, then just missed a light pole on the next corner. Finally, air swished over her legs. She didn’t have time for modesty. Only relief.

  She felt Marc’s hand planted firmly on her satin-and-lace-underwear-clad butt a second before he shoved. And what a weird time to try to remember what kind of underwear she’d put on this morning. It so shouldn’t matter because they could die, but if she had to die, she didn’t want her last moments to be with her showing a man boring undies.

  Then she remembered…orange lace.

  Oh, my.

  Totally see-through orange lace.

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nbsp; Oof. She landed in a tangled heap on top of unconscious Vincent. Possibly dead Vincent, and didn’t that sober her thoughts up right away? She couldn’t think of him now or even risk a glance at Tim, not with the car swerving, bumping off the curb.

  Finally she wedged herself in Vincent’s lap. Ugh. It was the only way to get to the wheel. Gasping for air and a steadier heart rate, she kicked his foot off the gas pedal and inched hers over the brake.

  So why had they lurched ahead?

  “Damn,” Marc shouted from the back. “We’ve got another problem.”

  Kim wrestled with the wheel while a new car behind rammed them. She worked to stay on the road, veering away from the young mother pushing a double stroller, keeping the car under control not as easy as it seemed during the police academy. “What’s going on now?”

  “That bump wasn’t random,” Marc answered. “We’re being followed. And by followed, I mean bumper to bumper, they want us off the road.”

  The limo surged forward again. Her mind raced. Where was the nearest police station? If she could get there, a place of law enforcement, their pursuers would leave.

  Marc reached through the conversation window and stripped the weapons from the wounded—possibly dead—men up front. “If you have another gun tucked away somewhere, hand it over so I can deal with our problem in back. Meanwhile, just drive.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  JUST DRIVE? THE WORDS ricocheted around in Kim’s head harder than the force of the SUV that had almost catapulted their limousine into the next county.

  So just drive? Easier said than done. This vehicle was a freaking tank to handle. She’d never driven anything remotely like it before.

  Kim gripped the limo’s wheel tighter in a white-knuckled grip while Marc gathered up his arsenal of weapons off the two shot and bleeding men beside her in the front seat.

  “Careful,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “I know,” he hollered back. “There are pedestrians everywhere.”

  As if on cue, an elderly couple jumped back from the curb onto the sidewalk, clutching each other while his camera clunked against her touristy tote bag. Kim hoped she hadn’t given them heart failure for what was probably their fiftieth wedding anniversary trip. Talk about making a memory.

  Marc angled out the window and popped off a shot at the looming SUV behind them, ducking back in a second before another bump that would have sent him flying. She checked the rearview mirror. The SUV still trailed them, but in the other lane for the moment at least.

  And damned if the old man back on the sidewalk hadn’t started snapping pictures while his wife jotted notes on a piece of paper. License plate numbers, hopefully. Chalk one up for the citizen’s watch gang.

  Kim yanked her attention back to the road. She slid one hand from the wheel and grabbed the police radio from Vincent’s waist. “Marc, can you take this, please, and call the station. Tell them to put out an alert to the cops in the area. It’s just three blocks up, I believe. Ask them to be waiting. That should get rid of our friends.”

  Marc’s hand thrust through the window. “Good thinking.”

  He snagged the radio in a flash and she heard his voice making the call while she swerved from lane to lane.

  “All set,” he called from the back, his voice steady, reassuring. “They’re putting calls to all cars. But with your driving and this firepower, sweetheart, I could hold them off in my sleep.”

  Too bad they were both very much awake during this nightmare.

  KIM HADN’T EXPECTED TO SEE the police station’s coffee sludge again today. Except the pot wasn’t full now. Just sporting an inch left for whatever brave soul dared pour the remaining dregs into one of the cups stacked beside the dairy creamer.

  Kim stared at the coffeepot, her morning scrolling through her mind while Marc loomed, brooding. She’d been shot at by a gunman, rammed by a maniac in a Mercedes and had survived a mad dash to a police station with her limo sporting a flat tire.

  Hmm…Even she didn’t dare risk the remains of that coffeepot.

  She turned her back to the counter. Of course, Captain Pearson’s angry face as he stalked into the briefing room for the second time today was darn near as frightening as the java pot behind her.

  “What the hell happened out there, Wong?”

  “We’re fine, sir, thanks for asking,” Kim couldn’t resist quipping. It would have been polite if he’d said something nice about being glad she was still alive, for Pete’s sake. “Sir, I believe I summed it up fairly extensively when I called on the way over here.”

  “This is not good, Wong. Not good at all.”

  She scratched at the raw spot on her shoulder even though she wore a pair of Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department sweatpants and a T-shirt, since her once-gorgeous costume was ruined. “Sir, I’m far from pleased myself at the turn of events, but at least Vincent and Tim are alive.”

  For now. Vincent was still in surgery. Tim couldn’t remember anything, the bullet grazing his head having apparently messed with his memory.

  “I’ve got cops in the hospital, a shot-up limo and Scooter the snitch found dead of an overdose behind the Great Wall Casino.”

  The blood in her veins iced. Stakes rose by the second as that so-called unreliable tip grew exponentially in importance. She had Marc to think about, as well. Sure, he had his own credentials, but she preferred to work with people who didn’t stir a wash of unsettling feelings she couldn’t afford to examine right now.

  Pearson scrubbed a hand over his sweating bald head. “We’re going to give this another shot.”

  “Shot.” She winced. “Not my favorite word today, sir.”

  “Fair enough.” He passed her a large brown box. A box around fifty pounds…“First off, you need to get outfitted again.”

  Yeah, fifty pounds. That would be about right. She sighed, the raw patches of skin aching already. Marc continued to loom and silently brood while Pearson paced and spelled out their adjusted plan.

  “You can make your grand appearance right before the evening banquet rather than the afternoon musical show as originally planned. That gives us time to regroup and clear a safe route. We’ll need more protective detail than originally slated, especially for that costume ball on Saturday.”

  He shook his head.

  In all the hoopla the reality of this hadn’t hit her until now. Someone had tried to kill her—or rather kill a Cantou princess. Scooter was dead.

  The tip about the underground dealings, rebel factions of dictatorship hopefuls and a passel of jewels was real. Beyond her job, she had a duty to her country and her family to stop these criminals.

  The box in her hands just got a lot heavier.

  THE PAGEANTRY DARN NEAR smothered her once again as they unloaded in front of the Great Wall Casino. At least they’d made it here in one piece this time.

  Still, Kim longed for tickets to a Dodgers game or a picnic in the park with her dog and a friend.

  Marc, perhaps?

  She’d never had the chance to show him the world she preferred, although she’d told him about it. Why then had she choked at coming back to the U.S. with him just because of family pressure? She was here now. If they’d met this weekend, things might have been different.

  Except she would have wanted to meet the man he was then, the one who smiled. Sure, he’d never been a laugh-a-minute sort, but he’d had a half smile and slight crinkle to the corner of his eyes…. He’d been a one-liner funny guy, rather than this somber fellow who never spoke.

  Hooking her hand in the crook of Marc’s elbow, Kim made her way up the red carpeted stairs slowly, the narrow skirt constricting her steps. “People are not going to believe we’re a couple if you keep glaring at me like that. Although I guess you’re glaring at everyone.”

  “I have reason to be concerned,” he whispered in a low growl while still cupping his hand over hers in a warm caress that made her stumble. “Someone tried to kill you today and that pisses me off.�
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  “Oh.” She regained her footing and focused on making her way toward the gilded doors.

  He was upset for her? That shaded things differently, regardless of how much she wanted to deny the feelings zinging through her. Why had she run from him before?

  Oh yeah. Loss of her independence to such a strong personality. Reluctance to totally cut ties with her country.