by Sandra Brown
“Is there a problem?” he asked softly.
Pelletier just held up one finger. “Très bien. Merci.” He hung up. “That was the CEO of Boisvert Jewelers.”
“Really.”
“We have an issue that I am obligated to bring to your attention. There has been a credible threat to this diamond delivery. Apparently, the details were leaked.”
“By whom?”
He shook his head, unable to hide disgust. “The CEO’s assistant. She’s been arrested and detained, but we don’t know how secure these diamonds will be between Antwerp and Paris.”
“I have them,” Donovan said, scooping them into a red velvet pouch that would fit in his jacket pocket. “So you can assure Boisvert management that they will be quite secure.”
The other man looked relieved, but dubious. “Très bien, mais…a word of advice, Monsieur Rush?”
“Don’t be late?”
“Trust no one,” he replied. “And don’t be late.”
* * *
He didn’t alter his travel plans. Whoever was tracking this diamond drop would assume that an experienced—and forewarned—courier would choose a different form of transportation back to Paris. But getting to the airport or renting a car would cause unnecessary delays and play right into a thief’s expectations.
Instead, Donovan slipped back into the train station, and purchased a new Comfort One ticket on the high-speed Thalys to Paris using different identification. He boarded the first car the moment the giant red wedge-shaped train blew into the station, before most of the other passengers had even reached the platform. Strolling the length of the train, he memorized the face of every passenger already on board since Amsterdam or Rotterdam.
Under the guise of a traveler looking for the most privacy and comfort, he perused nearly four hundred seats in a dozen connected cars, including the bar and café, and every lavatory. And he had no doubt where he would sit.
The last set of glass doors whisked open with an automatic vacuum that responded to the slightest pressure. This small compartment seated only eight, with two rows of seats facing each other, separated by a narrow aisle. Well protected, away from most passengers, and with a single entrance that he could watch every minute of the hour and a half trip to Paris, it made the perfect place to detect a thief.
But, shit, someone had beat him there. He could see the top of dark hair, not quite tall enough to extend above the orange headrest, facing the back seats. No matter. He drew his weapon. He would convince the passenger to leave.
But the person shifted positions to cross a foot into the aisle. A foot wearing a platform peep toe with an unforgettable silver buckle.
Trust no one.
Especially damsels in distress and leather. There were no coincidences in this business; his experience as a Bullet Catcher taught him that. She identified him this morning, got a good look at him and no doubt had the Boisvert informant tell her what train he’d be on.
Of course, he could simply turn and take another before she even saw him.
But that’s not what Lucy Sharpe demanded from her men. She wanted to impress the new client? All right, then. He’d deliver the diamonds and the thief. On time.
He cleared his throat. “May I join you?”
“I was hoping you would.” A sultry and feminine American voice answered.
He came around the seat back, his gun drawn, but not yet aimed at her. Let her know he had it and wasn’t afraid to use it. “Although I’d prefer not to have to kill anyone who’s chasing you on the way to Paris.”
“On the contrary.” She lifted amber eyes and met his gaze, not even a flicker of surprise. “You’ve done your good deed for the day.”
“So this is no coincidence?” Not that he thought it was for a moment.
Her lips widened in a sexy smile. “I was on the platform and saw you get on board. I decided you were the type of man who would choose the back compartment for…privacy.”
“So you’re just riding the rails for fun today.”
She shrugged. “I did have to take an unexpected trip to Rotterdam, thanks to you giving me that chance to escape, but I easily made it back here on a return train. Going to Paris?”
“I am.”
“Then we’ll travel together.” Her smile was warm. No, hot. And inviting. “That guy is gone now, so you can put the gun away.”
Not a chance. “I prefer to err on the side of caution.” He took the seat across from her—the one he would have taken anyway, because it allowed for a direct view through the doors and into the next car—and kept the pistol in his hand, resting on the seat next to him.
“I’m Claudia Greenwood,” she said.
“Donovan Rush.” No reason to lie. Obviously, she either knew exactly who he was—in which case he’d either kill her or deliver her to the authorities at the Gare du Nord in Paris—or she really was just a beautiful American on holiday or business in Belgium. Not too hard to guess which. “And who was your pushy friend in the station?”
She exhaled a breath of disgust. “A bad choice from my past.”
Yeah, right. “A woman who looks like you involved with a guy who looks like that? C’mon, I might be big and ugly, but I’m not dumb.”
“You’re quite big—” she let her gaze slide over his shoulders and chest “—but you are definitely not ugly. Sadly, I wouldn’t be the last woman who got swayed by an impressive…bank account. What brings you to Belgium, Donovan?”
As if she didn’t know. “Business.”
“Business that requires you to carry a gun?”
“It is Antwerp,” he said, as though that explained it. That would explain it to a diamond thief, which, he’d bet the entire pouchful in his pocket, she was. “And you?”
“Business, as well.” Her fingers flicked the end of her scarf. “Fashion accessories. I’m headed to Paris for a trade show.”
“Then we have a whole hour and a half to get to know each other.” And to see just how long it would take for her to make her move.
She settled back into her seat with an alluring smile. “I can’t imagine a better way to spend my time.”
* * *
He had to give the woman a lot of credit. She never dropped character, chatting about clothes and fashion shows, her apartment in New York, her small business. All the while, the train careened through the autumn-washed fields of the Dutch countryside, bridges and farms a blur in Donovan’s peripheral vision. No one entered the compartment but a conductor checking tickets after they’d stopped in Brussels, and neither of them made a move to hit the restroom or get a drink for a full hour.
But thirty minutes outside of Paris, she finally got down to business.
“I really owe you a debt of gratitude for your assistance this morning, Donovan.”
“Not at all. You seemed like you were in trouble.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me take you to lunch when we arrive in Paris.”
“I’m sorry. I have an appointment.”
She gave a hopeful smile. “Dinner?”
“I’m leaving for Rome this afternoon.”
“Oh, how can I thank you for what you did? I mean, you really saved me. How did you even notice what was happening?”
“I’m observant,” he said, letting his gaze drop from her glossy lips to her silky scarf to her leather-clad legs. “For instance, I noticed your sexy shoes.”
She smiled, raising one foot toward his left hand. “You like them?” She set the heel in his palm playfully, allowing him to cup the buttery leather.
“You wear them well.”
She straightened her leg a little, which made his hand slide up to touch skin. “I can unwear them, too.”
Ah, so she was going to use sex to get the diamonds. As appealing as that strategy was, it almost made him laugh with its unoriginality.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, circling his fingers around the fine bones of her ankle. “Nice thought, but not necessary.”
&nbs
p; She leaned forward, a gap in her creamy silk blouse revealing the curve of her breast. Lifting red-tipped fingers, she toyed with the loose knot of the scarf, giving him an even better view of her cleavage.
An announcement in French almost drowned out the slither of silk over silk as she drew the scarf along the collar, sliding it off.
“We have less than thirty minutes,” she said softly, the light and message in her eyes unmistakable. “I can use them to…thank you.”
She let the scarf hit the floor. Her knees would be next, he surmised. One minute and she’d be kneeling in front of him, unzipping his pants…reaching into his jacket pocket when his eyes closed in pleasure.
Really, the oldest trick in the book.
She reached up to her hair clip in a move that pressed the thin material of her blouse against luscious breasts.
“Do you mind?” she asked in a sultry voice.
“Not at all.”
Auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, assisted by a slow shake of her head. The halo of soft curls made her delicate features even more attractive, and ratcheted up his already high trouble alert, sending an unwanted bolt of heat into his lower half.
No doubt about it, Claudia Greenwood was a pro.
But she surprised him; instead of dropping to her knees, she leaned back, lifted her other leg and set her shoe on his lap.
“So you really like my shoes?”
He was still holding the left one, his hand running up and down a velvety calf under the leather pants. “Very much. That’s what I noticed about you.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Not my leather pants?”
“I heard your heels behind me.”
“And that sound turns you on?”
“A little,” he admitted. He thumbed the little buckle in response, swallowing against a dry throat and willing his cock not to react to the proximity of her other shoe.
He had a thief by the ankles and he wasn’t about to let his dick get in the way of taking her down.
“So, you’re a shoe guy.” She glided one platform sole over his thigh. His cock stiffened some more but his brain wasn’t bloodless. He calculated exactly how far that greedy foot was from the diamond pouch in his jacket pocket.
Far enough that he could snap her leg in two before she got anywhere near it.
But it wasn’t the diamonds she tucked her toes into. She wiggled her toes and shot a little fire into his balls.
“Spread your legs, Donovan,” she whispered, her fingers closing over the edge of her seat as she added pressure by pushing her feet into his groin a little more. When he obliged—he had to see how far she’d take this—she pulled her other foot out of his grasp and set it on his leg. “Watch what my shoes can do.”
“I’m not worried about your shoes.” He surreptitiously slipped his index finger on the trigger of his gun while her stilettos bracketed his erection. She released her grip on the seat to finger the button of her blouse and opened it to reveal more creamy cleavage.
“You shouldn’t be worried about anything. Just take your reward for being a Good Samaritan.” She wet her lips and let her eyelids shutter, the leather of her pants skimming over his legs as she worked the shoes up and down the erection tenting his trousers.
“Close your eyes,” she told him. “I’ll do all the work.”
He just smiled and dropped his head back, pretending to follow her orders but ready for her to slam a heel into his balls. She’d be dead before the pain hit his brain.
She stroked harder, faster…and touched her breast with a sensual sigh. He waited, ready…but she seemed intent on pleasuring him.
The first announcement of the arrival at the Gare du Nord filled the compartment, the French barely drowning out the thump of blood in his head. It was time to end the party, sadly. He lifted the gun.
“Party’s over, Claudia. Pack up. You’re going to the French police.”
“What?” She paled, her feisty feet suddenly still. “Why?”
“Because I’m taking you in.”
Confusion darkened her features. “For what?”
For a moment, he almost believed her. Then he laughed. “You’re very good, Claudia, but I’m better. I’ve been in this game too long.” He leaned forward, lifting both her ankles in one hand to set her feet on the floor. “I like you, so I don’t want to shoot you. When we pull into the Gare du Nord, we’re going straight to the French police.”
Her jaw completely unhinged. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about…” Was it possible he was wrong? No. This couldn’t be a coincidence. “Your effort to charm, mesmerize and foot fuck me.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” She started buttoning her blouse with trembling fingers. “I’m not some kind of a hooker. I just was…fooling around.” Her voice hitched with a very believable crack. “Please, I didn’t know it was against the law. Please.”
Doubt crept into his head. His instinct was rarely wrong. But was it possible this really was no more than a chance encounter?
“I know what you want,” he pressed.
Her golden-brown eyes flashed like flames. “I don’t want anything,” she insisted. “I was being…nice. And, evidently, stupid.”
Was it possible he was completely wrong about her? He had to find out. He had to know. She was so intriguing, so beautiful, and so in the right place at the wrong—
The door swooshed open and a conductor barged in.
“We’ve already had our tickets punched,” Donovan said quickly, shooing him out.
The man’s hand slipped from beneath his uniform, drawing a pistol he instantly aimed at Claudia’s temple.
Over her shocked shriek, he made his demand. “Give me the diamonds or I’ll splatter her brains all over this compartment.”
* * *
Either she was in the wrong place at the wrong time or she was a hell of a good actress because blood drained from Claudia’s face, her eyes popped wide, her next breath trapped in terror. All very…convincing.
“Please…” Her voice was no more than a croak. “Give him what he wants.”
The Glock was still secure in his hand. But if Donovan so much as lifted that pistol, this woman would be dead. And while that wouldn’t bother him if she were a plant and part of the ruse…it would piss the hell out of him if she were an innocent fashion accessory buyer on a trip to Europe.
“Pick the gun up with two fingers and throw it into the aisle, Mr. Rush, or this woman will die.”
She might anyway, and she obviously knew it. Claudia’s eyes brimmed with fearful tears, a plea for her life emanated from every cell.
“The gun,” the conductor repeated, as calmly as if he were asking for his ticket.
Was her life worth two million in diamonds? Not if she was in on this…but if she wasn’t? He couldn’t risk it. He slid the Glock down the aisle between the seats.
“Now hand me the bag. And if you have another gun in that pocket, she will be dead before you can produce it.”
She whimpered and the man’s Walther pressed a bloodless spot in her temple.
Okay, what were his options? To give up the diamonds, and possibly his life. To make a surprise attack that would cost hers. Or…to trust this woman to work with him.
“The diamonds are hidden in her shoes,” Donovan said. “I transferred them there.”
The conductor’s eyes narrowed as he dropped his gaze to her feet. “Where?”
“They’re hidden in the platforms.” Which would make a perfectly creative and logical place to smuggle diamonds.
“Take them off her,” he ordered.
Donovan crouched into the space between the two seats to unbuckle her shoe. As he did he looked up to silently communicate with her. Her gaze shifted to the gun with a slight question in her eyes.
Working as one, they could get this guy. If she really was…innocent.
Torn between warring instincts, his fingers caught the silver buckle and slid the leather
strap through, the shoe sliding off in his hand.
“Give it to me,” the man demanded.
Once more, he shared a look with her, boring into her lioness’s eyes, searching for…trust. He saw something there, enough to take a chance.
Donovan reached up to hand over the shoe, deliberately holding it far enough away so the other man had to bend to get it. As he did, Donovan pitched the shoe toward the glass door, the weight making the auto-suction whip the door open. In the split second the man followed the path of the shoe, Donovan dived for his gun.
The man fired, but Donovan heard the bullet ricochet. Claudia dropped to the ground with a cry.
When the man launched at the shoe, Donovan grabbed his leg, pulling him down with one hand so they both landed on Donovan’s Glock. He had the gun in his hand, but the other guy pounced, wrestling and rolling as Claudia cried out again, scurrying to her feet. As she leaped over the two men, she scooped up the shoe and threw herself toward the door, making it slide open again. She was gone in an instant.
“She took the fucking diamonds!” the man said, scrambling to get up and run after her.
So she wasn’t in on it. Now he had to protect her or this guy would kill her for sure. Donovan tried to pull him down by the leg, but the man fell on top of him, crushing him with his weight. He had complete advantage and a gun pointed directly at Donovan.
“Bye-bye, bodyguard.” He took a breath, just about to pull the trigger when a deadly five-inch heel smacked the man’s face, shocking him enough to let Donovan shove him off.
Instantly, Donovan flipped him over and got his own Glock in the bastard’s belly, looking up long enough to see Claudia in the doorway.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
Without bothering to retrieve her shoe, she disappeared into the next car and let him finish the job of taking down the thief.
* * *
Even with the side trip to the French police station, it was 2:59 p.m. when Donovan arrived with the bag of diamonds at the Paris showroom of Boisvert Jewelers, a few doors away from the Plaza Athénée. Lucy had texted her congratulations and informed him the client was most pleased.
Getting there on time would just be icing on the happy guy’s cake.