by Rebecca York
As she stood in the spotlight, a cracking sound split the air and something whizzed past her head.
Beside her, Shane swore. “Someone’s shooting at you. Get out of the light,” he shouted.
“Shooting? Out here?”
“Yes. Get down.” As he tugged at her arm, she tried to make sense of the words. They’d escaped from the madhouse at the top of the Hancock Tower. They should be safe. But the nightmare wasn’t over.
She wrenched away from the man who had played on her emotions so skillfully. She might be in danger, but she still couldn’t stomach Shane Peters’s touch.
Behind her, more gunfire sounded.
“Get the hell out of the light,” he said again.
Whirling toward the edge of the square, she began to run. She didn’t know the area. She didn’t know the city. But she knew that she had to get to the cover of darkness.
Shane was right behind her, keeping pace. And it registered somewhere in her mind that he was shielding her back from the gunfire.
As she dashed into the darkness, she almost tripped over her long skirt. Reaching down, she hiked it up, holding it in one hand as she kept going.
“This way,” Shane shouted.
“Get away from me.”
As she ran, she tried to form a vague plan. She’d seen a lot of police officers. She would find one of them. Once she was out of danger, she would have Shane Peters arrested for stealing the sapphire.
Maybe he’d talk his way out of it. But she’d still have the gem.
The skirt was out of the way, but her high heels sank into the grass. She wanted to take them off again, but now she was clutching the sapphire in her free hand. So she kept going as best she could, her breath coming in gasps.
Ahead of her she saw two brass statues that made her blink. The hare and the tortoise—with the rabbit stopping to scratch its ear and the tortoise in the lead.
The absurdity of finding them here—in this situation—would have made her laugh, if she’d had the breath to spare.
Before she reached the statues, another shot rang out. Then another.
Behind her, Shane cursed. This time, when his hand shot out, he dragged her onto the grass. Somehow she managed to hang on to the sapphire as she hit the flat surface.
“Get off of me,” she sputtered.
“Do you want to get killed?”
Shane took her free hand, pulling her toward a flower bed, then around it and onto the pavement along the side of the square.
Another statue loomed in front of them, this one much larger. It was a man in old-fashioned buckled shoes, tights and a frock coat. Shane shoved her unceremoniously behind the base of the statue.
“John Copley’s not going to give us much cover,” he muttered.
Ariana stood there, leaning against the granite slab and sucking in air.
Peters was taking charge again. And much as she hated to admit it, he seemed like her best hope for survival.
When he looked to his left and right, she did the same. Down at one end of the square was a round kiosk. At the other end were low stone walls. Looming above them and glowing in the moonlight, she saw two pillars that looked like small versions of the Washington Monument.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“The side of the fountain.”
“Those monuments are part of a fountain?”
“Yeah. Go.”
As she headed for the low granite wall, Shane covered her back again. More bullets pinged into the polished stone. After ducking behind the wall, she looked toward the flashes of muzzle fire and caught a glimpse of a guy wearing dark coveralls.
“Who?” she gasped.
“Maybe one of the men from upstairs. But he’s taken off his waiter’s outfit.”
She tried to wrap her head around that. “But why would he come after us down here?”
“They singled you out before. Now they’re after you again. We have to find better cover. And we’re going to have to crawl again. Give me the sapphire.”
Her head jerked toward him. “You must be crazy.”
“You can’t crawl and hold the damn thing.”
Her hand closed around the jewel.
“Don’t let your anger at me get you killed,” he bit out as he pried her fingers from around the priceless jewel and took it away.
She might have screamed at him to return her property, but a bullet hit the sidewalk to their left. Another hit one of the slender monuments.
Shane’s voice grounded her. “I know you hate me,” he said, his tone as flat as a sheet of glass. “But I’m trying to save your life. Stay down and move to your right, so the fountain blocks the shooter’s view. Make for the side of the church.”
“Where is it?”
“Straight ahead. Use the flower bed as cover. They won’t stop any bullets, but they’ll hide you.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
COLIN SHEA STARED AT THE EDGE of the weird-looking fountain with its twin monument towers and horizontal waterspouts.
Whoever had designed the monstrosity should be shot.
Like the fairy-tale princess and her good buddy.
They were using the side of the fountain for cover, but they’d left their backs exposed. If he could get behind them, he could nail them.
Colin moved through the shadows, angling around to the other side of the square.
He’d seen the princess and Shane Peters dancing early in the evening, looking as if they wanted to find a room. Then, when the fun had started, he’d lost track of them. For all he knew, they could have been boinking each other in a broom closet while his family had been terrorizing the partygoers. Maybe that was what they had been doing, since they’d disappeared from view.
Right now, it looked as if they weren’t so tight. The Secret Service agent had told her to get on the helicopter. And she’d almost gotten away. Then the fumbling security guy had dropped her precious sapphire, and she’d gone bananas.
Which was lucky for Colin because he’d gotten another crack at her. His brother Finn had told him about going to scoop up the sapphire and finding it missing.
They’d agreed that Peters must have taken it. And then the stupid jerk had dropped it—right at the feet of the princess.
So now Colin was going to get Peters, the sapphire and the princess. Three for one—not a bad deal. And the last two were the best because they’d bring the high-and-mighty Frederick LeBron, king of Beau Pays, to his knees.
The guy might be the ruler of his dinky little kingdom now. But Dad had told them how LeBron had acted on that mission to Barik. He’d pretended he was one of the guys, just an ordinary Arab-language interpreter assigned to the rescue team.
But really he’d made sure you knew he was the future king of Beau Pays. Well, he was about to pay for his arrogance tonight. And if he was the guy who had given the signal too early to Dad, then he’d get what he deserved for that, too.
Colin rounded the corner of the fountain and brought his Glock into position, then stopped short. He’d anticipated a clear shot at the little princess and her stand-in bodyguard. But they were gone. Where the hell could they have disappeared out here in the open square?
On foot, they couldn’t be far away. But he’d better find them before they got out of Copley Square and disappeared into the city.
ARIANA KEPT MOVING, conscious that Shane was behind her. He could have taken the lead, but he was still at her back, shielding her from the gunfire.
As she dodged around a decorative metal fence and into a flower bed, she let out a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t so exposed now. But the man might still spot them.
“I don’t like it, but we may have to take our chances in the city,” Shane whispered.
Across the street, she heard the sound of more breaking glass.
“Looters,” Shane muttered. “That’s a high-end shopping district over there. I guess some upstanding Boston citizens are loading up on Gucci bags and Hermès scarve
s.”
She started to move forward again when a figure emerged from the shadows, and she gasped.
“Hands where I can see them. Don’t move,” a rough voice commanded.
“Who are you?” Shane challenged.
“FBI Agent Ben Parker.”
Ariana froze. Beside her, Shane did the same thing. But he let out a sigh of relief. “We’re not the bad guys. It’s Shane Peters and Ariana LeBron.”
A flashlight beam hit her in the face, and she lifted an arm to shield her eyes. The beam moved on, sweeping over the man next to her on the ground.
“Shane? What the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were escorting the princess to the chopper coming for the dignitaries.”
“That was the mission. But we had a little…mishap,” he finished. “Somebody’s shooting at us.”
“Who?”
“In the dark, it’s hard to tell. It could be one of the killers from up in the tower.”
“He’s not shooting now.”
“Maybe because you’re armed,” Shane answered.
“Yeah. Well, there’s only one of me. Get into the church. I’ll hold him off if I have to.”
Before she left the cover of the flower bed, Ariana looked directly at the man who had stopped them. “You’re FBI?” she confirmed, thinking she could accomplish two purposes at once—getting to safety and getting away from Shane Peters.
Immediately, he whipped out a badge and shone his light on it.
After studying it, she asked, “Can’t I stay with you?”
“No. I’m on duty, patrolling this part of the square. I’m supposed to keep the hoi polloi away until we get the guests out of here. And I don’t want to be responsible for losing a princess, so get into the church.”
Shane cut into the exchange. “Come on,” he said, his voice gritty.
She looked up at the massive stone building looming in the dark. She couldn’t see it well now, but she remembered studying it much earlier in the evening, when she’d first gotten out of her limousine, because it was such a unique combination of high Victorian Gothic and French Romanesque architecture.
Mon Dieu.
She had to suppress a hysterical laugh. She was running for her life, with a man who turned her stomach, and she was thinking about the architecture class she’d taken at the Sorbonne.
Or maybe it was easier for her mind to cope with architecture than Shane’s betrayal and the specter of her own death out here in the middle of a Boston park.
The church was right across the street from the Hancock Tower. Apparently, as they’d dodged their way around the square, trying to avoid getting killed, they’d come back to near their starting position.
“Why not go back where we came from?” she asked.
The FBI agent answered promptly. “You might run right into the guys who took you hostage in the first place since we don’t know where they are.”
She nodded, then ran toward the heavy archway at the front of the church where the shadows were darker than in the square.
She couldn’t see the gargoyles above her head, but she could make out steps and a ramp leading up to massive front doors.
Shouldn’t they be locked?
Shane reached her side and pushed on one of the doors. It swung inward. When she peered through the opening, she saw more darkness.
“Come on.” He stepped into the narthex—the vestibule at the back of the sanctuary—and almost immediately bumped into a small, high table or stand that someone had set there. It must have held some kind of papers, because they cascaded onto the tile floor.
She heard him repress a comment that she suspected wasn’t appropriate for a house of worship.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
He switched on a small flashlight, playing it over the mess they’d made.
“Brochures. It looks like they have the weekly schedule of activities.”
“Where did you get the flashlight?”
“I’m always prepared. Didn’t I tell you I was a Boy Scout?” he asked.
“That’s hard to believe,” she answered, then turned toward him in the darkness. She’d agreed to come in here, but that didn’t mean she had to stay. Her voice was icy as she said, “I want you to take me to a police station. I’ll call my father from there. And I want my sapphire back.”
“As soon as we’re safe, I’ll give it to you. Right now, move away from the door.”
“Who are you to order me around?”
“I’m trying to save your life. You can scratch my eyes out later.”
She huffed out a breath and strove for the royal calm that had always stood her in such good stead.
Peters might be a common thief, but at the moment he was her best hope for survival.
He stepped to the interior doors and pointed the flashlight up, and she caught glimpses of magnificent stained-glass windows and murals.
“We’re too exposed in here. Let’s take a look at the undercroft,” he said, ushering her toward a flight of stairs that led downward.
She struggled to put her emotions on hold as she followed him down the dark stairway. At the bottom was a heavy door with a trefoil-shaped window in the center.
On the other side, they stepped into a lower lobby bathed in the soft glow of emergency lights. She saw a gift shop and a large open space with benches along the sides. In each corner of the room, massive granite pilings rose to the ceiling, like the bases of stepped pyramids.
At both sides of the space were wooden racks that held long poles, probably used to carry candles or crosses during the service.
Shane gathered up several and carried them along with him, then opened a door in an etched-glass wall.
“What are those for?” she asked.
“Maybe I can use them as spears.”
Beyond the glass was a large room with coffee urns on tables in the middle.
“Still too wide open,” he muttered.
They crossed to a corridor lined with small rooms. Too bad they all had window walls that gave a good view of the interior.
In one room were cardboard boxes of clothing and household items that looked as if they were intended for the poor.
Shane stopped short and looked at the boxes. “You need to change into something more practical.”
Ariana looked at him. She’d been trying to keep her emotions in neutral. Now she wondered if he was trying to take advantage of her again. Maybe. But in truth, she’d had trouble running in an evening gown and high heels.
While Shane stepped into the room, she hovered in the doorway, watching as he began sorting through the clothing. He pulled out a navy button-down shirt and a pair of jeans.
“These should fit you.”
“Wouldn’t that be cooler?” she asked, pointing to a white T-shirt.
“Yeah. But dark clothes will hide us better.”
“What were you—a cat burglar in your spare time?”
“No. But I’d prefer not to stand out like targets in a shooting gallery.”
She winced, and he went back to the boxes, where he unearthed a pair of jeans that looked like his size.
He found an almost new pair of running shoes, and socks in the box next to them.
“Try these.”
From the doorway, she gave him a long look. “I’m not getting undressed in front of you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of invading your privacy, Your Highness. But I don’t want you getting lost.”
“You think I’m going to run away?”
“Will you?”
“Right now you’re the lesser of two evils,” she snapped.
“I’ll turn my back.” As he spoke, he did just that.
She hardly trusted him, but she stepped into the room. While he was standing with his back to her, she reached around and unzipped her evening gown. Quickly she eased it over her breasts. Lowering the bodice left the whole top of her body exposed because the front of the gown had been equipped wi
th its own bra.
The cool air in the church basement tightened her nipples. Embarrassed, she hurried to pull on the shirt Shane had given her and buttoned it. She wished she had a bra. But not one that had belonged to some other woman.
The jeans were a little too big. But they’d do, she decided as she zipped them up. She threw her evening clothes into one of the boxes.
Turning around, she realized suddenly that she hadn’t thought to give Shane the same courtesy he’d given her. He wasn’t as modest as she had been, and he was standing with his back to her, wearing only a pair of white cotton briefs.
She took in his almost naked body. It was fit and firm, with tight buttocks, long legs and broad, well-muscled shoulders. He pulled on the shirt. Then, as though he knew she was watching him, he pivoted to face her.
Her mouth went dry. “I…I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper.
He nodded and reached for the jeans. Watching him step into them was like watching a tantalizing striptease in reverse.
Pulling her gaze away from his body, she brought her mind back to business. She might not like him, but perhaps she could get some information out of him.
“I have the feeling you know who was shooting at us,” she said.
“I don’t know for sure. I can guess.”
“Who?”
He kept his gaze steady. “It may go back to that rescue mission to Barik that your father and I were on eleven years ago.”
“How?”
He finished zipping up his pants “Like everyone else on the team, your dad has some good memories and some bad ones. But, overall, the operation went terribly wrong.”
“But you got most of the hostages out,” she answered quickly.
He made a dismissive sound. “Lucky for us. We were supposed to be operating with split-second precision, but one of the men screwed up the timing. He cut the power too quickly. That threw everything else off. The insurgents were alerted to our presence and went on the counterattack. Some of the hostages got out of there, but some of them died.” He gave her a long look. “Put on your shoes.”
She’d been so caught up in his revelations that she’d forgotten to finish getting dressed. She sat down on a nearby chair and pulled on the shoes.
As she tied the first shoe, she said, “My father never told me anyone died.”