Paris, France
1 week later
* * *
Colt held Angie’s hand as they exited passport control at Charles De Gaulle Airport. His heart rate was a little faster than normal, but he knew what he was doing was right. He’d spent the past week with Angie, loving her, being loved by her, knowing without a doubt that she was the one and only woman for him.
Yet he still experienced mild anxiety about the one thing he hadn’t told her yet. His family. What had happened.
He knew she wasn’t going to care. He knew it, and yet he had to give her the chance to refuse.
She’d been so patient. She was still patient as he flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address. They drove through the streets of Paris, and Angie marveled at the sights. Colt’s gut tightened the closer they got to his apartment.
The car pulled up to the building, a marvelous eighteenth century structure in the heart of the city. It had somehow escaped much of the ruin that befell other buildings of the period. It had passed through various hands before become part of the Duchesne estate.
“This is a hotel,” Angie said as Colt paid the driver and they exited the car. “I thought you said you had an apartment.”
“It’s on the top floor,” he said, ushering her toward the doors.
The doorman in his livery straightened and snapped a salute. “Monsieur le Comte. Bonjour.”
“Bonjour, Michel.” Colt asked after the man’s family, and Michel replied they were well.
Angie was watching them carefully. “This is Michel,” Colt said. “He’s worked for my family for twenty-five years. Michel, this is Angelica Turner.”
“Mademoiselle,” Michel said, bowing.
Colt led her inside. The reception was much the same, with several people coming out of the woodwork to greet him. The foyer was rich with antiques. Paintings, rugs, statuary. There was a front desk, and there were guests. Thank God. Colt was beginning to believe he should have told her another way.
By the time they exited the elevator—operated by a liveried attendant—into the top floor apartment, which was accessible only by a special elevator, Angie looked shell-shocked. She turned to him when the elevator closed. The apartment was filled with more antiques, more paintings and rugs. It was lush, rich, nothing like the rental house in Maryland.
“Um, Colt. What is this?”
He took her by the shoulders, turned her toward a painting that hung in the foyer of the apartment.
“That’s you,” she said.
“No, it’s my grandfather.”
She walked over to the painting. Peered at the plate attached to the frame. “Maxence d’Duchesne, the ninth Comte de Duchesne.” She turned. “What is a comte?”
Colt spread his hands. “It’s a title, Angie.”
Her eyebrows rose. “First of all, I got that. Second of all—what kind of title? Translate, please.”
“It means count. The Count of Duchesne.”
“The Count of Duchesne,” she repeated.
“It’s like an earl. A British earl?” He said it as a question because she looked so dumfounded.
“I know what an earl is. I read plenty of historical romances growing up.” She folded her arms. “What you’re telling me, Colton Duchesne, is that you’re a count. A French count, which is like an earl.”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
She went over to a chair—an original Louis VI chair—and sank down on it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did we have to fly all the way to Paris for this?”
He shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. A lot uncomfortable. “Because it’s impossible to explain. I’m the tenth Comte de Duchesne. My real name is Maxence Colton Francois Duchesne. Colt Duchaine is an alias I use, but not my legal name. My mother insisted on the Colton part, in case you couldn’t tell. But I’m a fraud, Angie. I don’t own anything except this building. I have no fortune, I’m not involved in the family business, and I have no rights to any of it. When my father died, my uncle took control of the estate. He cut me out of it. All I got was this building because it falls to the man who holds the title. I get a stipend to take care of it—and yes, it’s a hotel. It’s been a hotel for decades because it’s expensive as fuck.”
Angie rose. Walked over to him with purpose and gripped his arms. “You thought this would matter to me? You thought I’d love you any less—because why? You’re the same man I fell in love with, but now you have a sexy title and a really cool place in Paris—and that was supposed to make me not love you or something?” She shook her head. “Honestly, Colt, I fail to see the problem.”
He lowered his forehead to hers. Sighed. His heart was beginning to beat normally again. “I had to show you. You deserved to know.”
“I already know everything I need to know about you.” She reached up and touched his face. “But I’m so honored you wanted to show me this.”
Something inside him broke free. For the first time in his life, he felt like a weight had been lifted. Because she loved him. No matter what, she loved him.
He kissed her almost desperately. Then he stripped her and carried her to the bed—the ridiculous, antique tester bed with all the gilding—and made love to her in it until they were both so emotionally wrung out they fell into a deep sleep for the next several hours.
When he woke, Angie wasn’t in bed. He rose. It was dark out, and he found her sitting by the windows—the glorious picture windows—that looked out on the city of Paris and the Eiffel Tower. It was an amazing view. One of the reasons he stayed here when he was in town.
Angie looked up, smiling. She was wearing a robe and she had a glass of wine. Chateau d’Duchesne of course. She poured him one when he sat beside her. He took a drink, appreciating the bouquet as the flavors burst on his tongue.
“You probably wonder why I joined the Marine Corp when I had this,” he said.
“No, I don’t. You’re a man of action, Colt. You can’t sit in a place like this—a glorious, wondrous place—and not do anything about the world’s injustices.”
He was almost stunned into silence. She knew him so well. Already. He couldn’t sit idly in this gilded palace and do nothing while his uncle ran the company and he lived on a stipend given to him because of an accident of birth. “Parisians have a long history of fighting injustice.”
“Yes, but that’s not why you do it. You can’t do anything else.” She smiled. “I’m beginning to think I can’t either.”
It took him a moment. “You plan to join BDI?”
She held her glass out to clink. He met her. “Yes, I think I do,” she said, and then she sipped.
He sipped too. “The Marine Corp wasn’t quite right either,” he said, because he wanted to tell her everything. “I loved being a Marine, the structure and camaraderie, but when I shipped out to Iraq, I learned how random fate can be. My squad was killed on a patrol when a terrorist detonated a bomb. I escaped. I still don’t know how. Or why.” He sucked in a breath. “Ian recruited me. Somehow, he knew I’d fit. I went to work for him and I haven’t looked back. It’s been a wild ride.”
“You’re amazing, Monsieur le Comte. And I love you, whether you’re a count or an earl or just a plain old dude.”
He put an arm around her, pulled her close. “What do you think about becoming Madame le Comtesse?”
She reared back. “Wait—are you asking me to marry you?”
“Yes. You’ll be a countess, but in name only. We’ll still have to work for a living.” He said it lightly, but it meant everything to him.
She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him, and sighed. “Yes, Colt. I’ll marry you. I’ll be a countess if I have to—but being your wife is all I need.”
March 1st
* * *
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” Liam said. “It won’t be the same.”
Angie smiled at him. They’d gone to lunch at a café near Barton, Barnes and Blake’s new temporary location and they
were waiting for their food to arrive. Angie had gone in to sign some paperwork, but she was officially done. Her clients had all been turned over to other accountants and tomorrow was her first official day at Black Defense International.
“We can still meet for lunch sometimes. And we can text,” she told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure your fiancé isn’t going to beat me up if we keep meeting?”
Angie laughed. “Positive. Colt trusts me to make my own decisions. He also knows how crazy I am about him.”
Their food arrived and the waiter poured more water. Then he was gone.
“Old Mr. Barton is setting up a scholarship fund for Jenny’s kids,” Liam said. “We’re all contributing to it. I know you’re leaving but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Absolutely. I’d love to contribute.”
Jenny’s death was still officially a suicide, and her involvement with Paul Sobol and the illegal activity he’d been part of would never be known. Ian said that her kids had enough to deal with, having lost their mother, and there was no need to add to that burden with information that served no purpose other than to show her in a bad light. Angie hadn’t been sure how much she’d liked Ian until that moment, but now she knew she’d always adore him for that decision alone.
In the past couple of weeks since returning from Paris, Angie had put her condo on the market and moved in with Colt. The house was stuck in the sixties, but it had good bones and they’d been talking to Maddy about making an offer and doing some renovations. Maddy had promised to talk to the owners and see if she could persuade them Colt and Angie would be perfect for the place.
The only fly in that particular ointment came a couple of days ago when Angie waved at the old lady across the street as she was retrieving her paper. The woman had been wearing a fluffy purple robe and her hair was in curlers. When Angie waved, the woman flipped her off. Angie went back inside, a little stunned, and told Colt. He’d started laughing.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he’d said. Then he told her everything. When he was done, Angie threw her arms around him and kissed him.
“You’re the sweetest man in the world. Okay, now I have to do something nice for her. But anonymously, of course.”
Colt laughed. “We’ll kill her with kindness. She won’t know what hit her.”
After a nice lunch with Liam, Angie planned to swing by the grocery store and pick up some things for dinner—for Colt to fix, of course. It was nice being able to drive herself places again without fear of being attacked by shadowy people. That threat was completely over. Steve Gorky had fled the country to escape charges, but it hadn’t done him any good. He’d been found shot to death in his car in front of a Moscow hotel. Paul Sobol had died in custody under mysterious circumstances. Christopher Shaw had disappeared entirely. Tommy and Marco were still incarcerated, but she wondered if their days were numbered too.
Her phone rang as she started the car. It was Colt. He’d told everyone his real name at work—Ian already knew, of course—and they’d all pretty much shrugged and said that’s cool and whatever, bro and one memorable dude! from Dax Freed.
Angie knew it’d been a source of worry for Colt, but basically nobody seemed to care. It didn’t change how they felt about him.
“Hey, handsome,” she answered as her heart beat a little harder and excitement began to blossom in her veins.
“Hi, baby. How was lunch with Liam?”
“Great. Triple B is getting back up to speed, and they have plans to build a new, bigger office in Annapolis. Liam and the others were afraid they’d be shuffled to the Virginia location, but the old boys are all about tradition, and Annapolis is where it began.”
“That’s great. How do you feel about leaving?”
She smiled. She loved that he was concerned. “Still happy about it. I’ll miss some of my coworkers, but not the job. I’m excited to start at BDI.”
“Speaking of that… think you could swing by here? We’re kicking back with some beers in the basement—”
“The basement? What?”
He laughed. “Yeah, Ian decided we needed to build a rec room and bar down here. So we did. We’ve got pool tables, game consoles, a full bar, a kitchen. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Wait, is this new? I don’t remember any mention of this before.”
“Brand new. We’re inaugurating it today. Which is why you need to get over here. Maddy and Tallie are coming too.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Hurry, baby. But be safe.”
She laughed. “I will.”
It took about fifteen minutes to get to BDI, get parked, and head for the building. Colt was waiting near the stairwell door rather than the elevator. He tugged her inside and kissed her.
“Get a room,” someone said over the speaker in the hall, and they both laughed.
“You’re going to love this,” he told her before pushing open the door to the new lounge.
“Surprise!” the guys yelled.
Angie blinked. She looked at Colt, who was grinning. Maddy and Tallie were there too, grinning like crazy.
“Surprise for what?” Angie asked. “It’s not my birthday.”
Colt kissed her. “Welcome to the BDI family. Officially.”
She flushed with pleasure as the guys all came over and shook her hand. “Welcome to the family, Slugger,” Jace said with a wink.
“Slugger?” Angie looked up at Colt. He just shrugged.
Ian Black was there too, holding a long wooden box. He turned it around and held it up. “For you, Slugger.”
It was the lead pipe, polished up and no longer rusty, mounted in a shadow box. There was a plaque. Angie read it and burst out laughing.
“Angie with a lead pipe in the warehouse. Oh my god, you guys are too much.”
Colt took it for her and sat it on a table. Somebody handed her a beer. The rest of the afternoon passed in a happy blur of laughter and friendship and excitement for her new job. When Colt finally gave her a look—that look—she knew it was time to go and share the rest of the evening together, just the two of them.
“Are you happy?” Colt asked her much later when they lay tangled together beneath the covers, naked and spent.
She lifted her face to his. “Yes. Are you?”
“More than you can ever know. I’ve loved you for a long time, minette, even when I didn’t realize it. I didn’t think you could ever love me.”
“All that running I did. I’m not running now, Colt. I’m never running from you again. I’ll stand and fight. Always.”
He grinned at her. “That’s my slugger.”
She pushed him onto his back, straddling him. Soon, she was riding him, giving them both all the pleasure—all the love—they could handle.
She’d found her purpose. Her man. The life she wanted to live.
Always.
London, England
* * *
Ian strode along the rain-washed Victoria Embankment near the Palace of Westminster. He’d had a meeting earlier and now he was heading back to the hotel, but he’d wanted to walk along the river because it was pretty and it reminded him of early in his career when he’d been posted to London and everything was still so new to him.
It wasn’t new anymore, and he wasn’t as innocent as he’d been then. As if he’d ever been innocent.
“Flowers for your lady, guv?” A woman stood nearby with a bucket of flowers at her feet. They weren’t especially great flowers, and she looked like she’d seen better days. Her clothes were tattered, her face grimy. Her hair was gray, but she had plump jowls. At least she ate regularly, he thought.
Ian took some coins from his pocket and handed them to her. He didn’t count, but he knew there were a few pounds there. She grinned a black-toothed grin and handed over a small spray.
“Thank you, guv. Blessings on ye.”
Ian kept walking. The embankment wasn’t too crowded this gray afternoon, but he still had to d
odge tourists as they stopped and gawked at the sights.
When he’d gone about a quarter mile from the flower seller, he went over to leave the flowers on the stone wall along the path. As he tossed them down, something caught his eye. On the underside of the plastic-wrapped bouquet was a white piece of paper curled around one of the stems.
“Fuck,” he said as he whipped around to see the flower seller. She wasn’t there. He jerked the paper free and unrolled it.
Bang. If this had been a hit, you’d be dead.
Watch yourself, Mr. Black.
N
Ian dropped the flowers, stuffed the note into his pocket, and ran back to where she’d been. The bucket was still there with its sad bouquets, but Natasha was gone.
Ian burst out laughing.
She was still alive. And she was still on his side.
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