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Bait Page 5

by Leslie Jones


  “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” he said to the woman on his left. A hint of surprise and even satisfaction flashed through her eyes. He turned to the other woman, who wore an identical expression. “And Your Highness.”

  “Please, monsieur, address me simply as Ronnie. It will make things much easier, non?” The first one held out an elegant hand. He took it, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. Kiss the knuckles like he was some servant? In the end, he merely shook it gently and released her fingers. The princess on his right offered her hand as well.

  “We are grateful for your experience and willingness to aid us in this difficult time,” she said. Surely, this was Christina? “My fiancé has been terribly concerned.”

  “Oui. Perhaps you know of him? Lord Brumley, Baron of Daversporth? He sits as a member of the House of Lords,” said the one on the left.

  Would the real Princess Véronique expect him to know a member of the British aristocracy? Mistake number one for Christina. Unless the princess was merely being polite? She’d said “know of him,” not “know him.” Maybe Lord Brumley had been in the news? Now that he thought about it, maybe he did remember hearing the name, in conjunction with a foreign aid package. Maybe.

  Damn it! He’d worked with Christina. He should be able to tell them apart, but he couldn’t. Their stance, facial expressions, hand gestures, and accents were all identical.

  “Parliament is in session, so we are unlikely to see him,” the other one said. “He will be no hindrance to our little ruse.”

  “That makes things easier.” Well, he had a fifty-­fifty shot. Gabe inclined his head to the woman on his left. “Some members of my team will be arriving shortly to take you to the safe house. They’ll turn you over to Trevor’s team, who are waiting for you. You have to do what they tell you, when they tell you. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety. Do you think you can do that?”

  She glanced across at the other princess. “We put ourselves in your capable hands, Monsieur Morgan.”

  He must have chosen correctly. Whew. “Christina.” He spoke to the woman on the right. “At the same time that my team takes the princess out the back, you and I are going to leave through the front. Very visible, very public. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

  The one he thought was Ronnie gave a tiny cough. “I’ll be ready.”

  Shit and double shit. He kept his face blank as he faced her. “Good. After two weeks cooped up here, I’m sure you’d like some fresh air.”

  Christina relaxed. “I’d love some. Ronnie, you must be antsy, too.”

  “I am not accustomed to being shut inside, it is true. However, I put myself in your care.” Ronnie gave the same tiny cough Christina had given moments before. He wasn’t even sure he was talking to the right woman. Damn! Christina was good.

  Nevertheless, he had no intention of letting her inexperience risk his men. He wished he knew more about what had happened last year in Iraq. Scuttlebutt pointed to an error on her part that had almost cost her team their lives. That didn’t sit well with him.

  The door knocker banged, exactly once. Gabe swung toward the door, waving off Deni Van Praet.

  “That’ll be my team.”

  Nevertheless, he peeked out the peephole, then put his back to the wall next to the door before he pulled it open. Tag and Mace entered to the left and right, eyes already searching, focusing, cataloguing. Alex followed, scanning the hallway behind him until he closed the door. Gabe waited until they joined him near the sofas. The three soldiers dwarfed the dainty furniture.

  “Your Highness—­Ronnie—­this is John McTaggert, Thomas Beckett—­also known as Mace—­and Alex Wood,” he said. “They’re going to take you to the safe house, where Trevor and his SAS team will take over. You’ll have round-­the-­clock guards. No one will get close to you.”

  “Thank you, Gabriel. Your attention to detail is most appreciated.”

  Christina hugged the princess, startling him. What she said next surprised him even more.

  “You’re in good hands,” she said. Good. She’d grasped what he was capable of.

  Princess Véronique nodded, looking uncertain.

  “No, really,” Christina said. “I’ve worked with Trevor before. You’ll be safe.”

  Displeasure shot through Gabe’s gut. She hadn’t meant him. She’d meant fucking Trevor Carswell. Her next words nettled him even more.

  “I trust him with my life.”

  CHRISTINA GRIMACED. GABE glared at her from the other side of the room. Why? She’d fooled him. As much as he’d tried to downplay it, he hadn’t been able to tell them apart. Satisfaction flooded her. Maybe that’s why he looked like a bear.

  Being with him day after day in forced intimacy with only Deni to act as a chaperone should stop her thirst to trace the muscles on his shoulders with her lips. That, and his apparent disdain.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” Mace said, then followed with a spate of French. He took Ronnie’s hand and bowed over it, actually brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles. Ronnie laughed, a lilting, musical sound Christina had been trying to mimic for days now. She responded to Mace, and they exchanged a rush of information. To Christina, Mace’s Cajun accent sounded nothing like Ronnie’s French one, but they seemed to enjoy one another.

  Slipping off the high heels, she stifled the urge to fling them across the room, and instead set them neatly near the sofa. She slouched against one end of it and crossed her arms under her breasts.

  Alex Wood greeted the princess as well, but his body language screamed discomfort. He relaxed as he turned to Christina, looking her over with amazement. “Hey, Wonder Woman. Good to see you again.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  He grinned at her. “Azakistan? Six months ago? You were the only one who could get pics of the terrorists we took down. Thanks.”

  Six months ago, on the day of President Henry Cooper’s visit to al-­Zadr Air Force Base, a malevolent man named Zaahir al-­Farouk had recruited several fanatics to help him detonate a poisonous mixture of chlorine and phosgene gas in the center of a public swimming area on the US base outside of Ma’ar ye zhad, Azakistan. Christina had talked her asset into providing photos of her brother and the other members of Zaahir’s terrorist cell for the Delta Force team, including Tag, Mace and Gabe, who had gone up to the parade grounds to search for them. In the end, though, it had been Trevor, Heather, and the commander of the Delta Force team, Jace Reed, who killed Zaahir al-­Farouk and prevented hundreds of deaths. Her role, though pivotal, had been rather small. Nevertheless, she smiled back at Alex. “It was a group effort.”

  With his light goatee and lowered eyebrows, Tag appeared to be scowling, but she knew it was his default expression and meant nothing. He prowled across the room to the windows, standing slightly to one side as he peered out.

  Alex eased up next to her. “Yeah, but you were the cutest part of the group.” His ridiculously long lashes enhanced his boy-­next-­door good looks as he lowered his head to gaze into her eyes. “Today, you could knock me over with a feather.” He reached out a single finger to touch a dangling earring. “Pretty.”

  Christina should have felt flattered, she supposed. It wasn’t her, though. It was the princess’s clothes, jewelry, hair. Her normal brown curls had been straightened and lightened, streaked with a rich red, and conditioned to within an inch of its life. The cut and style would have cost more than her car payment. She touched the strands. It felt nice to be pampered for a change. And to be flirted with. Of course, the last time she’d seen Alex, he’d been mooning over one of his unit’s support staff. It was hard to take him seriously.

  She glanced across at Gabe, and found him frowning in her direction. He jabbed a finger at Alex, then crooked it toward himself. Alex immediately left her side to go to his team leader. Christina pushed herself off the sofa’s arm and
wandered into the bedroom, determined not to notice how well Gabe fit into the black suit he wore.

  Deni finished packing the last suitcase and closed it with a snap. “We are ready, Your Royal Highness.”

  Ronnie nodded, pressing a hand to her abdomen. “I should not be afraid, but I find I am.”

  Christina covered the other woman’s hand with her own and squeezed. “You’ll be safe, I promise. We’ll find this guy, and get you back to your real life as soon as possible.”

  From here on out until the end of the mission, Christina would eat, talk, and dress like a princess. The only time she would be able to take it easy would be here, in the princess’s apartments. But really, with Gabe Morgan watching her twenty-­four-­seven, would she really be able to de-­stress without half a dozen stiff drinks? Christina grimaced.

  Ronnie picked up the shapeless gray sweats Deni laid out for her. “My costume,” she said, eyes bright. “It will be wonderful simply to relax and lounge comfortably.” She shed her sophisticated pantsuit and quickly cleaned her face of makeup, then twisted her hair into a haphazard knot on her head. Nothing could alter the graceful line of her jaw or her elegant collarbone, but she certainly no longer resembled the Crown Princess of Concordia. The two returned to the sitting room.

  Deni appeared beside them. She pointed her chin toward Gabe, who had gathered his men and spoke quietly to them. “Your Highness, it is time. Gabriel says the cars are ready.”

  Christina scowled. Gabe had excluded her. By rights, she should be part of his group right now, should be hearing the details of his plan as he outlined them. It galled her to know he didn’t consider her part of his team. Just as she prepared to march over and demand to be involved, the four Delta Force operators broke apart. Two went into the princess’s bedroom, emerging seconds later with two suitcases apiece.

  Gabe pointed a finger at Christina. “Stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Christina scowled and made a rude gesture. Too bad he’d already turned away and didn’t see. Seconds later, Christina and Deni were alone. The huge apartment vibrated with silence.

  Chapter Four

  LOADING THE PRINCESS into the black panel van proceeded smoothly. She sat on the floor, on a blanket he insisted she have, her legs crossed. Dressed as she was, she reminded him strongly of Christina.

  Damn it! Why had he barked at her? She’d been distracting Alex, and he needed his team firing on all cylinders. Still, his reaction made him every bit as unprofessional as she, and that didn’t sit well with him.

  Now that he’d seen Ronnie and Christina side-­by-­side, he could never mistake one for the other. A subtle sensuality punctuated every motion Christina made. What would she be like in the throes of passion, completely abandoned, her head thrown back and her body flushed . . .

  He snapped his thoughts back to the here and now. Alex climbed into the back with the princess, a radio in one hand and a Glock in the other. Gabe looked at Ronnie. “We’ll get this mess straightened out,” he said. “I promise you’ll have your life back soon.”

  She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Keep Christina safe, Gabriel. And also yourself.”

  Gabe gave a sharp nod and closed the doors with a snap. Mace climbed into the driver’s seat, and Tag rode shotgun.

  “Eyes sharp,” Gabe said, leaning into the passenger window. He didn’t need to say it. His men knew what they were about. Still, it made him feel better. “Ping me when you get settled.” He slapped a hand onto the roof of the van and stepped away. Gabe itched to return upstairs, but he waited until the van drove to the corner of the ser­vice drive and idled. Only then did he bound up the inside staircase leading to the second floor.

  Entering the apartment without knocking, he found Christina and Deni in the study. It was a silly name for an open room some thirty-­by-­fifty feet. The twenty-­five-­foot ceiling actually had a mural painted in the center, one of those celestial scenes of ­people frolicking among clouds, with cherubs and whatnot.

  Near the center of the room, the two women sat on a weird-­looking curved thing he vaguely identified as a settee, discussing the schedule of appearances to which the princess had committed.

  “Tomorrow at nine, a dressmaker will be here for the final fitting. She has not been here before, so will notice nothing amiss. In the afternoon at two, you will visit the oncology ward at National Hospital,” Deni said. “Wednesday at noon, you are scheduled to speak at a women’s caucus. You will give a speech, in English, but answer no questions. At three, you will open the construction site for the new wing of the Veteran’s Hospital.” She glanced up from her notes. “Friday, we will travel to the city of Grasvlakten. It is not too far. About one hour thirty minutes to the east. We will be in the villa.” She shrugged apologetically.

  Christina cocked her head. “I take it the party will be at the villa? Not a hotel?”

  Deni flicked her fingers to the side. “The Nabourg villa is large, with its own ballroom,” she explained. “On Saturday evening at six o’clock, you will dress for Lord and Lady Nabourg’s celebration. It will be small. Not more than one hundred guests. Most will be far . . .” Deni stopped, brow furrowed as she searched for the right word. “ . . . erm, distant relations, and friends and neighbors of the Nabourgs.”

  Christina’s mouth pulled down and her brow furrowed. “Sounds like fun.” She settled herself against the back of the settee. “The hospital visit tomorrow. Will I be speaking?”

  “Non. Just touring.”

  Gabe leaned against the doorframe and crossed one foot over the other. “The hospital visit isn’t going to happen,” he told them. From the way the two women jumped, it was obvious neither had heard his entry.

  “Let’s go,” he added. “I thought I made it clear that when the princess left by the back route, we would leave publicly.”

  She stiffened, but didn’t say a word as she thanked Deni and retrieved her heels, slipping them on. God help them if they were forced to move fast.

  He stepped into the corridor ahead of her, scanning both ways before allowing her out. As soon as the door snicked shut behind her, she closed the distance between them and grabbed his forearm, wrenching him to a halt. What the hell? That was his gun hand. He yanked himself free.

  She didn’t seem to notice what she’d done, getting up in his face with belligerence, fists slamming against her hips. “Do not,” she snapped, enunciating every word, “treat me like that. Speak to me like that.”

  Gabe glared down at her. This squabbling needed to stop. He couldn’t protect her from outside threats if he was also trying to garner her cooperation.

  Christina stood her ground. Not many had the balls to stand up to him. She was so close that the puff of her breath warmed his face as she threw her head back. Her posture also thrust her breasts forward, though he doubted she recognized her own provocative pose. Unable to stop himself, his gaze flickered down her body. His nostrils flared while breathing in the light floral scent of her perfume, and against his will, he found himself tilting his head and leaning forward to suck it deeper into his lungs.

  She slapped her palms onto his shoulders and shoved, rocking him back an inch. She did it again, and he had to force himself not to react, to keep his arms at his sides rather than spinning her around and slamming her into the wall.

  “Stop,” he ordered, jaw tight.

  “You stop!” she hissed. “Big strong he-­man intimidates weak little woman. Asshole!”

  He turned abruptly and put a lot of distance between them before daring to face her again. She’d misinterpreted his unexpected wash of desire as an attempt to cow her. Thank God. If she knew he found her attractive, she would waste no time shredding his ego.

  “If you can’t handle this, say so now,” he bit out. “This isn’t about you. It’s about catching the person or ­people who are trying to assassinate the Crown Princess
of Concordia.”

  “I’m aware of that.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, shoulders so tense they were practically up around her ears.

  Great. Gabe sighed. Might as well set the ground rules right now. “My job is to stop the assassin from killing you while Carswell investigates. You need to follow my orders to the letter. If I say move, you move. If I say get down, you pancake. Got it?”

  Christina, predictably, lost her temper. “No, I don’t got it,” she mimicked, her voice tight with anger. “You pompous ass. I’m not a dummy. I’m a full partner in this.”

  He laughed his disdain. “Partner? You’re a liability.”

  She leaned back against the wall, brows furrowing. “I’ve done nothing to make you doubt me. I fooled you into thinking I was Princess Véronique, and you’ve met me. Why am I a liability?”

  It was a valid question. Gabe rubbed his chin, trying to buy some time.

  “Well?”

  He exhaled hard. “I don’t trust your kind. I’ve been left bleeding once too often.”

  She straightened, smoothing the silk of her outfit. “Now we’re getting somewhere. My kind being women, or my kind being my employer?”

  He could lie and tell her he didn’t want to work with her because she was a woman. He settled for a partial truth. “I’ve worked with the CIA before. Nothing good ever comes out of it. You coming?”

  He pushed through the double doors without waiting for her answer.

  CHRISTINA TOOK SEVERAL deep breaths, then several more, trying to calm her racing heart and regain some equilibrium. Suddenly, the prospect of working with Gabe Morgan for possibly weeks or months on end seemed impossible.

  About to fluff her nails through her hair, she remembered the careful style at the last moment, and lowered her arm. Drat. She settled for straightening her spine, lifting her head, and gliding down the corridor.

 

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