by Leslie Jones
Ronnie had discussed this with her at length. “You refer to the sheared mink in the Ardennes. You need not worry. They will be very carefully monitored and regulated. Every effort will be made to insure their survival.”
Gabe stepped to her side. “I’m sorry, Lord Bonnet. The princess is required elsewhere.”
Before she could move, Julian strode up to her and caught her up in an embrace, swinging her around in a tiny circle. Christina could do nothing but clutch at his shoulders until he set her down again.
“Ronnie,” he said, hands on her shoulders. “I know you told me not to come, but I had to see you.” He wanted to kiss her, Christina could see it in his eyes, but the famed English reserve took precedence. “I missed you, little cabbage.”
“I . . . I missed you, too.” She forced a smile. Gabe was right; she had to leave now, before Julian realized the woman before him was not his Ronnie.
Émile extended a hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Brumley. I am Émile Denis, Earl Bonnet.”
“Lord Bonnet.” Julian gave a polite nod and a brief handshake. “I appreciate the English. My French is atrocious.”
“It was Her Royal Highness’s wish for the evening.”
Gabe and Alex had moved in, one on each side of the men, near enough to tackle them if things went south.
“May I introduce Gabriel Morgan and Alexander Wood?”
Julian looked them over and opened his mouth to speak. Deni appeared beside her. “Julian,” she said. “How wonderful to see you again.” She kissed both his cheeks.
Émile turned back to Christina. “Ma’am, I beg you to listen to reason. Oil and gas exploration is invasive. We cannot afford to lose fertile soil in our farming areas.”
“Her Royal Highness’s position has not, and will not, change, Lord Bonnet. You will have to persuade others at the summit,” Deni said.
Émile’s nostrils flared and his mouth flattened. Brows pulled down, he said brusquely, “Saner voices will prevail.” He dropped his voice and leaned closer to Deni. “What is this awful business of someone firing a rifle at our princess?” he said in French. “It must be a madman; she is a compassionate champion of our people. See how she fights for our country’s health. Perhaps naïve, but well-meaning all the same.” Gavin translated in her ear, though she doubted she was meant to hear the low conversation.
“Oui,” Deni agreed. “This is the reason for the bodyguards, until they catch this madman.”
Julian laughed suddenly, wrapping an arm around Christina’s shoulders. His hand came to rest directly on top of her bandage. He did not seem to notice, addressing the group at large. “No more politics,” he declared. “I want to dance with my fiancée.”
“First things first,” Gabe said. “The princess was just mentioning she really needed to go, uh, go powder her nose. Why don’t we let her do that, and then you can dance.”
Christina eased free of his arm. “That’s true. I’ll be right back. Julian.”
“In a moment.” He grabbed her hand and walked toward the dance floor. She had no option but to follow him or cause a scene. “It’s been weeks, darling. Let me hold you.”
Once on the dance floor, he swung her into his arms and led her expertly across the floor. A good dancer herself, she had no problems following his lead. She forced herself to relax. One dance, then she would get the hell out of there.
“I know Trevor said we’d be safer apart,” Julian said. “But I can’t focus on anything else, knowing you might still be in danger, and me so far away. Your texts and phone calls aren’t enough, darling. I need to be with you.”
Ronnie called and texted Julian? That was news to her.
“I want to be with you, too. But what if Trevor is right, and you being here puts me in danger?”
He smiled at her, eyes full of mischief. “I don’t think it will.” He gathered her close, banding his arms around her. His head dipped, and he whispered into her ear.
“Now, my dear. Just who the hell are you?”
Chapter Fifteen
GABE CURSED. DAMN it! He should have hauled Christina’s ass out of there as soon as the freaking boyfriend walked in. Fiancé. Whatever.
“Abort,” he hissed, knowing they were too late. The jig was up. Any minute now, Brumley would pull out his cell phone and call the police. If they were lucky, he wouldn’t make a scene while he did it.
“Well?” Brumley asked. His voice was calm and even; he could have been asking about the weather, for all the excitement he betrayed. “Darling?”
“I know how to handle this,” she said, and Gabe realized with a jolt she was talking to him. God fucking dammit. She was putting herself in danger. Not disengaging.
“Negative,” he clipped out. “Abort. Gavin, bring up the car. Tag, Alex, to me.”
But as he closed in on her, Christina did the unthinkable.
“My name is Christina,” she told him. She told him. Freaking unbelievable.
Gabe could see Brumley’s hand clench around Christina’s fragile one, hard enough to turn her fingers white. For a moment, all he could think about was getting the bastard’s hands off her.
“Where is she?” the man’s voice was icy. “If you’ve harmed her in any way . . .”
“Ronnie is safe, I promise.” Christina wiggled her fingers. “Please. Let me explain.”
“What is this? Kidnapping? Extortion?”
“Neither. We’re . . .”
Tag and Alex reached him, both ready for action. “Break trail,” Gabe snapped, and clamped a hand around Christina’s upper arm. “Walk with me, princess, if you would, please.”
When he guided her none-too-gently by the arm, she moved with him, thank God. Tag and Alex stayed two steps ahead of them, clearing a path. It wasn’t until they hit the front door that he realized Julian Brumley had followed them. His hand dipped into his tux to his shoulder rig, touching the butt of his Glock.
“Back inside,” he said, pointing with his other hand. ’Course, that meant he’d let go of Christina’s arm, and she halted, turning back toward the freaking fiancé, who should have been two countries and a Chunnel away from them.
“Gabe,” she started, “we have to . . .”
“No,” he grated. “We do not.” He took the four steps he needed to get into Brumley’s personal space, and dropped his voice almost to a growl. “Go. Back. Inside.”
“Gabe, stop. Julian’s not the assassin. He’s not involved.”
Brumley drew himself up to his less-than-impressive five foot ten. “I will not,” he said, somehow managing to look down his nose at Gabe. “However, I will call the Federal Police and have you arrested.”
“Stop, both of you. We’re causing a scene.” Christina stepped past Gabe to slip her arm into Brumley’s. “Darling, let me show you the garden. It’s a bit overgrown. We’ll have some privacy,” she said, loud enough for those nearest to hear.
Shit. He’d been so focused on the fiancé that he hadn’t even noticed the groups and couples strolling on the lawn, enjoying the evening. And Christina was right; they were starting to stop, to stare.
She settled the matter by walking that way.
He gave himself a mental shake. He’d better get his act together, and fast. Seeing her dancing with Brumley had thrown him off his game. It was a good plan. It got them out of view, and, if Brumley tried to hurt Christina, he could disable the fiancé with no one the wiser. Without being told, Tag led the way and Alex brought up the rear in their fun little parade.
“Ronnie is safe,” Christina said quietly. “We’re not extortionists. We’re part of the plan to keep her alive.”
Brumley dipped his head closer to hers, the better to hear her, probably. Gabe clenched his fists to stop himself from physically tearing the two apart.
“I talked to her just last night. She said she w
as looking forward to the ball tonight.” He sounded more puzzled than hostile. “Is she here?”
“No. Trevor put her in a safe house. I don’t know the location; it’s better that way. I can’t tell anyone what I don’t know.”
Brumley tugged on his earlobe. “Why didn’t she say anything? Is Trevor with her, at least?”
“Yes,” Gabe cut in. “He’s investigating the people around her. Including you.”
Displeasure flashed in the other man’s eyes. He stopped, turning his head to pierce Gabe with a stare. “Surely, Trevor cleared me.”
Without warning, without a sound, three dark shapes swarmed them. Tag grunted in front of him and collapsed. Gabe registered the spit of a silenced handgun as he drew his Glock and dove for Christina.
The figure on the left raised an arm to shoot Brumley. Christina spun aside, crashing into Ronnie’s fiancé. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The muffled shot went wide.
Gabe leapt over them, using his forearm to knock aside the man’s handgun—with silencer—and tag him in the throat with the webbing between his fingers and thumb. The man staggered back, hand on his windpipe. Before Gabe could relieve him of the weapon, the crack of a rifle sounded, and the man spun and fell.
“Target down,” said Mace.
Behind him, a second man reached down to grab Christina by the hair, and hauled her to her feet. Gabe whirled back, already reaching for the man’s wrist to break his hold.
The third man fired at Gabe. He felt the wind as the bullet passed within millimeters of his ear, reflexively ducking and missing his grab for the bastard holding Christina. Her hands flailed, trying to reach the top of her head, unsuccessful as he yanked her backward by the roots.
Alex returned fire, the crack of his handgun loud in the almost silent struggle. The man jerked, but didn’t fall. Alex leapt toward him as the man shifted to aim at him. The kid swept an arm up and over, knocking the gun aside, then closed with his target, sliding his hand down to the man’s wrist to control the gun. The other hand snaked around the man’s neck, and Alex smashed the man’s face into his knee several times.
The bastard holding Christina pressed a gun to her temple. Controlling his rush of adrenaline, Gabe steadied the barrel in his palms, slowing his breathing. The coward was hiding behind her, using her as a human shield. He couldn’t get a clear shot without risking hitting Christina.
“Drop your guns,” the man ordered. “Or I blow her brains all over the ground.”
The third man broke free from Alex, panting heavily. He spat out a mouthful of blood and dove for his handgun.
Gabe edged sideways, trying to get the man holding Christina to turn and follow him. If he could get Mace a clear shot . . .
A second crack, this one pitched lower, and the gunman fell sideways and lay still. Christina scrambled away from him, tripping over her long skirts.
“What the hell?” Mace said. “That wasn’t me. There’s another shooter up here.”
Gabe snagged Christina’s wrist and dragged her into a crouch, covering her with his body. He watched as the third man reached his gun, only to have Alex smash into him and take him to the ground, where the young operator flipped him over and twisted his arms high onto his back. The man cursed. Gabe stayed where he was, head swiveling as he watched and listened. Other than the screams and running of the Nabourgs’ guests, the grounds were silent.
Brumley got to his hands and feet, and crawled over to Christina. The whites of his eyes were showing. He added his bulk to Gabe’s, covering Christina from the other side.
“Where’s the second shooter?” Christina tried to rise, but he kept her where she was. “Mace?”
There was a long pause. “Got ’im.” Gabe heard the sound of a bolt snapping back, ejecting a shell casing, and then being slammed forward. “Freeze! Hands where I can see ’em.” Then, “Put the rifle down. Step back. Back! Get on your knees, ankles crossed. Hands behind your head. Lace your fingers. Do it now!”
“Mace, report.”
“White male, early fifties. He was in another goddamned part of this fucking maze of a roof. Pardon my language, chérie.”
Gabe pulled Christina and Julian with him to the relative shelter of a tree.
“Stay put.” He ran, crouching, over the uneven ground to Tag, who was groaning and starting to rise. “Is he alone?”
Mace cursed again while he passed the question on to his captive. “He says so, but who the hell knows up here?”
Gabe pushed Tag down flat and checked him over. His teammate was muttering profanity. “It caught your vest, dickhead,” he said, relief thick in his voice. “Whatchoo doing, taking a nap out here?” He tore Tag’s jacket off and helped him remove the ballistic vest.
“Figured . . . figured I’d take the night off.”
Gabe supported him while Tag caught his breath. “Gavin,” he said. “Did you see anything?”
“Blacked-out van. Didn’t come onto the grounds, which is why I didn’t see it earlier. It stayed on the road and took off the second it saw me.”
“All right. Head up to the roof.”
“Already on my way.”
Julian left the safety of the tree, followed closely by Christina. He knelt beside Alex. “I can take him, if it would help.”
Alex looked to Gabe. He shook his captive as he squirmed and fought.
“No. Thank you, but we’ve got it covered.” Gabe glowered down at their prisoner. “We’re going to talk, you and me. You can do it with your face full of leaves, or I can let you up. Which’ll it be?” It felt good to vent his anger on someone.
A single eye blazed up at Gabe, hostile and far from cowed. “Let me up.”
Gabe’s nostrils flared. “Maybe not. How many of you are there?”
“Eat shit.”
He twisted the man’s arms higher on his back and increased the pressure. The man hissed in pain. “How many, asshole?”
“And die.”
He wasn’t going to get immediate answers here. Hauling the man to his feet, he kept the hammerlock tight as Tag staggered over to search him. A folding knife, a strip of cloth, a map.
“I found duct tape on one of the dead men,” Christina reported, coming over to him. She kept well back from his captive.
Gabe didn’t dare release even one hand to take the tape. “Can you come over here and bind his wrists?”
The awkward positioning meant that Christina nearly had to wedge herself in front of him to reach the man’s wrists. As she wrapped the tape around and over, Gabe tried to scan down her body. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She finished securing the man’s hands and stepped away.
Mace reported in from the roof. “No one else up here, Archangel. We’re coming down.”
“Let’s go.” Gabe’s command encompassed them all. Tag, Christina, Julian, and their captive marched back to the house and assembled on the wide, curved driveway. Alex and Gavin came around a corner, each holding the arm of a balding man wearing black fatigue pants and a black pullover. Mace headed up the rear, carrying a rifle slung over a shoulder and another in his arms.
“Who’s in charge here?” asked the second shooter. He tried to shrug off the arms holding him, but neither man let go until Gabe gestured to them.
“I am.” He jerked his head at Alex, who came to take charge of their captive. “And just who the hell are you?”
The man drew himself up to his full height, which was still inches short of Gabe’s own six foot one. “I am Commissaris Jansens, Federal Police.”
Gabe’s eyebrows went up. “You’re a cop?” He didn’t bother to try to conceal the disbelief in his voice.
“Ja,” the man said. He had a round baby face, but experience lined his skin. Large ears and thin lips should have made him look silly, but the man carried himself with absolute authority
. “I have been assigned to protect Princess Véronique.” He turned to face Christina and bowed formally. “Prinses, ben je gewond?”
Chapter Sixteen
CHRISTINA FROZE FOR half a second, then squared her shoulders and shook her head. Was that the right answer? It seemed to satisfy the man for the moment.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any ID on you?” Skepticism rang in Gabe’s tone.
Jansens reached his left hand back, and five handguns rose as one to cover him. “Naturally, I have identification,” he said, huffing a little.
“Slowly,” Tag said. “Two fingers.”
When the badge wallet was visible, Gavin took it from him, flipping it open while Jansens’s jaw tightened and his right eye twitched.
“Deputy Police Commissioner Aart Jansens of the Special Missions Unit of the Concordian Federal Police,” Gavin said. “Badge and everything.”
“Tag, check out his story. Make sure he’s legit.” Gabe’s eyebrows pulled down until they nearly met in the center. “Who the hell assigned you to protect my principal?”
Jansens extended his hand, tacitly demanding the return of his wallet. “The Minister of Internal Affairs.”
“We coordinated with the minister’s office. He agreed to non-Concordian bodyguards, at Lord Brumley’s request. Why would he go back on his word?” Gavin handed it over, and the deputy commissioner returned it to his pocket.
“Princess Véronique is important to this country in ways you foreigners could never understand. She is our crown princess, and will one day be our queen.”
Mace hefted the second rifle. “So you just thought you’d hop up onto my roof?” he snapped, nearly frothing at the mouth. “If I’d seen you, I’d’ve shot you. Did you think of that?”
A corner of Jansens’s lip curled. “I am a highly decorated police detective. You will find I am not so easily killed.”
Mace looked like he wanted to rip the man’s throat out. Gabe held up a hand. Mace backed off a step, but no more. Gabe willed his own wrath down to manageable levels.
“Why didn’t you coordinate with us?” he asked.