Whispered Lies

FOURTEEN

VESTAVIA STOOD NEAR the door to the conference room at Trojan Prodigy. He shook the hands of the four Fras arriving for a meeting he’d requested. He took his time with each wrinkled, but firm, hand he gripped.

The wall of glass on this side of the thirty-second floor overlooked the Brickell business district. Bulletproof glass had been installed inside the tinted windows, assuring safety. In addition, a fine mesh was interwoven into the extra glass that prevented any viewing from outside during daylight or such as now, when darkness wrapped the bustling city.

Coming from D.C., Chicago, New York, and Seattle, these four Fras were the backbone of the North American Fratelli, the ones who swayed the others.

This was the perfect example of why a group of twelve Fras could never rule one continent successfully. Too easy for one man to manipulate the power.

“You each have a copy of the file on our current project.” Vestavia waved his hand at the five place settings with folders. Once the men were seated around one end of the fourteen-foot-long walnut conference table and reviewing the files, Vestavia served them each their preferred beverage, which meant Scotch, whiskey, or gin.

At thirty-eight, he was the youngest of all twelve Fras, the present group ranging from fifty-two to seventy years of age. Another reminder that he was the most recent follower elevated to this level, which had come on the heels of the unexpected death of Fra Bacchus last year.

This North American contingent believed poor Bacchus had succumbed to a heart attack in his sleep.

That was a version of the truth.

Had they suspected foul play in any way, an autopsy would have been scheduled at a private clinic. That would have revealed a synthetic chemical in a blood sample from Bacchus, the catalyst for the heart failure.

But Vestavia had been careful when he eliminated the only Fra who had suspected his every move from the outset and constantly questioned his allegiance to the Fratelli.

Now, he was the celebrated brother and Bacchus was off meeting his maker.

Some of the most powerful men in North America sat at the table, none of whom had any idea an Angeli sat among them.

They believed the Angeli had been a myth, but Vestavia was very real. The Fras would know his power when he and six more Angeli emerged to guide a new world once the groundwork had been completed. For now, he would pretend deference to men unworthy to sit in the same room with him.

He had been the first Angeli to infiltrate the Fratelli, the most powerful organization in the world-at the moment. A collection of brilliant men flush with geniuses, but the Fras were not capable of a true Renaissance. They understood the mechanics of collapsing major industrial nations, but not the art of overtaking each nation methodically.

“Everything will be in place for Friday.” Vestavia took the open seat at the head of the table. “To assure success, we must not allow the United States to lose focus on the oil issues.”

Fra Diablo, the senior of the group, who could influence the votes, had supported Vestavia’s promotion to Fra. Drooping jowls moved when he lifted his head and shoved a bushy white eyebrow up. Skin sagged under his eyes, and his nose turned down, stopping short of being a hook. He drew deep breaths, his exhales wheezing slightly.

“With fuel prices climbing higher than any country anticipated, particularly the United States, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Diablo noted. “What about the teenagers?”

“The last one will be picked up this week,” Vestavia assured him.

“Isn’t that cutting it a little close with the presidential election next week?” Fra Benedict, the Banker as Vestavia thought of him, was always first to criticize. More round than tall, Benedict could always be counted on for a frown and a negative attitude. He pointed out every potential fault, no matter how minuscule, so he could be the one to claim to have foreseen a failure when it occurred.

Temper, temper. Vestavia had climbed quickly by presenting a sincere mix of humility and confidence to the Fras, but to hold a meek front in the face of inferior beings was a test of his discipline.

“Everything will be in place in time,” Vestavia said with a finality he hoped would end that discussion. “Timing is the key to success, just as timing was crucial five months ago in orchestrating the meeting that takes place this week in the Capitol Building.” He let that sink in, reminding them none of this would have happened without his ability to plan. “To rush any part of this schedule is as dangerous as running behind. We are currently on time.”

None of this bunch would insult another Fra or behave improperly. They believed in order and respect. As contradictory as it sounded, they would kill for the order but allowed “no unnecessary deaths.” No unnecessary actions that would draw attention to the order.

To commit such an act would show a lack of respect for the Fratelli.

At least Vestavia had the sense to see the absurdity in that thinking since deaths were unavoidable when conquering.

Fra Morton had the habit of lifting his hand a couple inches off the table, index finger extended, every time he spoke, as if to mark his place. “No one suspects the teens disappearing?”

Vestavia shook his head. “No. We’ve been very careful in our selection and solicitations. They each appear to leave the school willingly.”

Morton nodded his balding head, lips pinched in thought, and placed his hand flat on the table. He wore the understated brown suit of a nobody on his gangly body, which matched his nondescript face. A casual observance would dismiss his simple question and quiet acceptance as a pushover, but Vestavia never took anything casually. He’d investigated every one of them thoroughly.

Morton sat on the boards of six international firms, three of which held major defense contracts.

He was no pushover.

Fra Dempsey made notes during every meeting. He paused in writing. “What about the Venezuelan? Is he suspicious about what the teens will be used for?”

“No.” Vestavia rested his arms on each side of his file, making a show of being relaxed. “I’ve assured that Durand Anguis has more to worry about than the fate of the teens and ensured he will perform his tasks on time.”

“Impressive…if all goes as expected.” At fifty-two, Dempsey was one of the most accomplished Fra whose holdings included high-rise buildings all over the world and a luxury yacht manufacturer that custom-built vessels for world leaders as well as ships for international trade…and private submarines. Trim body, thick gray hair, and deep tan, he reminded Vestavia of a movie star known for that look whose name he couldn’t bring to mind.

“All will go as I explained in the original presentation for this project.” Vestavia would have preferred Mandy had been delivered to him, but she knew nothing significant and had been a sacrificial lamb. He’d only ordered the kidnapping to draw the attention of the Mirage, who took the bait the minute Durand’s involvement was leaked.

The only mistake in that plan had been in not capturing Mirage, but Vestavia would find this freelance informant soon and silence the rat.

“I sense a concern, my brothers.” Stilted quiet fingered across the table and got under Vestavia’s skin. Were they questioning him? Him. Fighting the urge to snap at them, Vestavia turned to the strength his ancestors had passed down through genetics rich with strategic ability and showed a tranquil countenance.

Benedict never wrote a thing in the meetings, but lifted a gold pen in his pudgy hand, fingering it like worry beads. “What if the Venezuelan fails or if one of the teens doesn’t come through or-”

What if you got laid by a woman who looked like Josie? Vestavia wanted to counter. The percentage of possibility had to be the same. Hard to imagine Benedict the Banker controlled 20 percent of all the money transfers between the United States and overseas.

Vestavia lifted a hand to stop Benedict the Banker before he bit his lip trying to get another worry on the table. “As I explained last time, we have three teens and only need one. The other two are insurance. This is a simple plan, but a well-constructed one that will have far-reaching results.”

Diablo had supported Vestavia’s rise to this level and proved to be the strongest voice in the group. He cleared his throat, effectively taking the floor.

“I hope I speak for all present to say I think you’ve done an outstanding job of planning this next step.” Diablo paused as if waiting to see if anyone would contradict him before continuing. “Of all the places we tested the biological agents in the last three years, the United States bounced back the quickest. We’ll see faster results of future testing once we have this country in a more tenable position. After Friday, the world will get a firsthand look at how the greatest industrial nation handles a crisis with longer impact than airplanes ripping through high-rise towers. And we shall see which of the predators on other continents make the first move.”

“Good.” Vestavia held a calm face though he wanted to smile, to enjoy the moment, but he’d celebrate for a week with Josie at his private island. Soon. “I’m ready for the second half of the funds.” But it took a majority to move the funds, and the four Fras in the room besides him held proxies from the other seven not present.

“If we are all in agreement, the eleven million will be moved in twenty-four hours.” Fra Diablo passed a pointed gaze around the table, waiting for a response from each.

Morton lifted the one finger again and nodded. Dempsey tapped his pen against the leather cover to his writing pad, but gave a dip of his head in acknowledgment.

All eyes turned to Benedict, who sighed heavily, making a production of any decision, then finally said, “I’m agreed.”

When they stood to leave, Vestavia caught the severe glance Diablo sent him that was just as pointed and full of warning, his message clear. Don’t make me regret supporting you.

The men rose and filed out. All except Diablo, who extended his hand.

When they shook, Vestavia leaned close. “There’s no reason to worry, but I needed to see you today for another issue as well. I need your support for one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Diablo’s eyes relayed his hesitance.

“A necessary death.”

“Beyond what is already proposed?”

“Yes. One that is not entirely related to the event Friday, but is important to the security of our organization.”

“Who? Why didn’t you bring this up in the meeting so all the Fras would be included in the decision?”

Vestavia took care with his words so as not to insult a Fra directly, but they were all suspect in his book. “Because there’s been an operation breach on the teens and Mirage. We have a mole working for one of our Fras who is leaking information and must be dealt with…if it isn’t a Fra.”

A STEADY FLOW of passengers moved past Carlos in both directions through the airport in Carcassonne. Conversation was a blurred mix of languages, but most sounded French.

He gave the second hand on his watch one extra round past ten minutes, then shook his head. Gabrielle had taken less time to shower and change before they left the cabin, so freshening up shouldn’t take this long.

He’d started toward the ladies’ room, one spot no man wanted to enter uninvited. With any luck, using the excuse he was checking on his traveling companion, who had been ill, would save him some grief.

As he reached the entrance, two young ladies strolled out, wheeling their suitcases behind them and chatting. They glanced up annoyed, then their eyes widened. They ran slow gazes over him, smiled and murmured something in French with a seductive tone.

Carlos winked. They blushed and scurried off.

Right behind them, a shapely woman in a deep-cinnamon-colored skirt suit with gorgeous legs and matching short pumps exited the room. She was looking down, grumbling about something while she fiddled with a button on her coat.

A coat like Gabrielle’s and pulling an identical suitcase.

Carlos hesitated in step at the same moment she stopped abruptly in front of him and looked up. He worked to find his voice. “Gabrielle?”

“Take this.” She shoved the luggage handle at him, muttering, “You can pull that while I finish dressing. C’est des conneries! You should try doing all this in ten minutes.”

She stalked off, then glanced to each side of her and swung around to face him. Her hair was swept up into a chic twist that showed off her high cheekbones. The angry gaze she shot him narrowed the longer she stood there waiting.

“Now what?” Her accent deepened.

Carlos caught himself and stepped forward next to her, surprised by the change that flowed over her like a thundering rain. She’d gone into the bathroom a cute, frumpy mess and emerged a polished butterfly with sharp teeth.

“You look…nice,” he finally managed to say. Not really. She looked stunning in that getup and sexy as hell.

He bet she’d look even better out of it.

“That compliment does not negate rushing me,” she snapped. “And don’t ask me if I’m hungry.”

“Are you?” He grinned. She was a bossy little thing at the oddest times.

Her answer was an indignant huff. She straightened her back and held her hand out for the handle of her luggage, pursed lips now the ripe color of a split watermelon.

All at once, he was hungry. Another look at those legs and he was starving in a way food wouldn’t sate him.

She moved her hands toward her hips.

Carlos tensed. “Don’t.”

“It’s okay.” She stuck her hands on each hip and nothing happened, no alarm buzzed on his phone. “I moved the little bugger to a more suitable spot.”

Carlos tapped a thumb against the handle of her suitcase, seeing this next couple days as a battle of wills. An annoying prospect, but with an upside. Pretentious women with snobby attitudes generally turned him off.

The more she took on the air of nobility, the less he’d have to worry about this wild attraction to her.

He passed her the handle of her suitcase. “We’ll discuss that later, but don’t change anything I do ever again.”

That should get her back up a bit, bring out the truly obnoxious arrogance he expected from the highly born.

Instead, the air went out of Gabrielle with that one reprimand. “I’m sorry, I was just, you know, worried I would bump the thing and cause a commotion.” Her eyes were skittering around anywhere but his face.

He’d embarrassed her, again. Seemed to be his specialty with this woman. Carlos took her chin to make her look at him. “No harm done, really.”

Doubt stared back at him so he added, “I had no idea you were doing all that, but you look very pretty.” Compliments fed a woman’s confidence, but in this case he meant every word.

Her gaze softened. Those melon-colored lips puckered, then rounded.

Stupid comment, because now he was thinking about how attractive she really was and how much he’d like to kiss her again. She looked more kissable than she had when she woke in his arms on the first flight. Hard to imagine, but true. When she’d come out of the nightmare, he’d stared into eyes puffy from heavy sleep, hair mussed, and a face so innocent he had to remind himself why she was with him and fought with every muscle to keep from crushing his mouth to hers.

Gabrielle’s lips parted. Her tongue slipped out and brushed her bottom lip, leaving a slick path.

Carlos’s body clenched. This was going to be a problem.

A man wearing an overcoat made an abrupt turn next to her.

Carlos snatched Gabrielle to his side.

“You’re going to wrinkle my clothes worse than the luggage has,” she groused, and smoothed her jacket.

He couldn’t believe how fast her mood switched from angry to hurt to irritated. “Wrinkling your clothes is the least of my concerns when someone makes a quick move near you.”

She twisted, eyes searching the crowd. “Who?”

“Nobody, this time,” he whispered. “But you have to be on guard from here on and do what I tell you.” He gave her that last order in a nicer tone.

For all his effort, he got a droll look in return that said she was getting tired of being told what to do. This was exactly why Carlos had to escort her. Retter would have lost patience by now and intimidated her into submission, which could have turned her catatonic or screaming.

Or Retter would have seduced her to get his way.

That would have worked, but just the idea of Retter getting his hands on her in any way unleashed a black mood Carlos didn’t want to identify the source of.

Korbin and Rae passed by, but Korbin slowed and ran an appraising gaze up and down Gabrielle.

That just pissed Carlos off, which didn’t improve his tone when he told Gabrielle, “Let’s go.”

She made another huffy noise that he translated as she’d go but that he hadn’t heard the end of her complaints. He nudged her toward baggage claim again.

Carlos kept stealing glances, trying to decide what was different about Gabrielle beyond her clothes, hair pinned up in a sexy twist, and the light makeup that brought out her crystal eyes.

Male heads turned, but she didn’t appear to notice.

Carlos put on his aviator sunshades and scanned constantly, not really expecting a threat here, but always prepared. When she shifted toward the corral of limo drivers, he stepped ahead of her, blocking Gabrielle from a short man dressed in a tailored black suit that reeked of money.

The little man held a white card with ascension below a gold crest with a flying falcon.

Gabrielle stepped up next to Carlos.

The driver said, “Mademoiselle S?”

“Oui, but I prefer English since my companion does not speak French fluently.” Her terse tone indicated any other action would be unacceptable.

Carlos considered giving this guy a shorter nose when the driver sniffed in disdain at his not speaking the local language.

“As you wish, Mademoiselle S, and I will call ahead to inform the office of your request.” The driver took over the luggage except for Gabrielle’s computer bag, which Carlos kept.

He leaned close to her so the driver wouldn’t hear. “You just keep impressing me.”

The smile she tried to smother spread her full lips wide. The dimples winked again. She was the vision of a young, carefree, sophisticated woman in that moment, taking Carlos’s breath.

A woman who might have more secrets than him.

Dangerous combination.

Carlos and Gabrielle loaded into a black stretch limo and rode silently as the car left the airport. He rarely saw cities from this vantage point. Normally he came in under the cover of darkness and left just as silently.

Carlos had expected his cell phone to ding with incoming text messages, but when he checked, he had no signal. “Is there no cellular service here?”

“Yes, but the service has been affected this week by major repairs being made to aging towers. It will normally return quickly…within an hour.”

When the driver headed due east instead of turning north, Gabrielle questioned his route.

“There is a detour for a repair being done on the direct route that would detain us longer than taking the road through la cité,” the driver explained, using a local term for “the city.”

A tiny gasp escaped Gabrielle and Carlos smiled at her excitement.

“The castle was built in the 1100s,” she told him, quietly explaining how there had been a bloody crusade here at one time. The driver kept to the paved highway to Carcassonne and turned north, driving them past one side of the castle. Visitors walked dusty roads up to the walled fortress and towers that seemed to float above the ground in the hazy morning.

“Sixty towers and barbicans,” she continued, playing his personal tour guide.

Carlos had to admit the sight of such a well-preserved medieval city with miles of walls was an incredible vision, and he’d have asked what a barbican was if not for enjoying her voice too much to interrupt. The castle took on a magical quality when she described it.

“When the apples fall and rot on the ground, it can smell like cider,” she went on.

“Mmm.” But Carlos was inhaling the delicate perfume she must have put on in the airport. And his sightseeing had narrowed to observing the graceful shape of her slender neck. So inviting and so damn kissable. He should have been looking at the cobbled streets and landscape, but nothing beyond the window held his attention like the woman next to him.

“This castle was supposedly the inspiration for the movie Sleeping Beauty and I think they used it in Robin Hood,” she finished breathlessly as they exited Carcassonne and drove along roads snaking through an expanse of flatlands and vineyards. She sat back against the seat and added, “As grand as that is, the École d’Ascension castle is magnificent.”

“Looking forward to seeing it again?” He wanted to run his finger along her neck, to feel the smooth skin.

To touch so much more.

“Oui,” she whispered, then met his gaze. Her eyes flared for an instant. Just enough to let him know she’d picked up on his thoughts.

He silently cursed himself for letting her see that when he had more to think about than how much he wanted her. Carlos let a blank mask drop over his face. She blinked as if she’d been confused, then shrugged.

The driver cruised northeast for the next forty minutes. Gabrielle returned to pointing out everything from flowering hedge roses to two-hundred-year-old plane trees along the narrow highway they traveled that had no shoulders. Poplar trees cut across rolling hills carpeted with vineyards before they turned down a dusty road that could use some of the rain threatening.

Even the gloomy weather couldn’t dampen her spirits.

When the castle housing the school came into view, Gabrielle sat up. “It rises from the mist like something in a storybook.”

“Yep, just like a fairy tale,” Carlos muttered, seeing it differently. More like a logistic nightmare for Korbin and Rae, who wouldn’t be able to get close. Formidable stone walls wrapped a fortress that probably covered twenty-five acres. Low-hanging clouds hovered above the castle. Not a tree grew on the land immediately surrounding the compound. Great defense strategy from back when they cleared the surrounding area so guards could see an enemy approaching.

The École d’Ascension had the distinct privilege of being one of the only private grand schools of France where heads of state and royalty had studied. The other schools were government-owned and just as exclusive.

“I used to have picnics over there when the school allowed us outside the walls with security.” She pointed at where a string of trees ran alongside a stream half a kilometer away. The closest cover. “The gardens inside are wonderful, but I always wanted a fountain. I wanted a place inside with running water where I could just walk out to the courtyard anytime without security hovering.”

Carlos ignored the scenery when he noticed the tremble in her fingers.

The driver was speaking into his cell phone so Carlos leaned over and whispered close to her cheek. “What are you worried about?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, then turned her face to him and said, “I know it’s silly, but I spent most of the years here terrified of being sent to LaCrosse’s office, and now I’m going to face the man I worked so hard to avoid as a student.” She smiled sheepishly. “He’s brilliant and dedicated to the school. I make him sound like an ogre, but it was probably more his size and position that had scared us as children.”

Carlos moved his hand to cover hers.

She glanced at her hand, then at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I won’t leave your side.”

She smiled and nodded. “I can do this.”

There was the strength he’d glimpsed in her. He hoped it would be enough to keep them from being caught.

Inside the castle walls Carlos saw what Gabrielle had been trying to tell him. The gardens within view were so perfectly sculpted he wondered if the gardeners were engineers as well as artists. When the limo driver parked, Carlos stepped out and circled the car on cobblestones to open Gabrielle’s door before the driver could. He got another miffed sound for that.

Carlos offered a sinister smile at the little bastard, who shrank back with a frown.

At the top of stone steps was a pair of arched oak doors with heavy black hinges and a family crest with birds scrolled on the weathered surface. When the left door swung open, a fiftyish man with a dour face and thick lips too rosy for a guy appeared. His charcoal-gray suit was no more inviting than the stern set of his graying caterpillar eyebrows. He waited patiently while Gabrielle and Carlos climbed the steps.

“Welcome, Mademoiselle Saxe,” he said to her, then turned to Carlos. “You must be her security.” The slur came through in his words.

Carlos said nothing since he was the only person accompanying Gabrielle and the statement was meant to lower him to the level of hired help. Did this bunch really think their snubbing would cut him? He wanted to laugh.

“Please follow me.” Their guide inclined his head and walked away with them right behind.

The hall they entered had arched ceilings over twenty feet high that were painted in trompe l’oeil, basically a bunch of butt-naked baby angels pointing at each other. Their guide wound his way through more arched walkways with elaborately carved borders gold-leafed in what was likely real gold. The place could be a museum for all the intricate craftsmanship that had gone into every piece of structure and painted surface. Chandeliers so delicately designed they reminded him of lace glass hung in every open space.

They followed the guide up blue-gray marble steps of a sweeping staircase with gold-and-black rails of vines twisted around spear-shaped vertical braces. At the upper landing, which sprawled in a semicircle with halls off each side, plush handwoven rugs with scenes of ancient France covered the floors.

More impressive was the narrow cut Carlos had detected within the arched entrance to each area they had passed through. Had to be where this school hid their security-screening device since no one had asked him to empty his pockets or her purse.

He had no gun, but living on the streets alone as a teen had taught him how to find a weapon anywhere in any place.

A man in his late twenties with well-behaved short brown hair sat at a mahogany desk in the center of the area they’d reached. Priceless tapestries covered the walls on each side of him. He was facing a computer monitor until they neared, then he looked up and rose to his feet. He fixed a practiced smile on his clean-shaven face and dismissed their guide with a nod before he spoke.

“Mademoiselle Saxe. How nice to meet you. I’m Pierre Prudhomme.” He smiled at her.

Gabrielle angled her head in polite acknowledgment. “Monsieur.”

“One moment.” Pierre lifted a phone receiver, spoke too softly to be heard, then hung up and ushered Gabrielle toward a door several steps away. After two taps, he opened the door and stepped back and faced her.

“Monsieur LaCrosse is expecting you and has been informed of your preference for English.”

Gabrielle’s posture stiffened, to the point Carlos began to wonder if she could handle the pressure sitting on her shoulders. When she entered, he stepped inside, then stood out of the way, playing the role of bodyguard with his feet apart and hands behind his back. He left the dark shades in place.

No point in spoiling their image of hired security.

LaCrosse stood behind a dark-mahogany desk with intricate inlaid designs and birds carved into the corners. The piece had to be over two hundred years old and would dwarf a smaller man. But LaCrosse was close to six feet six and wore a tree-bark-brown suit that evened out the angles on his bony frame. Thinning hair cut in short layers matched his suit color. For all the blandness of his scholarly image, green eyes sharp as a cat’s took in everything with precision.

Carlos could see how this man’s size alone would terrify a young girl, but Gabrielle was now an adult.

Still, he regretted putting her in this spot.

“Mademoiselle Saxe, how nice to see you again.” LaCrosse stepped forward, took her hand, and pecked a polite kiss on the back of her fingers before releasing her. “I trust you traveled well?”

“Yes, merci.”

The hesitance in her submissive tone worried Carlos. If she failed this first test, they were screwed.

“Please, have a seat,” LaCrosse said to her. “I appreciate your coming to help us with this problem. I understand you’ve lived somewhat reclusively for a long time.”

“I’m happy to help my school,” she said with plenty of sincerity. “That’s why I continue the IT chat boards for your students.” She shrugged out of her coat, draping it over her lap when she sat.

“Yes, yes. We’re quite grateful for your assistance.” LaCrosse leaned back in a high-back leather chair. “Our IT department is eager to observe as you institute the new system.”

Gabrielle sat silently for a moment, then said, “I’ll instruct them after I’ve completed my work.”

Carlos was glad for the dark shades or LaCrosse might have caught his surprise, too, at her curt tone.

“You only have four days,” LaCrosse pointed out.

“I see no problem,” Gabrielle answered with less edge.

“Surely, you’ll need assistance while making the repairs and changes,” LaCrosse countered congenially, but his annoyance at being rebuffed showed.

Having others nosing around would complicate things, but Carlos would figure out how to cover for her.

“If I do, I’ll inform you of such.” Another sharp reply from her that wiped the smile from LaCrosse’s eyes.

Carlos cut his gaze at Gabrielle. If she rebuffed this guy a little too hard, they might get tossed out on their ears. What had happened to her fear of this man?

LaCrosse leaned forward, hands clasped together in front of him. “We prefer that everyone be escorted while visiting here.”

In other words, he would not allow Gabrielle free run of the estate.

Silence piled into the space between them while LaCrosse waited on her to acknowledge his decree, clearly not pleased with her countermanding his rules.

Gabrielle lifted her head, eyes calm and unwavering. “I came in good faith, as an alumni who walked these halls for many years unescorted. I still remember how to traverse the compound without getting lost, so I appreciate the offer of a guide, but respectfully decline.”

Carlos was torn between wanting to tell her “Atta girl” and wishing he was close enough to give her a warning nudge. Didn’t she realize he could keep any escort distracted while she worked? She was obviously making a valiant effort to maneuver an optimum situation, but getting tossed off the property wouldn’t aid their cause.

That’s when the difference in her dawned on Carlos. It was as if the clothes she’d donned beneath her coat were her armor and gave her confidence that came with her position in life.

LaCrosse studied her a moment, deliberating on something, then offered her a smile that looked as though he had a mouthful of tacks. “As you wish.” He stood. “Would you like to get settled in your quarters then take a look at the system?”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” Her voice had returned to that of the demure woman who had entered. She stood as LaCrosse stepped around his desk.

When he reached her, she said, “I’d like to introduce my security companion-”

“That won’t be necessary,” LaCrosse cut her off. “We have exceptional security and you know our six-month review protocol for allowing anyone on this property. I’ll have the driver drop your man in Carcassonne and pick him up in four days when he takes you to the airport.”