Читать книгу The Makeover Mission - Mary Buckham - Страница 8

“Here, drink this.” The voice was close to her. A male voice, like hot caramel over cold ice cream. One she thought she should know.

“Open your eyes and drink this.”

She didn’t want to open her eyes. Then there’d be no going back, no pretending she was safe and in Sioux Falls. But there was no avoiding it. The voice wouldn’t let her.

Slowly, as if they had been glued shut, she pried her eyes open. Then shut them quickly.

Gray-eyes. Mesmerizing, compelling, lying Gray-eyes. Like the crash of a wave—it all came back to her. Her apartment building. A cramped, airless room. A man with medals strung across his chest and another man—Gray-eyes—telling her one thing, holding her still while yet another shot her full of who knew what.

“You can’t ignore it. Better to face things head-on.”

Easy for him to say, she wanted to snarl, surprised at the clean edge of her anger. It felt good. Better than the terror she remembered so vividly. The helplessness and confusion in the small room. The willingness to trust a man who said one thing and did another. This man.

She opened her eyes again. Cowering was for cowards. While Jane thought she was a lot of things—shy, unprepossessing, ordinary—she didn’t like thinking of herself as a coward.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The demand she heard in her voice pleased her. For a second she thought he might have felt the same way. A glimmer of a smile touched his lips, until he pushed forward a glass. It looked as if he’d been holding it, waiting for her. “Drink this. Then we’ll talk.”

She raised herself to a reclining position, balancing on her elbow and reaching for the glass, aware her hand shook as she grasped its cool surface. Even under ordinary circumstances it would have been difficult to appear unmoved when a man like this hovered next to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his skin and feel the heat his body radiated. An awareness out of place with the man who had kidnapped her.

She willed herself to look away, to break the contact of his gaze pinning hers, and caught herself wondering what was in the glass he insisted she drink. More drugs? Something to keep her quiet and compliant? Until what? Or when?

“It’s just water.”

“Then you take a drink first.” She thrust it back into his hands, surprised she dared such a thing, even more surprised when he accepted it and took a long, slow draught, his gaze never leaving hers over the edge of the glass.

“It will help with the dry mouth.” He pressed it back into her hands. Obviously this man had dealt with drugged women before. Not a comforting thought. “Later, if you want, I’ll get you some aspirin for your headache.”

Yes, he definitely knew the aftereffects. Just who was this guy? And what did he want with her?

She watched him rise to his feet and cross to a chair several feet away. Only then did she sip from the glass, thankful for the cool sensation soothing her too-dry throat, yet wary as to why he was being so solicitous. He remained quiet until she had finished most of the water and placed the glass on a coffee table before her.

It was only then that she sat up and looked around her. Looked around and felt the flip-flop of her stomach. They were no longer in the small, cramped room. It looked like a plane, but not the passenger kind.

Instead it looked like a living room, with carpeted floors, two butternut-brown leather chairs on both sides of the couch she was sitting on, end tables and a series of oval windows on either side which showed nothing but blue, blue sky. With a feeling of detachment, or maybe it was hysteria again, she was glad to find that here at least she wasn’t tied to anything.

Not that she could make a run for it thousands of feet in the air, she thought, sure it was hysteria making her want to shake her head and close her eyes again.

But Gray-eyes had his own agenda.

“We’re thirty-two thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean,” he remarked, his voice calm and level. “We should be landing in a little over two hours, given our present rate of speed.”

“Landing where?”

“Dubruchek.”

“And Dubruchek is where?” Jane wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking.

“Dubruchek is the capital city of Vendari. A small, very important mountain country in the Balkans.”

“Important to whom?”

“To a lot of people.” He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his fingers splayed across his knees as if they were discussing the weather. It was then she saw the gun peeping out from a shoulder holster he wore and knew, like a swift kick to the head, that this was not a dream. It was a nightmare.

“I know this is all very confusing.”

That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. But something in his look told her he’d have little patience for pithy comments.

“Vendari is a monarchy sandwiched between two larger, and unstable countries, which makes it of strategic importance to the United States.”

Great, she wakes up to a strange man and a throbbing head only to get a geography lesson.

He continued. “It’s a monarchy with its own history of bloodshed and violence. Its last king, Zhitomir Vassilivich Tarkioff, was assassinated twenty years ago.”

“And this means what?”

“Since then they’ve undergone two attempted coups.” He was ignoring her. “Again, not without bloodshed.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

His gaze asked for patience, his voice gave nothing away.

“Today Vendari is ruled by King Viktor Stanislaus Tarkioff.”

“The man with the medals?” It was a wild guess, but obviously right on target as she saw his glance narrow, his hands tighten minutely.

“Yes, the man with the medals.”

“And what is his relationship to Elena?”

Instead of answering directly, Gray-eyes leaned back in his seat, his gaze shifting to scan the horizon out the row of small windows, his expression blank.

She thought he might have sighed before he turned to face her again. “Elena Illanya Rostov is the king’s fiancée.”

If she thought pushing for answers was going to make things clearer, she was wrong. She was more confused now than when they had started this bizarre conversation.

“I don’t get it.” Ignoring the pain it caused, she shook her head, and tightened the grip of her hands wrapped around her arms. “Why does it matter that I look like this Elena Ro…Ros…”

“Rostov.”

“Why does it matter that I look like her?”

“Take my word for it that it does. That’s all.”

Obviously she wasn’t going to get any more information. At least for now. He rose from his seat, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of pressed khaki pants, uneasy about something. He walked away and she guessed it did not bode well for her.

Lucius glanced out the window, seeing nothing, buying time, even seconds worth of time. How had things unraveled so quickly? Had it been only minutes ago that he was thankful Jane Richards wasn’t in hysterics or fighting him tooth and nail? Not that he’d blame either reaction. But he wasn’t getting that.

His limited research had informed him she’d taken a job as a librarian straight out of college, was dependable and conscientious in her habits, didn’t even have an outstanding parking ticket to her name and, if a bit boring, could be expected to behave in a rational manner.

What they had neglected to discover was that she was also a woman who had a quick and ready intelligence. One able to control herself under the most extreme circumstances, and one who was unlikely to accept pat and pretty answers about what was going on.

Things were going to hell in a hand basket.

“You’re not answering my question.” She sounded almost prissy.

If he didn’t think it would get him into hot water he’d smile at her tone. Didn’t she realize he was the one in the position of dictating—not her?

He turned to face her, wondering if he was doing it for her sake—or his own. “Elena Rostov plays a very pivotal part in the politics of Vendari. She’s the daughter of one of the king’s leading rivals for power.”

“So her marriage to the king consolidates power in the country.”

“Exactly.”

“I still don’t see why it’s important that I look like her.”

“Because early last month there was an assassination attempt against her.”

Silence hung in the air. McConneghy could tell to the second when she grasped what he was saying.

“If Elena dies, the country could be plunged back into civil war?”

“Not could. Would. There’s no doubt about it. Her family has a distant contention to the throne. If she’s killed it will be seen as an attempt to discredit her family’s future ties to the royal family.”

“So you’re trying to make sure that the marriage goes through.”

“Once Elena and the king are married, her value as a political pawn is decreased.”

“Because?”

“Before her marriage Elena is seen as much as a daughter to her father, Pavlov Rostov, as a fiancée to the king. After the marriage—”

“After the marriage, if she’s killed, the king or his family will no longer be the prime suspects.”

He’d definitely have to watch himself around this one, he thought, admiration—and wariness—increasing.

“So where do I come in?”

Seconds ticked past while he grappled for the right words. As if there could be “right words” in a situation like this. “We need a stand-in for Elena. Until the wedding.”

“A what?” She rose to her feet now, facing him across the cabin, all color drained from her face.

“We need a volunteer to take Elena’s place until the wedding.”

“A volunteer?”

“Just until the wedding.”

“To do what?”

It was getting sticky. “To take over her official duties. To portray her in public.”

The silence thickened until he could have sworn he heard the pilots breathing in the cockpit.

“Portray her in public?”

“Just routine. At this time she has no real duties, but she’s appearing among the people before the wedding so that they feel a part of the process.”

“You want a guinea pig.” Her voice rose an octave. So she wasn’t as calm as he might originally have thought. “No. No, make that a target. A sacrificial lamb.”

He could lie to her. Tell her he’d do everything in his power to protect her, which he planned to do, anyway. But there was something in her gaze that made him hesitate. He could appreciate someone who wanted the truth—the unvarnished truth—rather than platitudes.

“That’s exactly what we need.”

She swayed. He moved to prevent her crumpling to the floor, but at the last second she raised her hands, warding him off. He told himself he deserved her lack of trust. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

She lowered herself to the couch, perching on the very edge of the leather cushions, her fingers curled into the fabric as if she was holding on for dear life. When she glanced at him he saw the confusion, the disbelief in her gaze. If he’d felt like pond scum before, he felt like bottom sludge now.

“Who are you?”

It was a fair question, just not one he had expected so soon. “My name’s McConneghy. Lucius McConneghy.”

“Major McConneghy.”

Yes, he’d definitely have to watch himself around her.

“Major Lucius McConneghy.”

“Which branch of the military?”

This is where things started to really get sticky. “It’s an obscure bureau tucked in a back corner of the Pentagon.”

“But it’s one that allows you to abduct and drug unsuspecting civilians in broad daylight and transfer them, against their will, to small eastern European countries?”

“Something like that.”

“Aren’t there laws against that type of thing? Or do you think yourself above the law?”

He tried to ignore the disdain in her voice, but couldn’t. Then he wondered why it didn’t just slide off his back as it should.

“There are times when laws have to be bent.”

“Semantics.”

“Reality.”

She was glaring at him now. No longer looking as though she’d crumple and fold, for which he was grateful.

“There are people who’re going to notice I’m gone.”

He heard the hope and knew he had no choice but to crush it. Hope might cause her to take unacceptable risks, putting both her life and the lives of his team at risk. So why did it feel as if he was destroying a child’s vision of Santa Claus? Sometimes he hated his job.

“The library has been notified there’s an illness in your family. That you’ll be away for some time.”

“You know I work at a library?” She shook her head, obviously not comprehending the means available to someone like him to meet a strategic objective.

“Of course you know.” She slid back against the cushions, her shoulders slumped, her voice less forceful. “What else have you taken care of?”

“We’ve canceled your speaking engagement for the grant-writing seminar, asked your landlady to look after your cat until you return and have arranged to have your bills automatically paid, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

If he thought he would interject a little levity into the situation he was dead wrong. Her gaze, when she raised it to his, was as bleak as any he’d ever seen. And that was saying a lot.

“I have friends—”

“Not a lot I’m afraid. And they’ve received word that you’re off to visit an elderly sick aunt. Aunt Dorothy.”

“I don’t have an aunt Dorothy.”

“We know it. Fortunately, from our perspective, you do not have many close friends.” He watched her shoulders slump more and felt like a heel. But she had to know where she stood. “In fact, very few know you outside of your work. Your parents are both dead. No siblings. No lovers.”

She blushed, keeping her gaze averted as she mumbled, “So you’ve made me disappear with no one the wiser?”

“Yes.”

“And what if I don’t want to play stand-in for this Elena? What if I refuse?”

“You have no choice.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

Time to play hardball. He sat back in the chair, making sure he enunciated each word clearly. There’d be no doubt here. Neither one of them could afford it. “You can agree to play the part of Ms. Rostov, attending functions, being seen in public, doing what any young woman would do on the eve of her marriage—”

“Or?”

“Or Elena Rostov can be devastated from her recent ordeal and need to be kept under sedation until she’s feeling better.”

“You’d drug me? Again?”

He couldn’t be swayed by the despair he heard in her voice, nor the silent appeal he read in her gaze.

“Yes, if we had to, we’d drug you. It’s up to you.”

“Even if it meant that, being drugged, I’d have no chance at all against someone trying to kill me?”

She caught on quick.

“You’ll have all the protection we’re able to—”

“Enough.” She shot to her feet, pacing to the far side of the plane as if she wanted to put as much distance as possible between them.

“I might not have a lot of experience in this sort of thing, but I’m not a total idiot, either. If you were so sure you could provide total protection you’d have no problem with Elena continuing as she has been.”

No, this woman was definitely not slow on the uptake.

“I could lie to you.”

She speared him a withering glance. Who’d have thought dark eyes could hold such fire?

He changed his tactics, if not his tone. “Do you want me to tell you what we’re asking doesn’t hold risks?”

“It’d be a lie. And you’re not asking.”

“You have a choice here.”

“Not much of one. You’ve made darn good and sure of that.”

“We didn’t create the situation, Ms. Richards.”

“But you brought me into it. Against my will. Without my knowledge.” She paused, gulping air before she added. “And now you have the audacity to tell me I have a choice.”

Yeah, the lady saw too clearly what she was up against.

He rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. “It might be best if you thought of it as a service to your country. A vital service. We’ll be landing within an hour. I have some things to see to in the cockpit.” Which was an out-and-out lie, but right then the only thing he could think to give to her was space and a little time. A very little time. “I’ll need your decision when I return.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. As she had pointed out, there wasn’t much to choose between. But for her sake, and the sake of the mission, he hoped she’d make the right choice. If she didn’t, well he’d deal with that if and when the need came.

Jane watched Gray-eyes, or Major McConneghy, or whatever he wanted to call himself walk silently from the cabin space and disappear through a metal door marked Private. She waited until she heard the click of the door being closed before she gave in to what she’d wanted to do since she’d opened her eyes. With a small oath her co-workers from the library never would have suspected she knew, she sank into the nearest chair, her legs no longer capable of holding her. Her head slipped into her hands, despair finally overcoming her outrage, her fear, her confusion.

How dare some nameless government agency snatch her from her sane, comfortable world and force her to become a target in some obscure country’s game of survival? And force was the operative word. Even the major didn’t pretend there was much of an option. For that at least she was thankful. Not that she was willing to give the man points for anything else.

It didn’t take a high IQ to know he was the brains behind this crazy scheme. That he was the puppet master, pulling strings and disrupting lives with as much compassion as a sponge soaked in vinegar.

She glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was a little after ten in the morning. Which morning she wasn’t sure, but she did know exactly what she’d be doing if some grim-lipped major hadn’t changed everything.

She’d have been at work for a little over an hour. If it was Wednesday, the weekly staff meeting would just be finishing and she’d be rotating from the main circulation desk to the information desk. She’d handle questions, from the obvious to the esoteric, feeling as if, in her small way, she was helping others.

So what if she didn’t have a large social life outside of the library? Or really any, to speak of. The stark facts the major laid out before her were pretty bleak. No family, no friends, no life. How did he phrase it? No lovers. But it still was her life. She should be the one in control of it.

She should not be sitting in a private plane being whisked half way across the world to some country she’d never heard of, to risk her life for people she didn’t know, to pretend she was something she wasn’t, and possibly to die in the process.

With a groan, she fought against the temptation to curl up into the chair where she sat and bury her head even deeper in her hands. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. It’d be better to figure out how to tell Major Gray-eyes to take his not-so-brilliant idea and bury it.

But she already knew what would happen then. He’d hold her tight, tell her everything would be all right, while he shot another dose of whatever through her system, rendering her completely vulnerable.

He was right. There was a choice, a small one, but the only one as far as she could see. And while her elderly parents had raised her to be mild-mannered, they’d never raised her to be a fool. And maybe, if she kept her wits about her she might even be able to figure a way out of this nightmare. A service? Yeah, right. She knew about service, had spent a lifetime fulfilling duties and obligations to others. This did not feel like service. This felt like suicide.

She was still sitting in the chair, gazing out the far windows when she heard him return. He said nothing, just walked over and stood near her, obviously not expecting her to look at him. The man could give lessons in patience to a stone, she thought peevishly, aware of the sigh slipping from her.

“You’ve made your decision.”

He didn’t even have the grace to make it a question. “You know there’s only one choice. I’ll pretend I’m Elena—a functioning Elena, not a drugged target.”

“Good.”

“But I want to know how long this…this farce is going to last?”

He shrugged. Not a reassuring sign she thought, before his gaze slid from hers. “Until the wedding.”

“Which is when?”

“There’s some question about it at this time. Elena, the real Elena has not been well since—”

“The attack?”

“Yes.”

“She was hurt?”

“No. But it has caused her great distress. I have been told she is under a doctor’s care.”

“So the wedding is postponed?”

“No. It will go on. We’re working on the logistics now.”

She just bet he was. But before she could press the point he moved to the opposite chair and said, “The plane will be landing soon. There are some clothes in the back room. All are appropriate to what Elena would wear, and, as you’re the same size, should fit you without a problem.”

Jane bit her lip, wondering what would have happened if she’d chosen option B. Would this man have stripped her from her serviceable cotton skirt and oxford blouse, something very appropriate for midsummer in Sioux Falls, but obviously out of place in Vendari? She didn’t want to think such thoughts, nor feel the flash of heat warming her cheeks.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. No, nothing.” Leave it to Mister in Charge to see her blush. She turned to glance at him, catching the wariness in his gaze. “But wearing the proper clothes is not going to turn me into a king’s fiancée.”

For a moment she thought she saw the glimmer of a smile, quickly banked. “No, but it’s not going to hurt. Why don’t you change now? Then I’ll give you some background on Elena.”

Like an automaton, she rose, surprised her legs didn’t buckle beneath her. Her stomach felt as if she’d been riding tilt-a-whirls all morning and the headache Gray-eyes had alluded to earlier was all but bringing tears to her eyes.

Yet, in spite of, or maybe because of, feeling the major’s gaze monitoring her every move, she marched toward the door he indicated, her head held high, her posture rigid. She might feel like a rag doll without its stuffing but it’d be a cold day in July before she’d let him know it.

Lucius waited until she crossed into the bedroom before he let out the breath of air backed up in his lungs. He had to give Jane Richards credit; she was showing a degree of determination and bravery he rarely saw except in battle-seasoned troops.

For a second there he’d thought she was going to cave. She looked whiter than the clouds out the far windows, and about as steady as quicksand. But she’d pulled herself together, never indicating by as much as a peep that she needed or wanted help. Yeah, the woman had guts.

Brains and nerve, it was a powerful combination as far as he was concerned. In another woman, at another time, he’d be mighty drawn to such attributes. But he couldn’t here. Here he had a mission to accomplish and, if it went anything like it had gone so far, he was going to have his hands full keeping Jane Richards alive.

Not that he wanted her to know that. She had enough to deal with, and more to come. With a pang of conscience he couldn’t afford, he wondered: If she had really known what she was up against, would she have chosen to be drugged and unaware?

“How does this look?”

He hadn’t heard the door behind him open, an unusual occurrence that clued him into how deep his thoughts had been. But when he turned he found himself pausing, amending his earlier assessment. This woman not only had brains and guts, she had beauty, too.

A strapless, ruby-red sundress cupped and molded curves he’d never guessed lay hidden beneath the librarian’s plain garb. She’d let her hair fall loose, undone from the pins holding it back earlier, creating a waterfall of darkness against her pale shoulders. A waterfall a man could ache to run his fingers through.

Any other man except him. He had a job to do. End of story.

Yet this double-punch-to-the-solar-plexus kind of beauty wasn’t going to make his job one iota easier.

“Well?” She fanned the skirt away from her. Its color only served to highlight the combination of sultry beauty and innocence that looked nothing like Elena Rostov. Nothing at all.

“Do I look enough like her to pass?”

“You’ll do.” He heard the dryness of his response, hoped he alone understood its curtness before he saw the quick flash of emotion in her eyes as she lowered her gaze.

“There’s a blue dress that might work better—”

“I said you’ll do.”

He was acting like an idiot, a rude idiot, but he was finding it hard to recover his sense of equilibrium. Damn hard.

“Sit down.” He waited until she complied, her shoulders a little more slumped than even seconds ago, and called himself a fool. She needed his support, not the sharp edge of a temper.

“The dress looks very nice on you.”

As far as compliments went the words didn’t seem like a lot. But he noted that her hands stopped pleating the skirt between her fingers and stilled. Her eyebrows arched, as if he’d taken her by surprise. A clue that he’d come across like a real jerk before if it took so little to reassure her.

“Tell me about Elena.” She spoke first, saving him from wondering where to start. “Won’t my speaking English be a problem?”

“No, English is widely spoken throughout Vendari. That and the fact the king insists on bringing Vendari into the new century. He requires English to be the primary language spoken. Having been raised in a boarding school in Switzerland, Elena’s two most fluent languages are English and French.”

“But the general population? What if someone asks me something in their native language? Won’t they expect me to respond?”

“No. It’s widely known that Elena does not speak any of the three local dialects. She has, on numerous occasions, let it be known that she believes clinging to the old customs is barbaric. English is the only language she will respond to. She follows the king’s lead on this issue.”

“Well, good. At least the part about the language. But it sounds like she didn’t grow up in Vendari.”

“No, she didn’t. She left the country before her fifth birthday, coming back only for short visits.”

“How old is she?”

“She turned twenty-three two months ago.”

“So she’s a year younger than I am.”

“Yes.”

“And how does she feel about this marriage?” He thought he detected a note of compassion in her voice. “Surely she can’t know the king well if she has hardly been in Vendari?”

“If you’re asking if this is a love match, it isn’t.”

“Oh.” Did she have to sound wistful?

“Ms. Rostov knows exactly what she’s getting out of the deal, so don’t waste any pity there.”

Her eyebrows arched again, making him feel like someone who routinely stole candy from children.

“We don’t have much time and a lot to cover,” he said.

“Of course.” Damn, if she didn’t sound like a prissy librarian catching him chewing gum behind the stacks. He resisted the urge to squirm. Barely.

“We’ll be landing at Dubruchek’s only airport where one of the king’s limos will pick us up.”

“Will the king be there?”

“No. He’s involved in a series of high-level meetings that will occupy most of his time for the next couple of days.”

He could have sworn she looked relieved at the news.

“Will I have to…to interact with him much?”

“You are his fiancée.”

“I’m a hostage pretending that I’m a political pawn entering a loveless marriage,” she threw back, blowing a stream of air that made the midnight-black strands of hair dance around her face. “I just want to know how far I’m going to have to take this farce.”

“No, you will not be expected to sleep with the king if that is what you’re asking, Ms. Richards.” Now it was his turn to sound prissy and her look told him as much.

She released the breath she’d obviously been holding.

“We don’t know the principals behind the last attempt on Ms. Rostov’s life and, until we do, we have to assume any number of individuals close to the king may be involved.”

“But you do have some suspects?”

Too many to count, he silently acknowledged, including some bad customers he’d tangled with in the past. But that was his problem, not hers.

“There are suspects.” Instead of replying with specifics he nodded his head, scanning a sheaf of papers he had extracted from a file. “You’ll want to be on your guard. At all times. Trust no one. No one. Am I clear?”

When she didn’t answer immediately he raised his head, catching the speculative look in her dark eyes.

“Is there a problem?”

She shrugged and looked away. “I’m assuming that includes trusting you.”

“Especially me.”

He let his words hover between them, laser-sharp and lethal. There was no point in pretending otherwise. There was too much at risk for both of them.

He watched her swallow, hard, before she pasted a shaky smile on her lips and leaned forward. “I’ll keep your advice uppermost in mind.”

He could like her at that moment. Admit, if only to himself, he admired the flashes of fire she probably wasn’t even aware she possessed. But there was no room for such thoughts or feelings.

Instead he glanced at the papers and continued as if the last seconds hadn’t occurred. “Elena Rostov is the only daughter of Pavlov Rostov. Her mother died when she was still a baby and she’s been raised almost exclusively in Switzerland.”

“Will her family know I’m impersonating her?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Surely you can’t believe her family wants her killed?”

“We can’t take that chance. It’s a known fact that Pavlov Rostov would gain a lot of sympathy if his daughter is killed.”

“But—”

He rose to his feet. “Have no doubt about the matter, Ms. Richards. We have taken care to protect you from coming too close to the Rostov family. As for others, make no mistake, there are a lot of individuals who would benefit by Ms. Rostov’s death.”

“You mean my death.” She looked at him then, her gaze holding him as effectively as any set of restraints. “I think you’ve been honest, at least as honest as you think you can be. Let’s not pretty up the picture at this point.”

“All right.” He set down the file he’d been clutching. “You’re in a very precarious position.”

He thought she mumbled something about an understatement but couldn’t be sure.

“It’s my job to make sure you’re safe and I’m very good at my job.” He wished she didn’t look quite so skeptical at his statement. “I’m going to be right at your side as much as possible while you’re in Vendari. If there’s an attempt on your life, they’ll have to go through me to do it.”

When she gave no response, not that there was a need for one, he glanced behind her shoulders and caught sight of the granite-studded mountains of Vendari out the plane windows.

Their time was up. Ready or not.

“Buckle up, Ms. Richards. We’ll be in Dubruchek in a few moments.” He heard the command in his tone and wished it could be otherwise. But wishes wouldn’t keep Jane Richards alive.