Honeymoon with a Stranger Page 17

  Somehow Mac didn’t find Sevarin’s reply particularly reassuring. “In that case, if needs be, how can we kill it?”

  “Fire. But it must reach a very high temperature. It is like a double-edged sword. To kill Green Shield, you must destroy what you wish to save.”

  Thunderation and damn Sevarin all to hell!

  If he didn’t manage to retrieve Green Shield and the organism got loose, only the fires of damnation would save the world.

  He had suspected it all along, but now Mac knew for sure he was dealing with a madman.

  The staircase opened into a vestibule at the ground level. A passageway faced Roxie. Beside the stairs was a door that must lead to another tower room at the front corner of the house.

  Since the kitchen was at the rear, she opted for the passage and heaved a sigh of relief when it opened into a room Yves had prevented her entering when she’d explored the kitchen.

  Once it must have been a scullery with deep sinks. Now it looked more like a potting shed. Spades and rakes leaned precariously against the wall, while flowerpots had toppled to the floor, scattering dirt and shards of terracotta.

  But it was the door alongside the window that caught her eye.

  It led outside.

  Someone had dumped hessian sacking on the floor, blocking the door, but not for long. With enthusiasm, she bent to drag the sacks out of her way and revealed a dead man’s face. Zukah.

  Roxie barely managed to squelch her scream.

  This was the closest she’d been to him since the night he ordered her into the van at Le Sentier. No one had had the simple decency to close his staring eyes, but if she forced herself to do it and they returned to bury him too soon…?

  She couldn’t give them an excuse to look for her here.

  Stomach roiling, she threw off the sacks and went to his feet. It was all in the mind-set. She must simply look at swinging Zukah round out of the way as one more step toward freedom. Her last task was to re-cover him with the dusty sacking.

  Outside at last, she leaned back against the door she’d closed on the Algerian and took deep gulps of fresh air.

  It wasn’t until taking her bearings that she realized this was a walled garden. With no way out apart from a ten-foot climb.

  She’d have to go back the way she’d come, through the château.

  Her chin sank to her chest in despair. Then, scattered on the gravel path, she noticed dark cigarettes stubs.

  This must be where Jean-Luc had gone to smoke, but he hadn’t left via the kitchen door to the scullery. There had to be another way, another door.

  Mac watched as Jean-Luc barely dipped the base of a fragile glass pipette into the fluid in the vial. Next moment, he dropped the narrow glass pipe inside the tank and closed the lid.

  It was impossible for Mac to put a name to the decimation, or claim to have expected to see what came next.

  Every plant in the fish tank died within three minutes.

  Aghast by what he had witnessed, and to disguise his true feelings, Mac raised a suspicious eyebrow in the politician’s direction and said, “This has to be a trick.”

  Sevarin bared his teeth. “No trickery needed. Once we are finished the aquarium and plants will be placed in a furnace hot enough to melt glass.”

  The gravity of the situation was almost more than he wanted to comprehend. If Green Shield ever got out, containing it would mean instituting a scorched-earth policy.

  How had he thought he could handle this alone?

  There was too much at stake for one lone man to handle.

  Taming a momentary flash of panic, Mac showed a calm front, “What if this gets away from us? What happens to France?”

  “Measures will be put in place.” Sevarin’s smile was anything but altruistic. At a guess, the bastard had thought of a way to make more money.

  As if he had said too much, Sevarin concluded, “Frost and snow won’t kill the organism, but it will hibernate. Make sure you release it in the Russian spring for the optimum results.”

  Mac knew right then that the microorganism couldn’t leave the château. If putting it on ice wouldn’t kill Green Shield, then Mac would have to think of another way.

  Maybe even burn the château down.

  He had to make sure this scientific nightmare never got free.

  Not a micron of warmth touched the smile he gave the politician.

  As skilled as Mac had become at acting, he was having a hard time playing the role.

  All he could think of was the chaos that would occur if Thierry didn’t show up and he died—as Mac was certain Sevarin intended. No one would know how to deal with a monster that could eat the Earth.

  Underneath all his other fears was the one that Roxie had been recaptured. But as much as he loved her, Green Shield had to take precedence. He had no other choice.

  Pain sliced at him as he thought of never seeing her again.

  It was all he could do to put that aside and do the business. “Okay Sevarin, let’s close the deal.”

  “The laptop is ready, you have only to put through the transaction. Follow me.” Sevarin turned on his heel to lead the way. They had barely reached the kitchen door when Yves interrupted their progress.

  “La femme, she has escaped! The door to the stairs was open, but I couldn’t find her in the study or any of the other rooms.”

  Mac tried not to let his relief show. “Damn, if that isn’t like a woman, she’s skipped out on me.”

  He glared at Yves. “Maybe she didn’t like the company I was keeping. Yves had a hard time keeping his hands off her and she was mad as fire about that.”

  Sevarin’s face was a mask of fury. “Find her. Search until you do, she can’t have escaped. Javier, you stay with Makjzajev until the transaction goes through. You others search the house. She can’t have got far, the door is locked. She must be hiding.”

  It was difficult to remain calm, knowing they’d gone after Roxie. His fault. He should have been more precise, ordered her to try pulling the armoire across behind her.

  As he followed Sevarin into a salon at the front of the house, in his mind’s eye he saw Roxie as she’d been in bed that morning.

  Tender and loving.

  Something deep in his gut told him that had been their last time together. Either he would die, or Roxie would. And if he survived Roxie, would life ever be worth living again?

  Chapter 14

  Stunned, Roxie let the ivy-covered wall cushion her weight.

  She couldn’t believe the senseless destruction of plants she’d just seen through the kitchen window, or the speed at which it had taken place.

  No more holding back, she had to act.

  Though it broke her heart to do this to the man she’d fallen in love with, she couldn’t let Mac, or the organization he was in league with, release Green Shield on the world.

  She had to find a phone and get FIS down here, vite!

  The scratchy vine rustled against her shoulder as she ducked below the level of the sill. Then she heard Yves. “La femme, she has escaped!”

  The danger she was in had just tripled.

  Now they’d all be looking for her.

  She dared one more look. All the men, Mac included, hurriedly departed the kitchen. Although, she appreciated that with a gun shoved in his back Mac didn’t have much choice.

  A sensation akin to grief flooded her as she watched Mac disappear. This might well be her last sight of him before he came to trial.

  “I love you.” She whispered the words she could never say in his hearing, words he would never believe once she gave him up to the FIS. She huffed out a long breath to strengthen her resolve.

  Time to do the work she was paid for.

  Leaping out of her crouched position, she reached the French windows leading to the morning room in four strides.

  “Ye-e-s!” They were open.

  It actually took very little effort to log on to the Internet. But somehow Mac had to spin it out, giving R
oxie as well as Thierry a few more minutes of time.

  Roxie needed a chance to escape, and Thierry the extra advantage of getting the other agents into position.

  Sevarin prowled restlessly in front of the table with the Makarov in his fist while Javier stood to one side, his weapon aimed at Mac. Boxing him in.

  Simply for show, Mac drummed his fingertips on the antique table where the laptop had been set up.

  Sevarin’s patent annoyance as he glanced down at Mac’s fingers made the subterfuge worthwhile.

  “Do you mind?” Mac snarled as Sevarin made to come around the table to stand beside him. “You don’t need to know where the money is coming from, only where it’s going.”

  Sevarin stopped in his tracks.

  Though Mac could tell he was uneasy, now the politician was minutes away from millions of Swiss francs, he wasn’t about to do anything to slow up the transfer.

  Seemed as though losing money was the only thing likely to get under the bastard’s paper-thin skin.

  Mac caught the old guy’s eye as he took the return trip in front of the table from the left to the right. “We should have done this in Paris. My ISP is much faster.”

  Sevarin had an answer to that. “But then, we are conducting this business to suit me, not you. I am much more comfortable in my own home.” The look of disbelief Mac gave him was involuntary.

  Not so the curl he put on his lip as he asked Sevarin, “Paris get too hot for you, then?”

  “No such thing. I will return there tomorrow to console a widow on the suicide of her husband.” Sevarin gave Mac a thin smile. “One of the scientists who worked on Green Shield was overcome by remorse yesterday. I believe the note he left behind will satisfy the Minister of Defense.”

  The politician’s smile broadened. “It was heartrending to dictate such a letter, it almost brought me to tears.”

  The black cloud at the back of Mac’s mind loomed larger. It floated level with the muzzle of Javier’s gun.

  Mac and Roxie. He already thought of themselves as a couple. But not for long; only one of them was likely to get out of this alive.

  And just about now, fate was probably only accepting short odds-on, cash bets that it would be Mac McBride.

  He couldn’t put it off any longer. He tapped a few keys and said, “Okay, Sevarin, type in your account number.”

  The heavens were smiling on her. The first thing she noticed as she snuck through the French windows was the phone. It sat on a small end table placed next to a pale green love seat that took its color from the floral wallpaper.

  But the open door into the entrance hall meant she had no cover. She couldn’t just stand there in full view making a call.

  It took less than a second to decide, twice that to dive down behind the love seat, which angled away from the wall. Dragging the phone with her she began to punch in the numbers for FIS.

  She was breathing hard, her nerves on edge, as she listened to the ring tone of Dumont’s phone in his Paris office. “C’est moi, Roxie Kincaid. I’m on Deputy Minister Sevarin’s estate near Angers. He is about to sell the Green Shield weapon to Chechen rebels….”

  The line crackled and squawked. Someone had cut her off by logging on to the Internet. She’d done what she could, but would it be enough to save her or Green Shield?

  The gauzy white curtains at the window began fluttering in the draught as if, somewhere, another outside door had been opened.

  She hoped the breeze wasn’t strong enough to slam the French doors shut; if anything attracted attention, it would be that.

  Roxie held her breath as the worst happened and one of the glass-paned doors banged, then swung wide again.

  Brisk footsteps sounded on the flagstones, coming closer.

  The blood in her veins thickened as she heard Yves’s triumphant “I have you now, Mademoiselle Kincaid,” just seconds after she replaced the phone.

  “She has gone outside,” he called. “You others make sure she hasn’t got over the wall.”

  Roxie crumpled her body into a small tight ball as he rushed passed the love seat without bothering to look behind it, then dashed out the open door.

  The moment she heard his footsteps crunching across the gravel path, Roxie peered over the love seat in time to see Jean-Luc and the man wearing the chauffeur’s cap descend the front steps.

  The way to freedom was free and almost clear.

  She’d imagined herself scurrying outside and hiding among the shrubbery. But she would get nowhere fast if Yves returned too quickly. Then she remembered the weapon Mac had given her.

  It was the work of less than a minute to fasten the garrote across the opening at shin level, then dash to the morning room door. A quick look informed her the other searchers were well out of sight.

  Once she got outside, she would fire the pistol in the air, and hopefully that would give Mac a chance to get away. She didn’t think he would hang around to collect Green Shield if he thought there was a chance of being captured by armed federal agents.

  Screwing up her courage, she bolted, but the clatter of her heels gave her away. Roxie was halfway to freedom when Yves saw her and yelled for the others to look out. “Regarder dehors!”

  Thankfully he was blind to the trip wire. But with no time to look back, she heard rather than saw the fall that gained her five more paces.

  Moments later the red-gravel driveway spread across the base of the outside steps.

  “Halte! La femme is getting away.”

  Roxie didn’t hang around to hear more, she ran for her life.

  Mac slapped a mental high-five as the old guy’s concentration was broken by a shout from Yves. Roxie had done it.

  She’d gotten away. His heart thundered as he realized how much that meant to him. The L word had clipped him a good one.

  Damn it, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him.

  Transfer forgotten, Sevarin strode to the open door of the salon. Mac and Javier followed as with much hand waving Sevarin shouted orders to Yves to catch her on pain of death.

  What goes around comes around—to Mac as well.

  He hadn’t done right by Roxie.

  Silently, Mac swore on his mother’s life that if they both got out of this situation, he would make it up to Roxie somehow.

  If she would still have anything to do with him, that is.

  As an added precaution, he prayed that Roxie was every bit as resourceful as her heroine grandmother and would get well away.

  A spike of pain he’d never experienced before shot through his chest at the thought of never feeling her touch again, never kissing her lips or releasing his seed inside her.

  Let the punishment fit the crime.

  He hadn’t trusted her. And dammit, if they both got out alive he’d probably be paid back in spades for acting the hard man the secret world of spies expected.

  Roxie glanced over her shoulder for a second. Sevarin and Yves had reached the steps. The driveway curved, red gravel cutting a crescent out of green lawn.

  Too late to try hiding now; all she could do was run like a virgin sacrifice with a fire-breathing dragon at her heels.

  A loud, anger-filled shout reached her ears.

  It sounded like Mac, but she had no time to make sure. Her sights were set on reaching the roadway without delay. Maybe a passing car…

  Head down, she placed one foot in front of the other.

  Each breath seared her throat. She tried not to think of what would happen next. Besting Sevarin fueled her race to liberty.

  Her palm sweated round the butt of the Luger, reminding her she also had the evidence in her pocket, a weapon that could turn back on the old guy and bite him where it hurt most, his pride.

  Yes, Grandmère would be proud of her.

  She would bring Sevarin down.

  The space of time between Roxie hearing the report of the gun, and the bullet hitting her was indistinguishable.

  For his age Sevarin was quick on his feet, but de
speration will have that effect on anyone. The older guy was ahead of Mac with Yves by his side.

  Two paces behind, Javier wasn’t ready for Mac to turn and lash out. “Always expect the unexpected,” he said, as Javier fell at his feet gasping for air.

  But this time he finished the job, knocking the guy cold with a tap from the butt of his own gun.

  One down, two more to go.

  Mac ran down the broad entrance steps behind Sevarin.

  Even from behind, the politician’s fury was palpable. It shimmered above him like heat off tar-sealed pavement. Yves had reached the drive, his arm outstretched, aiming at Roxie’s back.

  As if down the wrong end of a telescope, Mac watched Roxie’s heels kick up small puffs of red dust off the gravel.

  “Shoot!” Sevarin yelled.

  And Mac did. He shot Yves.

  A snarling Sevarin raised the Makarov, determined not to be foiled and aimed at Roxie.

  The report of the shot hammered in Mac’s brain, repeating painfully over and over as he felt his life disintegrate.

  Then Roxie took a few more steps onto the grass and his heart began to beat again, but not for long.

  When Roxie fell it was daintily, like everything about her.

  To Mac it appeared as if she did it in slow motion.

  His speed reached the other end of the scale. Aiming at Sevarin, his feet hit the gravel as he fired, taking the politician down before he could get off another shot at Roxie.

  She lay so still Mac’s heart contracted, turning over in his chest in a way that cut off his breath.

  He had lost her. Lost her before she’d really been his or knew who he really was.

  Mac saw the pistol in her hand before he reached her.

  A Luger, trust Roxie. The words echoed in his mind, chased by eons of regrets. Mac’s problem was he hadn’t trusted her, and now he was paying for that mistake.

  He sank to his knees beside the woman he had lost his heart to in less time than he’d ever thought possible….

  Maybe Sevarin had missed. Maybe she’d only tripped.

  His arms circled her as he pulled her into them, the better to see her face. “Chérie, can you hear me?”