I'd Rather Be In Paris (14 page)

Diving for the floor, Zara threw her arms over her head. Yvette's gun went off twice. Or maybe it was Lawson's. Zara wasn't sure until a second later when Yvette's body dropped to the floor next to her, and she saw a bloody hole where the woman's left eye had been. Yep, definitely Lawson's gun.

Scuffling noises came from behind her, and she looked up to see Guido—Giovanni—and Lawson circling each other. Why didn't Lawson shoot him? Glancing around, she saw Lawson's gun on the floor at the end of the hallway.
This just
cannot
be happening
. How in the world had Giovanni disarmed Lawson?

In the next second, Giovanni lunged and Lawson blocked the man's fist from connecting with his stomach. Then Lawson spun and kicked out at him, knocking him down.

Zara scrambled out of the way as Giovanni fell across Yvette's limp body, but when she saw him reach for his gun, still in Yvette's grip, she yelled, “No!” and dove for it too.

He was closer, but Zara was faster. She knocked the gun out of Yvette's hand and sent it spinning across the floor. Giovanni roared another choice Italian expletive at her and smacked her across the face. She fell backwards, stunned again from the man's strength, but before she could sit up and clear her head, a gun went off. She opened her eyes to see Lawson standing over the man's lifeless body.

He pulled the end of his T-shirt out of his pants and wiped the gun down, dropping it on top of Giovanni, whose blood poured out, soaking the carpet.

His face was grim as he offered her his hand. “Get up."

Rubbing her cheek, Zara let him pull her to her feet. She swayed slightly when he let go to run down to the end of the hall and retrieve his gun. He snatched his bag off the floor and swung the strap over his head to settle it across his chest. “Hotel security will be here any second. We've got to go. The police won't be far behind."

"But,” Zara began as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door to the stairs, “what about my stuff?"

"No time.” He jerked the door open and pushed her through.

She seized the handrail to stop her forward motion. “Lawson, I don't have any clothes on."

He slipped his arm around her waist and dragged her along beside him as he descended the stairs. “The robe will do."

Her feet barely touched the stair treads. She shoved him away with all her strength and started back up the stairs. “I am
not
leaving without my jacket and my purse!"

"Zara!” His voice boomed in her ears as she ran back through the door. “There's no time."

Behind her, he cursed and then she heard the sound of his footsteps following her. Blinking to clear her vision, she ran as though the devil himself were after her.

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Right Bank

Zara was looking for a miracle. She passed the red BMW 5-series and cupped her hand around her eyes as she looked in the window of a Renault. She wasn't even sure what street she and Lawson were on, just that it was semi-residential, there were hardly any pedestrians out and there was a nice restaurant nearby. The tantalizing smell of roasted chicken drifted down the street, causing her stomach to growl. The one thing she
was
sure of was a woman running around in a white bathrobe in Paris at nightfall was bound to draw attention. She had her bag with her Prada jacket, gun and miniskirt stuffed inside it, and she had sneakers on her feet, but she didn't have time to change. She needed to find a car and she needed to find it fast.

A police siren blared a few blocks south, and Zara moved onto the next car. Lawson was on the other side of the street, canvassing cars as well. He had told her to look for an older car without an alarm or tracking system that he could hotwire. Zara thought it was wiser to look for one with the keys hanging from the ignition. This was the Right Bank after all. Crime was rare, local drivers had already had several glasses of their favorite beverage and she and Lawson were in a bit of a hurry to get out of town.

The next car was a mid-nineties black Audi sedan with the windows down. Zara leaned in to look at the ignition, but it was devoid of keys. She smacked the door with her hand. She was supposed to be on her way to dinner right now. Instead she was dodging police with no underwear on.

The police siren drew closer. She moved onto the next car, a silver Porsche Boxster. Wouldn't that be sweet for a getaway car? Heck, at the moment, she'd be glad to use it for a changing room. She needed to ditch the robe and get her clothes on. Grabbing the door handle, she lifted. No luck. Doors were locked.

Letting out a sigh, she turned and looked across the street for Lawson. He was on the sidewalk, leaning against a light pole with his head down while a pair of lovers idled past him. The man's voice evoked soft laughter from his female companion.

Without warning, the police car she'd heard in the distance turned the corner at the end of the block and headed straight toward her. Lawson raised his head and their gazes locked across the narrow street. Zara swung away from the police car and backtracked to the black Audi. As if she owned the car, she opened the driver's door and slid inside.

The police car slowed as the officers swept the neighborhood. She tried to catch sight of Lawson, but he'd disappeared. She dropped her head and rummaged in her bag. Just as the police car pulled even with the Audi, she found the tube of lip gloss she'd swept off the coffee table into her purse. Flipping the window visor down to use the mirror, she jumped when the keys to the car fell into her lap.

Light from the police car swept across her face, and she opened the lighted mirror in the visor and began applying her lip gloss. At least she'd have color on her lips when they took her mugshot.

She could feel eyes on her and she glanced out the open window. The male officer driving the car nodded at her, and she gave him a flirty smile back. The car moved on and Zara dropped the lip gloss back in her bag, closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

When she opened her eyes again, she scanned the street for Lawson. She couldn't see him, but his intense, unwavering attention was there. In the rearview mirror, she watched the police car turn the corner and disappear from sight. She leaned out of the car window, put her index and pinky fingers of her left hand in her mouth and gave a sharp whistle. Then she started the car.

Ten seconds later, Lawson threw his bag into the backseat and slid in next to her. In the dim light from the street and the dashboard, she saw the grim set to his jaw. He looked her over and gave her a nod. She put the Audi in gear and took off down the street.

They had just passed the city of Dijon and were sailing through the French countryside headed toward Geneva, Switzerland. Annette had left Lawson a message while he and Zara had been at the farmhouse that there was indeed some suspicious activity with lab equipment sales as well a spike in common antibiotics and antiviral medications being shipped into the area. It wasn't much, but since they were need of a new base of operations, it was good enough.

As mile after mile of dark road flew under the car, exhaustion made Zara's limbs numb. Lawson had been quiet, busy watching over his shoulder for any sign of a tail. She was functioning on autopilot, driving toward Geneva and the one place her gut was telling her she could find food and rest and safety. Her friend and ballet mentor Christian Bernier's house.

"Pull over,” Lawson said.

She glanced down at the gas gauge. Still over half a tank. She looked around at the landscape and saw little in the way of civilization. “Why?"

Lawson grabbed his leather bag from the backseat and pulled out his phone. “I'll drive now."

She didn't want to stop, not even to change drivers, so she kept her foot buried in the gas pedal. “I don't think that's a good idea."

Lawson turned to her as he punched numbers into his phone. “You're exhausted."

True, but she didn't want to admit it. “I'm fine."

"You don't even know where you're going. Now pull over and let me drive."

Zara gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I do too know where I'm going and I will have us there in another hour or so. Quit worrying about me and place your call."

Lawson closed the cover of his phone with a snap. Zara could feel his gaze on her. “You did okay back there, but you're lucky Yvette's bodyguard didn't get to that gun first. Next time, stay clear so I can handle the situation. And next time, don't go back for anything."

She kept her attention on the road, letting his words sink in. “If I hadn't knocked the gun away, you'd be dead and I be sucking some rich Italian asshole's dick right now. And I had to go back for shoes. I have limits, Commander. I don't run from the goddamn police barefoot."

Silence enveloped the car again and then Lawson's low laughter broke through it. “I see your swearing skills surface when you're under stress."

Her mother had taught her that a proper lady never used vulgar language, but at the moment, Zara didn't feel much like a lady at all. She should probably just keep her mouth shut. It was better listening to Lawson talk anyway. Kept her mind from overanalyzing their current situation.

"Did you really punch Yvette in the mouth?” he asked, a grin on his face.

"She was going to kidnap me and give me to the client you pissed off. I sure as hell wasn't going down that road without a fight. She tried to bitch slap me, so I punched her."

He reached out and ruffled her hair. “That's my girl."

She jerked away. “Don't call me ‘girl'. I am
not a freaking girl
. I am a woman who has lived through more than her fair share of shit in this world, and I'm sick and tired of people insinuating I don't know my right from my left."

He dropped his hand and went into business mode again. “Zara, pull over. Now. I'll drive, and you get out of that robe."

Zara tightened her grip on the steering wheel another notch. It was solid under her hands, and she needed something to hang on to. “The only reason you want to drive is because your male ego can't stand a woman behind the wheel."

When he didn't answer, she shot a glance at him. His brows were drawn together and he stared at her, assessing her.

"I'm fine.” She turned her gaze back to the road. “I want to drive."

"You are
so
not fine,” he said, throwing her own phrasing back at her. “Quit trying to prove something here. You're scared and you're tired. Pull over and let me drive."

She jerked the wheel and sent the car skidding into gravel on the side of the road. A car behind them blared its horn as it passed. She slammed on the brakes and shoved the gearshift into park. Then she turned on Lawson. “I am not scared. I am not tired. I just want to get us to Christian's where we'll be safe. Then we can think through what happened back there and what we're going to do about it."

"Who's Christian?"

"A friend."

"Boyfriend?"

Zara threw her hands up in disgust. “No, he's not my boyfriend, and what difference does that make? You just killed two people and we're now running from the police in a stolen car. Christian has a house where we can hide for tonight, and right now that sounds a whole lot better to me than a jail cell."

"What are you so pissed about?"

"I'm not pissed!” As her voice rang inside the car, she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. “I'm just having a really,
really
bad night."

Lawson got out of the car and came over to her side. He opened the door and pulled her out of the seat, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

She looked into his face, and without warning, burst into tears.

Mortified at her lack of control, she brushed Lawson's hands off her shoulders and walked to the rear of the car. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she pressed the sleeve of the robe to her face in an attempt to hide them.

"Hey.” He came up behind her and rubbed her back. “It's not that bad. I've been in a lot tighter situations than this."

She shrugged his hand off. “You just killed two people and you think I'm overreacting?"

Lights from a passing car touched his face. He guided her to the other side of the Audi and leaned her back against the passenger-side door, planting his hands on either side of her.

"I didn't say you were overreacting.” He dropped his face close to hers. “Yvette was going to kill you, plain and simple. I took care of her before she could do the job. At that point, it became necessary to stop Giovanni as well. If I'd left him alive, he could have followed us or reported back to Yvette's friends and then we'd have a classic Chinese goatfuck."

His gaze traced over her face. “Right now, we've dodged the police and whoever may follow up on Yvette's death. We need to get on the road again before we call any more attention to ourselves, and I need to make contact with Langley."

Zara wiped at her eyes again, took a breath and regrouped. As she was driving, her brain had red-flagged a couple things Yvette had said. “I think Yvette was tied in with the same group Varina Scalfaro is running for the Mafia. She kept talking about her clients and her business partner. I don't think Yvette's playing mistress for a handful of rich men solely for her own gain. I think she was actually running a prostitution ring in partnership with someone else, probably Varina.” She hated herself for what she was about to say. “And in that case, I'm not sure what Director Flynn has up his sleeve."

In the deep shadows of the night, Lawson nodded. “We just ran out of people we can trust, didn't we?"

"What are we going to do?"

Lawson eased her to him. “Shhh. Don't cry."

"I'm not crying, you moron.” She smacked his chest and attempted to push him away at the same time. Although she wasn't sure why she was pushing him away. She felt better when he was close. “I had dinner all planned out. We were going to go someplace nice, but not too fancy, because I knew you wouldn't like that, and ... and ... Damn it!"

Lawson smiled down at her. “So we have to take a rain check on the dinner thing. The mission isn't over yet. We've still got time."

"But I wanted to do it in Paris, and now we're fugitives on the run from there. We can't go back. Not even for dinner."

He pushed a stray hair away from her face and hooked it behind her ear. “When the mission is over, our names will be cleared. We'll have a proper dinner anywhere you want then, okay?"

She studied his expression in the dark shadows of the night. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to placate me. After the mission is over, we won't be partners anymore."

"That doesn't mean we can't have dinner."

Her pulse tripped over a couple of beats. “You want to have dinner with me after the assignment's over?"

He lowered his face and leaned his forehead on hers. “Jesus. I've spent the past twenty-four hours trying to come up with an excuse to do just that."

"We don't even like each other."

He brushed her lips with his in response.

A jolt of electricity shot all the way down to her toes. This could
not
be happening. “You
are
bent, Lawson Vaughn,” she said, smacking his chest again.

"Then we make a good pair."

This time, his lips were more insistent against hers, demanding and possessive. Zara closed her eyes and kissed him back. One of his hands went to the small of her back, and he drew her in close to his body, pressing her against the car frame and sinking his other hand into her hair.

He held her head as he parted her lips with the tip of his tongue, and she let go of the last of her hesitation and
ahhed
into his mouth. She ran her hands under his jacket, and the solid muscles of his back tightened under her palms. Rising up on her toes, she pulled their bodies even closer.

She wanted to forget about Yvette and Giovanni. She wanted to forget about being on the run from the police and whoever Yvette worked for. She wanted to forget she and Lawson were running out of people to trust.

At that moment, in the darkness of the French countryside, she wanted to forget all of it, to give up control and forget about everything except the tough, sexy man holding her close.

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