I'd Rather Be In Paris (20 page)

Lawson could not tear his attention away from Zara as the waitstaff entered and began setting trays of food on the table. When she gave him a coy smile, he knew he'd been had. Again.

Christian waved the staff off once the food was assembled. He passed a quiche to Zara. “To the French, cuisine is an art, not a science like Americans and Brits make it out to be."

Zara served herself and passed the quiche to Lawson. He mimicked her and watched to see which fork she picked up to eat it with.

The long mahogany table could seat twenty-five, but the three of them were contained at one end near the stone fireplace. A low fire burned behind the fireplace's iron grate, more for ambience, Lawson guessed, than for warmth. Ceiling fans oscillated in lazy circles high above their heads, creating a nice flow of air and making the tall candles on the table flicker. Along with the plates, wineglasses and assorted bowls between him and Zara, there were a variety of breads, spreads and a tureen of soup.

Zara took a bite of the quiche and a look of pleasure passed over her features. “The French have always enjoyed a predilection for fine food,” she said, licking her lips. “During the Middle Ages, spices were favored, but during the Renaissance, the French replaced heavy seasonings with indigenous herbs."

Her words went in one ear and out the other. He nodded as if he cared about the French and their gastronomic history. At the moment, his mind was on other things.

If Christian hadn't been in the room, he would have been tempted to use the opposite end of the table to get busy with Zara right there. The soft lighting, the fireplace, the virginal white dress, the look she was sending him. She fit perfectly into this environment, and a desire to explore it all with her burned in his stomach. He wanted to lay her out on the table, slide the long skirt of her dress up and enjoy a different kind of feast. Drip wine on her breasts and cream on her stomach and taste the contrast of sweet and tart...

Christian interrupted his thoughts. “Throughout history, traditional regional cuisines have endured alongside the imaginatively creative new dishes by the country's top chefs. All are fabulous, but,” he said, raising his glass of wine in toast, “the true connoisseurs of wine are the Brits!"

Zara raised her glass in salute. Lawson rushed to follow her. As the dinner continued with each course bringing a different variety of wine or beer, he struggled to keep up his end of the conversation.

The main course surprised him with both its food and its conversational turn. Small, whole-roasted chickens were brought out on a platter as well as lobster and stuffed crabs. “I thought you were a vegetarian,” he said to Christian.

Christian shot a look at Zara, and Lawson instantly knew he'd committed a
faux pas
.

The man adjusted the scarf at his neck. “A good host does not project his own food preferences on his guests at a formal dinner. Tonight, Zara is my guest of honor and she loves seafood"—he raised his glass of Brut—"and champagne."

Zara raised her glass for another of Christian's toasts. Her cheeks were charmingly flushed, but Lawson knew it wasn't from the alcohol. He'd been monitoring her alcohol consumption. She'd passed on all the offered drinks except the aperitif and the champagne, preferring water with her meal.

The topic of discussion turned to politics as Christian told a story about a Russian ambassador he had met in Bern. The talk went from Serbs to Croats and then to Muslims. Zara brought up Afghanistan and terrorism. The invasion of Iraq. All of which brought a distinct tension between the two of them. Neither was shy about their political viewpoints.

Lawson was used to such conversations, had never found it particularly difficult to talk politics or defend America's position on anything. He'd been involved in a few “engagements” and had witnessed things that stopped his blood cold. He didn't like war any more than most people, but he did support his country and his president. It was apparent from the conversation Christian was one of the few Brits supporting the same agenda.

Zara did not. She and Christian argued political theory and Middle East history until Lawson wondered if World War III was about to break out right there at Villa Bernier.

Christian shook his fist and thumped it on the table, shaking the glasses. “Ah, this from you! I bet you didn't even vote during your last presidential election."

"I did too.” She pointed her fork at him. “I voted against the man currently screwing things up if you must know."

"Ha! Probably only to offset your father's vote."

"Not true,” she said with indignation. Then she sat back in her chair, a smile breaking over her face. “Okay, you got me on that. But still the world's thirst for war has to end. In the past two years, our government has identified dozens of significant international arms dealers and the terrorists they are supplying. Why are we not eliminating these people instead of inciting more problems?"

Christian turned to Lawson. “What do you think, Commander? Shall we send our guest of honor back to Paris where she can march on the
Place de la Concorde
and protest?"

Across the table, Zara arched a brow in challenge. Watching her become so riled up was fun. Even if he
had
personally agreed with her views, he would have played devil's advocate just to make her squirm.

"I think you've made some valid points tonight,” he said and saw her mouth soften in triumph, “but I also think some of your views are simplistic and based on emotions instead of facts."

The smile faded. “Are you saying my emotions keep me from thinking logically about politics?"

Lawson shrugged. “You're a woman."

Her eyes narrowed at him and his lungs stopped on the inhale. “You can't be serious,” she said.

Grinning, he finished his breath and took a sip of his beer, knowing his nonchalance was driving her as crazy as his playing devil's advocate. He was rewarded when she threw her napkin on the table and launched into a dissertation about the male species that was completely stereotypical.

And completely true as far as Lawson could see. After a minute, he glanced at Christian and both of them burst out laughing.

Zara stopped in mid-tirade and stared at him. “You're yanking my chain, aren't you?"

"Me?” he said in mock protest. “Wouldn't dream of it."

Her napkin flew across the table and hit him in the face. “Men!"

He laughed and turned to Christian again. “What was I saying about emotional women?"

The next course was cheese and the talk turned to a safer subject: dance. Christian passed an immense tray to Zara and said to Lawson, “Did Zara tell you she's dancing for me again? She came to see my new studio this afternoon and couldn't help herself. You should have seen her. She's natural as can be. She should return to the world of ballet
tout de suite
."

Zara selected a creamy-looking slice of cheese and glanced at Lawson before looking away again. He could have sworn she was blushing.

"That's great,” he said without thinking.

"I'd like to set up a training schedule for her.” Christian passed the cheese tray to him. “Three times a day for the next several months. Strength training and jazz classes. Within the next year, she could have many doors open for her again in the ballet world."

"Training schedule?” Zara's forehead creased in a frown. She shook her head. “We discussed this. I'm not taking up ballet again as a profession."

"But dance is your dream, love, I know it is. Not to be insensitive, but you are twenty-five years old. If you are going to get back into the dance world, time is of the essence. With my help, you can make it. You can stand on the stage and receive the applause you deserve."

Now it was Zara who pounded a fist on the table. “Wrong. Ballet was everyone else's dream for me. When I injured my tendon, I realized there was a whole world outside of dance. Working for the CIA
is
my dream."

Christian reached out to lay his hand on her fist. “Your commitment to your work and the CIA is commendable, but I'm positive Lawson is quite capable of finishing this assignment without you, and I know the CIA won't fall to ruins if you hand in your resignation.” His gaze fell on Lawson. “Back me up here."

Lawson picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. Zara was glaring at him across the table, her face looking as set as it had the previous night when she'd been so daring in the hotel. So determined to grab her bag and get her shoes. She didn't need his opinion or advice, but...

But if she was as good as Christian said, should he tell her to go for it? Did she need his okay to ... what? Quit the assignment? Was that the only reason she was arguing with Christian? If Lawson told her he needed her to stay with him until the mission was over, if he made her stay with him until they found Dmitri, would she be giving up a second chance at a childhood dream?

Could he tell her it was all right to quit, even if it meant he might never see her again? The thought made his jaw tighten.

Every moment of the last few days with her played on the mental movie screen in his head. Every defiant look she'd given him, every word of the verbal sparring they'd done, every sigh, every move. Thinking about finishing the mission without her, thinking about his immediate future without her made the wine in his stomach sour.

"All I know,” he said, meeting her solemn eyes over the tops of the dwindling candles, “Zara knows what she wants. She doesn't need either of us telling her what to do, Christian."

Her face softened in something akin to surprised relief. She raised her champagne in a small salute to him before taking a sip. Taking Christian's hand in hers, she squeezed it. “I love you, Christian. I truly do. But you cannot live your life vicariously through me. I cannot and will not ever be the fantasy ballerina you and my mother wanted. I'm a foreign counterintelligence operative for the Agency. I am working in partnership with Lawson to hunt down Alexandrov Dmitri and Jon Vos Loo who are dangerous and sadistic criminals. It's an important job and it's
my
job."

The dance instructor frowned but after a pause, nodded his consent. He pushed his plate back. “Then I suppose we should get down to business."

Zara paced the sitting room and tried to concentrate on what Christian was telling Lawson, but her nerves jittered under her skin, her emotions out of sorts. Whether it was caused by the tumult in Paris, her mixed-up internal clock or the champagne, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she kept losing the thread of conversation.

The two men were seated in matching Queen Anne chairs, Christian looking perfectly at home, Lawson looking like a frog on a hot stove. He was sitting forward as though he were ready to jump and run, the Cuban cigar Christian had forced on him dangling from his fingertips.

Christian took a puff from his own cigar and continued talking about a group of the Italian Mafia that was considered extreme, even by the larger group's standards. “The older generation is dying off and taking many of their Old World ways with them. The younger generation has reorganized and restructured. The Family is now a more equal-opportunity employer and both sexes are attending Ivy League schools, trading companies on the New York Stock Exchange and developing a new business plan for the Mafia's future."

"What kind of plan?” Lawson asked.

"They're expanding their pharmaceutical and munitions rings. Looking for improved products to control the market and develop better ways to milk profits. Eliminating serious competitors and all the layers of middlemen is their key to market dominance, whether it involves drugs, guns, gambling or prostitution.” He crossed one leg over the other. “They're also working outside those foundation markets. Telecommunications, private banking, life sciences, you name it, they're jumping into it with both feet."

Zara leaned on the back of the sofa. She could feel Lawson's gaze on her. “Dmitri and Vos Loo are involved in this?"

"You know I have an eclectic group of friends and acquaintances. I did a bit of digging with some names Lawson gave me this morning and came up with a theory for you. Alexi and company had help getting out of Moulins Prison, and from what I fished out, the most likely culprit to back them is Stefano Biaggio, a twenty-seven-year-old computer genius high in The Family ranks. Varina Scalfaro is his business partner and mistress. Rogan Janvrin is a close friend and possible business associate as well. The three of them have known each other since their Harvard days."

Lawson rolled the cigar between his fingers. “You said Janvrin didn't go to college."

"He wasn't a student. He taught a class for a semester on writing some kind of code for virtual reality applications. That's where Scalfaro and Biaggio met him."

Zara began pacing again. Even with her back to him, she could feel Lawson's gaze tracing its way down her spine. She shivered, her skin suddenly too sensitive under the dress fabric. “I still don't see what this has to do with Dmitri and Vos Loo."

His voice reached her across the room, but seemed too low and masculine for the current topic. “They have something Biaggio wants."

She turned to face him and saw he'd stood and was putting his cigar out. She tried to stay focused on the subject even as she assessed his profile with genuine female approval. “What would the mob need with an independent arms dealer and a biochemist?"

Laying the cigar in the crystal tray, Lawson stared at her for a moment, and Zara was sure from the glint of his eyes he wasn't spending much brain power thinking about terrorists. Her insides warmed. “That's what we're going to find out."

Without missing a beat, he turned to Christian and held out his hand. “The dinner was delicious, sir. I don't think I've eaten that well since the last time I sat at my mother's table."

Flustered, Christian rose out of his seat to accept the handshake. “I'll pass the compliment on to Gunther. He'll be quite pleased."

"Tomorrow I'll have a few more leads for us to follow, and I'd appreciate your help."

Zara smiled at the way Christian's face lit up. He patted Lawson on the shoulder. “Of course! Whatever I can do."

Lawson turned to her and Zara waited in anticipation of one of his body scans, but he held her gaze with his and smiled so faintly she almost thought she imagined it. “Good night, Zara. Sleep well."

She and Christian stayed quiet as he left the room and then they exchanged a look.

"Well?” Christian said to her.

"Well, what?” she countered.

"Go on.” He made little shooing movements with his hand. “You played your part marvelously, and he took the bait. He's absolute putty in your hands, and I'm utterly jealous. You get to spend the rest of the night with a gorgeous, mysterious devil, and the most excitement I'll have is watching the BBC."

Was she really brave enough to go upstairs and invite Lawson to spend the night with her? “I'm not going to sleep with him."

"All the flirting during dinner and now you're not going to follow through?"

"No."

Christian took a puff on his cigar. “You're young, single and in the middle of a dangerous international operation. Why the hell not?"

It had been a long time since she'd gone after a man she really wanted. “The morning after?"

"God's sakes, woman.” He rolled his eyes. “I thought I raised you to grab opportunity when it came your way."

"In a few hours, the magic of this evening will be over and I'll have to look Lawson in the eye again. Our working relationship will suffer."

"You're scared."

"I am not."

"Yes,” Christian said, “you are. You're also a tease and you should be ashamed of yourself. Poor Lawson, I feel sorry for him."

Letting out a sigh, she kissed Christian on the cheek. “You're trying to live through me again."

"So humor me."

Laughing, she left him in the sitting room to go find poor Lawson.

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