I'd Rather Be In Paris (27 page)

Cold. She was so cold, it hurt to move.

Zara listened to the rise and fall of voices nearby. With her head pounding and her mouth as dry as cotton, she tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. They refused to obey.

Her drugged sleep beckoned at her, and she let herself drift, not wanting to fully wake and face what was happening. Not face the knowledge lurking on the edge of her consciousness.

A hard shiver ripped through her body and the men's voices jolted her back to wakefulness. Her muscles were limp and she fought to turn over, wanting to get her cheek off the cold floor, but her body wouldn't respond.

Unconsciousness threatened to take her under again and she used all of her will not to give in. Her training told her to pretend unconsciousness and buy time to get her bearings, yet primal instincts pumped adrenaline through her system making her twitch. The fogginess in her brain cleared a fraction, and snippets of the night and what had happened to her made her heart pound loudly in her ears. She unglued her tongue from the top of her mouth and swallowed.

Low laughter, familiar and devoid of humor, sent goose bumps over her skin that had nothing to do with the physical cold of the floor. She sensed a presence bending over her as hands gripped her arms to roll her over.

Struggling to keep her eyes shut, Zara forced her body to act like dead weight. Her captor wasn't fooled. He shook her and slapped her face, bringing about the flinch that revealed her lucidity. As she stared back at his ice-blue eyes her heart seized and her mouth formed the word “no".

Damn, damn, damn, damn.
Lawson punched his fist into the nearest tree and swore a string of curse words. Crouching, he picked Zara's gun up off the ground and bent his head in disgrace. He'd screwed up royally. Someone had kidnapped her right out from under his nose.

He'd been checking the Ducati's gas level when the twitch in his shoulder blades started hammering at him. He'd left the cycle and run back to the house, a surge of unexplained adrenaline pumping his legs as hard as they would go. Inside, he continued to run, through the east wing and to the west, calling Zara as he went. Christian emerged from the library, and seeing Lawson's distress, joined him in his search. The maid, Maria, reported she'd seen Zara and Annette walking in the garden, but now neither was anywhere to be seen. Why had Annette returned and how had she bypassed the gates and front door? Maria assured Christian Annette had never entered the house.

He'd run the length of the property, Christian on his heels, and arrived back at the barn. One of Christian's security team had met them there with news that a guard in the back quarter of the property was dead, his neck sliced ear to ear. Searching the woods around the barn, Lawson discovered the Glock.

No Annette, no Zara. One dead security officer. As he left the woods and showed Christian the gun, his cell phone rang. He almost ignored it, but instinct told him not to. His blood froze, then boiled, as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? So full of life.” The man sighed. “At least for now."

Dmitri. How had the son of a bitch found them? How had he kidnapped Zara? Had he kidnapped Annette too? Or had Annette done the kidnapping?

Lawson drew a sharp breath at the reaction his gut had to the thought. There was no point exploring the how of it at the moment. Dmitri had Zara. The details could wait. “What do you want?"

"I have what I want. The Princess. I appreciate you bringing her with you to Switzerland. Our reunion has been bittersweet, and it will be even better when her sister joins us."

Lawson clenched his jaw. Christian's eyes widened as the man came to stand in front of him. “Hurt her or her sister and I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands."

The terrorist laughed. “Yes, well, first,
Monsieur
Vaughn, you have to catch me."

Before Lawson could answer, the connection went dead.

He punched the closest tree.

"My God,” Christian said, from behind him. “He's got her, doesn't he? Dmitri's got my Zara again."

Fingering the cell phone, Lawson breathed in and out and tried to keep thoughts of what Dmitri would do to Zara at bay. Zara and Lucie. Jesus, the bastard would be in heaven having both women at his disposal.

Considering the mental map in his head of the estate where Dmitri and Vos Loo were holed up, Lawson ran through his options.

He could save them, but he couldn't walk in with guns blazing and expect a happy outcome. This wasn't a Schwarzenegger movie. He had to fight his impulsive nature and use his head. Failure was not an option.

Surveillance at Dmitri's new estate was tight but he'd spotted at least one weak point. The problem was, he didn't know the layout of the house or where Dmitri would keep hostages. He couldn't sneak into the estate's compound and rescue them without help. And right now, help, in the form of his team, was too freakin’ far away.

Turning and striding back toward Christian's house, he punched a speed-dial button and waited for Del Hoffman to pick up.

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"Agent Morgan.” Alexandrov Dmitri crouched over her. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here."

Zara tore her gaze away from his eyes and brought a shaky hand to her face. This couldn't be happening. It had to be another nightmare. There was no way she could face Alexandrov Dmitri like this—on her back without a weapon or a prayer.

He stood and motioned to one of the four men arranged around the foyer. Each was dressed in black wool pants and a black turtleneck and carrying an automatic weapon. “Help her up, Jean-Paul."

A young man with chubby cherub cheeks slung his gun around to his back and moved toward her. Strong hands hoisted her to her feet. Her knees buckled, and he half-carried her to a straight-backed chair in the adjoining room. He dropped her onto it, and her right butt cheek screamed where the tranquilizer dart had nailed her. Gripping the edge of the seat, she fought to keep herself upright, swallowing the nausea that tightened the muscles in her jaw.

The room was carpeted and furnished with a scattering of expensive pieces, including a magnificent Louis XIII desk and matching chair. Heavy wool drapes were closed against the night. Armed men, again dressed completely in black, stood in the corners.

Dmitri knelt in front of her, the faint odor of his musky aftershave and cigarette smoke teasing her nostrils. His dark hair was longer than the last time she'd seen him, soft curls brushing the straps of his shoulder holster. A thin pink scar ran across the top of his right cheekbone and disappeared into a sideburn. A souvenir from prison?

"You are not easily dissuaded, are you?” he said. The scar rose on his cheek as he smiled. “I'm beginning to think you like me. Maybe even enjoy being my hostage. Perhaps you get off on fear?"

She refused to be goaded, to play his game. Silence, the ultimate act of defiance, was the one thing he couldn't stand. Pressing her lips together, she stared back at him and watched with satisfaction as his smile faltered a micron.

He thrust his face mere inches from hers. “In prison, I learned several new abuses to add to my list of torture techniques. I haven't had the chance to try them out on anyone yet. You could be the first."

He walked his fingers up one of her thighs, and a thin, gold chain peeked out from his shirt sleeve. Her lost gold necklace encircled his wrist in two loops. His breath touched her cheek. “You are such a pretty girl. Maybe this time I will administer the torture myself. Then we can both get off, huh?"

Anger zinged through her. Hate coiled in her stomach. On reflex, she thrust her elbow sharply at his face, and welcomed the connection of bone to bone. He fell backward, swearing and grabbing his cheek.

Before the armed guards could move, he regained his balance, stepped forward and cold-cocked her, the force of the blow knocking her out of the chair. She landed heavily on the carpeted floor and curled into a ball, ears ringing.

She clamped her eyes shut to hold back the tears.

"Alexandrov,” someone said in a warning tone.

Dmitri's booted feet stepped away. Someone snapped his fingers and hands lifted her again into the chair. Her arms were pulled behind her and secured with flexicuffs. Then the cherub-faced youth moved around to the front and tied her legs to the legs of the chair. She blinked several times, keeping her eyes on the top of his head and trying to bring his dark curls into focus.

A man, compact and powerful, with dark skin and hair, moved from behind her and seated himself at the desk. As Zara's eyesight cleared, she saw his suit was vintage Italian silk. Under it, he wore a cashmere sweater. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest and gazed at her impassively from under heavy brows. “Where is your partner?” His accent was almost nonexistent.

She noticed the mole to the left of his finely chiseled nose and knew she was looking at Stefano Biaggio. The head of the new Italian Mafia sect. Varina's boss, lover and business partner. A man who no doubt had a very large chip on his shoulder when it came to Zara and Lawson.

A strange calm settled over her. If Stefano was asking her where Lawson was, that meant they hadn't caught him. He would come for her, all she had to do was buy some time.

"I don't know what you're talking about.” Speaking caused pain to radiate from her cheek and jaw where Dmitri's punch had landed. “I don't have any partner."

Stefano tapped his index fingers together. “Then you are a woman of great talent. You have killed four members of my organization, stolen one of my motorcycles and tracked down Alexi all by yourself.” He touched a file folder on his desk. “The CIA does not have many men who could accomplish so much in such a short amount of time."

She shrugged one shoulder. “Never send a man to do a woman's job."

Stefano studied her for a long moment, his eyes dropping to her chest and then down to her spread knees. Where Dmitri always went with brute strength, Stefano understood that humiliation could be as effective as a punch from a fist. A normal woman would have instinctively tried to bring her knees together even if the attempt was futile. Zara forced herself not to move a muscle.

He sat forward and flipped the file open. “We know of your partner, Agent Morgan. I have his complete dossier here with yours.” Slipping a black and white 8x10 from the papers inside, he held it up for her to see. There, caught by the Ambassador's security camera, was her and Lawson in profile. Stefano pulled out several more photos, shot from different angles. He raised his brows to her, waiting.

She let him wait. She wasn't going to volunteer anything, not even lies. It would end up costing her, that she knew, but the longer she stretched out the interrogation, the better her chances for survival.

"Vaughn has caused more trouble for me in the past forty-eight hours than all the other agents who've tried to bring my empire down combined. I cannot let such offenses go.” Stefano sat back in his chair. “You understand?"

Again, she offered only silence.

Stefano glared at her. “Alexi told me you would be uncooperative. What a shame. Perhaps this will change your mind.” Reaching into the file, he pulled out another photo. This one of Zara and Lucie entering the hotel's front lobby.

Not Lucie.

The game suddenly swerved and jumped to a different level. A personal one that went beyond hers or Lawson's safety and survival. The two men in front of her were about to screw with her family. “She has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone."

"Too late,” Dmitri said, clapping his hands together and beaming at her. He signaled to one of the men in the back of the room, Zara's chain swinging from his wrist. “Bring the girl."

Sheer terror rose under her skin. Looking over her shoulder at the back of the room, she held her breath.

Lucie appeared in the doorway to the room a minute later, flanked on each side by a guard. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and duct tape covered her mouth.

Zara jerked on her bonds as her sister approached. “Are you hurt?"

Lucie shook her head, and Dmitri shoved her back into the chair. She whipped her head around and pinned her gaze on him. “This is between you and me. Not her."

He thrust his face in front of her. “Then tell me where Vaughn is."

She clenched her teeth together, released them. “I don't know."

"You're lying.” He stood erect and motioned his men to bring Lucie forward. He grabbed her by the back of her hair and forced her down to her knees in front of Zara. Pulling his gun out of the holster, he dug the end into Lucie's temple. “Tell me where Lawson Vaughn is, or I'll blow her brains into your lap."

Zara stared into Lucie's frightened eyes, afraid to blink. Her brain sped through her options and the consequences each one might bring.

"He went to Paris to catch up with Conrad Flynn,” she lied, grateful Annette wasn't in the room to contradict her. “He left this morning and I haven't seen him since."

"Why?” Stefano asked.

"Director Flynn came for him because of the uproar with the French authorities over Varina and Giovanni's deaths.” She willed her voice to stay calm. “We already knew you had set up camp here, and Flynn left me behind to keep an eye on you. He's notified the French and Swiss authorities of your whereabouts."

Stefano snorted. “The French and Swiss have better things to do than bother me, and the United States does not scare me.” His eyes narrowed a millimeter and he pointed a finger at her. “You, on the other hand, have killed several members of my organization. That I do not take lightly.” He shifted his gaze to Lucie and back to her. “I believe in an eye for an eye."

No, not Lucie
. “If you want to prove a point or exact retribution for Varina's death, then kill me. Lucie's death will mean nothing to the CIA or the United States. Mine will."

Stefano drew a deep breath in through his nose, flaring his nostrils as he studied her. “The key to successful warfare is meticulous preparation. I, for one, hate improvisation.” He tapped his index fingers together again. “But perhaps, under the circumstances, we can make a deal."

Zara knew her doom was sealed. Whatever deal she made with Stefano and Dmitri would kill her. But if it gave Lucie even the slimmest chance of survival, if she could keep Lucie alive until Lawson arrived, she had to take it.

She looked at her sister and gave her a weak but encouraging smile. “A deal. Of course."