Mission: Out of Control (8 page)

“He's in Paris. Not at all headed this direction.”

Since Ronie's screaming episode—a memory that still woke him in the night in a cold sweat—he'd done some
studying up on Damu Mubar and his father. Apparently, General Mubar had been “elected” by the people after a bloody coup. Heralded as a champion of the impoverished, he “helped” the elite in Zimbala distribute their wealth to the masses.

Which, generally meant him taking over, via the use of the national army and the lucrative diamond mines, and overseeing the country's largest export.

But what did that have to do with Ronie's nightmare about…a pineapple?

It probably bothered him more than it should have. But he simply couldn't erase the image of the terror on her face, her unseeing eyes, the way she tore at her sheets. Yes, he wanted to turn that nightmare inside out.

Ronie said something to the children that made them laugh, then they piled on her. Well, she did look a little like Barney the Dinosaur in her purple wig and unitard. Thankfully, she wore a black tuxedo jacket over the entire outfit.

Really, he wanted to strangle whoever picked out her clothes. Probably Tommy the Delightful, who'd made Brody's life ever so fun every day of this trip. Almost as if his presence annoyed him, Tommy spoke to Brody only in short, clipped sentences. Had it been the multiple personality quip that day on the set?

And no, Brody wouldn't be bringing him coffee, thank you.

At least Leah liked Brody, even if her son drove him crazy.

He could admit Lyle was a nice kid, and clearly Ronie adored him, spending most of her free time playing chess
with him. And he seemed polite, used his pleases and thank-yous and didn't interrupt. You didn't see that much anymore. But every time he walked into the room, he simply rubbed Brody's fur up. He hadn't noticed it before he moved onto the sofa, but suddenly everything Lyle did made him clench his teeth. Couldn't the kid tell one joke that was funny?

“Mr. Wickham?” There was that politeness again. “I need to use the rest—”

“Stick around, kid. She's nearly done. You can go when we get to rehearsal.”

The boy turned away.

“Using your niceness again, Wick? You'd better tone it down or you're going to have a fan club,” Luke said, disapproval in his tone.

“We're about to leave.”

“Sheesh, Wick. Weren't you
ever
a kid?”

Brody watched, as Luke motioned to Lyle and directed him to the bathroom.

Perfect.

Ronie finished hugging the kids and waved as she swept past him into the hallway.

He caught up with her, settling his hand on the small of her back. “You were great in there.”

“Uh, thank you.” Surprise filled her eyes.

He led her down the steps. The countryside of the Czech Republic still bore the marks of the Communist regime. The mustard-yellow orphanage seemed well-groomed but weeds poked up through the cracked sidewalk, and rusty yard equipment evidenced a zero budget for repairs.

Ronie stopped Tommy as she reached the van he'd
rented for the day. “You gave the check to the director, right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. She didn't mention it, so…” She shrugged. “Not that she should.” She patted Tommy's chest. “Thank you.”

Brody made a mental note to have Artyom follow up.

They drove back into the city, the buildings morphing from rustic to slick and modern, to classic as they wound toward Old Town. They passed under the ancient Powder Gate, with its Gothic black-tiled roof, and Ronie turned strangely quiet.

“Are you okay?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I've been here three times, and I've never toured the city. It's so beautiful, but I always miss it.”

“You've never toured the city? It's the most beautiful in Europe.” He didn't mention that he lived just on the other side of the Charles Bridge, in the foothills below Prague Castle.

“I fly in, rehearse, do the show and leave. I've been all over Europe and have never even seen it.”

“We need to fix that. Driver, take us back to the hotel. Ronie, you're going to spend the day as a tourist.”

“Brody, I have to rehearse, I can't—”

He held up his hand. “Consider this protection from overwork. I've seen the show—over and over, actually—and it's awesome.”

Was that a blush? Hard to tell, but she swallowed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really, Ronie, you have it nailed.” He
turned to Leah. “You think you and Lyle can find something to do tonight? I can point you to a pizza joint.”

She winked at him. “We'll be fine.”

Ronie's big eyes gazed at him, and for a second, an unfamiliar heat went through him, something quick and warm and sweet. He swallowed it away. “Listen, this is my town. Let me show it to you.”

And when she smiled, the feeling returned.

That smile might be the most dangerous side of her that he'd seen yet.

“H
ave you ever had a pig's knuckle?” Brody stood in the sunshine outside their quaint hotel on the corner of Old Town Square, wearing a pair of dark glasses and looking exactly like a tourist.

Not that he'd ever fit into the category of mere tourist. Not with those cheekbones and that wry smile. Or his wind-combed hair, the way he filled out his green polo shirt, or the low-slung, faded jeans. And, just to be unpredictable, he wore a pair of black high-top Converse tennis shoes.

Yes, this just might be fun.

“What kind of question is that to ask a girl?” She pulled on her cap, her head feeling light and airy without a wig. She'd taken a quick shower to remove the feeling of Vonya from her skin, and her short hair took all of thirty seconds to dry. She hadn't even styled it—just ran some product through it. She'd thrown on some jeans, a T-shirt, Leah's Mary Jane Sketchers and hit the road. She couldn't remember ever feeling so…irresponsible. A giddy, almost intoxicating wildness filled her, bub-bling out in a smile as he turned.

“Simply a practical question. I don't want you dropping from hunger halfway through the day.”

“Just try to keep up, pal.”

He chuckled and she felt it deep inside her chest. It only stirred the giddy feeling inside.

The tall, black roof spires of the Tyn Cathedral rose from beyond the cobblestone square, and she half expected a dragon to appear over the top and level the onlookers below with its fiery breath.

On every side, three-story buildings like something out of a storybook, with their red-tiled roofs, gated the square. Some were adorned with the ornate scrolls and floral bouquets of the Renaissance facades, others with baroque cherubs, and still others with the rounded Art Nouveau styling. In the center, men spilling at his feet, stood a statue of some reformer.

Bistros pushed out into the expanse, the tables covered with bright umbrellas, hosting diners from all nations eating al fresco. Pigeons cooed in groups over the cobblestones, uneven and black. A driver in a top hat drove a prettied-up horse and carriage.

“It's enchanting.”

“And old. Prague was founded in the ninth century. It's best known as the place that gave us good old St. Wenceslas.”

“From the Christmas song?”

“One and the same. C'mon, I want to show you something.” He reached out, and for some reason she let him take her hand and pull her across the grassy park toward the old town hall. “Can we see the big, scary cathedral?”

“Later.”

“You promise?” It would certainly help to get a little lay of the land before tomorrow night's big event. But even as she thought it, she tasted a swell of shame. Not only did she have Damu's computer in her possession, but here Brody was, showing her his city, and she planned on using the information to betray him. Again.

Swell.

“I promise, you'll get to see the ‘big, scary' church.”

His hand felt warm and gentle around hers.

Probably just part of his protection duties. So he wouldn't lose her in the crowd.

Soon they were staring at a tall clock with two faces, with small figures guarding it. “This is the Astronomical Clock. At the top of the hour, it chimes, and all the apostles rotate through those open doors. Then the cock crows three times. The different figures represent things despised by the culture of the time—vanity, greed, death and infidelity. It's on the old Czech time scale, but it also calculates the positions of the sun and the moon, and keeps track of the seasons.”

“It's brilliant.”

“So much so that the king at the time, so legend goes, had the creator's eyes plucked out so he wouldn't create it for anyone else.”

“Nice.”

“Sort of puts a damper on creativity. But that's not what I wanted to show you.” He took her hand again and tugged her through the crowd. They passed an outdoor seating area, long tables covered with checked umbrellas. She slowed at the sight of a plate piled high with seafood linguine.

“Keep moving, Wonder Girl. I'll feed you, I promise. It's part of my job.”

She could embrace that part of his job. They wandered under a gateway between streets, then emerged into a narrow, cobblestone alleyway. Golden buildings hovered over them, centuries of architecture in the moldings around the windows, the ornate carvings over the doors.

“Back in the day, houses were known for their emblems. A person might rent a room at the House of the Red Sheep. Or a tavern might be the House of the Golden Well. And of course, there are stories behind each emblem.”

They passed a nook where a baker poured pancake mix onto a hot griddle. The thin blini bubbled up and he flipped it with a long wooden paddle. Ronie stopped, ignoring Brody's prodding, when she saw the man scoop out Nutella and smear it on the blini before rolling it up and dusting it with powdered sugar. “Oh, I must have one of those.” She dug into her pocket. “Oh, no, I left my money in my room.”

“You don't need it.”

Why not? Was this…a date?

“Thanks, but I'll pay you back.”

His lips tightened. “You could let someone do something nice for you, you know.” He handed a bill to the man behind the counter.

She said nothing. No, actually, she couldn't. She took the treat wrapped in wax paper and bit into the pancake, letting the hazelnut chocolate dissolve in her mouth. “I could die right here, right now.”

“Please don't say that to someone employed to keep you alive.”

She laughed. “Now I just need something to drink.”

“Demanding.” He guided her toward another alley. “Welcome home.”

Starbucks. She wanted to break into a run. “How—”

“Oh, all of Prague revolted when Starbucks moved in, but there are about five in the city now.”

She entered the store and ordered a macchiato. Brody held her coffee as she finished off the blini. Then she took the coffee, following him back out to the street.

“Where to next?”

“Now that you've visited the most important site in Prague, how about we stop by Prague Castle, by way of the Charles Bridge?”

“You're hilarious.” She followed him through another set of winding alleys, past tiny stores set in the nooks and crannies of ancient buildings. She stopped at a display of scarves, looking at a red one. She smiled up at him as she looped the scarf around her neck. “Put it on my tab.”

“No tab. My treat, and don't argue. That looks nice on you.”

His words caught her breath. It did?

“Let's detour.” He reached out to take her hand again, and she debated a second before letting him. Well, she had to let the man do his job.

He led her through a walled archway into a lush garden. The street noise slipped away, and quiet ruled the courtyard, broken only by the trickle of water. He led her to a bench. Across from them a giant tree filled with hanging roses freshened the air.

“It's called Klementinum. It's a monastery.”

“It's so peaceful.”

“I come here sometimes. When I need to think. Or read my Bible.”

His
Bible?
When was the last time she'd met someone who read their Bible? Maybe, well, never.

Once upon a time she'd read it, but her Bible had only become a reminder of how far she'd fallen.

Or maybe where she'd never been in the first place.

“How long have you lived here?”

“About a year, since I joined Stryker International.”

“You like your job?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.” He stood, then held out his hand to pull her up.

Like now? For a wild second, she wanted to be one of the “sometimes.”

They walked through another entrance to the monastery and came out onto a busy alleyway filled with more vendors.

“C'mon, Shop Girl. Let's see the bridge.”

They exited to a small plaza. Directly ahead a tall tower with an archway flanked the end of a bridge. Instead of going through the archway, he led her through a tiny side door, then up a winding set of stairs inside the tower.

She emerged on top of the city. “Wow.”

“This is Charles Bridge Tower.”

Indeed. From every direction, she overlooked the red-tiled roofs of the city.

“Over there is St. Wenceslas Square, and the gold roof of the National Theater, where your show will be.” He took her hand again, pulling her around to another
side of the turret. “And on this side, a view of the Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral.”

The Gothic cathedral sat atop a hill, rising from inside a rectangular palace. Against the late afternoon sun, the black, ornate steeples and the giant curving cupola took her breath. “It's…”

“Even more amazing inside,” he finished.

“Thank you for this.”

“Oh, we're far from done.”

He began pointing out the statues, relating the story behind each. He seemed delighted to share with her the mysteries of the city.

The wind rustled his curly hair, and she had to keep herself from running her fingers through it.

What—?

Okay, he was her bodyguard. She needed to remember that tidbit of information.

“…it's the best place to buy a souvenir, if you want. Or we can go right up to the castle.” She nodded.

“Which—get a souvenir or go see the castle?”

“Both.”

They stopped on the Charles Bridge and watched the ferries, then hopped a trolley car for the ride up the hill. She lost herself in the crowd of onlookers, standing locked inside time as she pondered the cathedral.

“Imagine what it might be like to live with all this around you, all the time. All this beauty.”

“I think people here start to take for granted what they have. It's easy to do when you're surrounded by it every day.”

“I wouldn't.”

He looked down at her, a strange look on his face. “No, I don't think you would.”

They wandered through the palace courtyard. “I've always wanted to bring my family here to show them where I live.”

“Why don't you?”

He stood, contemplating the steeples. “I have eight brothers and sisters. The airfare alone would break me. Then there's keeping track of them, although some are married and gone. Only Derek and Lucy are still at home.”

“Lucy was the one at the concert in D.C.?”

He nodded. “She's a Vonya wannabe.”

She made a face. “Sorry about that. I forget sometimes that I have influence over teenagers.”

“You shouldn't. It's important. I just wish they could see what I saw today.”

She looked away. She watched a family, the mother and father swinging their son between them. Her throat burned. She slipped her hand out from his. Enough of this silliness.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Let's go.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

She shook her head, hating the tears that brushed her eyes. If only—

“Are you crying?”

“Me? No. The sun's too bright.”

“Give it up, Ronie. What's the matter?”

“It's just— Forget it.”

He closed his mouth, a muscle pulling in his jaw. Then he reached again for her hand. “C'mon.”

She let her grip go limp in his, but apparently he didn't care as he walked them through the courtyard and back to the bridge.

Her hand was sweating by the time he stopped her at a statue of St. Wenceslas, the sun bleeding pink and red into the horizon. A chill whipped up, beading her skin. “You know what you and he have in common?”

“We're both made of tin?”

“Funny. No. Wenceslas was known for his kindness to the poor. He could have wallowed in his pain—after all, his father died when he was thirteen, and he grew up with a mother who took the throne and tried to kill him. He had to overthrow his mother when he came to power, at the age of eighteen. But when he finally did, he defended the church, and Christianity spread. The Christmas song written about him was just a fairy tale, but what isn't a fairy tale is the fact that he was a good man.”

“I still don't see the connection. No one has tried to kill me.”

Oops. Wrong choice of words. But he shook his head. “That's the thing, Ronie.
You
have tried to get rid of who you are. You're so much like Wenceslas—doing good for others, helping the poor. But you do everything under a mask, hiding the
real
Ronie. Like you want her to disappear. What if you…what if you left it all behind and just performed as Ronie?”

She stared at him. “Because no one would listen. Can you even imagine that? Mousy me, behind a microphone? I'd be like that poor street musician over there.” She pointed to a man with an accordion. “Could you give him a couple bucks? I'll pay you back.”

Brody considered her a moment, then dug into his pocket and gave him two coins.

By the time he'd returned, she'd conjured up a response. “I'm not the only one hiding. What about you? And the fact that you can't stand Lyle? What's that about?”

“I like Lyle.” His tone came out stiff.

“No, you don't. He annoys you. I noticed it that first morning you made breakfast. He raises all the hairs on the back of your neck and you can just barely be civil, right?”

“I think this tour is over.” He reached for her elbow but she yanked it away.

“Nothing doing. You promised me food.”

“I'll order you something at the hotel.”

She pursed her lips. “Not on your life. I want to know what's going on.”

“It's my job to understand you, not the other way around.”

Oh. So that was what this was. An interrogation. She curled her arms around her body. “You're right. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Take me back to the hotel.”

That took the wind out of his sails. “Listen, I'm sorry. Lyle reminds me of someone…someone I hurt.”