The Bodyguard Contract Page 10

  Novak opened the passenger door, took the priest’s arm and helped him into the car. No force. No angry movement. Ian leaned back into his seat, his mind racing through different scenerios.

  When Novak pulled from the curb, Davidenko’s man followed.

  Ian eased into traffic, then picked up his cell phone and hit the automatic dial.

  Guilt hummed across the lines of his shoulders, but he pushed it back.

  “MacAlister.” Cain’s voice sounded gritty, tired.

  “Cain, it’s Ian.”

  “What the hell happened to you? Why haven’t you answered the phone?”

  “I shut it off,” Ian said, making no excuses, offering no apologies.

  “Where are you?”

  “In Vegas,” Ian responded grimly. “We have a situation.”

  Thursday, 1600 hours

  MACHINES LINED THE FLOOR, like tin soldiers, all in uniformed rows. Short, fat, tall, skinny. Most spewing noises of bells or old game shows. Others, the older ones spattered with color, were content to flash yellow strobes when someone hit the jackpot.

  All were being tended to, their bellies fed with coins from eager hands holding little white buckets or cold, hard cash.

  Lara found herself fitting in the former. She fed three five-dollar coins into an older slot machine that boasted patriotic stars of red, white and blue. Liking the irony, she’d chosen it on purpose. It had taken her less than an hour to lose four of her five hundred dollars. Less than that to work off her irritation with Ian.

  Lara jabbed the Bet Max button.

  The clock had showed just past three in the afternoon when she’d awakened. A quick search of the suite told her Ian had left. On the coffee table she found an apple and a note with one word on it. “Eat.”

  Underneath the note she found the key to Father Xavier’s room. She pocketed the key and ate the apple.

  Ian should have woken her up, but even she had to admit the sleep had done her good. The headache had gone, her eyes no longer burned. She’d lost three hours, but balanced against the exhaustion, she figured she was no worse off than before.

  When the slot machine took her last fifteen dollars, Lara glanced at her watch. She couldn’t waste another moment, stalling for Ian. Ian had taken the monitor, leaving little doubt that he’d followed Novak. A call to the valet station told her he’d taken the car.

  Slowly, she wandered over to the public restroom. Inside, she made her way to an empty stall.

  When a little girl suddenly stepped in her path, Lara shifted and grabbed the sink’s counter.

  The girl, dressed in pink shorts and a top with a big dinosaur on it, pointed at Lara’s hair. The slant of her hazel eyes widened with wonder. “Pretty.”

  “Hello.” Enamored, Lara crouched and touched the little girl’s straight black hair, tickled her cheek with an errant lock. “Pretty.”

  The little girl blinked, then laughed and clapped her hands.

  “Jenny?”

  Lara glanced over her shoulder and saw the mother.

  Her Asian heritage defined her features. The exotic slant of her cheeks, the oval face. The thick curtain of hair caught back in a band and black as pitch. All framed a pair of almond eyes and perfectly arched brows.

  “Jenny?” The mother glanced around.

  Lara stepped back, giving the woman a clean line of sight. “She’s right here.”

  “Jenny,” she said with relief. “I asked you to stand right by my leg, sweetie.”

  Jenny, who couldn’t have been more than three, smiled. “Pretty.” Again the little girl pointed at Lara.

  “Yes, she is.” A smile touched the woman’s lips. “Very pretty, but next time, stay close. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Jenny’s mother lifted a baby from the changing table—a boy with fuzzy porcupine hair and chubby cheeks—and settled him onto her hip. Lara put the other woman’s age close to her own age of thirty.

  “They’re adorable,” Lara commented softly and gave in to the urge to caress Jenny’s cheek.

  “Thank you,” the woman said, her jade eyes sharpened with interest. “Having two is a handful, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” The woman studied Lara, caught something in her expression. “Do you have any children?”

  Lara smiled, felt the familiar prick at her eyes. “I’m two months pregnant with my first.”

  “Congratulations.” The woman’s smile increased before she noticed the hint of tears. “Dealing with those hormones, huh?”

  Lara blinked. “Oh yeah.”

  “And morning sickness?”

  “No, just bouts of nausea.”

  “Onions?”

  “Red meat.” Lara laughed. God, it felt so good to share with someone who understood. “So far.”

  “Well, don’t let that or anyone spoil these next few months. Kids don’t start being your kids once they’re born.” She patted her stomach. “They start being yours in here.”

  “I guess they do.”

  “You’re the first person that’s going to know your baby. No one else will feel it grow or—” she chuckled “—hiccup. Once they’re born, each stage is wonderful, but they grow so fast.” The woman sighed and nuzzled her son’s cheek. “Whatever you do, don’t listen to women’s delivery stories and rough pregnancies. Just enjoy.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that.” Lara smiled.

  “Listen to me, I should take my own advice and leave you alone,” she remarked. “Even without it, you’ll be a good mom.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Lara asked, curious. Not because she wanted the compliment. She truly wanted to know why another mother would think so.

  The woman glanced at her daughter. “Intuition.” Then she held out her hand. “Good luck with your baby, Miss Mercer.”

  Lara stiffened, for a moment forgetting she was recognizable. “I—”

  She winked. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” She opened the door. “And watch out for that red meat.”

  “I will,” Lara said, then wiggled her fingers goodbye to Jenny.

  Slowly, Lara entered the stall, stripped off her sundress splashed with red roses and leaves. Underneath she wore white shorts. From her purse she pulled out a white halter and slipped it on.

  For the first time, Lara contemplated a life with a child. The emotion, the responsibility. In all her adult years, she’d never acknowledged the possibility. Never let herself dwell on the thought of marriage and family. But now, the longing for both tugged at her.

  Several voices boomed in the restroom, startling her. Quickly, she tucked her hair into the nylon cap and put on her black wig. Adjusting it into place, she slipped on her sunglasses and waited until there was a rush at the vanity, then she left the stall. She washed her hands, finger smoothed her hair in the mirror, then followed the larger part of the crowd out the door.

  Keeping with the group, Lara entered the fullest elevator. Her? A mother? The elevator slid open at her floor and she stepped off.

  Lara thought of Jenny and the baby as she walked down the hall. Something had happened to her when she’d touched the little girl. A surge of power shifted in her, lessening the fear of the unknown.

  Lara slid the key into the lock and twisted the handle. Before she could react, the door opened, a vise clamped on to her wrist and yanked her in.

  Chapter Ten

  Lara threw her weight into her assailant, then swung her fist.

  “Damn it, Red.” Ian caught her punch with his free hand. “Don’t you ever look before you swing?”

  “Not when I’m grabbed.” She shook off his hand and shoved him aside. “What’s up with the caveman routine?”

  “That.” Ian nodded toward the floor.

  Father Xavier Varvarinski lay dead, his eyes open, half his jaw and skull gone.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Ian said, his voice grim. “I’ve already cleaned the room of our fingerprints.”

  Lara noted the gun next to Father Xavier�
��s hand. “Whoever did this wants the authorities to think it’s a suicide.” Fear rifled through her. With Father Xavier gone, she had no way of getting the antibiotic. Not without help.

  “Ian, we’ve got a bigger problem,” Lara murmured, catching the tinny scent of old blood, the thicker scent of urine. Acid crept to the back of her throat. She blew out a breath, swallowed it back. Damn it, this wasn’t her first dead body.

  “Father Xavier told me he’d contaminated his rosary with the Katts Smeart.” Her eyes locked with Ian’s. “After he’d given it to me.”

  “His rosary…” Ian’s jaw flexed. “You’re infected.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure.” Only tight control kept her voice calm, the waver whisper thin. She reached into her purse for a mint. Ignored the tremble in her fingers when she brought it to her mouth. “Father Xavier planted the cross in the confessional. When he’d told me he had something for me, I naturally assumed it was the Katts Smeart. Turns out, I’d picked up the rosary. Five minutes later, he told me he dipped the cross in the chemical agent.”

  “But you have no proof.”

  She shook her head. “After he left, I took care not to touch anything. I washed the cross and its box in the church bathroom. If he had contaminated the rosary, I couldn’t risk exposing anyone else.”

  “You should’ve risked it, damn it. You should have found out for sure.”

  “How? Fly all the back to Norfolk, drop off the rosary and then travel back to Las Vegas before the arms deal last night? Even if the margin of time was big enough, if I brought anyone else into this, he threatened to release the agent,” she reminded him.

  “Lara—”

  “I’m sorry, Ian. Maybe I should’ve told you sooner—”

  “Maybe?” he snarled. “And the body? Is the baby infected?”

  “The baby’s fine,” Lara answered, pushing her own fears away. Antagonism sizzled the air. Enough to raise Lara’s defenses. “Telling you now doesn’t change the timeline or the urgency behind finding the poison. If Novak was working with Father Xavier, he still could release that agent on hundreds of unsuspecting people.”

  “We don’t need to locate him. He brought the priest here.”

  Lara swung around, her eyes intense. “What?”

  “While you were sleeping, I tracked Novak to Saint Stan’s. He picked up Father Xavier. I lost them here at the hotel. Actually, I lost the monitored transmission.”

  “A malfunction?”

  “Maybe,” Ian replied, but his tone indicated otherwise. “When I opened the door, I found the priest dead.”

  Lara paced, her mind running through the possibilities. “They’ve been in this together.”

  “And unless I miss my guess,” Ian agreed, “Father Xavier blew up the trailer and killed the other arms dealer, Armand.”

  “How do you figure?” Lara tried to picture the frail priest holding a rocket launcher. “He didn’t have enough strength.”

  Ian turned over the older man’s hands. “Flash burns.”

  “Did you search him?”

  “Yes, he’s clean. Except for this.” Ian handed her an old leather Bible.

  “This is too worn to be from the room.” Lara opened it, caught the musty scent of incense. Her eyes glimpsed some handwriting on the inside page. “To my beloved Xavier. Yours always, Katia.”

  “Too personal for a sister.” Lara flipped through the pages. Found nothing. “An old girlfriend?” She hesitated then slipped the book in her purse.

  “Okay. So if Father Xavier and Novak were working together, why kill the priest now?”

  “They’d drawn suspicion. I spied one of Davidenko’s men tailing Novak.”

  “Which one?” Lara asked. “Alexei?”

  “No. One I haven’t seen, but he’s definitely with Davidenko.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The suit. All Davidenko’s goons are wearing them. Russian tailored. Butch-black. No taste. Pricey.”

  Lara nodded, then stopped. “Davidenko’s man could’ve killed Father Xavier, too.” Lara’s head shot up. “The cameras.”

  “Whoever shot him has access to the security cameras. I’ll bet you that briefcase of money, any disks have been wiped clean.”

  “We could always grab Novak and pound the information out of him.”

  “That wouldn’t do any good.”

  “It would make me feel better.”

  Ian raised his eyebrow. “Getting a little blood-thirsty?”

  Lara’s stomach flopped. “Please don’t mention blood and thirsty together. Not right now.”

  “Sorry.” The concern was there, in the slant of his brow.

  Suddenly uneasy, Lara studied the body. “You realize we need to leave him here.”

  “For now. Blowing the whistle would bring in too many Domestics.” Domestic was the agency term for police and Bureau boys. “If we bring anyone in, it’s going to be Cain.”

  “No.”

  “I said if,” Ian snapped.

  Lara dismissed the censure. “The antidote is gone.”

  “Maybe,” Ian agreed slowly, his gaze taking in ruffled bedcovers, the slightly open drawers. “Whoever killed the priest searched the room. Unless the Katts Smeart and files were on Father Xavier at the time, the killer didn’t find anything. The room was clean, I searched it earlier.”

  “So,” Lara commented. “We go to Davidenko’s party.”

  “If they were partners, Novak might have the agent and the antidote. Or at least one of the two. Could be he killed Father Xavier for it.” Ian glanced down at the priest. “Either way, we can get a read on Novak there.”

  “If he is there.”

  “Novak is Davidenko’s right-hand man.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll be there. Unless he’s dead, too.”

  LARA STOPPED and stood in front of the entry’s gilded mirror. Her gaze skimmed critically over the midthigh, silk slip dress. Small black beads trimmed the bodice, clinging to the roundness of her breasts. The tanzanite silk molded to her curves, emphasized the flat of her stomach, her slim hips. She turned and peered over her shoulder in the mirror. The dress, backless, dipped into a low swoop across the base of her spine.

  Perfect.

  Her looks were the one thing she could thank her mother for. The only thing.

  The product of an affair with a French countess, Lara had never doubted her father’s sense of responsibility or her mother’s disdain.

  Up until age six, she’d been cared for by a series of nannies. After, she’d been shipped off to her first boarding school not knowing at the time she wouldn’t return home again until she was eighteen. At first, her father had tried to write sporadic letters, bring her home for the occasional holiday. Each letter had been signed with his name, Jonathon, and each she was sure, penned by his secretary. As for the holidays, the first few visits home, he’d been away on assignment.

  Within a few years, the period between letters stretched longer, then eventually became nonexistent.

  So had her homecomings.

  Lara shifted, satisfied when the beads blinked, drawing the eye. She’d learned long ago that appearance was ninety percent of the game.

  Appear to be a family. Appear to be happy. Appear to be in control.

  She’d pulled back her hair into a loose bun that allowed wisps of hair to soften the outer edge of her face, draw a male gaze to the graceful line of her neck.

  “Are you ready?” Ian asked from behind, catching her reflection in the mirror, noting how it accented Lara’s fragility, her beauty. His eyes flickered over her. Her breasts were a little fuller, he noted. In his mind’s eye, he pictured her belly, round and heavy with the baby, adding a tantalizing curve to the cascade of silk. How the delicate material stretched softly against her with each step.

  “One second.” She turned away to grab her small black clutch from a Louis XV dresser and in doing so, gave Ian the full view of her naked back.

  “Go change.” The words were low, b
ut threatening.

  “Why?” She checked herself with a long, practiced gaze—giving him another glimpse of her bare back, the silk across the swell of her bottom. “What’s wrong?”

  “Damn it, Lara. How in the hell are you wearing anything beneath?”

  “Ian,” Lara purred, but there was steel underlin ing his name. “This is perfectly acceptable for a cocktail party, darling.” The game had shifted, time was running out.

  “What? To wear clothes that leave nothing to the imagination?”

  “Now, you’re sounding like a jealous lover.” She sauntered over to him, leaned in until they were only a breath apart. “Besides, the only thing I’m wearing is the dress….” She took his hand and slid it high up her thigh. Felt the calluses rough against her skin. Enjoyed the shiver his touch brought. His fingers caught on the thin Velcro strap, then shifted, sliding inside her thigh until they touched the cold steel of the switchblade. “And this.”

  “MISS MERCER?”

  Lara swung around and caught the appreciative, but icy glint in Mikhail Davidenko’s gaze.

  “Hello, Mr. Davidenko. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She offered her hand.

  “If I’d known it would be such a pleasant experience, Miss Mercer, I would’ve arranged it years ago.” Slowly, he brought her hand up to his lips, his dark eyes never wavering from hers.

  His mouth brushed her skin, his lips reptile cold. Lara forced a smile and let her hand drop from his.

  “So what brings you both to my hotel?”

  “A little time to ourselves,” Lara said, her gaze skimming his suite, taking in the opulent decor. “We’ve heard you take pride in maintaining a certain elegant standard and level of privacy for your guests.”

  “Absolutely. I hope we’ve met your expectations so far.”

  “So far,” Lara answered with dry amusement.

  Novak stepped behind Davidenko, whispered a short comment in his ear. Davidenko nodded. “May I introduce you to my associate? Anton Novak.”

  “Mr. Novak.” This time, Lara didn’t offer her hand.

  “Miss Mercer.”

  “Anton is in charge of my import and export business,” Mikhail commented. “As I get older, I find I have no interest in the day-to-day corporate world and prefer to spend more of my time here, with my guests.”