The Bodyguard Contract Page 15

  “Not only money,” Novak agreed. “But that person will be hailed a hero. After all, how many people have saved the world?”

  “And only a few thousand lives will be forfeited,” Ian murmured. The tips of his finger touched the seam of his back pocket. Bit by bit, Ian drew out a short, thin wire.

  “Sacrifices, remember?”

  “And wiping out the Russian Mafia leaders? Was that part of the plan or just a bonus?” Ian worked the wire into the handcuff lock.

  “Oh, that was the plan. Your money wasn’t the only contaminated money. Davidenko’s bills were just as deadly.

  “The money you took from the desert was meant to be dispersed by the government banks. We both know that eventually the government ends up pocketing confiscated money. It would’ve taken a few months, of course. Considering how slow the government moves on anything. But eventually, we would have had another epidemic on our hands.”

  “Confirming your hero status?” Lara spoke from the doorway. Her gaze slid to Alexei, who stood, gun raised.

  Ian took in her bloody arm, the bruises along her cheek and chin. A cold fury whipped through him.

  “A little late for guns, don’t you think?” Lara commented with disdain. “No one’s at the elevator to protect you, Novak. Very sloppy.”

  Cain? Ian disregarded the notion. Cain and his men wouldn’t have taken out the security yet. He wasn’t to move in until Ian gave the signal. Too much was at stake.

  Novak took in the ripped jeans, dirty T-shirt. “Maybe you scared him away.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Alexei.”

  The bodyguard crossed the room and patted Lara down for weapons. “She’s clean.” He tossed her purse to Novak.

  “Miss Mercer, your boyfriend and I were making small talk while waiting for you.” Novak nodded toward Lara’s mini backpack. “Your half an hour was almost over.”

  Alexei dumped the contents of her purse onto the table.

  “Traffic.” Her eyes touched briefly on Ian. Noted the split lip, reddened cheek in a glance. She saw one shoulder flex, the slight movement of his mouth. Stall.

  Novak picked up the worn, leather Bible. “My father’s. May I ask why you have it?”

  “A memento,” she commented, taking in her options. Alexei held a weapon, but Novak stood closer. “I collect them now and again.”

  “Well, you won’t mind if I keep this one, then?” Novak tossed it onto the briefcase.

  “You switched cases on me in the trailer the other night.” Choosing Novak, Lara stepped toward the table. “That’s why you attacked me after I picked up the briefcase. You had to be sure the explosion wouldn’t destroy it.”

  “That’s right. Once you escaped with the money, you were supposed to follow me here. I had planned on killing you then.”

  “Except you never got a good look at me.”

  “No, but a teenager did. The one you ran into after Sophia died,” Novak sighed, shoving the purse away.

  Lara risked another glance at Ian. Soon.

  “This is tedious. We are here to negotiate for the antidote—”

  “And Sophia?” Lara asked, hoping to touch a sensitive chord. “She wasn’t supposed to die, was she?”

  Novak froze, his eyes narrowed. “She was an unforeseen casualty.”

  “A casualty? And your baby’s death? What was that?” Lara asked, prodding his emotions. “It was your baby Sophia miscarried, wasn’t it?”

  “You are clever,” Novak said, but his smile didn’t quite thaw the blue ice of his gaze.

  “No, not clever. Sophia’s last words were, ‘I gave it to father…my baby…mistake.’ At the time I’d thought she meant Father Xavier—and that her baby had been a mistake. It was only later, when I realized she’d given you—the father of her baby—the agent and in doing so, made a mistake.”

  “Davidenko was too greedy to want children.” Novak waved his hand. “One morning he discovered her throwing up and figured it out.”

  “I didn’t realize… Not even when she gave me the Katts Smeart. But she told my father. She’d grown fond of him after I introduced them. He’d become her surrogate father, her confessor.”

  “Angry, irrational over the death of your baby, she decided to go after the Katts Smeart,” Lara surmised. A natural reaction, considering.

  “For revenge.” Novak ground out the words. “I taught her how to pickpocket. She became quite good in a small amount of time. But instead of giving me the combination to Davidenko’s safe, she stole the files herself.”

  “When Davidenko discovered the chemical agent and its files gone,” Lara guessed, “he immediately zeroed in on Sophia.”

  “She’d left too many clues,” Novak said. “She’d changed, she couldn’t hide her disdain from Davidenko anymore. She jeopardized her safety. And the operation.”

  “So you cut her loose when Davidenko grew suspicious.” Lara nodded, understanding. “Is that how your father gained possession of the antidote equations?”

  “Sophia gave me the Katts Smeart agent, and my father the antidote information, just in case one of us was discovered.”

  Relief cascaded through Lara. If Novak had the agent, chances were slight that his father had poisoned the cross. “But you never got the antidote.”

  “At first my father held on to it, agreeing with Sophia. Then I became contaminated from the briefcase. I didn’t tell my father until after the arms deal in the desert.”

  “By then, Davidenko had discovered Sophia’s betrayal and his suspicions were aroused. It took longer than you expected to meet with your father.”

  “When we did, I told him of Sophia’s death,” Novak said. “Told him how she put the operation at risk. I thought my father understood. I should’ve known—” Novak sneered. “He hid the formula for the antidote in the hotel room—the one he got for your meeting, knowing you wouldn’t have searched there. He insisted on waiting for you in the room—telling me you’d show up there sooner or later for the antidote.”

  “But I don’t need it, do I?” Lara asked quietly. “You never contaminated his rosary. In the Catholic faith, when the priest blesses an object, it’s treated with reverence. Father Xavier wouldn’t have used the rosary for murder.”

  “Of course, there was the chance you’d touch the money,” Novak speculated. “But my father insisted we needed only to convince you of the poisoning. Your involvement and subsequent death was the main object,” Novak commented. “After I killed you, my father planned on killing himself. It would’ve appeared as a murder-suicide.”

  “Because of his cancer, taking the fall had been an easy decision.” Lara caught Ian’s eye. A slow blink told her he was ready. She let her arms hang to her side, relaxed. “He’d be classified as a government agent gone rogue.”

  “Yes, yes. But he lied,” Novak scorned. He got up to pace, his irritation showing in every step. “In the room he told me of the baby, then he called me a coward. He said a hero would’ve risked everything, including his life, to protect a mother and child. He told me he’d risked his own soul to save mine. Before I could convince him otherwise, he pulled the gun on me.”

  “So you killed him, searched the room and found nothing—assumed he’d lied again. Then you gave Joseph your father’s keys and the security code to the church.” Lara saw Ian glance at the knife in Davidenko’s chest. She braced herself. Alexei held a gun and Novak had to reach for one. Ian’s target would be Alexei.

  “Joseph saw you with the paparazzi and decided to follow you first. Turned out you were headed to the same place.”

  “The formula for the antidote wasn’t at St. Stan’s,” Lara remarked. “It was in his room here, at the Bontecou.”

  “You lie,” Novak spat. “I searched the room.”

  “But you didn’t know what you were looking for. I did.” She nodded toward the table, calculated the distance between her and the pistol. “His Bible. Turn to Matthew, chapter twenty-six. Start at verse one. Over the words, he wrote the biochemical and
antidote equations in a fluorescent ink. Your bar has a black light. I checked.”

  “What?” Novak grabbed the Bible.

  Viktor rushed through the doorway. “Mr. Novak, government agents are swarming—”

  Ian crashed to the floor, grasped the knife in Davidenko’s chest. “Down, Lara!” Ian threw the blade.

  Alexei dropped his gun and clawed at the knife now imbedded in his throat.

  Novak grabbed for the gun on the table, just as Viktor swung his level with Ian.

  No time! her mind screamed. Lara dived into Ian and the two guns exploded.

  Ian grunted, jerked back, his arms automatically locked around Lara. His back hit the floor, taking the impact of the fall.

  “She just saved your life, MacAlister,” Novak shouted. He grabbed the briefcase and followed Viktor out the door.

  “Of all the stupid—” Ian stopped, registered the sticky warmth seeping between his fingers. Terror, stark and vivid, slammed into him. “Lara?”

  “Two guns, no choice,” she rasped, her head lolled against his shoulder. “Go. Stop Novak.”

  “Lara!” Ian’s hand cupped her cheek, saw her eyes flutter. “Stay with me.”

  “Stop him!” Her lips, paled from the pain, barely moved. “He took Armand’s briefcase. Too many people will die.”

  “So will you, if I don’t—”

  “No.” Lara shuddered against him and anguish squeezed his chest, blocked his throat. He knew what she was asking, he just wasn’t sure if he had the courage to obey. “Please.”

  Ian swore. “Don’t you dare die on me, Red,” he whispered, his voice ragged with raw, primitive grief. Gently, he lowered her to the floor, brushed her hair from her face. “I swear to God, after this we’re done. Do you hear me? No more.”

  “Yes. No more.” Tears trembled on her lashes before dropping to her chalky white cheeks. “Go!”

  Ian’s lips brushed hers. He tasted the dampness, knew its salty flavor would stay with him forever. Then without looking back, he snagged Alexei’s gun and took off running.

  IAN TOOK THE ROOF STAIRS two at a time and burst out the door. Gunfire exploded around him. He froze, but didn’t take cover. Instead he studied the sleek, white helicopter as it fired up—the propellers whipping up dust and grit from its roof pad.

  “MacAlister! Get rid of the gun!” Novak’s voice boomed from the speaker. “Or I open this case over the streets of Vegas.”

  Ian dropped his weapon, then kicked it away. With deliberate movements, he locked his fingers behind his head. Two men lay unmoving on the edge of the helicopter pad. Both were dressed in white anticontamination suits—now stained with their blood. Viktor’s work, no doubt.

  “You’ve lost,” Ian shouted. He stepped a few feet toward Novak, gauging the distance. The wind was strong, but that couldn’t be helped. He nodded toward the dead bodies. “The calvary is here.”

  “I have the Bible. If your friends want to negotiate, they better be ready to save me when I contact them. Otherwise, the antidote dies with me.” Novak twirled his hand, signaling Viktor to lift off.

  Ian found the face of his watch under his index finger. The helicopter rose off the pad. He counted. Five, ten, fifteen feet.

  “Then I guess it dies with you,” he murmured and twisted the watch face. A split second later, the helicopter burst into flames.

  THE EXPLOSION ROCKED the roof beneath Ian’s feet. But it was the fire that concerned him. Bits of steel and glass showered the roof.

  “What the bloody hell?” Jordan Beck came running out of the stairway door. Long, lanky strides closing the distance between the two men.

  “Beck, make sure there’s no money debris. I planted Kate’s minibomb in the briefcase lock. The explosion should have incinerated any paper inside the case but we can’t take a chance,” Ian yelled and started down the stairs. He hit the boardroom on a dead run.

  And slammed into a human wall.

  “Damn it, Quamar,” Ian yelled. He looked past the giant, saw blood on the floor, but no Lara.

  He grabbed his friend’s shirt in his fists. It didn’t matter that Quamar Bazan stood a good half foot taller than Ian. Or that the bald-headed giant had fifty pounds on him.

  He’d take on hell itself if he had to. “Where is she?”

  “On her way to the hospital.” Quamar’s words were low, his accent heavy but soothing. His leather-brown eyes softened with concern.

  Neither helped ease Ian’s fears, but he let go of Quamar’s shirt. “Was she conscious?”

  “Yes.” Quamar inclined his head.

  “She knew I called in the troops then.”

  “She saw both Beck and myself.”

  “I need to go. She might…the baby…” Ian stepped away. “Which hospital?”

  Quamar grabbed his arm, held him. “It does not matter, Ian, we are quarantined. Lara, too. Two hundred men in white plastic suits guard the hotel. All are armed with stun guns.”

  Ian remembered the dead men on the roof. But it didn’t matter. He’d no intention of staying.

  Quamar frowned, guessing Ian’s thoughts. “Even if you broke through their barriers, you would still have to deal with others that Cain has posted in the hospital.”

  “If you’ve got a point, Quamar. Make it.”

  “You are being selfish, my friend. The fact that it is motivated by love and concern does not make it any less selfish. You want to risk exposing her and the baby, so you can clear your conscience and tell her you love her,” Quamar reasoned. “She already knows.”

  “Quamar’s right, Yank.” Jordan walked into the room. Sympathy reduced the Englishman’s sharp features. He and Quamar had both lost family. They understood. “Lara has enough to deal with right now.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Cain’s with her. And so is Jon Mercer. And your parents are on their way.” Jordan grinned at Ian’s scowl. “Your mother saw the news report.”

  Ian nodded. He knew his mother well enough, that Christel would be by Lara’s side within the hour.

  “Cain gave his word,” Jordan continued, handing Ian a cell phone, “that he would call every fifteen minutes with updates. She’ll have the best of care and you’ll be the first to know.”

  Ian saw bloodstains spattered on Quamar’s shirt and pants. Lara’s blood. “You held her, before help came.”

  “Yes.”

  A red haze filled his peripheral vision. “Damn it, it should’ve been me.” But he’d been busy saving the world. “Did she say anything…?”

  “Yes,” Quamar murmured. “She said Novak had the wrong Bible.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Five months later…

  I SWEAR TO GOD, after this, we’re done. Do you hear me?

  No more.

  Lara’s gazed drifted over the splashes of gold, the strokes of emerald that covered the autumn hills, the sapphire of the lake in between. Soft, serene. A soothing balance to the dusk’s velvet hues of indigo and pink that flared just beyond.

  The breeze drifted across the lace curtains, dusting them back from the wide, French doors. On the soft current of air, came the sweet scent of roses, cypress and elm from her mother’s gardens.

  Lara had lived the last four months in her mother’s château, seventy-five kilometers from Paris. During that time, she’d walked the gardens—sometimes alone, most times with her mama—listening to the chatter of the squirrels and the more mournful cry of the quail. Letting the peacefulness of the French countryside quiet away her doubts, soothe the aches in her heart.

  Through it all, she’d never been free of Ian’s final words. I’m done. No more.

  Lara tipped her forehead, resting it against the bay window, enjoying the cool glass against her skin. It had been five months since Ian had said those words, five months since she’d woken up in the hospital, drained of strength and worse, hope—not sure if her baby had survived her surgery.

  A surgery that had cost her a lot of blood and some of her lower int
estines.

  But they’d both pulled through.

  Her hand drifted over her extended stomach. Somewhere beneath the gauzy cotton of her dress, lay the scar. Meaningless now, considering.

  She’d spent a month in the hospital, two weeks of it quarantined. During that time, Ian’s family had visited her every waking moment of every day. Sharing stories, mostly of Ian, some of their family history, even parts of their own lives with her.

  Her dad, too. Emotion squeezed at Lara’s throat over the memory. Jon Mercer had been the first person she’d seen after regaining consciousness—his gloved hand the first thing she felt as it clasped hers.

  Later, he’d said that almost losing her was his greatest gift. A father-daughter relationship.

  While quarantined, she’d found out many things she’d never known. His years of loneliness and anger over what he’d given up. His fear when Lara had decided to follow his path in life.

  How he still loved her mother.

  Hours on hours, he talked of her mother. How each day, Lara grew in her image.

  The ache of what she’d missed had grown over that month. By the time she’d been discharged, Lara understood she couldn’t go forward without the last piece of the puzzle. Meeting her mother.

  A muscle spasm jarred her lower back. More than a little awkward, Lara pushed out her belly and shifted positions. Realizing immediately that she’d succeeded only in putting pressure on her bladder, she smiled and tried another position.

  Lara loved being pregnant—backaches and all.

  Now, at seven months, she’d long ago shed her fears of motherhood and embraced the direction her life would take.

  Lara leaned back against the wall and rested her hand across her swollen belly. She cherished this time alone with her thoughts, with her baby. She closed her eyes, allowing the last burst of sunlight to heat her cheeks, her thoughts to drift.

  During her stay in the hospitals, Ian hadn’t come to see her. Whenever she’d mention him to his family, they’d evade or change the subject. Finally understanding her question caused them pain, Lara stopped asking.