Charade (21 page)

It seemed like a fitting place to say thank you, given the fact that Julia had been devoutly religious. Of course, that piety had always seemed a bit hypocritical to Sasha in light of the barbaric underworld code that had touched their lives so subtly yet completely.

Even in death…

Seating herself in a humble wooden pew, Sasha looked around wistfully, confirming that the church had indeed been stripped of everything of material value. Still, the building itself with its rough walls and hand-hewn vaulted ceiling had a priceless quality that offered comfort to her aching heart.

And there was good news in all this misery, wasn’t there? Her father was innocent. Not only had he
not
killed her mother, he had actually tried to stop it!

Maybe that butcher Dante was right. Maybe in a strange way, Mom did benefit from their stupid code all those years.
You
never believed in it, but maybe she did….

Sasha scowled, knowing that Dante’s claim simply wasn’t true. Julia Bracciali couldn’t possibly have believed in that code. If she had, would she have sent Sasha to Athena Academy, a thousand miles away from Big Frankie’s territory? A school where Sasha’s eyes would be opened? Where she would be exposed to another, truer set of principles—

She sent you away to school so you wouldn’t buy into
Dad’s
twisted values. She knew it was too late for
herself
, but she was hoping you’d never be victimized by it.

Then Vittoria Martino had been killed, and the code had demanded Sasha’s life in payment. That was the second time Julia saved her little girl. She was so brave!
Yet so trapped.
Dependent on men who dared to claim that they loved her—that they “worshipped” her beauty, bravery and innocence—yet could still strafe her with a machine gun, all in the name of honor. They were worse than hypocrites, they were cultural sociopaths! And even though Dante was the most evil of them all, Sasha needed to accept the truth: that her father was almost as bad.

Her first reaction to the tape—that Big Frankie was innocent of her mother’s murder—wasn’t really true at all. His lifestyle had all but assured that his wife and daughter would be touched by violence eventually. Vittoria Martino’s death had been the result of Big Frankie’s cold-blooded murder of a rival—not an “accident.” Not a “mistake.” And that chain of events had led to Julia Bracciali’s brutal murder. Her father might not have pulled the trigger—and he surely wept like a baby while he was tied to that chair—but he had set the murderous sequence into motion.

What if Julia hadn’t stepped up to save their daughter? Sasha suspected that her father might have allowed Antonio and Vincenzo to exact their vengeance, taking a daughter’s life for a daughter’s life.
Maybe not with a machine gun.
Perhaps a faulty gas line in Sasha’s dormitory.

“Wow,” she said to the crumbling rafters. “Did you really tell Jeff that your father believed in honor and justice? No wonder he was so worried about working with you. He knew the truth—that you weren’t ready yet. You thought you knew your father—thought you understood his world—but you were still thinking like a daughter.
Still making excuses.”

Wiping a tear from her cheek, she gazed around the church again, wondering what the Kestonian people thought of Vlad’s plan to raze it. Did they honestly believe they didn’t need humility and spirituality anymore? That their faith in Vlad was enough of a foundation on which to build a lasting culture? If so, they were in for a rude awakening.

With a weary smile, she stood and walked toward the door, where she almost tripped over a crate filled with sticks of dynamite. Her first thought was to hide it so that the church would get a reprieve. Then she laughed at herself, remembering Allison’s instructions that Sasha would need to find weapons in Kestonia.

This seemed a little extreme, but if she failed to locate the key card that night, dynamite could come in handy for breaking into the lab. She took a few sticks,
then
shuffled the rest so that the box still appeared full. The side pockets of her wool coat were just deep enough to hold the explosives, along with a blasting cap and a spool of fusing from a second crate.

Walking back into the open, she considered advancing their timetable. They could grab Teal now, blow the door to the lab, get the eggs and speed down the mountain on snowmobiles. Then they could toss another stick of dynamite at the guard tower and blast their way across the border. No hours of braiding her hair. No fancy ball. No seduction. Just a good old-fashioned shoot-out!

So much for your subtle, sophisticated plan,
she mocked herself.
It’s probably a good thing you can’t get in touch with Summit. He’d think you were nuts!

She laughed at the thought, allowing herself to enjoy, just for a moment, the fact that her handler was in Kestonia. His mere presence practically guaranteed that Teal would be safely returned to her family and friends, even if Jeff had to toss her drugged body over his shoulder and carry her across the border. He even knew how to work the dammed video feed cyclers! And even though she had forgotten to ask, she was pretty sure he had “armed himself” upon arrival in Kestonia.

Most importantly, he was there to ground her.
To play Summit to her Camper.
Because of him, she would stick to the plan. And even when she deviated from it, she would do so with confidence, knowing that he was out there—less than a hundred yards away—backing her up emotionally as well as physically.

Which brought her back to the question she had been asking herself since their unexpected kiss in her apartment.
If she had to choose between having Jeff as her handler or as her lover, which would it be?

The answer was now clear. He had to be her handler until Teal was safe and Dante was dead or behind bars. Once they brought Dante down, the issue would become moot, because Sasha would have to go into hiding. There would be a contract the size of Chicago on her head, and the first thing the hungry hit men would do would be to track the movements of the man who had helped her
betray
them.
Which meant that even if Jeff wanted to visit Sasha, and even if she wanted to allow it, it simply couldn’t happen.

But if you had the choice, which would
it
be?
Handler or lover?

She smiled in wistful defeat. Jeff would always be Summit to her, and while she would love to have him as a boyfriend, too, there would always be a sense of loss, knowing that he was handling cases but that she wasn’t one of them.
Jeff as just a lover?
No, to be honest, she probably wouldn’t want that.

Lucky thing, too, because you can’t have it.
So stop
daydreaming about your handsome prince, Cinderella.
Time to get ready for the ball.

Standing on the perimeter of the grand Kestonian ballroom, Jeff Crossman tried to appear detached as he scanned the crowd for some sign, any sign, of his priceless asset. There were so many females in elaborate gowns and glittering tiaras—some with fans that partially hid their faces—that it was a struggle to keep track of them all.

By contrast, tracking Vlados Zelasko was a piece of cake. As much as Jeff despised him, he had to admit, the jerk was a natural attention grabber. The dictator was wearing a black tuxedo like dozens of other men in the room, including Jeff, but while
they
all looked like penguins, Zelasko looked like a movie star. Taller than most of the others, he had an air of power and importance that simply couldn’t be ignored. Hated? Sure.
But never ignored.

The room itself was almost as impressive, from the fifteen-foot chandelier blazing overhead to the ten-piece orchestra filling the air with sounds of Tchaikovsky and Strauss. Most of the couples were still mingling, their conversations blending into a chattering roar of hilarity and gossip. But a dozen or so had taken to the dance floor, looking like something out of a period piece—the kind of scene Jeff usually wouldn’t watch even if his life depended on it.

But for Teal’s life, and for Sasha’s, he was willing to make the sacrifice.

As he had done several times since his arrival at the gala, Jeff eyeballed the various flunkies standing around the perimeter of the room. Interpreters like
himself
.
Assistants to dignitaries.
Bodyguards.
The last category was the one that interested him because he suspected they were armed despite the strict no-weapons rule announced by Zelasko. Of course, Jeff was armed, too, but he still didn’t like the idea that anyone else in the vicinity might be carrying.

He was just about to change positions, to watch from the other side of the room, when the chattering died down to a hush, accompanied by a few muted gasps. Even the musicians seemed to notice, and their playing grew soft until it faded into complete silence. Intrigued, Jeff turned toward the grand entrance in time to see a stunningly beautiful Kestonian princess arrive on the arm of Zelasko’s second in command, who, unlike his superior, was wearing his dress uniform, complete with white gloves and gleaming sword. And looking as proud as a father on his daughter’s wedding day as he led Sasha Bracciali to the middle of the room, where Vlad Zelasko was waiting for her.

Jeff shook his head in slow disbelief, wondering if he hadn’t somehow dozed off and was now dreaming.
Not that Sasha didn’t always look great.
And
not that he hadn’t seen her all decked out before
. But here, at this moment, in her flowing golden dress…with her braided hair forming a jewel-laden crown…her blue eyes glowing with anticipation as she gracefully walked up to Zelasko then curtsied with a blend of elegance and mischief…

Man, just look at her. Like something out of an effing fairy tale.

It was okay to stare. Everyone in the room was staring. He knew they were enraptured by the romance of the moment—the stunningly beautiful maiden being courted by a dashing ruler. But Jeff saw something else, something that made his gut twist.
A brave, innocent young woman at the mercy of a megalomaniacal monster.

Sure Zelasko was infatuated for the moment. But he wasn’t a noble prince. He was a ruthless gangster incapable of love, and definitely incapable of respect, especially for a woman. Beneath the thin facade of romance, Vlados Zelasko wanted to subjugate everyone and everything in his path.

And there in his path stood Sasha.

You’re doing it again,
Jeff warned himself harshly.
Underestimating her.
Wanting to rescue her.
Get over it, will you? Think about yesterday when she conned a roomful of underworld leaders. Hell, forget the meeting. Think about last night! That effing tape would have annihilated anyone else, but not Sasha. She pulled herself together and started plotting this mission like a seasoned professional. Because that’s what she is. So get over yourself, will you?

He didn’t dare try to catch her eye. It wasn’t necessary anyway. This was their signal, wasn’t it? In the absence of micro-mikes and earbuds, they had decided that Jeff would arrive first at the ball. He would scope out the situation,
then
wait for Sasha’s arrival. When it was clear that she had gotten Zelasko’s undivided attention, Jeff would proceed with stage one of the op.

And she’s definitely got that jerk in her sights,
he told himself with a grim smile.
So why don’t you get cracking, too?
Time to go rescue the superkid.

“O f all the women in the world, you are the only one worthy of being with me tonight,” Vlad told Sasha as they waltzed among the throng of dancers, all of whom seemed to be paying more attention to the commanding figure of Kestonia’s leader than to their own partners.

“You honor me,” Sasha replied with a coquettish smile, but inside, she was all business. This was the signal, wasn’t it? Vlad’s stare was fixed on her, which meant Jeff would now commence the op. If she dared glance toward the entryway, she’d see him leaving the gala. But of course, she didn’t dare take her eyes off Vlad, even for a moment. His ego—always inflated—had swelled to even grander proportions with the attention he and Sasha were receiving, and while he seemed to acknowledge her supporting role in this romantic display, he clearly believed himself to be the focus of all adulation.

If you only knew,
she told him as she beamed into his arrogant face.
My thoughts are so completely elsewhere right now. Cheering Jeff on as he changes into his Kestonian uniform and plants the video cyclers. Maybe he’ll even manage to get his hands on a pistol! He just needs to keep his eye on the clock.
To get to the tunnel before the gate closes at nine.
And then…

She felt her heart pound, knowing that he would be whisking Teal to freedom within minutes. Hopefully the teen would be traveling under
her own
power, but if Jeff had to carry her, he would. With his muscular, well-trained build, it probably wouldn’t even slow him down! Her ambitious plan was actually going to succeed thanks to his involvement.

The only foreseeable problem was Vlad’s lack of lust for Sasha. She had assumed he’d be anxious to take her to his room and ravish her as soon as good manners allowed him to abandon his guests, but he was so in love with the attention he was receiving, making love to a mere woman simply didn’t seem to be on his agenda.

Then he surprised her by murmuring, “You said you fantasized about this evening for months. Has it met your every expectation?”

“It’s more than I dared to dream,” she assured him.
“The music, the dancers, the gowns, the pageantry.
And
you.
Every woman’s fantasy, a dashing, fearless prince among men.
I only hope,” she added, her voice throaty with anticipation, “when the time comes for the rest of the fantasy, it will be half as amazing as this.”

“The rest of it?”