Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1) (22 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

T
he Summer Festival reminded Cole of a beehive: people from all walks of life buzzed through the concourse on one mission or another, hurrying between rides and games. Children screamed, cried, demanded, and pleaded. Teenagers stood in groups, the girls flipping their hair, cell phones in their hands, while boys ran from the Tilt-A-Whirl to the Zipper to the Ferris wheel and back again. The scent of kettle corn, funnel cake, and barbecue filled the air, drawing customers by the dozen. At ninety-eight degrees, the sweltering California day meant clusters of kids and adults made repeated passes through a row of water misters set up to help alleviate the heat. On any other day, he would have passed beneath the misters himself to combat the sweat beading on his brow and trickling down his spine. He wasn’t unused to tedious work conditions, so he pressed on, alert to the many faces that passed on all sides. Not just ones with Asian heritage, but anyone who seemed out of place or suspicious.

Familiar with the layout of the carnival thanks to prescouting the venue, he followed the curve of the beaten path, passing a row of games involving throwing baseballs, coins, and basketballs into various receptacles. Beyond a final row of stalls, he caught sight of the funhouse. Situated in a small clearing at the corner of the festival grounds, flanked by trees at the back, the rectangular structure appeared slightly unstable. As if a strong wind might blow the whole thing over. An enormous clown with a red bulbous nose and evil eyes stared out at the festivalgoers, towering above the walkway to the door. Colorful graffiti decorated the exterior above other graphics depicting warped mirrors, frightening disappearing floors, and stalkers in the shadow of funhouse visitors. Cole figured that the rickety appearance was done on purpose, to get a jump on fear from the start. A line of at least twenty festivalgoers waited on the ramp, tickets in hand, anxious to take their turn.

Cole homed in on a group of boys with obvious Asian heritage, yet they were too bumbling, too distracted, too absorbed in the funhouse itself to be the agents who wanted the dragon. He surveyed the area with unrelenting determination, turning a slow circle to see every angle. Although he was fifteen minutes early, he expected the agents to be early as well. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that they, too, had come to scout the festival grounds a day in advance, learning all the necessary escape routes.

Three Chinese men in clothing best described as nondescript approached from a different pathway, gazes locked on Cole. None of the three were men he’d seen in any of the confrontations thus far, giving credence to his idea that the Chinese had a veritable league of personnel at their disposal. He was sure these three weren’t the only ones on-site, either. More men waited elsewhere, playing lookout, on hand in case things went bad. Cole met each man’s eyes, leaving the funhouse and the crowds gathered there at his back.

This was it. No turning back now.

Just as Madalina finished telling Brandon the whole sordid story, her cell phone rang. Thinking it was Cole, she dashed for the nightstand.

“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

“Madalina? It’s Mom. Dad and I just got your messages. What’s going on?”

Although it wasn’t Cole, Madalina was relieved to finally hear from her parents. As with Brandon, she gave them a brief rundown of the events and assured them both that she was all right. With Brandon listening in, she explained that they could remain on vacation, that a “good friend” was helping her take care of the problem here.

She didn’t have the heart to tell her folks about the damage to her house. Madalina knew they would be on the next plane out, vacation or no vacation.

“If you’re
sure
, honey, we’ll stay,” her mother said, sounding dubious and doubtful.

“I’m sure. In fact, for now, it’s probably best that you stay there. Let this all blow over for another few weeks. Trust me—if I needed you to come home, I’d tell you. Mostly I was worried about your safety,” she admitted. “I’ll get in touch next week. Love you.”

Ringing off, she studied the face of the cell phone as if that might precipitate a call from Cole.

“He’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Brandon said, as if he’d read her mind.

“You sound sure.”

“I’ve grown up with him; I know him well. If he wasn’t confident of a good outcome, he would have taken me with him.” Brandon tapped a chair near the window, although he wasn’t sitting himself. “Come sit down. I’ll regale you with wild tales about Cole’s youth. He’ll kill me later, but it’ll be worth it.”

Cole shifted his stance, allowing his peripheral vision to keep track of threats from either side. He’d seen men kill in crowds before, men accomplished in getting the job done before the people in the vicinity really understood what had happened. By the time the inevitable stampede occurred, the men were done and disappearing along with the herd. In the cacophony of the festival, shots from a silencer would go unheard. Falling bodies wouldn’t be noticed for long minutes, and even then, some might suspect it was a scare tactic set up by the fair.

He felt safer here than anywhere else, however, confident that he’d cornered the men into nonaction thanks to the other variables offered by making the exchange in the open. The agents wouldn’t know whether he’d brought backup, or whether one of the hundreds of people taking photos and shooting video weren’t videoing
their
transaction. He was counting on the Chinese negotiator’s desperation and determination to have the dragon to stall any attack.

Meeting the gaze of the leader, Cole swept a head-to-toe look for weapons. He knew how to read the creases, folds, and shapes beneath clothing that alerted him to the presence of knives or guns. Considering that all three men wore snug button-downs tucked into dark slacks, the only place he could figure a weapon to be was under a pant leg, in a shoe or boot. He had one placed there himself, difficult to detect thanks to the thickness of snakeskin.

The other detail he noticed was that these men were not the ones he’d faced off with in the warehouse when freeing Madalina. Adept at memorizing critical information, Cole felt certain these were yet more operatives sent specifically for this mission.

“McDonald?” the lead man asked when they were within hearing range.

“Yes,” Cole replied. Thanks to Thaddeus’s genius intervention, he would be known as McDonald throughout the entire transaction. In the future,
he
would be doing all of his nickname choosing. He kept one hand loose at his side, prepared to draw quickly if the need arose. The other held the box tucked against his ribs.

“Bob,” the Chinese man said.

Clearly there were some random names being thrown around today. Cole said, “I understand we have an agreement.”

“The agreement is: we will cease and desist pursuit of Miss Maitland upon delivery of the item.”

“And?” Cole said, arching a brow. He wanted the terms spelled out in the open.

“Her parents and acquaintances as well. We will not pursue her or them for more information.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Should the agreement be broken, know that I’ve got the means to track you from here out, and you
will
be watched,” Cole said, noting a twitch of Bob’s cheek. That was Bob’s only outward reaction, which was good enough for Cole. It meant the man was reading between the lines and understood that Cole had the capacity to track him
and
members of his family down should the need arise.

“The dragon?” Bob asked in a tense voice.

Cole, never taking his eyes off the three men, extended the box. Simple and black with a gold closure in the front, the box had been his idea. Cole understood the importance of the dragon and had found a suitable vessel in which to deliver the artifact. He opened the closure himself and tipped the lid back. Nestled inside, on a thick bed of black velvet, the Treasure Dragon awaited transfer to its new owner. Against the refined backdrop, the dragon looked much more antiquated than when held in a bare hand.

Collectively, the agents drew in audible breaths and came closer. Their reverence was obvious, although the men did not let their guard down. Bob extended his hands; leaving the lid propped up, Cole delivered the box into the man’s care.

Bob stepped back as his companions stepped forward, coming even with his body. A brief examination took place, with the men handling the dragon as little as possible while they checked the opposite side and the underbelly. Their touches were light and gentle, almost as if they thought the carving had some sort of ethereal power.

Nodding once, a quick gesture of acceptance, Bob closed the lid and slipped the box into a red satin bag one of the other men produced. “This concludes our involvement in Miss Maitland’s—and your—life. She will not be bothered again.”

“I want to reiterate that she knows nothing more about any of the other dragons. We’ve checked extensively for clues and information and have come up empty every time. As I said before—this
will
be your last contact with her.” Cole drove the point home, even though Thaddeus had mentioned the same thing in the exchange of e-mails. Cole wanted the men to hear it live, from his own mouth, so there were no misunderstandings.

Again, Bob inclined his head.

In the next minute, the three men retreated into the crowd, swiveling looks left and right like they expected an attack from a different adversary now that the dragon was in their possession. How ironic. He followed the agents through the increasingly thick crowd back to the entrance of the fair, where he paused to observe the men aim for the parking lot and a waiting sedan. Sleek and silver, the car idled as the agents embarked. Darkly tinted windows hid the occupants from view. The sedan pulled away, speeding through the parking lot to the exit, and from there onto the street. He lost sight of the car in the heavy flow of traffic.

Still feeling conspicuous and tense, Cole made his way to the Jaguar.

He wanted to be away from the noise and chaos of the fair.

Minutes later he pulled out of the parking lot, heading in the opposite direction.

With any luck, that would be the last they would ever hear from the Chinese agents.

Madalina enjoyed Brandon’s company more than she thought she would. He was witty, dashing, and a little rakish. The tales he told of Cole’s youth were so outrageous that she suspected that Brandon had jokingly made half of them up. It entertained her, and she didn’t mind. The alternative was to pace and fret and watch every second tick off the hotel room clock. She noted that Brandon, despite his elaborate storytelling, kept an eye on
everything
. The door, the parking lot outside the window, and his cell phone. He was as well trained as Cole, as intent on keeping her safe as his brother.

When the door swung open without warning, Madalina surged to her feet in surprise. Cole entered, grinning, a gleam in his blue-green eyes.

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. And I don’t see blood, so that’s a plus,” Brandon called out.

Madalina didn’t care about protocol. She rushed across the room and threw herself into Cole’s arms. Brandon was right—he didn’t look injured. Caught up in Cole’s embrace, Madalina squeezed her arms around his neck and let him spin her in a circle. It felt right and natural to greet him so exuberantly. The rumble of his quiet laugh vibrated through her body.