Dana Marton (2 page)

He had a rough idea of the building’s outline. The Colonel had briefed him on the way over. Since Kate had last been heard near the kitchens, he’d been heading in that direction, surveying all the rooms he could see as he went. So far he’d seen or heard a dozen or so rebels but no hostages.

The gunshots changed everything. There was a better-than-fair chance that the hostages were that way. His phone vibrated. He opened it without halting his progress.

“Bad news.” The Colonel’s grim tone underscored his words. “To prove how serious they are, the rebels just shot Ambassador Vasilievits.”

Parker went faster, crawling with grim determination, one hundred percent focused on the job. Kate had been with the ambassador and his wife at the time of the initial attack on the embassy. He hoped she had somehow been separated from them and had managed to escape the rebels’ notice.

Because if she hadn’t, if the rebels figured out who Kate was, she would be next. They hated Americans as much as they hated the Russians.

He wished he had prepared for more than surveillance before he’d left his hotel late that afternoon and then run into the four men who’d seemed hell-bent on taking him out. He had nothing but his gun and his cell phone with its dwindling battery. Right now he would have given anything for the full tool kit that waited hidden behind the ceiling tiles of his hotel room.

“Any publicity on this yet?” he asked, able to talk more freely having gotten into a section that didn’t have any openings to rooms.

“Nothing. The Russians might not break silence until morning. Their counterterrorism team is on its way. We don’t think they asked the French for permission, but once the team is in place there isn’t much the French can do. That’s all I have.”

They ended the connection, and he kept crawling. When he reached the next vertical drop, he lowered himself inch by inch, stopping when he heard voices ahead. The men were talking in Tarkmezi.

“And if they gas us?” The speaker sounded on edge.

“That’s what we have the masks for,” came the calm reply.

“What if they have something new and nasty? Kill us before we get the masks on.”

“Get it on and keep it on, then,” another guy snapped. “Maybe it’ll shut you up.”

“What do you think’s going on?” The worrywart on the team didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. “I wonder if they are negotiating?”

“When there’s something to know, Piotr will tell us.”

Parker picked his head up at the mention of the name. What were the chances that this was his Piotr? It was a common name, the Russian equivalent of Peter. But his instincts prickled. Could be that this was why Piotr Morovich had come to Paris. And if that was the case, then he hadn’t come alone, something that U.S. intelligence had failed to detect.

“I could go check,” Worrywart said.

“You stay the hell here.”

The men fell silent just as Parker reached the vent hole.

Three Tarkmezi fighters, armed to the teeth, stood among two dozen tied-up hostages who were sitting in the middle of the floor in some sort of a gym, probably set up for embassy staff. He zeroed in on Kate and his heart rate sped up.

Hello, Kate. How have you been?
He’d pictured, on too many occasions, the two of them meeting up again after all this time, but he had never imagined it would be under these circumstances.

She looked unharmed and calm. The spring that had been wound tightly in his chest since the Colonel had called now eased. Her hair was different from when he’d last seen her—a classy, sexy bob. He felt a ping of annoyance. Why had she changed? For whom? He had loved to run his fingers through her long, honey-blond hair. She had lost weight, too, but not much, still had those curves that used to drive him mad.

Memories flashed into his mind—hot, sweaty and explicit—and his body tightened. For a second he was transported back to the past, with Kate under him, her back bowed, her silky hair fanned out on the pillow, that soft moan of hers escaping her full lips as she looked at him the way she had always looked at him during their intense lovemaking, straight in the eyes. Man, it used to turn him on.

Not much had changed since, he realized ruefully and shifted in the tight space.

Keeping control with her in bed had always been a challenge. One of the many things he had loved about her. A single touch and all he could think was fast and hard, now, now, now. Slow and easy took superhuman effort. Pleasurable, highly gratifying effort. He pushed that thought as far away as he could. He couldn’t go back there now. Not now, not ever.

One of the rebels moved and blocked her from view.

Come on, get out of the way.
Parker gritted his teeth until the man finally moved again.

Kate stretched her long legs without getting up. In her dark slacks, white top and a cook’s jacket, she blended in with the other half dozen kitchen staff among the hostages. Where were the rest? He didn’t see any of the security team that would have guarded the embassy.

He focused on the three rebels. They would have to be distracted and neutralized before he could go in to save Kate. He surveyed the room, noting every detail, including the position of the doors and windows and their distance from each other, every piece of exercise equipment that could be used as a weapon or for cover. He swore silently at the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined the walls and made it impossible to sneak up behind anyone.

The easiest thing would be to go in predawn when the guards were ready to nod off, exhausted by their night vigil. But he hated the thought of waiting that long. He wanted her out before the Russian counterterrorism team got here.

He preferred planned and coordinated operations where nothing was left to chance. But those took time. And Kate’s life was at stake. To save her he would do anything.

“Hang in there.” He mouthed the words as he pulled his gun and screwed on the silencer, preparing to make his move.

The Colonel had asked him not to leave any signs—meaning a string of dead bodies—that he’d been there, if he could help it. Well, looked like he couldn’t.

August 10, 00:05

S
HE HAD
Parker on her mind and that annoyed her no end. Kate Hamilton stared at the floor, not daring to make eye contact with the rebels.

They left the hostages alone for the most, but gave orders now and then that they expected to be followed, a problem since Kate didn’t speak Russian. All the embassy staff did, even the French employees; it was a condition of employment here, just as fluent knowledge of English was a condition of employment over at the U.S. embassy. She was smart enough to copy whatever the others did in response to the commands. It had worked so far, but she wasn’t sure how long her luck would hold out.

“Try something,” Anna, a slightly built, petite young woman whispered barely audibly to her left. She was French and the personal secretary to the ambassador’s wife.

Try something.
Brilliant idea. Except that her hands were bound and three nasty-looking AK-47s were pointed in her general direction.

Parker would know what to do.
He spoke a dozen languages. And he could always handle tough situations. The way he’d handled an attempted mugging when they’d gone down to Florida for a long weekend came to mind. She supposed he’d had to learn. He visited dangerous parts of the world as a foreign correspondent for Reuters. His continued absence had driven her nuts during their engagement.

She refused to let the memories hurt anymore. She was better off without him.

She pressed her lips together and looked around the room for the hundredth time, trying to figure out a way she could make a break for it and not be shot within a fraction of a second.
Okay, Parker. What would you do?
The gunshots they had heard earlier didn’t fill her with optimism.

Several embassy guards had been killed within the first few minutes of the attack, as well as the sole civilian-dressed bodyguard who had escorted her over from the U.S. embassy for an unofficial visit with Tanya, the Russian ambassador’s wife.

Tanya had left the dinner table for just a moment to take her two young girls to their nanny when the rebels had rushed in. Maybe they’d been able to escape. The rebels had taken her husband, the ambassador, immediately and herded the rest of the people in here, along with other staff they’d found around the embassy that late in the evening.

It was Anna who had begged the white coat off a cook’s assistant and given it to Kate, warning her not to speak English, not to reveal who she was. And Kate had kept quiet, although she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Being a U.S. consul came with a certain amount of respect for the title and the full backing of the American government. Maybe if she’d spoken up, the rebels would have decided they didn’t want to tangle with the U.S. and would have let her go. She shifted on the hard floor. Maybe she should tell them now.

Or maybe not.
She still wasn’t over the shock of seeing the bullet rip through her bodyguard’s head. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of Jeff as he’d lain there on the dining room floor in a pool of his own blood. He and the sole Russian guard who’d been inside the dining room were badly outnumbered when the rebels had poured in.

“Pochemu tu…”
One of the armed men launched into a tirade.

She wished she could understand what he was talking about, what they were discussing. The lanky one seemed to be whining a lot. The oldest of the three ignored him for the most part. The short, pudgy one kept snapping at him, then finally gave up and shrugged with a disgusted groan.

The whiner swung his rifle over his shoulder and walked out the door, letting it slam behind him.

“Two,” Anna whispered.

They were down to two guards. This could be the best chance they were going to get to try something—disarm them, maybe, and get to the phone on the wall by the gym’s door, call for help. Breaking out of the embassy didn’t seem possible. Too many armed rebels secured the building.

She tried to establish eye contact with the chef who appeared to be in good shape, then with two other guys, tall, beefy and Slavic-looking with hard features and dirty-blond hair. They looked alike, possibly related. They seemed to be the largest and strongest men in the room.

Come on. Over here.
She fidgeted and managed to get the attention of one of them. She wiggled her eyebrows toward the guards. The guy looked back nonplussed.

Since her hands were tied behind her back, she couldn’t make any hand signals. She kept wiggling her eyebrows and nodding with her head. The guy smiled.

Probably thought she was coming on to him. Did she look like a complete idiot? Apparently so, because he wiggled his eyebrows back.

She stifled a groan and rolled her eyes in a
never-mind
look she hoped translated. And felt a hand on hers.

She turned slowly toward the other side and met Anna’s gaze. The woman glanced toward the guards then back at Kate with a questioning look in her large blue eyes. Kate nodded.
Yes, yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.

“Now,” Anna breathed without moving her lips. She took a deep breath then started to cry.

The pudgy guard yelled at her immediately. Anna stifled her sobs and leaned against Kate as if for support. She tugged on the nylon cuffs that held Kate’s hands behind her back. Then came heat. Under the noise of her crying, apparently she had lit a match or a lighter that must have been hidden in her pocket.

Every snarly thought Kate had ever had about smokers blowing smoke in her face at the cafés that supported her French-pastry habit, she took back.

Ouch.
Even a small flame could be pretty hot this close. But the pressure of the nylon eased on her wrists, and in the next second she was free.

“Hurry,” the girl whispered into her shoulder and dropped a lighter into her hands.

But then the door opened and the whiny guard was back, carrying a large box, leading with his back. Or maybe it wasn’t the whiny guard. This one looked bigger. But familiar.

The pudgy rebel barked a question.

“Da, da.”
The newcomer mumbled the rest of his answer and kept advancing into the room, groaning, bent under the weight of whatever he was carrying. But the next second the box flew at the older bandit, knocking his weapon aside while the stranger took out the pudgy one with his gun. He had enough time to shoot the other one, too, before that one gathered himself.

Her hands were free, but all she could do was stare at the man dumbstruck, unable to believe her eyes.

Parker?

She pushed to her feet and stepped toward him, but he shook his head slightly and severed eye contact as if he didn’t want anyone to know that they knew each other. He spoke in Russian as he cut the plastic cuffs off people then distributed the rebels’ guns to the hostages, who were asking questions at the rate of a hundred per second.

He answered before he pointed at her, said something else in Russian and ripped the gas mask off Pudgy’s belt, then shoved it into her hand. He dragged her out of the gym, closing the door behind them.

“What’s going on?” She followed him down the corridor since he wouldn’t stop. “What are you involved with now?” He looked even better than he had in her frequent dreams of him. Whoever she’d been with in the two years since they’d broken up, her dreams brought only one man to her: Parker.

He couldn’t be here on assignment. That wouldn’t make any sense. “If the press could get in, why isn’t the rescue team here?”

“Later.” His whole body alert, the gun poised to shoot, he moved so fast that keeping up was an effort. He looked like Parker’s action-figure twin: eyes hard as flint, body language tight and on the scary side. Even his voice sounded sharper.