Harper wriggled a little, just enough to slightly angle her torso out from under his. Just enough to breathe a little. She didn’t want him off her, she just wanted a little oxygen. Just a bit.
Because though he was heavy as an ox, he felt absolutely delicious. Hard as a rock all over, except the bit that had been inside her and was now softening, starting to slip out of her.
God, it had been glorious. Almost better than last night, and last night had been off the charts.
And it has also been…insane.
Passion had never, ever gotten the best of her. Except now, apparently. There had been nothing in her head except red-hot heat, a crazy desire to have Mark Redmond on her, in her. And nothing was going to stand in her way. Certainly not a dozen murderous terrorists a few feet away, separated from her by some wood and stucco.
God.
What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t. She hadn’t been thinking, at all.
But she had been feeling, emotions raw and harsh, right under her skin. The horror of having watched people being killed—gunned down like animals. Men standing with weapons trained on terrified hostages, sitting on the floor like animals ready for slaughter. Women and children, not knowing if they would get out alive.
The Louvre was wired for destruction. That was one scenario where she and Mark would not survive. They’d wired the monumental staircase and the Grand Gallery, so explosives were not far away. They’d die in the initial blast or be buried under tons of stone.
Given that, making love with Mark—perhaps the last act of their lives—made perfect sense. They’d be crazy not to.
She was nearly naked. Jacket, sweater, bra off, panties thrown somewhere. Her only item of clothing was her skirt twisted around her waist.
Mark, on the other hand, was still sort of halfway decent. He even had his windbreaker still on. He’d just opened his pants and pushed his briefs down. In a second, he’d look normal. The only place he was naked was where he was still connected to her.
But holding him still felt really good. Harper could feel his hard muscles through the layers of cloth. She tightened her arms around him, holding on as close as she could to all that power and strength, as if it could pass through him into her, then dropped her arms and legs to the dusty floor because she had no strength at all left.
Turning her head, she sniffed at his neck, lips curling in a helpless smile as she kissed him. He hardened inside her in response, but she shook her head. No way could she have another round. Her muscles were reduced to jelly.
He smelled good, too, though she could also smell the funk of sweat and, embarrassingly, she could also smell the sex coming from their groins. His juices and hers.
His juices…
God.
They hadn’t used a condom! It hadn’t even occurred to her to think of birth control. The desire had been too elemental, too fierce, to think of anything but having him inside her. To have an orgasm that nearly blew her head apart.
“Mark!” she whispered fiercely in his ear. “We didn’t use—”
“A condom,” he sighed as he pulled out of her and lifted himself on his forearms. His face was right above hers and he looked her straight in the eyes. “I have to confess I didn’t think of it. Didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Mine, either.” It had to be said. She’d been as mindless as he had. “I’m always so very careful.”
“Me, too.” He bent briefly, kissed the tip of her nose. “But I have regular checkups and like I said, I’m always careful. Or was, until this moment. I’m clean, though. Guaranteed.”
She nodded. Me, too.
But of course, no condom was more than just an issue of possible disease.
“What if—”
“Shh.” He kissed the side of her mouth this time. “It’ll be all right. Whatever happens, I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”
And those words, just like that, changed something inside her. He was still the insanely attractive, super-macho male who’d intrigued her. That hadn’t changed. What changed was in her. His face, right above hers, had morphed. It wasn’t simply an attractive stranger’s face. No, it had become the face of someone who’d carved a place in her heart. Crazy as it sounded, he was part of her.
There was an almost magnetic component to their bodies, they almost clicked when they touched each other, as if they’d have to be pulled apart. The French had a saying for people who’d bonded. Les atomes crochues. Their very atoms had intertwined.
Even crazier, she felt like she was looking at her future.
Alarming. Exhilarating. Both, at the same time. Particularly since they might not have a future at all.
“Come.” Mark stood, pulled his pants and briefs over his hips and zipped up. Just like that, in a matter of seconds, he was back to normal. She, on the other hand, looked like a wanton woman, lying on her back, naked except for the soft skirt wrapped around her waist.
Mark held out a huge hand and easily lifted her to her feet. She should have felt ashamed or at least awkward, but she didn’t. They’d shared a moment of intense closeness and next to that, it didn’t make any difference that she was standing there half naked, her clothes scattered on the floor.
Mark stepped forward and put his arms around her. Her own arms automatically went around his waist and she once again felt all that power flowing into her. He kissed the top of her head, bent his mouth to her ear.
“I’m not sorry.”
She gave a sharp shake of her head against his shoulder. “No.” There was a whirlwind of emotions in her—sharp and raw—but regret wasn’t one of them.
He pulled away slightly. “Here, honey. Let me help you.”
Harper stood like a doll while he picked up her bra from the floor, holding out her arms obediently as he put it on her and fastened it in back.
“Up,” he said softly, and her hands shot up so he could slide the silk sweater down her arms. He pulled the hem down over her waist, smoothed the fabric over her hips. His eyes followed his hands and in the harsh light of the flashlight, the edges of his face grew harder.
He bent to pick up her panties and held them for a long moment. The pale cream lace looked amazingly sexy in his big, rough hands, a study in contrasts.
Mark knelt to help her put her panties back on, but then once on his knees, he stilled. He glanced up at her once, then fixated on her mound, eyes unwavering.
Looking down, Harper saw his dark, short hair, stubby eyelashes, straight nose, sharp cheekbones, all foreshortened, like in some Renaissance painting showing perspective. She couldn’t quite see his expression, but she knew what it was. God knew she’d seen it often enough lately. He was aroused. It was clear in the ruddy cheeks, tight skin over his temples, harsh breathing.
How could he possibly be aroused? They’d just had incredibly intense and exhausting sex. How could he want more? How could—
Mark leaned forward, eyes narrowed. His thumbs opened her and he ran his tongue along her sex, and her legs trembled.
Oh. That’s how. If you’d asked her, she’d have said that she couldn’t have any kind of sex, she was just tapped out. But apparently her body—which she was starting to realize she didn’t know as well as she thought she did—had reserves. Who knew?
Mark opened his mouth and kissed her there, exactly as if it were her mouth. Licking and nibbling and taking little bites. It was so intense she couldn’t stand. She needed to sit down or lie down. Or something.
But somehow his hands were holding her up, he wouldn’t let her fall while he was devouring her alive.
Mark stopped, looked up at her. Though the light was dim, she could see that he was flushed, lips colored dark red, eyes deep and luminous.
“I can smell us—you and me. I can taste both of us.”
Her knees wobbled. The idea, the image, of her body containing her juices and his semen—crazily, it turned her on. Usually she rushed to the shower to wash the smell of sex off her but this time she didn’t want that. They’d had raw sex and it was right that she still smelled and tasted of him. She tried to say that but nothing came from her throat but air.
Mark’s mouth and tongue were hot on already inflamed tissues. It was way too intense and she tried to evade his mouth but those big, strong hands held her fast, there was no escape, nothing to do but endure. Everything inside her seemed to curl inward, spiraling tighter and tighter until she had to close her eyes and stop breathing, and still everything became more intense, spiraling more and more…
The wave crested and broke and Harper drew in a deep breath but before she could moan, his big hand covered her mouth and she ended up making a muffled keening sound into his palm. She was sweating and shaking, prickly heat sliding under her skin, her hands clutching his head, the one steady thing in a roiling ocean of sheer pleasure.
Harper’s legs were weak and shaking and could barely hold her up. Mark waited for her to find her balance, then lifted one foot then the other foot into her panties and slowly pulled the stretchy lace up her legs. He held her hips, the soft skirt falling over his hands as he rose to his full height.
Harper watched him rise helplessly. He was somehow dominating her body without bending her will to him. Her body followed his blindly. She was helplessly plugged in to what he wanted because she wanted it too. If you’d asked her if she wanted another round of sex, she’d have said no. Hell no, even. Until he had pressed his face against her belly and then that crazy switch inside her flipped to whatever Mark wants mode.
When he removed his hands from her hips, the skirt fell to mid-calf and, like Mark, she was decent again.
He cupped her face, his hands entirely covering the sides of her head, and bent forward until his forehead touched hers.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked.
That was rich. What was she doing to him? Harper gave a weak laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
Mark shook his head. “I’ve lost control. I never lose control.”
“Me either.” It was true. Harper prided herself on her self-control, on not being swayed by anything or anyone.
The only good thing about this was that she wasn’t alone. He was just like her—both caught in a wild river flowing downhill, smashing into boulders and logs, unable to control their movements.
“You shouldn’t be so beautiful and fascinating,” he complained. “It’s not fair.”
At that, Harper smiled. “So…” She waved a forefinger between them, tapping her chest, tapping his. “This. This is all my fault?”
He sighed. “God yeah. I’m helpless to resist you.”
Suddenly the reality of their situation came crashing in on her. “That’s so dangerous,” she whispered. “We’re not at the Ritz.”
Mark blew out a breath and stood straight, putting a few inches between them. “No, we’re not. I’m not sorry I couldn’t resist you, but we need to put that behind us now.” He stared down into her eyes, curling a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Until we can get back to the Ritz.”
Tears welled suddenly in her eyes and she had to blink hard to keep them from spilling over. The Ritz. How she missed it! Not the luxury so much as the feeling of civility and normality it represented. If terrorists blew up the Louvre, it would be as bad as 9/11. Another spate of wars would ensue. Their world would be changed forever.
“I can’t wait to get back to the Ritz.”
“That’s my girl. Focus on that. We’ll get through this.”
“Will we?” And this time tears spilled over. Mortified, she swiped at her cheeks. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”
The last thing she wanted was to be a dead weight to Mark, a sniveler, someone he had to worry about in these dangerous circumstances.
“That’s okay. I get it that you’re scared. I’m scared, too.”
She looked at him, tall and broad and so strong it was almost absurd. “Yeah, right.”
“No, really. The only difference is that I’ve been trained to deal with it.” Mark looked her over, more like a comrade checking for wounds than a lover. “Okay. Let’s see what we have here.”
He did something to that cellphone so that it continued showing the Mona Lisa room without the cable connection. The image lost a tiny bit of clarity as he took her hand and walked them farther into the walls until they were in the back of an adjoining room. He made her sit down with her back to the wall, cross-legged, then sat down himself, long legs bent. He reached into his backpack and handed her a fresh bottle of water. Two down, two to go.
She cracked the top, drank half, handed him the bottle. Gave him a steely look until he finished it.
“So—you’re scared?” she asked him.
“I’d be crazy not to be scared. Anything can happen and there’s a lot of weaponry out there. But I learned a long time ago to channel fear and master it. It’s there but it’s controllable. We’re not dying. Not today.”
The way he said it, not boasting, just stating a fact, was actually reassuring.
“That guy you were talking to. The head of the DGSE.”
“Robert?”
“Yeah. You were talking about the Dubrovka Theater scenario. What’s that?”
Mark stared as his knees for a moment, then sighed. “On the 23rd of October, 2002, forty Chechen terrorists overran a theater in Moscow that was showing a very popular musical. There were over 850 members of the audience surrounded by terrorists who were demanding the end of the Second Chechen War.”
“About as likely as our terrorists demanding the release of prisoners,” she said dryly.
“Yeah. They kept the hostages without food and water for almost three days and had started murdering them—two women were shot and killed. Russian Special Forces couldn’t storm the place because they’d have had to rush down about a hundred feet of corridor manned by terrorists and then up a staircase before reaching the theater itself. And the terrorists had set explosives all around, and heavy explosives in the middle of the hostages.”
She pulled in a shocked breath. She could see it—a replica of what was on the other side of the wall. A long corridor before reaching the hostages, explosives set along the way…
“Like here.”
“Like here.” Mark nodded. “No way to get to the terrorists without unacceptable casualties, and in the time it would take to get to the terrorists, they could wipe out the hostages. An impossible situation.”
“What did they do?”
“They gassed the place.”
Her voice was a shocked whisper. “They what?”
“They gassed the place. They never announced what they used but everyone agrees it was an opiate, a strong one. Probably Fentanyl.”
“The one that’s causing so many deaths in the opioid crisis?”
His mouth tightened. “That’s the one. It’s a thousand times more effective than opium. Very fast acting. But very dangerous. Out of the almost 900 hostages, about 170 died from the drug.”
“Conquering the disease but killing the patient.”
“That’s right. But I’m trusting that Robert has something better. As powerful and as fast-acting but that won’t kill the hostages. Or that they will come with a drug that can counter the effects fast.”
Harper thought about it.
“Could they send the drug through the ventilation system?”
Mark glanced at her. “Smart thinking, but no, they can’t. They shut off all electricity in the Louvre, all systems are down. The lighting they have is via generators they brought up. So I think Robert’s best solution would be to somehow get something to me that I can pump into the room. From what I understand, that is the only room where they have live hostages.” He waited a beat, took her hand in his. His voice turned gentle. “Honey, I think we’re going to have to assume that any tourists they have in the halls or in the building are dead. It takes a hell of a lot of manpower to keep living hostages prisoners. I’m assuming that the only ones left alive are in the Mona Lisa room.”
Harper stared at her knees, thinking of how many dead there must be out there. But not all of those innocent people were dead. There was still a room full of people they might be able to save. She had to help Mark in any way she could, trying to recall schematics she’d once seen in an archive of architectural drawings.
She elbowed him. “Mark, there are chimney pots at regular intervals along the Louvre roofline. It would be dangerous because it’s a mansard roof and slopes very steeply. But if they can lower everything we need through the chimney pots to this level, we could do it.”
She could see the whites of his eyes. “We? What do you mean we?”
“You need me. I know the Louvre. This morning at the entrance, I wasn’t paying any attention, but I’m paying attention now. If we need to emerge from the walls, I know how to get to where we have to go as quickly as possible.”
“No.” Mark shook his head. “I studied the map. I’m not having you emerging from these walls. Absolutely not.”
“Mark.” She touched his arm and felt his muscles almost vibrating with tension. “What you studied was a tourist’s map that shows just the main rooms and corridors. It’s not a complete map. I know I got a little turned around this morning, but I still know the place better than you possibly can. And you don’t know what they’re going to give you. I can help you carry things.”
His jaw muscles worked. “You are going to stay right here, flat on the ground. If shooting starts, they will aim for head height. It’s almost impossible for them to hit you if you’re on the ground, the angles would be all wrong.”
For a second, Harper was tempted. Really tempted. Let Mark do his thing. He was trained for this and—she had a master’s in art history. Staying flat on the ground in a possible shooting scenario sounded like a very smart idea.
But—brave as he was, Mark was one person, operating in a building he’d never been in before.
All her life, Harper had loved art. Even as a little girl, her mother had bought her art books she’d pored over instead of toys. Everything about the Louvre was what she believed in from the bottom of her heart. Mankind was brutal, greedy, unforgiving. Men fomented wars, tortured and enslaved people.
Mankind also produced beautiful things, things that elevated the soul, made us more than brutes.
If she stayed cowering on the floor while Mark went out alone, what would the rest of her life be like?
A lie.
“I want to come with you. I must come with you,” she said calmly. Her fingers clutched his arm. “I won’t get in your way, I just want to help, and I think I can. If shooting starts—”
She swallowed. She’d never been near shooting but she’d watched a lot of films. It didn’t take much imagination to picture the two of them, broken and bleeding on the shiny parquet floor.
And she imagined waiting on the dusty floor between walls for Mark to come back. Waiting for the sounds of gunfire, waiting…
“If shooting starts,” she continued, keeping her voice steady, “I’m not guaranteed safety, anyway. I’d rather be out. I’d rather be with you.”
“No,” he said through gritted teeth, his jaws so tense it was hard for him to get the word out of his mouth.
“I’d be safer with you.”
“No.” She could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“We’re a team, Mark.” She dealt what she thought would be the killing blow. “Last night made us a team. We do this together or we don’t do it at all.”
He blew out his breath and hung his head between his shoulders.
Harper said nothing, just watched him, hand on his clenched arm. There was nothing more she could say. What she’d said made sense. She knew the hidden byways of the Louvre, certainly better than he did. She could help carry equipment. And she believed from the bottom of her heart that she’d be safer by his side. There was just something about him—his physical grace, his quiet efficiency—that made her believe in him.
His head lifted. “You follow what I say. You jump when I say jump, you run when I say run. No questions asked.”
Her heart leaped. It leaped in fear and hope. She was afraid of what they would have to do. But she wanted with every cell in her body to be near him. And a quivering, terrified but determined part of her wanted—fiercely—to help stop an atrocity.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“You stay with me at all times unless I tell you otherwise.”
“Count on it.”
He turned and caught her up in a hug so strong it hurt. She didn’t care. She hugged him right back.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Crazily, she felt a shudder go through him. Through this big, hard, tough man.
“Neither do I,” she said, and he gave a little huff of a laugh, dropping his head to her shoulder for a moment.
He pulled back and shook his head. “I don’t like it, I don’t—”
His satphone’s screen lit up.
“Jesus. It’s Robert.” Mark was breathing heavily, as if he’d just run a ten-mile race. His looked at the screen and tapped his earbud. “Go.”
Harper couldn’t hear what was being said, heard only his part of the conversation and it was mainly yes and understood.
But one thing he made clear. “Let’s do this now, tonight. And don’t let the police know. We don’t know if there’s a mole. If there is, you’ll lose the advantage of surprise and we’ll lose our lives. And by ‘we’, remember that there’s a person with me. A woman. If something happens to me, you find her and protect her with everything you’ve got, is that understood?”
Robert said something that made Mark grunt.
“Okay.” He checked his watch. Reflexively, Harper checked her own. It was a little past 6 p.m. Last night, she’d checked her watch at 6 p.m., getting ready for dinner with Mark, glancing out the window. Darkness had begun falling over the City of Light. They couldn’t see the outside world, but it was getting dark out there.
Mark nodded, a sharp movement of his head. “So it’s a go for 3 a.m. Show me on a detailed map you text me where the drop will be. And we coordinate the attack. I’ll let you know when everyone is sedated. Your troops will have naloxone, correct?”
Naloxone, she knew from having read a billion articles on the opioid crisis, counteracted opioid-based drugs.
It was amazing how he was able to keep his deep voice quiet. She barely heard him yet she was only inches away.
“Roger that. I also want comms, two sets, plus two sets of body armor, one for a very small person, two EH-20 gas masks or the equivalent, an MP5 with a belt of at least five magazines. A Glock 19, holster and ammo.” He listened, nodded. “Keep this in DGSE, and don’t let the police know. Your guys have to operate as a separate unit from the other LE forces. And dig deep into the police. If you look hard, you’ll find your mole. Get either the NSA or GCHQ in the UK to monitor calls with AI, sifting through code words. When you find him or them, isolate them. If the terrorists get wind of what we’re doing, it’ll be a massacre. Over and out.”
He tapped his earbud. Then he switched over to the cellphone screen and turned the phone so she could see, too.
It was dark in the room, the only illumination four spotlights in the four corners, lighting up the ceiling. Harper could barely make out the hostages huddled on the ground, darker shapes in the darkness. She could only imagine how horrible it must be, mothers trying to soothe their children while being terrified themselves. Men wondering how they could protect their families against armed terrorists. Not knowing if the end was near. Knowing they might die in the next minute.
The leader was in one corner, talking to two of his men. The others were patrolling, but not in an organized way. They seemed to simply walk back and forth along the walls. Two were still posted at the entrance. Harper studied them carefully. They twitched and moved from booted foot to booted foot. One beat a tattoo against his submachine gun nervously. The other bopped his head to some beat only he could hear.
“Are they high?” she asked Mark. It was the only thing she could think of. Either that or they were very highly strung.
“Maybe. They’re sure not exercising discipline. Do you see the two against the west wall?”
West wall…Harper oriented herself in her head. The wide angle was at times hard to interpret. But yes, now she identified the two he was talking about. They were walking up and down the room aimlessly.
“They should be methodical. One pacing the perimeter, one with a weapon aimed at the hostages at all times. They’re using up a lot of nervous energy. Give them three days and they’ll be useless—exhausted and worked up, both. But we can’t give them three days. Either they’ll start shooting or the police will attempt a raid and the terrorists will be given advance notice. Either way, everyone will be dead at the end of it and probably the Louvre blown up. Including us.”
She shivered and Mark put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s not going to happen. And that’s why we have to move tonight.”
“At 3 a.m., when the body’s defenses are weakest.” She looked up at him.
Mark’s eyes sharpened in the dim light. “That’s right. How did you know that? Have you had counterterrorist training?”
“Not quite, but I do read a lot of thrillers. No, my grandfather passed away after a long battle with cancer at three in the morning. I was by his bedside. We were taking turns. I was holding his hand and something woke me up. I saw him take a deep breath and not breathe it out again. The doctor said that’s when many sick and elderly people pass away. The body is at its lowest ebb.”
He leaned over and kissed her hair. She felt it. Felt his big shoulder brush hers, felt his breath ruffle her hair, felt the light kiss, as if even her hair were attuned to him.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him for the kiss, drawing in a deep breath full of the scent of his skin. Her grandfather’s last breath was still sharp in her memory as she’d watched life depart his ancient, desiccated body. She’d loved him, had tried to hold on to him, but he’d gone. She’d watched it, life leaving him.
Life hadn’t left the body of the man beside her. Oh no. He was crackling with life, every inch of him.
And so was she.
In the midst of terrible danger, crazed lunatics parading with machine guns right outside this wall, hunkered down in a stone building that had been wired with explosives, she’d never felt so alive. Right down to her fingertips and toes. Every cell of her body hummed. Danger was so close, that thin veil that separates life from death almost visible, and yet she savored every single thing. Mark’s closeness and strength like a bastion. The breath in her lungs, the shadows in the harsh light, the heat from Mark’s body.
“So.” Mark moved his head and spoke directly in her ear. She broke out in goose bumps. “When are you quitting your job and telling the boss from hell to go fu—jump in a lake. Next week, I hope.”
She turned her head swiftly, meeting him nose to nose. “I’m so looking forward to telling him to fuck off.”
Mark smiled, kissed her lightly on the lips. He tapped her chin. “Any woman who wants to leave relative safety to go out with me is not a woman who plays it safe. That’s also not a woman who will put up with being mistreated. You’re Wonder Woman.”
Harper smiled. She liked the image of herself as Wonder Woman, marvelously brave. The fact was that she didn’t want to be left alone in this dark, dusty space, waiting for Mark to come back. She’d rather face danger with him than tremble alone in the dark.
But she’d take his image of her—strong and unafraid. Felt good.
Mark nudged her with his shoulder. “So? What are your plans?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” Harper had some painful memories of talking about her work with dates. Not many men were interested in design.
His face sobered. He ran the back of his forefinger down her cheek. “Yes, absolutely. I want to hear what you do, what your plans are. I want to hear about people who care about beauty and art. I particularly want to hear this when there are terrorist thugs just feet away who have killed hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents and who want to blow up one of humanity’s finest creations. I want to hear about people who can’t even contemplate that kind of atrocity.”
Even in the dim light, his eyes shone. They were locked on hers. All that formidable male energy was focused on her and it felt like being under a spotlight. He meant every word he said.
“Okay.” Harper blew out a breath. Up till now she and her partners had treated their plans like nuclear secrets. Not even her parents knew everything. But that was in normal times. Normality had been blown out of the water and anyway, this was Mark. Either they were going to die tonight or if they lived, he was going to be part of her life.
Still, she hesitated, just a moment.
“Hard, huh?” Her head swiveled in surprise. He was smiling gently. “It’s hard sometimes talking about the private stuff. I’m a vault,” he added gently, lifting three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
The man was scarily perceptive.
“Were you a Boy Scout?” Somehow, he didn’t look like someone who’d been a scout. She imagined him as worldly as he was now, even as a boy. Like an old soul.
“No.” The smile vanished. “But I know how to keep secrets.”
He probably did. “Well, it’s not a question of national security or anything. There are four of us—me, two young architects and a graphic artist. We’re going to publish a large design magazine quarterly. The paper magazine will have high production values and we’re hoping they will become collectors’ items. We did a one-off test last year and it sold out in a week. Then the e-edition will have added content, podcasts, interviews, things like that. We’ve all sunk our life savings, such as they are, into the project and we’re all going to resign from our day jobs next month.”
“Good.” Mark’s mouth tightened. “Leave that jerk of a boss as soon as you can. I don’t have many female employees, but when they travel, you can be sure there’s a car and a driver waiting for them. No question.”
He sounded so genuinely appalled that her boss begrudged her even taxi money. Harper remembered telling a date that she’d arrived in LA late at night in a torrential rainfall—what they called a river in the sky—and had to wait an hour for a bus, and he wasn’t even listening. He’d responded by talking about an upcoming promotion. There hadn’t been a second date.
“I think he’ll be unhappy he chased me off.”
“Losing you?” Mark picked up her hand, kissed the back of it. “Guy’s gotta be insane.”
“We’ve even got a company headquarters. My grandparents left me a big house on Chestnut Hill with a detached groundskeeper’s house, which is perfect for us. The house is in disrepair and I don’t have the money to fix it up, but the adjacent place is in decent shape. We’re putting in a T3 line, turning one room into a cooled server room, redoing the electricity. It’ll be perfect.”
“It’ll be a huge success.” His voice sounded certain, the tone that of someone saying the sun will rise in the east tomorrow morning.
Harper smiled. “That’s the idea. The first issue of the magazine will be devoted to the design of Game of Thrones. The costumes, the arms and armor, the sets. It’ll be visually stunning.”
Mark gave a little jolt and turned, eyes slightly widened. “Game of Thrones? Jesus, my favorite show. I’m obsessed with it. Save a copy of the first issue for me.”
“Will do.” Her heart warmed. She was a huge fan of GoT herself and the idea of dedicating the entire first issue to the design of the series had been hers. Now her partners were totally on board, wildly enthusiastic. “What’s your favorite part?”
“Jaime’s hand,” he answered promptly.
“Jaime Lannister’s hand?”
“Mmm. I had a teammate who lost a hand to an IED. That’s an—”
“Improvised Explosive Device,” she said quietly. She made a point of following the endless wars. Brave men and women were fighting for her, the least she could do was to understand their sacrifices.
“Yeah. Anyway, they gave him a miracle hand to replace it. An average man’s grip is about 100 pounds but Greg’s biomechanical hand’s grip is over 300. Then he went and had a smith make a hand to fit over it that was just like Jaime Lannister’s hand, and had it painted gold. Wears it when he goes to parties. His wife, well…she’s a little bossy, and when he wears it he calls himself the Hand of the Queen.” Mark’s eyes gleamed.
Harper snickered. “I like him already.”
“You’ll meet him.” Mark squeezed her hand. “When we get back home, we’ll have dinner with him and his wife. You’ll like her, too. Reya’s very…lively. A lot of fun.”
A hard hand gripped her heart and squeezed. Oh, how she hoped she could meet this Greg and his firecracker of a wife. Go out to dinner with them and have a good time. Go on dating the most fascinating man she’d ever met. See where this hot thing they had led.
They might never get that chance. Tonight could be their last night on this earth.
“Don’t think like that,” Mark said. He reached over and smoothed out the wrinkles between her eyebrows. “It doesn’t go anywhere good. We’re going to get out of this alive and we’re going out to dinner with Greg and Reya sometime next week. Maybe the Barbary Coast. Would you like that?”
“Yeah.” She barely got the word out through a tight throat. “Yes, I’d like that. I read the reviews. Sounds like a fabulous place.”
“It is.”
The Barbary Coast was a fairly new restaurant with Arabic décor and delicious Moroccan food. She’d been wanting to go for a while now but saving up for the project had been her priority.
And oh…to go with Mark and with his friends, who sounded like so much fun, people of substance, people of spirit. A man and a woman who hadn’t let the loss of a hand get them down.
Oh God, she wanted that, so much! She wanted that lighthearted dinner at a great restaurant. She wanted a lot of evenings with Mark, getting to know him better, though she had a pretty good impression of what the core of him was like. The past twenty-four hours had been like being in a pressure cooker, but it had also shown her that he was good and brave. A real man.
And hot.
Because the sex they’d had was life itself and she wanted more of that, too.
She wanted to move forward right now with the magazine. Why wait? She’d waited way too long already. Her usual cautious approach to life…she had a good job, why give it up; the economic situation was uncertain; most start-ups failed in the first year…
What nonsense.
Life was meant to be lived to the fullest. You had to throw yourself forward, arms wide out. Life was so sweet, so rich, full of pleasures and, yes, pain. Pain meant you were alive.
Harper had so much and hadn’t realized it. She loved her parents, she loved her friends, she loved design. She’d met a man she could love. Maybe…maybe already did love.
It could all be gone in an instant—tonight, in fact. Things could go wrong. The plan Mark had come up with, though a good one, could go crashing in a thousand ways. They could end up dead so easily, shot through the heart or the head by those monsters.
There was a thin veil between life and death and they were up against it.
Somehow Mark picked up on the thoughts racing through her head.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, arm tight around her shoulders. His strength and warmth seeped into her bones. “Let’s set a date for the Barbary Coast. When are you flying back?”
She was startled. When was she flying back? What kind of a question was that? She might die tonight!
He smiled gently down at her and again, she had the feeling he was reading her mind.
“So?” He bent, kissed her forehead. “We’re both busy people and we have to make plans. When’s your flight back?”
“Tue-Tuesday,” she stammered. “The tenth. And you? When are you flying back?”
“Tuesday,” he said, matter of fact. “The tenth. Or whenever you fly back.”
“What about your business?”
“I can take care of my business before Tuesday.”
“And what is your business in Paris?”
Harper held her breath. She knew what Mark was definitely not. A plumbing supplies importer. But what was he—exactly? What was he in Paris for?
It was hard to tell in such faint light but that might actually be a slight smile she saw on Mark’s face. “Not a hit, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Harper’s breath whooshed out of her chest in relief and that definitely became a smile on his face.
“I’m a security expert, not a door-kicker or an assassin. I’m here to advise the director of Paribas Bank on their vault security.”
Harper’s eyes widened. Paribas was a big bank with vast resources. They could ask any consultant in the world for advice. If they’d chosen Mark—who was not French—then he must be one of the best in the world at what he did.
He hadn’t given off that air at all, of being a world-renowned expert in his field. That was very clever of him, she realized. Keeping below the radar for the public at large.
“Can you still meet your commitments?” she asked, then realized that she’d bought into Mark’s world view. They were going to get out of this mess alive, he was going to his meeting, they’d fly back to Boston together and have dinner next week at the Barbary Coast.
Felt good.
“Sure. Just like you’re going to found your magazine. It’s going to be a huge success, too.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. It was just what she needed—a morale boost.
“No, I don’t want your thanks.” Mark’s face tightened, the harsh light deepening the grooves around his mouth, accentuating those high, hard cheekbones. A thousand years ago, he’d have been a chieftain rallying the troops before a battle and the light would have been a bonfire. “I want you to understand that we’re getting out of this alive, that we’re having dinner next week with Greg and his wife, and that you’re leaving that crappy job as soon as you can.”
And there it was again—that vision of the future. Of a future, bright with possibility, with him in it. Enticing and just there, not beyond her reach. All they had to do was survive the next 24 hours. That future felt bright and real and overcame the shadows of fear she had.
Mark settled, gently pushed her head on to his shoulder. “Rest. We’ve got hours of waiting ahead of us. Sleep a little, if you can.”
Sleep? Sleep? With terrorists holding weapons on terrified hostages just a few yards away? With the Louvre wired to blow up and bury them in tons of stone?
Was he crazy?
“I know it sounds nuts,” Mark said, keeping his hand on the side of her head, gently pressing, “but soldiers in the field sleep whenever possible. You don’t know what’s coming and you need to be as rested as you can.”
Made sense, but Harper knew sleep would be impossible. “I’ll try,” she said, no conviction in her voice.
“Uh-huh.” Mark turned his head to kiss her brow. “It would help if you closed your eyes.”
“Not sleepy.” She was so amped up. Not even a horse tranquilizer would put her to sleep.
“Close your eyes anyway.”
Obediently, she shut her eyes, not that it would make any difference at all. She was way too wound up for sleep. No way.
In seconds, she plunged into a big, deep black hole of dreamless sleep.
Something jolted her awake and she opened her eyes suddenly, pulling in a deep breath. A large, hard hand covered her mouth and she struggled briefly, uselessly. Attempts to dislodge the hand were pointless.
She’d come out of sleep like a rocket shooting up into space, head spinning.
Where was she? Harper bolted up, a heavy weight dropping from her shoulders. It was dim, cramped, dusty. Where the hell…
Oh God. It all came crashing back. The Louvre, the attack.
Mark’s satphone screen was blinking.
“You should get that,” she whisper-croaked, throat raw.
Mark had been watching her keenly. But now that she was awake, he turned his attention to the satphone. He tapped his earbud. Listened for several minutes. “Roger,” he whispered finally. He stood up in one fluid movement and held his hand out to her. It was amazing. He simply folded one leg under him and stood up. You needed amazing thigh muscles and abs to be able to do that.
She took his hand and creaked to her feet with a lot of help from Mark. Every muscle ached and her joints felt like someone had poured glue into them. How did he move so smoothly?
“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.” He gave a crooked smile that made her heart thump hard.
“Hi.” Harper frowned as some kind of schematic appeared on the satphone’s screen, “What’s that?”
“The mission, step one.” He turned the screen so that she could see it. Harper took the satphone from him and studied it carefully. She didn’t have a superb sense of direction and wasn’t good at reading maps, but by turning it this way and that, she finally figured it out. A pulsing blue point helped. It was the endpoint.
“What’s there?” Her finger covered the spot.
He pursed his lips. “What I asked for, I hope. Two canisters of carfentanyl, two gas masks, two sets of body armor, extra large and small, two noiseless pump mechanisms, a noiseless drill, an MP5 with six magazines, a Glock 19 with a holster and ammo, two Tasers and a can of knockout gas in case I have trouble on the way back, night-vision goggles. Dropped down a chimney.”
Harper frowned as she traced a blue line from their current position to the blue point over and over. She cocked her head as she traced the line again.
He picked up on her mood. “Something wrong?”
Harper gave a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t know. There’s something…wait!” She pulled her cellphone out but it was dead. “Can you pull up my email address from your satphone? It’s a Gmail address. h.kendall—”
“I know your email address,” he said as he pulled up Gmail on the screen.
“How do you know my email address?”
“You gave me your card, remember? On the plane. That’s how I knew your cellphone number.”
Oh. Yes, she had. They’d exchanged cards and she’d completely forgotten that. She couldn’t have recited his email address or cell number from memory if you’d put a gun to her head.
He pulled up Gmail and typed in her address.
“Password?” He handed it to her and looked away.
Harper typed in her password and pulled up her email feed. “Looking at what they sent you reminded me of something. It might be nothing, but if I remember correctly…”
She scrolled down, down, past hundreds of emails. Damn, she should purge more often… there! From [email protected] She scrolled down the long and gossipy message. “This was sent a week ago by Didier, a friend of mine who helped set up a temporary exhibit on the other side of the Louvre, the Richelieu Wing. But he had to coordinate with someone who works on this side and—here it is.” She squinted to read the small print of the very long, highly detailed message recounting Didier’s personal travails working with dunderheaded and unenlightened French bureaucrats. She translated for Mark’s benefit. “So there I was, trying to overcome all this mad bureaucratic…” She stumbled.
“Shit,” Mark offered. “Even I know that merde is shit.”
“Right. Bureaucratic shit,” she continued. “When in waltzes that moron Bertrand to say that the room will be closed for six months because a pipe broke.”
“So that’s that.” Harper followed the line on the screen with her finger and tapped once on a spot before the line stopped at the pulsing blue dot. “There’s the room they want you to go through but you can’t because it’s shut down and probably barricaded. Whoever gave you those schematics couldn’t know about the closing of that room a week ago. You’d have to be an insider to know.” She looked up at him. “You need me, Mark.”
Mark shook his head, looked at the floor then back up at her. “Honey, we need to rethink this. You’d be better off staying here and waiting for me. I don’t know how many terrorists are in the corridors and they’re not tired enough to have lost focus.” He cupped her face. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Please stay here.”
A surge of panic rose, squeezing her heart.
“No!” She lowered her voice instantly. “No.”
No, no, no.
No way was she staying here. The idea of cowering in the dark waiting for Mark to come back terrified her. A fear beyond words, beyond reason. Just the thought of it had her choking. With Mark, she felt safe. It was crazy, he wasn’t Iron Man or Superman. He was an ordinary man, of flesh and blood. She’d seen his scars. He didn’t have supernatural protection. He could be shot, wounded, killed.
But she’d rather be by his side in danger than alone. It was crazy, she knew that. But it was her deepest truth.
She was going with him.
Mark studied her face, watched her eyes. “You mean it,” he said finally.
She nodded, throat too tight to talk. If he said no she’d have to steel herself not to grab the back of his jacket and simply hold on tight.
“It will be dangerous.” He continued watching her.
She nodded. Yes, she knew that.
“Like I said before, you’d have to keep close to me at all times.”
She nodded fervently. Of course.
“You do what I say, when I say it.”
Her head just kept on bobbing.
“When I do this,” he held up a tightly clenched fist, shoulder height, “you freeze.”
“Colder than a popsicle.” She nodded enthusiastically. God yes.
“You don’t talk. Don’t make a sound.”
Instead of her head bobbing, she shook it violently side to side. No talking. Absolutely not. She crossed her fingers over her lips.
He continued looking at her, clearly weighing pros and cons. Whatever it was he decided didn’t make any difference at all because she was coming with him, so she just waited.
“Okay,” he finally said on a sigh. He wasn’t enthusiastic and neither was she, but the alternative was staying in the darkness alone, terrified. Much better to be terrified, but with him.
Her breath whooshed out. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it until her chest suddenly loosened with relief.
“One last thing.” He blew out a breath. He clearly didn’t want to say this but he had to. “I am almost certain that they wouldn’t have left any living tourists out in the Gallery. Anyone left alive would just be a problem for them. They’re already patrolling to deal with an attack by law enforcement.”
Their eyes met, hers sad, his determined. He nodded sharply. “Still want to come with me?”
She nodded.
“Not happy about this,” he warned her, jaw muscles clenching.
Okay. It didn’t make any difference to Harper whether he was happy or not, just as long as she could go with him.
He hooked a big arm around her neck and pulled her toward him. She went into his arms naturally, chests meeting as if magnetized, as if she were made to be in his arms.
God yes. She snuggled there, completely safe as long as he was holding her. He held her long enough that the terrified trembling deep inside stilled, long enough for his body heat to warm her up a little.
They were going to do something very dangerous, but doing nothing was dangerous too. And they might just save a lot of lives.
Her lips curved. She rose on her toes, brought his head down so she could whisper into his ear.
“Dracarys.”