26

The Wild Card

The scene that follows says a lot about our respective roles in the takedown.

As soon as Octavian and Laurie are subdued, Grant assumes his natural air of authority. I can’t help but be grateful for it, as I’m still not a hundred percent sure what happened.

And who can blame me? My face throbs, and my temple burns. My arm is wrapped around Lola’s waist as I try to hold her aloft.

Yet through it all, I can’t stop staring at Eden St. James’s impassive face, which seems to be growing more impassive by the second. Her timely arrival may very well have been the thing that saved us. I’d kiss her if I didn’t hate her so much.

“Would it be asking too much for you to have a pair of handcuffs on you?” Grant asks her as presses his knee hard into Peter Sanchez’s back. From all appearances, the man is knocked out cold, but my husband isn’t the sort to take any chances.

I think, at first, that he’s talking to me, but Eden replies in her cool, clipped voice. “Not on me, no. You’ll have to forgive me, but I was in something of a hurry to find you.”

“Hijack? Penelope?”

“I have gauze,” I offer doubtfully, looking at Lola’s dented first aid kit.

“Clipped to my belt,” a gruff voice says.

As one, we all glance over to the source of that voice. It’s Octavian, sitting against the wall next to Laurie, the pair of them bleeding profusely from the mouth and nose. Hijack has them covered with a gun in each hand, but I don’t know how necessary his vigilance is. From the state of their hanging heads, I’ve never seen a pair less likely to rise up in arms.

“On the right side,” Octavian adds. “But be careful. I think Mr. O’Kelly broke a few ribs.”

I hesitate, wondering which of us gets the dubious honor of frisking the giant. Before anyone can volunteer, Lola detaches herself from my grasp and moves haltingly toward him, dropping to her knees with an expression of sympathy. “Oh, Octavian. Are you okay?”

He winces, though not, I think, from physical pain. “I’m sorry, Lola. You know how it is. We were just following orders.”

I have no idea what she whispers to him, but it must be something kind, because he doesn’t look quite so miserable by the time she extracts the handcuffs. I mean, he’s still bleeding and has a gun pointed at his head, and I doubt he’s going to walk away from this room in anything but federal custody, but the hangdog look is gone.

I almost feel bad for the guy, honestly. Working for a man like Peter Sanchez can’t be a pleasant task.

“I was trying to kill him, you know,” Lola says as she passes the handcuffs to Grant. “I wanted him to die.” It’s difficult to tell if she feels guilty at her own daring or sad that she didn’t accomplish her goal.

“It was a good strike,” Grant replies with a warm smile. “It landed right where it needed to knock him out cold.”

“You’re the heroine of the day,” I add.

Eden coughs gently. “This is all very touching, I’m sure, but can we please tone down the theatrics?” She turns to Grant with a tight smile. “Unfortunately, you seem to have made a terrible botch of this, O’Kelly, as I suspected you would. It’s a good thing I was able to take out those two guards before you all managed to get yourselves killed.”

Although impressed by the sight of the two huddled forms outside the bridge door, a prickling sense of annoyance takes over. “Excuse you,” I protest. Where does this woman get off, putting the blame on my husband? This was my terrible botch, thank you very much.

Predictably, she ignores me. “This is what I get for trusting in American intelligence, I suppose.”

American intelligence?

“I didn’t know you were still on the boat,” Grant says to Eden, showing neither outrage nor surprise. “When you didn’t come at the sound of the first gunshot, I assumed you’d evacuated along with everyone else. How did you get in here? I thought all the locks were unpickable.”

“They are.” She holds up a metal object and tosses it to him. “But it just so happens I have a master key.”

I squeak.

Eden hears—I can tell from the smirk that lifts her lips—but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Hijack does, though, swiveling his head to glare at me.

Dammit. I knew that woman was up to something when she so conveniently disappeared after that failed attempt on the tiara. She groped me and stole my key. I wouldn’t put it past her to have orchestrated the whole thing just so she could get her hands on it.

“That’s strange,” Hijack says with heavy emphasis. “I get the feeling I’ve seen a key like that somewhere before.”

Since I’d rather not fall into apologies and explanations for how I got pickpocketed by the oldest trick in the book, I turn away to focus on the more important issue at hand—Eden and my husband working in collusion.

“You two know each other?” I demand. “This whole time, you’ve known each other? Is that why you tripped me?”

“You think I tripped you?” Eden asks with a trill of laughter. “Darling, you fell over your own two feet. If I were you, I’d take to jogging somewhere you can’t plunge two hundred feet to a watery grave.”

“And to answer your question, Penelope, no,” Grant puts in much more gently. “We don’t know each other. I suspected she was British intelligence after our night searching for Johnny Francis, but I couldn’t confirm it. I didn’t want to say anything in case it turned out to be false.”

My head whirls at the thought. Eden St. James is one of the good guys? And she saved us?

Eden chuckles. “I can see she’s having a difficult time digesting it all. Do you need me to slow down, darling? Shall I use smaller words?”

Nope. I don’t care whose government she’s working for—Eden is definitely one of the bad guys.

“But you thought Kit O’Kelly might be Johnny Francis. I heard you say so.”

“It was a working theory. He fit all the markers. I figured it was either that or CIA.”

Grant shakes his head. “FBI, actually.”

I ignore him to focus on the more important issue at hand. “And you were practically begging me to steal that tiara for you,” I add. “You said you wanted to be partners.”

She casts her eyes up to the ceiling. “Of course I did. I wanted to draw Johnny out. I thought we’d covered this already.” A flicker of annoyance crosses her face as she turns to Grant. “Speaking of, did you find him?”

Grant glances at Hijack, who shakes his head with vehemence. “It’s not me, I swear. Hijack isn’t short for anything. My name is actually Sam.”

Irritation rises to my throat, mingled with a sense of satisfaction that’s wholly inappropriate to the time and place. Now is not the moment to gloat to my husband that I was, in fact, right about Hijack. I knew he wasn’t smart enough to be Johnny Francis.

I focus on the irritation I feel instead. “If you’re not Johnny, then why did you let Peter think you were? You idiot. That’s why he shot at Grant. You could have gotten us all killed.”

Hijack glares at me. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was trying to help.”

“Great job with that. Any other lives you’d like to endanger while we’re here?”

Eden’s smooth voice breaks in before I can tell Hijack what I think of his mishandling of the situation. “Is she like this with all her ex-boyfriends?”

Grant’s lips twitch. “Yes, actually. You get used to it. I assume this means you didn’t find Johnny, either?”

“Alas, no. I’m starting to suspect he never planned on going after the tiara at all. Poor Peter went to all this work to catch a ghost.” She gives the inert man a soft kick. “It’s a pity, but I suppose I can always take both him and these four miscreants to my superiors in Johnny’s stead. You don’t mind, do you? After all this, I can hardly show up empty-handed.”

Grant clears his throat. “One might argue that I have an equal claim on them.”

She cocks her head. “One might, but then, I did save your life, didn’t I? Besides, in staying on board to track you down, I’ve blown a cover I spent three years investing in. Consider it my fee.”

That seems awfully expensive to me, but Grant just nods. “That’s fair.”

“Thank you,” she says and sighs as she sizes up the five bound and fully grown men she’s somehow going to cart to England. I wish I could say I feel bad for the task ahead of her, but I don’t. “You know, I think I might actually miss being Eden St. James. She was fun.”

“No, she wasn’t,” I protest. “She was awful. Who are you really?”

“Tiffany Thistlethwaite, at your service.” She tilts her head to the side. “I suppose I should thank you for clearing the boat to make all this possible. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. Sloppy.”

I flush. “But effective.”

“Oh, dear. You’re one of those ‘ends justify the means’ types, aren’t you? Your kind always make everything ten times more expensive than it needs to be. My bosses would hate you.”

At that, Grant laughs out loud. Looking around at the carnage of the bridge, I can’t help but join him. In terms of failed missions, we could hardly have functioned any worse as a team. In addition to the blood and damage all over the Shady Lady, the FBI is out a million dollars for Grant’s entry into the game, we’ve just handed Peter Sanchez and four of his thugs to British intelligence, and even though we have the tiara in our possession, we’re no nearer to knowing Johnny Francis’s identity now than we were a week ago. All I’ve managed to acquire is a beaten-up face, a thieving ex-boyfriend, and an injured girl with a hole in her shoulder.

Not to mention the lives and safety of everyone I hold dear. I don’t care what Grant’s bosses say—I’m calling this one a win.

“I don’t suppose I could offer you safe passage back to Germany in exchange for your help with this lot?” Eden—Tiffany—whatever—turns to Hijack, one brow raised. “Since we’re both headed that direction anyway…”

Hijack is instantly interested. “By safe, you mean I don’t have to go through customs?”

“Naturally.”

“I’m in.” Hijack shrugs at me. “Sorry, Pen. I never was all the way sure of you, so I grabbed a few, um, souvenirs that I’d like to see safely home. I hope you don’t mind.”

I don’t mind in the least. There’s no denying that we couldn’t have pulled off this final escapade without him, but the last thing I want is for that man to follow us back to New York. It’s hard enough keeping one of my ex-boyfriends out of jail. “What? No inviting me to come with you this time?” I tease. “All that old money, all those old buildings?”

He casts a wary glance at Grant. “No offense, Pen, but you’ve always been a lot more trouble than you’re worth.”

“You can say that again.” Grant grins and offers him his hand—and, by extension, his blessing to flee the country with his ill-gotten gains in tow. “Thanks for your help, Sam. We won’t forget it.”

I can’t say that I’m sad to watch them go. The back of Eden’s sleek head as she and Hijack push and prod their captives to the top deck to await her helicopter escort is a sight that fills me with intense satisfaction.

Of course, there’s still our own evacuation to plan, a task Grant settles down to with cool efficiency as he takes over the ship’s radio. I’m so impressed by his ability to rattle off coordinates and make sexy boat commands that I don’t notice right away that Lola has crept up behind us.

I whirl, prepared to admonish her back to the table where she’s been resting. The poor thing might be stable enough to support a last-minute Hail Mary to save the day, but that doesn’t mean she can stand around chatting with a bullet lodged in her shoulder.

“Um, Penelope?” Her voice is as small and whispery as always, but something about the determined look on her pale little face has me stopping short. Other than a weary pallor and a limp arm, she seems to be holding her own. In fact, there’s something suspiciously like a smile on her face.

To make matters even more bizarre, she extends her good hand and holds it there. It doesn’t waver, doesn’t move, until I slip my palm against hers. She doesn’t shake my hand, as I expect, but holds it—holds me. With a grip like that, I know she’s going to be okay.

“I probably should have introduced myself earlier, but I had to make sure of you first.” She smiles shyly up at Grant. “I had to make sure of you both. But I was hoping the FBI would show up to find Johnny Francis—I don’t think I can keep being him for much longer.”

“Lola!” I cry, dropping her hand like it’s on fire.

“Oh, boy,” she says with a shake of her head. “I can see I better start my story at the beginning. You guys have no idea how much stuff I have to tell you.”