Bait (16 page)

 

Chapter Sixteen

C
HRISTINA
FROZE
FOR
half a second, then squared her shoulders and shook her head. Was that the right answer? It seemed to satisfy the man for the moment.

“I don't suppose you've got any ID on you?” Skepticism rang in Gabe's tone.

Jansens reached his left hand back, and five handguns rose as one to cover him. “Naturally, I have identification,” he said, huffing a little.

“Slowly,” Tag said. “Two fingers.”

When the badge wallet was visible, Gavin took it from him, flipping it open while Jansens's jaw tightened and his right eye twitched.

“Deputy Police Commissioner Aart Jansens of the Special Missions Unit of the Concordian Federal Police,” Gavin said. “Badge and everything.”

“Tag, check out his story. Make sure he's legit.” Gabe's eyebrows pulled down until they nearly met in the center. “Who the hell assigned you to protect
my
principal?”

Jansens extended his hand, tacitly demanding the return of his wallet. “The Minister of Internal Affairs.”

“We coordinated with the minister's office. He agreed to non-­Concordian bodyguards, at Lord Brumley's request. Why would he go back on his word?” Gavin handed it over, and the deputy commissioner returned it to his pocket.

“Princess Véronique is important to this country in ways you foreigners could never understand. She is our crown princess, and will one day be our queen.”

Mace hefted the second rifle. “So you just thought you'd hop up onto my roof?” he snapped, nearly frothing at the mouth. “If I'd seen you, I'd've shot you. Did you think of that?”

A corner of Jansens's lip curled. “I am a highly decorated police detective. You will find I am not so easily killed.”

Mace looked like he wanted to rip the man's throat out. Gabe held up a hand. Mace backed off a step, but no more. Gabe willed his own wrath down to manageable levels.

“Why didn't you coordinate with us?” he asked.

“Why?” The man puffed up like a blowfish, trying to look larger than he was. “Why would I? We Concordians protect our own. We don't need any help from hired thugs.”

Something about this felt . . . off. And not just because some bureaucrat in the minister's office had assigned one or more policemen to protect Véronique without his knowledge. Before Gabe could put his finger on it, Jansens said, “It is a good thing I was on overwatch. Without my actions, the princess would have been killed.”

Gabe couldn't argue that one. The shot, fired in the dark, into the midst of battle, with Christina and her attacker in such close proximity, required a master marksman. He wasn't a hundred percent sure even Mace, one of the Army's best snipers, could have done it.

“How many of you are there? So we know who not to kill,” he added sarcastically.

“I am enough,” Jansens said, chin lifting with arrogance. “Who asked you to interfere in our affairs, anyway?” He turned to Christina, and a spate of words flowed from him.

Christina met the man's eyes squarely. “English, please. I am the only one here who speaks Dutch. And I have no secrets from my bodyguards . . . or my fiancé.”

Jansens looked like he wanted to argue, but finally gave a grudging nod. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He glanced around. “I asked why foreigners protected Princess Véronique, instead of her own trusted countrymen.”

Brumley stepped forward. “I'm responsible. I am Lord Julian Brumley of the English House of Lords. I asked for their help.”

That wasn't strictly true, but Gabe let it slide. Brumley had asked his cousin Trevor Carswell for help, and Trevor had reached out to Delta Force.

“You must understand that my first priority is to keep Ronnie safe,” he continued. “Since we didn't—­and still don't—­know where the threat is coming from, it seemed logical to me that we use professionals whom we knew to be uninvolved. The fewer ­people who know her whereabouts, the safer she is. I thought the minister understood that.”

Enough of this. They needed to get out of here. He could hear sirens wailing in the distance, heading toward them. “Tag, search the bodies again and then the area for anything they might have dropped. Any clues. Gavin, find us an unmarked SUV. No flags, no decals. Mace, give me Jansens's rifle and take yours up to the house. No need to alarm the locals.”

His men scattered.

“I must insist that you return my weapon.”

Gabe barely glanced at Jansens. “No.”

Jansens looked like he wanted to argue.

“I'm turning you over to the police,” Gabe said. “They can figure out what to do with you.”

Alex shook his captive. “What about him?”

“I guess the police will want him, too.” Maybe they could take him somewhere? Get him to talk before the police took him? Gabe reluctantly let go of the thought. They were almost out of time. “Why did you attack us?”

He didn't really expect an answer, but it would be foolish not to ask. The man glared sullenly.

Police cars began pulling into the wide drive.

“All right,” Gabe said, working his shoulders. “Alex, look harmless.”

He held the sniper rifle out from his body by one hand, muzzle down. Alex held their captive by a shoulder, his other hand out and open. Predictably, the police took one look at them and began shouting. He needed no translation. He set the rifle on the driveway, stepped away from it, and knelt, hands interlaced behind his head. Alex followed suit. Their prisoner tried to run, made it ten feet, and was tackled by a blue-­uniformed cop. Jansens flashed his badge, which earned him in equal measures respect and hostility. Apparently, the rivalry between locals and Feds wasn't limited to the United States.

Guests swarmed the police, gesturing and talking at the same time.

“Princess, Brumley, get inside.” He shot a warning look at Christina. Right on cue, she began to sob, tears welling in her eyes. Brumley put a protective arm around her shoulders, and walked her straight into the center of the action, hugging her to him while she wept into his chest. “The princess was attacked,” he kept repeating. “Her bodyguards saved her. She is overwrought. I must take her to her room.”

Finally, a man with bulging muscles and no neck bellowed for silence. He said something in Dutch. Jansens answered him. After a moment, he nodded and waved Brumley through. Christina sagged against him. Not too much, Gabe thought. Just enough drama, but not too much. As though she'd heard him, she pulled herself upright, tears streaking her cheeks, and put on a brave face. Ronnie's countrymen responded immediately, becoming solicitous as they encouraged Brumley to take their princess into the house.

Nicely done.

Neither she nor Brumley had needed to be told their cover would be blown if the police realized their crown princess suddenly forgot how to speak both French and Dutch. They would want to interview her later; but later, he would be able to control the environment. Now, however, he found himself hauled to his feet and searched. He forced himself to keep his hands loose and nonthreatening, even when they found his Glock and began shouting at him again.

“We are the princess's executive protection team,” he said at least a dozen times. “Bodyguards. We're her bodyguards.”

As he'd known it would, the chaos eventually resolved itself. The police bagged the duct tape, blindfold, knife, and map as evidence. When they tried to return Deputy Police Commissioner Jansens's sniper rifle, Gabe pitched such a stink they finally took that as evidence as well, probably just to shut him up. Gabe didn't know why Jansens bugged him. Sure, he was pissed the minister had apparently ignored Brumley's request for secrecy and then hadn't notified him of a police presence. Something else nagged at the edge of his mind, though.

“We were attacked back there, behind the trees,” Gabe said for the third time. “The man you have in custody is one of the attackers. Our sniper killed one, and your Federal cop killed the other one.”

“Why?” This time, a pinch-­faced woman in uniform, wearing a boat-­shaped hat on top of a severe ponytail, jotted notes.

“I won't know that until I talk to him.” Gabe jabbed a thumb at the third assailant, squirming in the back seat of a police cruiser.

The policewoman didn't look up. “Chief Van den Nieuwenhuyzen will question the suspect.”

“Then I need to talk to Chief Van New . . . your chief.”

The policewoman raised her head. “Where is Princess Véronique now?”

“Up at the house. Her fiancé, Lord Brumley, wanted her out of the public spotlight. Wanted her safe. That's what we all want, isn't it?”

Again, the woman ignored his question. “I will need to get her statement.”

“Once we're done here, I'll be happy to escort you up.” His teammates had all been taken to separate locations and questioned individually. It was starting to get on his nerves.

“We are finished for now,” the woman said. “If we have any follow-­on questions, you will be contacted.”

Gabe stood. “Who has our weapons?”

“It is irrelevant. All weapons involved in the shooting will be held until the investigation is over.”

Gabe thought about arguing, but it wouldn't get him anywhere, and might antagonize the local cops. “Fine.”

Soon enough, his teammates were also cleared and gathered around him.

“Tag, go get checked out,” he ordered, flicking his head toward the ambulance that wailed its way onto the drive. The siren cut out and it drifted to a halt. Half a dozen rattled guests watched the paramedics climb out.

“I'm fine,” Tag said.

Gabe shot him a look. Tag nodded as though he'd spoken. He turned and walked over to the paramedics.

Chief Van den Nieuwenhuyzen joined him. “You've made quite a mess here, Mr. Morgan.”

“Not us,” he said at once. “Alex, Gavin, Mace, head on up and make sure the princess is secure.” His men departed.

“So you say,” the chief said. Despite his words, no condemnation lurked in his eyes. “We'll know more after we interview your captive.”

“I'd appreciate a copy of that report.”

The chief inclined his head. “You'll have it. And now, I must interview Princess Véronique.” He gestured for Gabe to precede him.

Gabe led the way inside and up the stairs to the outer balcony. “The interview will need to be in English. We need to know what she saw, too.”

“I will provide you a copy of the report.”

He halted on the stairs, forcing the cop to stop as well. “English, or it doesn't happen.”

Displeasure darkened the chief's face. “I do not need your permission to interview Princess Véronique. You are in my jurisdiction. I could just as easily have you arrested.”

True enough. Gabe hesitated. Everything would go sideways if the chief realized Christina wasn't Ronnie. Still, he didn't have much choice. He climbed the rest of the way.

Mace stood at the top of the stairs. Gavin had planted himself outside Christina's door, which stood open. Gabe entered in front of the chief.

Deni sat next to Christina, with Brumley on her other side. Alex stood behind the sofa, ready to wrestle Brumley to the ground if necessary. Good man.

“Your Royal Highness,” the chief said, bobbing his head respectfully. “I am Chief Van Den Nieuwenhuyzen. Your bodyguard has requested I interview you in English. I am disinclined to grant this request, as it seems odd to me, but he was quite insistent.” He drew out a notebook that had clearly seen better days, and seated himself in the nearest chair.

“Now, if you would take me through the events this evening, please.”

Christina explained the events calmly, sitting with her knees together and her hands clasped. Brumley's palm rested on her knee. “And one of them grabbed me and put a gun to my head. I was terrified. He said he intended to kill me. I had no reason to think he might be bluffing. It was then that Federal Deputy Commissioner Aart Jansens shot him.”

The chief sucked his bottom lip. Reflectively, Gabe thought, not suspiciously. “Did you have a prior arrangement with Deputy Commissioner Jansens?”

“No. We did not know he was there. The first clue we had was when he shot the man who held a gun to my head.” Christina's voice trembled. Was she still acting? He hadn't gotten the chance to reassure himself that she was okay. Brumley slipped an arm around her shoulders, and Gabe realized he was grinding his teeth as he glared at the man.

“Princess, do you have any idea why these attempts are being made on your life? We know, of course, about the attempt in Brussels.”

Christina shook her head. “I haven't the faintest clue.” Her head moved toward Gabe and she swallowed. “Indeed, it is a mystery to me.” Her French accent deepened. “I cannot fathom what I have done to so anger anyone that they would wish me dead.”

The Chief rose. “All right. If we get any information from our prisoner, I'll call your man.” He nodded toward Gabe.

“I would be grateful.”

Deni escorted the police chief to the door, speaking to him quietly and then closing the door behind him. When she came back, her brows were pulled down.

“He is concerned about a third attack. He knows nothing of our experience on the road to Grasvlakten, and I didn't enlighten him. However, he wants to assign some uniformed police officers to help you.”

“No.” Gabe's reaction was immediate and absolute. “They would just be in the way.”

Christina shifted in the armchair. “This is getting too public. I thought . . . well, I thought it would be over quickly, frankly. I figured there'd be one more attempt, and we'd catch the bad guys, and Ronnie could get on with her life.”

“We caught one of them,” Mace pointed out.

“Yeah, but will he talk? Will he tell us who and why?” Christina chewed a fingernail. “I thought it was one man. A crazy. I mean, the God-­told-­me-­to-­kill-­you kind of crazy. Now with three of them, that changes the game.”