Defy the World Tomatoes (33 page)

“I’ll make a passable lifeguard.”

Adrift in her own tiny sea, Darcy didn’t hear him remove his clothes, and she was startled when he slipped into the tub behind her. “Not in the mood?” she observed slyly.

“Hush, just close your eyes and relax,” he cajoled, and he began to massage the tension from her shoulders.

She dipped her chin to her chest. “That feels so good, but I wish we were anywhere but here.”

“We’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.” He reached for the coconut-scented shampoo and poured some into his palm. “Let me wash your hair.” He rubbed the creamy liquid into her scalp with slow circles. “Still think I have great hands?”

“They’re as incredible as the rest of you, but my head is still full of bees.”

He slid a bit lower and pulled her back against his chest. “I know that feeling, but this should help.” He picked up the showerhead and turned on a warm spray to rinse her hair. “This is really fun. Tomorrow, let’s not leave the hotel.”

Seated between his outstretched legs, she could feel his erection cushioned against her bottom. It would be so easy to turn, take him deep and ride him until he begged her to stop. She ached with the temptation to lose herself in him, but she wouldn’t risk their lives for a brief burst of pleasure when it would leave them too sated to be mindful of the danger that might lurk right outside their door.

He was so damn spoiled, but neither his extraordinary talent nor well-deserved celebrity would save them if Lyman Vaughn wanted them dead. “That might as well be Ted Bundy, or Jeffrey Dahmer, or even Adolph Hitler, for that matter, sitting downstairs. I can’t do this.”

She grabbed hold of the tub and nearly vaulted over the side. She wrapped herself in one of the enormous towels and walked into her room to dress for the horrible eventuality she feared was mere minutes away. She was still sorting through her bag when Griffin entered, already dressed in a pair of black silk pajama bottoms.

He circled to face her, then placed a fingertip on her lips and mouthed the words, “Trust me.”

Darcy rested her palm over his heart. The beat was slow and steady while hers was all aflutter. “This is just another performance for you, isn’t it?”

Uncertain what she meant, Griffin frowned. “With you, never. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

Darcy turned away to lock the door leading to the balcony. Then she tossed him his jacket from off the chair. Next she wedged the back of that same chair beneath the doorknob to block the door leading to the hall.

It was all she could do to barricade the room, but she wasn’t satisfied it was enough. “Sweet dreams to you too.”

Griffin just shook his head and walked back into his room, but it was difficult to console himself with the fact that he had been provided with a great deal of undercover training, which she lacked. It was no wonder she couldn’t be as cool-headed as he was under stress, but what rankled most was that she didn’t trust him to protect her.

Later, they would have to tackle the huge problem she’d created by asking him not to work for Interpol again. Depressed by that thought, he followed her example and shoved a convenient chair under the doorknob to block the door to the hall. Then he went out on the balcony to scan for vines that would provide a man with a convenient ladder. He was relieved to find none. Several potted plants had been set on the balcony, but no foliage reached it from the ground.

With Astrid so eager to hear him play again, he believed they were safe. He was also an extremely light sleeper, but he sat in the corner across from the bed, intending only to rest. If anyone were so stupid as to slip into his room, they would be fooled by the pillow-stuffed bed for the split second it would take him to react. Uncertain whether or not he was merely picking up on Darcy’s fear or reacting to his own sense of danger, he rested his head against the wall and hoped the night would pass as quickly as the day.

Chapter Eighteen

Darcy dozed fitfully and, each time she awoke, the night surrounded her with familiar sounds: the crickets’ rhythmic chirping, the fountain’s bubbling rush and the occasional hoot of an owl.

But the soft scrape of a flowerpot being edged aside on the wrought-iron balcony sent her bounding from the bed. She tiptoed through the bathroom to Griffin’s room, but remained in the shadowed doorway until she found him pressed against the wall. His attention was riveted upon the balcony doors at his left, which she thought he’d been crazy to leave slightly ajar.

Her heart was in her throat, and a silent scream circled her whole body. A shadow crossed the french doors, and then a man slipped between them into the room. He took a step toward the pillowed figures in the bed, then waited a long moment before taking another step closer. Only a pale sliver of moonlight leaked through the open doorway, but Darcy saw the glimmer of a blade clutched in his hand.

She was certain Griffin saw it too, and on the man’s next stealthy step, he came away from the wall with a flying leap and kicked the would-be assassin in the temple. She covered her ears, but it was too late to muffle the sickening crack of a shattered skull, and she was certain the man was dead before his body bounced on the rug.

She quickly crossed the room to hit the light switch. The burly man who’d accompanied them from the airport lay sprawled beside the bed, the glow from the overhead fixture reflected in his blank stare.

“Damn, but you’re good,” she swore softly.

Griffin turned away to open the french doors wide, then he came near to whisper, “Save the compliments, just help me roll the guy off the balcony.”

That someone could still be listening unnerved her all the more, but she replied just as softly, “Why? He’s already dead.”

Griffin drew her outside. “That he is, but if he’s found splattered on the ground rather than in my room, no one can say we had anything to do with it.”

That made sense to her, but Griffin had to do most of the lifting while she grappled with the dead man’s legs. Limp, he presented an awkward burden, but once they’d hoisted him to the railing, he rolled right on over and landed with a hollow thud in the flowerbed below. Griffin snatched a tissue from the bathroom to lift his knife from the rug and tossed it down to him.

Darcy drank in the night air rather than shriek with what they had done, but had they been in that bed sound asleep in each other’s arms, they might very well be the ones who were dead. Refusing to dwell on that awful possibility, she moved to the end of the balcony. The window was open in the room next to hers and, while it must have taken a good stretch from the window ledge, she could easily see how the man had climbed onto their balcony.

“I heard him brush by one of these pots,” she said.

“Yes, so did I. I’d checked to make certain no one could come up from the garden, but I should have noticed how close the windows are here on the second story. I did listen to your warning, though, Darcy, and I was ready.”

“You sure were, but now what?”

“Now I’m going to be the one doing the hunting.” He pulled her into a fond embrace and brushed her lips with a light kiss. “I want you to stay here.”

She put her hands on his bare chest to push away, but he continued to hold her tight. “The next man might have a gun, and if he kicks in the door and takes me hostage, then Vaughn could force you to do his bidding.”

“Not if he can’t find you, and you needn’t remain here.”

“Look, was I in your way just now?”

“No, but
—
”

“But nothing. We’ve got to stay together. Why don’t we just get the hell out of here?”

“Don’t think I’m not tempted to take you by the hand and run all the way back to Paris, but this is the closest I’ve come to Lyman Vaughn, and I won’t allow him to slip away.”

“Shouldn’t you contact Interpol and let them handle it?”

“It’s not as easy as dialing 911, but they should already be close.”

Darcy clung to that hope, but she felt sick clear through. Her only consolation was that they hadn’t been jumped while they were in the bathtub and left to float in blood-tinted water.

She slid her hands up his tightly muscled arms. He had enormous talent, the looks of a god, and struck with a cobra’s lethal force. It wasn’t her usual idea of a winning combination, but she would definitely make an exception for him.

“It looks as though I was right. Vaughn must know about your extracurricular activities, or he’d not have sent one of his men to kill us. But it also has to mean that he’s got a mole at Interpol, doesn’t it?”

Griffin’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the possibility. Deeply disturbed by it, he released her and took a step back. “He could.”

“Well, why else would he want us dead?”

“Excellent question, but we’ve got to act now rather than debate the issue until the next thug arrives.”

“Fine, I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not staying here. Your size gives you a greater range, but I really do know karate.”

Griffin rested his hands on the balcony rail and gazed out into the night. He appeared to be weighing his options, found very few and reluctantly straightened. “With Astrid so ill, I may be able to strike a bargain with Vaughn. Just let me do all the talking.”

“Yes, sir.” Expecting the worst, she was already dressed in her black Levi’s and a pale pink T-shirt and, after a quick kiss to seal the deal, they moved through the bedroom and shut off the lights. Griffin led the way into her room where he removed the chair blocking her door and cracked it open.

The hallway was dark and silent. Unable to sense the presence of anyone near, they stepped out holding hands like two children creeping toward a haunted house on Halloween. Both barefooted, they made their way silently down the hall to the top of the stairs. Lit by a crystal chandelier, the steps were clear, if not inviting.

“The house is too quiet,” Darcy whispered. “Could they all have gone?”

Griffin shrugged and glanced at his watch. He’d reset the time when they’d landed, and it was now two a.m.. “Vaughn may still be with Astrid. If that’s the case, keep a close watch on the foyer behind us, and also on the french doors to the terrace.”

“You’ve got it.” Darcy wiped her damp palms on her pants and prayed Vaughn and his whole entourage had vanished. But when they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard him speaking softly to his daughter.

Griffin made a quick check of the library and dining room on the opposite side of the foyer and, once assured they were empty, he entered the living room with a confident stride. “I hate to bother you, but I’m afraid someone’s fallen from the roof.”

Lyman Vaughn was seated at Astrid’s bedside, leaning forward, arms braced on his thighs. His hands were clasped between his knees. He regarded Griffin with a distracted nod then turned back toward his daughter.

“I’d rather not be disturbed,” he replied.

Darcy moved out from behind Griffin to gain a better vantage point. A single lamp placed near the hospital bed left the rest of the well-appointed room in deep shadow. Hoping the darkness kept them from becoming easy targets for a sniper stationed in the garden, she left the rest of the lamps unlit.

Griffin gave her a quick thumbs up sign, then continued in a considerate whisper, “I doubt the poor soul lying in the flowerbed wants to be disturbed either, but someone should notify the police. I’d have handled it myself, but I’m not sure of our location. I haven’t seen a telephone, and I didn’t bring my cell phone with me.”

Darcy had expected Griffin to kick the chair right out from under Vaughn, and she was impressed that he’d instead chosen to play innocent for Astrid’s sake. The ailing young woman was curled up on her side with one of Griffin’s CDs pressed close to her heart. She wore a sweet smile as though she were enjoying a lovely dream.

“If the man is dead,” Vaughn replied wearily, “the authorities can be notified in the morning.”

“Then you do have a telephone?” Griffin asked pointedly. “I’m unfamiliar with your home. Would you please come and show me where it is?”

“Tomorrow, after breakfast.”

“The person who fell from the roof must be in your employ. Doesn’t he deserve more respect?”

“You’re becoming tedious, Mr. Moore. Take Ms. MacLeod into the kitchen, make yourselves a nice snack and go back to bed. We’ll deal with the dead tomorrow.”

Griffin spread his hands wide. “I wouldn’t want to inadvertently eat something the chef might plan to serve for breakfast. Come to the kitchen with us, and we’ll look for his menus.”

“I had absolutely no idea you two were so helpless.” Vaughn rose, paused to massage the stiffness from his neck, then leaned down to kiss Astrid’s cheek.

It was a touching gesture, but when he straightened, he’d pulled a 9mm Glock from beneath the mattress. “My daughter is very fond of you, so I’m going to lock you both in the pantry where you may eat anything you please. My chef will release you in the morning. Come over here, girl.”

Darcy stayed put. “Mr. Jordan, really, we didn’t mean to be pests, but that’s no way to treat your guests.”

“Obviously I disagree. You’ve given the concert, Griffin, so there’s no further need for this ridiculous charade. You know who I am. It took longer than I’d hoped to bring you here. I should have sent Adriana to Seattle instead of that lumbering fool you claim just fell from the roof. Well, good riddance.”

“Wait a minute,” Griffin interjected. “Are you admitting to having my chauffeur killed?”

“No, of course not. Octavio was told to see you received my invitation, but unfortunately, when he approached your limousine, your chauffeur recognized him. You know the rest. Now, I do not enjoy repeating myself. Ms. MacLeod, march.”

When he motioned with the weapon, Darcy trusted Griffin to move with lightning speed and, pretending to be completely flustered, she gestured wildly as she took a step toward him. “Mr. Moore and I are barely acquainted, and I’ve no idea what happened to some chauffeur in…where?”

Without waiting for an answer, she spun to her right and caught Vaughn in the kneecap with a bone-jarring kick. Knocked off his feet, he juggled the automatic pistol as he went sprawling.

Griffin fell on Vaughn and pinned him down. He grabbed for the gun with one hand and used the other to slam the arms dealer’s head into the floor. Even with blood gushing from a cut above his left eye, Vaughn still fought fiercely to break Griffin’s hold without losing his grip on the weapon.

Darcy danced back out of the way and did a frantic search for something small but heavy enough to strike Vaughn over the head. Before she found one, he arched his back and, still struggling for control of the gun, shoved the barrel into his mouth.

She screamed, “He’s going to shoot!”

With a sickening jolt, Griffin gasped the horror Vaughn intended, and dove to the side a split second before he fired. Blood and bits of brain splattered the wall near the bed, but only a few drops sprayed across Griffin’s shoulder.

Thoroughly disgusted, he sat back and fought to catch his breath. “Son of a bitch,” he swore. “He meant to take me with him and right in front of his own daughter.”

Darcy gagged and clapped her hand over her mouth, but even with all the commotion, Astrid lay perfectly still. While Darcy’s ears continued to ring from the gun’s loud report, the darling girl hadn’t even flinched.

“Griffin,” she called fearfully. She reached over the bed rail to feel for a pulse in Astrid’s neck, and her skin felt unnaturally cool. “I think she may have already been dead when we came in.”

Griffin shoved himself to his feet, came to the bed and searched for a pulse in Astrid’s wrist. Her hand was limp in his grasp, and he laid it down gently. “She was such a sweetheart.” He sighed.

“Yes, she was, but where is everyone else? Why didn’t anyone come running when they heard the shot?”

“If we’re lucky, they cleared out hours ago.”

“The body count is now up to three, and you’re relying on luck?”

“Good point.” Griffin stepped over Lyman Vaughn’s legs to pick up the gun. He checked the clip, then clicked on the safety. “Come on, let’s search the house and make certain we’re alone.”

“I hate to leave her here with him.” Darcy stroked Astrid’s pale cheek in a tender farewell, but before she’d reached Griffin, the front door flew open and half a dozen heavily armed men rushed in.

Dressed in black with helmets and body armor, when they saw Lyman Vaughn’s body and Griffin holding a gun, they halted in midstride. A stocky man with intense dark eyes waved the others off toward the rest of the house and greeted Griffin in French.

Relieved some apparently friendly forces had finally arrived, Darcy shoved Vaughn’s chair around to the end of the bed and sat. She wondered what Vaughn could have been saying to Astrid when they’d entered. He must have known that she’d died in her sleep, but he’d been dry-eyed. She’d known Astrid only a single day and had been touched by her death. How could her own father have been immune from that pain?

Griffin handed the Frenchman Lyman Vaughn’s Glock, knelt by Darcy’s side and took her hands. “Interpol agents followed us from the airport. Lucien just assured me that if we hadn’t left here by noon today, he and his men were coming in. But you were never here, do you understand?”