Page 53 of Icebound

“My name is Wolf,” he corrected. ”Call me that.”

“Of course,” she muttered. “You couldn’t be something as ordinary as Humboldt, could you?” She shivered slightly as the evening wind swept over the boat.

He saw the shiver - he saw everything. “I should have brought you a wrap,” he said, and to her shock, he stripped off his jacket, tossing it to her. “Put this on.”

“You’ll be cold.”

“A devoted lover would see to his woman’s comfort first.”

She draped it around her shoulders. She could feel his body warmth still in the jacket, and it felt like an embrace. From Jack the Ripper, she reminded herself. “Thanks.” The word was brief, unappreciative. “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?” he said.

“No, I suppose not.” She could see the lights surrounding the head of the lake, the huge villas like beacons in the night. One of them was going to be the setting for a tragedy, either international or personal, or perhaps both. They had guards at these things, didn’t they? Careful security for an event of this size and importance. Bastien wasn’t going to have an easy time of it. And if they didn’t stop him, she would. Even if it meant her life.

They reached the brightly lit dock, Chloe handing the jacket back to Bastien. He put it on, and she wondered how she was going to get out of the boat with her tight dress when he simply picked her up in his arms like a bridegroom and carried her onto the dock. He set her down, and before she had time to recover, he’d wrapped his arm around her affectionately, guiding her toward the overflowing villa, his hand on her waist a warning. She looked up at him with a falsely besotted expression, but he was so beautiful in the lamplight that all pretense faded away. If she was going to die tonight, she would remember what he looked like, so distant and yet so devoted.

It wasn’t the same expression her husband gave her. There was a shadow of wariness in Bastien’s eyes tonight, the utter stillness of his expression that would have told someone he wasn’t there for socializing. But he smiled down at her affectionately, and she realized anyone would have been fooled. This was a man in love with his woman, and he had no interest in anything else.

There was security at the door, and dozens of men milling around the marble-columned entrance to the massive villa, most of them with earpieces and dark suits and dark expressions. There would be more inside, she knew. Maybe he’d give up his plans when he saw how well protected the place was. She glanced up at his face as he handed his invitation to the guard at the door, but it was unreadable. Of course.

Once inside, it was a glittering spectacle of noise and music, people milling around in their glorious clothes and glistening gems. The ballroom was huge, with several levels of balconies surrounding it, reaching to the high ceiling. Almost everyone there was in black and white, and Bastien swore under his breath. “I should have put you in colors,” he said. “It would be easier to keep an eye on you.”

“Why would you need to keep an eye on me? I’m not your target.”

The hand bit hard into her waist. He pressed his mouth against her ear. “Watch what you say,” he whispered, and she wanted to kick him.

People were already dancing, and to her consternation, he swung her into his arms, moving out on the floor. Bastien could dance, so could his lost self. It was a slow, sensual song, sung in Italian, all about a lover’s golden skin, and he held her close, too close, his body warm against hers. Pressing her head to his shoulder, he moved smoothly through the room, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hollywood celebrities and political bigwigs. No wonder they had such overwhelming security—this was an assassin’s wet dream.

Surely, he would think twice about his mission. There was no way he could get away with it in these crowded rooms. He hadn’t brought a gun in with him—they wouldn’t have let him—but he’d said the gun was already here.

“You can’t still be planning to do this?” she murmured in his ear. “There are more security guards than guests.”

“Have a little faith in me, chérie,” he murmured, “I’m very good at what I do. I won’t have any problem.” He swept her around as the music swelled, and her body moved with his, an instinctive partner, matching him.

The song was growing even more provocative, and he tucked her closer, and she realized with sudden shock that he was growing hard against her. Had their dance aroused him? Or was he excited by the prospect of murder? She truly didn’t know.

The dance ended, moving into something faster, and he led her off the dance floor, into the crowds of people. So many well-known faces surrounded her, and from a distance, she could see Marie LeMieux, better known as LaDonna, the lady who could boast a Nobel Peace Prize, a woman of the year Time Magazine cover, and hundreds of accolades, an international symbol of charity and honor who’d almost given her life in her fight against the repressive Moscow regime. She’d spent twelve years in a Gulag-like jail as a guest of Putin, and she’d somehow managed to survive and escape to the western hemisphere, where she was lauded as another Mother Teresa.

And Bastien was going to kill her. He’d said it was simply a job, and she could easily guess who ordered it. It was only a surprise that he wasn’t using Putin’s favorite weapon, poison.

But had she survived the gulag, only to end up dead of a gunshot in a glamorous party, the sort of thing she usually eschewed? But this was a gala honoring her and her work with the displaced political refugees, and money from the accompanying fundraiser would go a long way.

Chloe looked up at Bastien, but he’d already seen his quarry, and there was absolutely no expression in his dark, unreadable eyes. She half-expected him to pull out a gun, but then she remembered he didn’t have one on him. Somewhere in this place, he’d stashed his weapon, and he was going to have to leave her to find it. Or bring her with him, in which case she’d find some way to stop him.

“Would you like to meet her?” Bastien whispered in her ear.

She looked at him with absolute horror, but he ignored her reaction. “Come along, chérie.” And a moment later, she found herself being presented to LaDonna herself.

She was a middle-aged woman, slightly dumpy in her blue-sequined dress, and she had the kindest eyes that Chloe had ever seen. She stood silent as Bastien made desultory conversation with LaDonna, and a moment later they moved, leaving room for the next couple eager to meet the legend.

“How could you?” she said between her teeth as he steered her away.

“I told you, it’s a job. I have no room for sentimental qualms in my line of work.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Come along.”