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“You could say that. Grace is my wife.”
“Umm…” Ethan said. “That, I wasn’t expecting. How come you’re not mentioned in her file? It says she’s never married and has no living relatives.”
“You’d better stop digging through our files, kid,” Jack growled.
“There’s no mention of me in any file,” Gabe said. “As far as the US government is concerned, I don’t exist on paper.”
He said his next words quickly—mechanically—as if reciting from the dossier that was put together after Maddie’s death.
“Two years ago, our daughter was targeted by a sniper in Tussad’s army and killed right in front of Grace’s eyes. The trauma has made her—” Gabe searched for the words he wanted, but couldn’t seem to think of one that would make them understand.
“She’s not the same person she used to be,” Jack said softly. “I can see glimpses of the real Grace in there somewhere, but until her hatred of Tussad is resolved, she’s not going to get better. She needs professional help.”
“I know that,” Gabe said, the frustration evident in his voice. “And I’ll make sure she gets it once this is over.”
“So what do we do now?” Ethan asked.
“Nothing has changed,” Gabe said. “We get the painting and move forward with the plan.”
* * *
The only way Grace knew how to deal with being hurt was with anger, but she knew she had to control her emotions until she was out of the country and back on neutral soil. So for that reason alone, she had the concierge at the hotel get a car service to take her to the private airstrip where Gabe’s plane was located. She still had a part to play. At least for a little while.
She had her passport and papers ready when the driver pulled into the private area for VIPs. The guard saw her French citizenship and that she was using Piccoult’s aircraft, and he let her through with only a cursory glance.
The plane was ready for takeoff, the stairs extended, waiting for her arrival. Gabe would have called ahead, and she was expecting Simon to try something unorthodox to detain her. She knew Gabe would have given the order. It’s what she would have done in his position. Simon would try to drug her food or tranq her before they landed.
Her spine began to tingle as she reached the top of the stairs to the entrance of the plane. Simon should have been waiting for her. Unless he was hiding behind the door, getting ready to detain her. She didn’t pull the gun at the small of her back. Not yet. She didn’t want to incite panic from the airfield guards. But she did palm the small knife she kept in a sheath on the inside of her wrist.
She didn’t want to hurt Simon, but she’d be damned if she was going to be held prisoner until Gabe decided she was able.
“Simon,” she called out. “I’m giving you a fair warning. It’s best to ignore whatever orders Gabe just gave you. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”
She crossed the threshold and immediately checked the hidden area behind the door. There wasn’t anyone in sight, but the tingles down her spine had turned into full-fledged alarms telling her to get the hell out before it was too late.
Grace reached for her gun just as the cockpit door slammed open and she was shoved forward. She rolled as best she could in the confined space and came back up to face her attacker as fast as she could—her weapon pointed and ready to fire.
She recognized Shawn Kimball from the file Ethan had put together. He’d already closed the cabin door by the time she’d made it to her feet, and now it was just the two of them. She kicked off her shoes and held the pistol steady, just as he held his steady on her. His smile bordered on madness, and anticipation gleamed in his eyes. She could also see the intelligence. Kimball wasn’t someone to underestimate.
He was a big bastard—close to the same height as Gabe and as broad through the chest and shoulders as Jack. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and he held his weapon with ease. She could tell a lot about a man by how he held his weapon. And Grace knew before they even began that she was in deep trouble.
“Was Simon the name of your pilot?” Kimball asked, his smile cruel. “I’ll have to apologize about the mess in your bathroom. Simon was a big man. Lots of blood.”
He came closer, and Grace worked probabilities in her mind, trying to find a way she could fire and get out of the way before Kimball did the same. Her conclusions weren’t reassuring.
The plane began to taxi, and Grace knew her chances of winning this fight grew slimmer the minute they were airborne. It would be too dangerous to fire then. She dove to her right and fired off a shot, her back hitting the base of the leather couch against the wall and pain shooting up her spine.
“Naughty,” Kimball said. “I like naughty.”
Hell.She’d only winged his arm. The plane tilted as they rose into the air, and she tried to find her balance as she got to her feet and faced Kimball again. They tossed their weapons to the floor at the same time, it being too dangerous to fire shots while in the air—and she grasped the knife in her hand as Kimball charged her.
She swiped out with the knife, slicing at his shirt just as his fist landed in her ribs. The blow knocked her against the cabin wall and stole her breath, and she dodged his foot in a kick that would have broken her neck. Pain radiated through her body, but she had enough sense to keep moving. A moving target was harder to hit. The knife was knocked from her hand, and she kicked out at his knee, feeling satisfaction when it buckled beneath him. It was only enough respite for her to fill her lungs with oxygen and roll to the side as his fist caught the side of her jaw.
“I can’t kill you yet,” he said, getting to his feet, favoring his injured knee. “But I’m going to make you hurt.”
Grace wiped the blood off her face, unsure exactly where it was coming from. “Why don’t we just sit down and you can tell me what you want? You look like a reasonable kind of guy.”
“Well, sweetheart, that wouldn’t be near as much fun.”
