As if sensing Aidan’s scrutiny, Simone stirred, blinked, and opened her eyes, her gaze finding Aidan’s shadowy form even in the darkened room.
“I’ll be fine, chéri,” she said without preamble. Pulling the sheet up around her, she propped her pillows against the headboard and hoisted herself into a half-sitting position. “Stop worrying.”
“Not going to happen,” Aidan replied, standing to pour Simone a cup of the steaming coffee he’d ordered from room service and adding both cream and sugar to the cup so she could enjoy her coffee just the way she liked it.
He handed her the cup and gave her a quick kiss.
“You’re getting ready early.” Simone glanced at the clock. “Whose performance are you obsessing over—Vance’s or mine?”
“Both.” Aidan was as honest with her as always. “Vance is a novice at using our specialized computer and a nervou
s wreck about the conversation he’s about to have with Lauren. Not a reassuring combo. As for you, I’m not doubting you can pull this off. I’m just concerned about the unknowns, the things Ryan can’t prep us for. You have to double-and triple-check to make sure that Lawrence Blockman and his PA are away from their desks. You have to play the part of a burglar and an escape artist. All this while executing a challenging and delicate task.”
“Only that?” Simone teased, sipping at her coffee. She set down the cup, a small smile curving her lips. “You forget that my father is a magician. I learned quite a bit from him.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Aidan still had to grin at the thought that Simone, the consummate corporate professional, had a successful French magician for a father. Jacques Martin might not be a household name like Houdini, but he was well-established and constantly employed. And, yes, Simone occasionally showed off the tricks he’d taught her when she was growing up.
“Honestly,” Aidan added, “what you learned from your father, not to mention my faith in you, are probably the only things keeping me sane enough to let you do this.”
“Good. Then stay sane.” Simone waved him off. “You go handle Vance. As you Americans say, I’ve got this.”
Aidan hesitated for a brief second, then nodded. “Call me the minute you’re outside Nano and can get a signal.”
Simone snapped off a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Farmhouse
Slavonia, Croatia
28 February
Wednesday, 3:15 p.m. local time
Lauren was burrowed under the covers of her bed, trembling with an internal chill that had nothing to do with the weather. This morning things had been different. Rather than staying scarce when she was around, her kidnappers had been having a heated conversation right out in the open—in the dining area, directly attached to the tiny kitchen, where she was forcing down breakfast. Their backs were to her, but their words were fast, furious, and urgent. The fact that she couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying made it even worse. In addition, Bashkim was visibly tense and watchful as he stood beside her while she ate her meal, his gaze boring through her. The whole scenario was panic-inducing. And it made her imagination go wild.
Something was happening. Something that involved her. Had a ransom arrangement been made with her father? Or had they reached an impasse and now planned to kill her?
Their voices had eventually quieted, and Lauren had choked down the rest of her food, escaping as quickly as she could to her bedroom. Bashkim didn’t say a word, just strode along beside her, waiting until she was inside before shutting the door and leaving her.
An eerie silence had ensued. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing.
Lauren’s fear had mounted steadily, until now, when she was strung so tight she was prepared to snap.
A firm knock sounded at the door—and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Jolting upright, she gathered the blankets around her in some ridiculous show of self-protection. “Yes?” she managed. She sounded half-dead, even to her own ears.
“You’re awake?” Bashkim asked from the other side of the door. What he really wanted to know was if she was decent. Quite the paradox—a respectful killer.
“I’m fully dressed,” she replied. And about as far from sleep as one can get.
The door swung open. Bashkim entered, carrying a tray of food. “You didn’t come out for lunch. You must eat.”
Why? So I’ll be a plumper corpse?
“Thank you,” she said aloud. She slid farther up on the bed and accepted the tray of food. There was no point in antagonizing him. And maybe if she asked in a respectful but tearful way, he’d fill in a few blanks for her. Whether or not she wanted the answers she sought remained to be seen.
“Bread and soup,” Bashkim supplied, still wearing that sober expression. “And a plate of kulen. You seemed to like it yesterday.”