The Makeover Mission (6 page)

There were times, in the course of a number of missions, when
Lucius had felt that he wasn't going to pull through; that the end was just
around the next crumbling wall, behind the next bend in the road. But never had
he felt the frustration of helplessness so keenly. Every word Jane Richards
spoke was on target and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to make the
problems go away.

He set the sheaf of papers he'd been holding onto the seat next to
him. "There's still option two."

She glanced at him with contempt. Not that he blamed her.
"You mean the one where I'm drugged and helpless?"

"The one where, if something bad was going to happen, you'd
never know about it."

He thought she might have sniffed, but her eyes were dry as she
replied, "No, thanks, Major. I'd rather be led to my execution with my
eyes open."

"We're doing everything in our power—everything in
my
power—to
protect you."

She looked away, wishing she could believe him. She believed he
was serious in his declaration, but right now that didn't feel like a hill of
beans. But maybe with a little time? She watched small, closely spaced stucco
buildings give way to open yards and smaller homes.

Who was she kidding? A week wasn't going to make a lot of
difference. What was the old saying? Silk purse out of a sow's ear. This whole
scheme was ludicrous. No one in their right mind was going to mistake a
midwestern librarian for a future queen. No one.

"If you're ready, I'll continue." His voice slashed
through her thoughts. But this time he wasn't a mind reader. She'd never be
ready. Never.

Her parents hadn't raised her to rock the boat, but neither had
they raised her to back down when the going got rough. And this definitely
qualified as rough.

"Fine,
finish your briefing, Major." She glanced
out the window as the limo slowed. "If I'm not mistaken that big, pink
building on the hill must be the villa."

His gaze followed hers. "It is."

"Then you don't have much time to tell me what I need to
know."

Jane waited, sensing the major wasn't happy with her response,
maybe with her whole attitude, but she didn't care. And that in itself scared
her.

She had always been aware of and sensitive to the needs of those
around her. She'd had little choice in the matter. The only daughter of a
couple who had long before given up on ever having children, her arrival into
their lives was not a blessing as much as a shock. A little like a Christmas
gift delivered too late and the wrong size.

Her earliest memories had been of needing to be quiet to let her
father prepare for one of the college English classes he taught, or to wait for
her mother to finish editing a manuscript. Her parents were both studious,
quiet people who had taught Jane, and taught her well, not to cause problems.

But right then she didn't feel accommodating or tolerant of
others' needs. Not one bit, and she guessed that the major sensed it, too.

"We'll talk later. At the villa," he announced before
leaning forward to push one of the buttons lining the arm of his chair.
"Stefan, I'd like you to drive to the side entrance rather than through
the main gates."

"Yes, sir," came the quick response.

"Slipping me in through the side door?" Jane heard
herself ask in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. Did hysteria come
masked as sarcasm?

"I'm trying to make this as easy for you as possible."

She found herself wanting to believe him.

"You'll have a maid who'll help you unpack your
luggage."

Great. She didn't even know she had luggage.

"I'll give you about an hour before I come for you."

So she had a little over sixty minutes to pull herself together,
she thought, watching as the limo slid smoothly beneath an arched entryway,
into a cobblestone courtyard that might have been charming except for the
barbed wire and glass spikes sprouting along the top of every wall and the
absence of anything that might have served as a hiding space. Not even a pot of
flowers broke the starkness.

The limo stopped too soon for her. But, between the look the major
shot her and the actions of a uniformed man opening her door, it looked as if
she wasn't going to be allowed to linger.

Let the show begin, she thought, sliding forward to step into the
bright, unadorned courtyard.

Less than ten minutes later she found herself in a bedroom the
size of her whole apartment back in Sioux Falls. Cream-colored. Silken
upholstery. A bed large enough to host a slumber party dead center in the room.

It was a fairy-tale room: tasteful, ultimately feminine and so
quiet Jane was tempted to tiptoe across its polished wood floors.

"Mademoiselle Rostov, welcome home." A young woman's
voice interrupted her perusal. "It is good to have you back."

Jane spotted a woman standing in the doorway of an adjoining room
the size of a small bedroom and froze. The woman could not have been too many years
younger than Jane, but she carried herself with a quiet maturity. Maturity or
wariness, Jane wondered, noting that the woman's gaze did not rise from staring
at the floor, nor did the welcoming words extend to her expression. If anything
she looked as though she was waiting to be rebuked.

So, Major McConneghy, Jane thought silently, what am I supposed to
do now? Never having had anyone wait on her, she wasn't sure if she was
supposed to know this woman, or treat her with the same degree of familiarity
as one addressed a waiter in a restaurant.

With a pithy thought regarding the major's ancestors, she decided
that when in doubt, do what felt right.

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded like sandpaper, "I
don't recall your name."

The woman started before quickly glancing up. "It's
Ekaterina, mademoiselle. Ekaterina Tabruz."

Well, either Elena should have known this woman's name, in which
case Jane had already blown things, or the king's fiancée would never have
bothered to ask. Either way it was too late to go backwards.

"Thank you, Ekaterina. It seems as if I've heard so many
names lately that they become jumbled in my memory." That at least was the
truth. Or part of it.

"Would mademoiselle wish me to draw her a bath or turn down
the bed covers for a rest?"

This having-a-maid thing was going to take some getting used to,
she realized, feeling too restive for either suggestion but not wanting to
cause too much suspicion on Ekaterina's part as to why her mistress was acting
out of the norm.

"Actually, Ekaterina, what I'd like is to ask a few
questions." At the other woman's immediate look of wariness, she added,
"I'm feeling very disoriented and am sure you can help me."

"Yes, mademoiselle." Ekaterina bowed her head and folded
her hands together in front of her. Not an auspicious sign for a friendly chat,
Jane thought as she wandered toward the far side of the room and a set of
French doors.

Opening the doors she immediately felt better, as the pine- and
cedar-scented breeze drifted in. The cries of birds beyond the fortified walls
sounded like a National Geographic soundtrack.

There was a small balcony, ringed by an elaborate wrought-iron
railing and, Jane noted with a quick glance down its length, obviously
connected to a room just beyond hers.

"Whose room is next door?" she asked the silent
Ekaterina.

"It is the major's, mademoiselle."

"Major McConneghy's?" Not that the news should have
surprised her, but it did.

"Yes. He asked specifically that you be given this room. For
the security. If you wish to choose another room at the villa you must ask it
of the major."

Like that was going to happen.

She tried a different tactic. "The villa seems
different?"

"Different?" The maid's face looked confused, until she
nodded. "Ah, I understand."

Jane was glad somebody did, because it sure wasn't her.

"They said it was made to look like a Swiss home but maybe
not so. I can show you around the rooms to see more if the major allows
it."

Jane breathed a silent sigh of relief. So she had not previously
been at the villa. Which was good news. Too bad Mister I'll-Protect-You forgot
to mention this little detail. He had given her explicit instructions about the
location of everything, but they all seemed to be jumbling in her head. If she
hadn't been here before it meant she could ask questions about the layout and
not be expected to know how to find her way back through the labyrinth of halls
and stairways she'd traveled earlier. At last, something was going her way.

"Who else is in residence in the villa?" She remained
standing at the open doorway, listening to the sound of a heavy vehicle driving
over the cobblestones below her.

"Only you and the major."

She wasn't sure why that news made her feel both safe and uneasy
at the same time. Strategically she could see why it made sense, but there was
something intimate about the isolation that made her hesitate. An awareness
that deep in the darkness of the night it would only be she and Gray-eyes, a wall
away from each other, a world away from the rest of the universe.

"Does mademoiselle wish me to tell the major she wants
different rooms?" Ekaterina asked.

"No. That won't be necessary." Somehow she knew anywhere
in the villa would be too close to the major. Jane kept her own concerns from
her tone until she turned and noticed a door in the wall. "And where does
that lead?" she asked, though she'd already guessed the answer.

"To the major's room."

She walked toward it, aware there was now even less separating her
sleeping quarters from the enigmatic major's. Sort of like a lamb lying next to
the lion's cage, only with removable bars, she thought, reaching for the door
handle and turning it.

"It's locked."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken the words aloud until Ekaterina
replied, "Yes, the lock is on the major's side."

"And do I have a lock on this side?"

The young woman shrugged. "I know of no key, but I will check
if you wish."

"There's no need."

Jane whirled at the sound of the dark voice behind her, felt the
triple-time pounding of her heart before she registered it was McConneghy who
had spoken. He dominated the now-open doorway connecting the two rooms, either
in response to her rattling of the door handle, or on his own agenda.

"Speak of the devil, Major," she said, aware of the
intensity of his gaze on hers, and of how his presence dominated the room even
though he remained on the threshold. "I was just wondering about a key for
this door. I know I would feel much more secure." She made sure he heard the
stress on the last word. "If I knew where it was."

"I have it," He nodded to the maid. "You may leave
us now and finish unpacking mademoiselle's luggage while we're at dinner."

Jane waited until Ekaterina closed the door behind her before she
spoke. "That's pretty presumptuous and arrogant—" she began, only to
be cut off as McConneghy strode into the room, closing the door as he moved.

"It's a security issue." He ignored where she stood as
he walked through the room, looking high and low. "I need to have access
to protect you. You don't."

"Don't what?" She could feel the anger start to simmer
inside her. Never a fan of high-handed tactics, she was even less inclined to
ignore them after the day she'd already been though.

He peered beneath the lampshade on the bedside table and picked up
the phone receiver. "You don't need to access my room, thus you don't need
a key."

"I don't want a key to access your room," she wanted to
choke on the words. "I want one to make sure you don't access mine."

He spared her a glance. Quick, appraising and heated.

"I can assure you the only reason I'd use that key was if
your life was in danger."

And just what did he mean by that two-edged comment? she wanted to
know, and was afraid to ask. Especially as he crossed to tower in front of her,
the strength and size of him making her feel all the more vulnerable.

She checked the urge to step back and stepped forward instead.
Something the old Jane Richards, the one who went to bed a librarian and
expected to wake up a librarian, would never have done.

With a finger sharpened by frustration and
something more, she stabbed his chest, knowing it was about as effective as
howling at the moon. "Listen here, Major, if you think I can't control my
primitive urges—"

"Primitive urges?"

She heard the laughter in his voice and ignored it. Easier to do
if she kept her gaze level with his chest. "Yes, primitive urges. If you
think I can't, then you're beyond idiotic. Not that a man who came up with this
whole hare-brained scheme—"

"Mission."

"Hare-brained
mission
would know the difference
between reality and fantasy."