That lit a glow in the Brit’s eyes. “At the heart, this is a conservative plan that will serve us all well.”
That was the first sign of danger from Bardaric. He liked to sell the Angeli on his conservative actions to cover lies and covert plans.
“I’m listening.” Vestavia fingered the lip of his glass.
“This would affect only three major cities in the U.S.,” Bardaric said, as though wiping out three U.S. cities would be minor damage. “We’ve been experimenting with a new material, something so small it can be easily transported, yet once it is constructed as a bomb and linked with more than one, the results are cataclysmic.”
“What new material?” Ostrovsky asked.
Bardaric’s eyes moved slyly, not meeting the Russian’s. “Something a resource found quite by accident. I’m sure you don’t share all your resources with the Council.”
Ostrovsky’s thick eyebrows twitched, the only sign he was annoyed. “What I do is of no consequence in this meeting. My role is merely to assure the Council you two are capable of working together.”
“That’s up to Vestavia.” Bardaric pushed his empty drink glass away and sat back.
“I’ve always supported our phases. I just want to know this isn’t going to be some half-assed bombing that leaves me with nothing more than a mess to clean up.”
Bardaric lounged back in his chair arrogantly. “My system utilizes minimal explosives for maximum impact to take down a significant section of a city as though it was built of matchsticks. Once we hit the first city, we send a message from a new underworld organization that can’t be traced to any country. We’ll demand U.S. withdrawal from any occupied country, regardless of whether it is an ally. We’ll give the U.S. three days to start making moves. If the government fails to react, a second city is hit, then a third city in three more days.”
“This country does not negotiate with terrorists,” Ostrovsky pointed out.
Bardaric leaned forward, smiling. “Make the destruction significant enough and after three cities any country will fold under the pressure of the people. We’ll create a group that claims credit. They’ll give the U.S. a list of demands any citizen would consent to out of fear of their city being next. Who wouldn’t want to see the end of war? We will have proven we can move these bombs anywhere and destroy as much as we want.”
“If all the U.S. troops come home at one time the economic impact will be devastating—” Vestavia paused at Bardaric’s grin of anticipation, then continued. “—to every country associated with the U.S. Even the UK and certainly Russia.”
“I disagree.” Baradaric pretended a smug confidence, but he wasn’t convincing Vestavia.
Ostrovsky’s gaze moved between the two men during the silence, then he said, “Finish discussing plan, but know that anything this size must be put to full vote by the Council, then sold to North American Fratelli.”
“What cities?” Vestavia asked in a soft tone that belied his sudden spike in blood pressure.
“Not sure yet, have to figure out the most advantageous locations.” Bardaric studied his hands when he gave that lie.
The bastard had already picked out targets. Vestavia now realized why Bardaric had offered to meet here in the US. The prick probably used the trip as a cover to bring the material in if it was that small.
No f**king way was Vestavia going to destroy that much of North America yet. He’d make Bardaric bleed if he made an unauthorized move of that scope here. The best way to divert this plan would be to come up with another one.
A more ambitious plan.
Bardaric’s three best breeders hadn’t carried a baby to term for the past eighteen months.
Gwenyth Wentworth was already pregnant with another baby, her second one. She had sixteen days to go until she reached her second trimester.
If Vestavia could prevent Bardaric from implementing his plan before then and keep her pregnancy a secret until that time, Vestavia would hold the highest number of genetic chips, which determined voting power within the Council.
If that wasn’t enough to sway opinion, Peter Wentworth’s support would be the deciding factor. No one on the Council wanted to lose the Wentworth backing with so many significant projects coming up that required financial and political support.
Bardaric would push for a vote in the next twenty-four hours.
Maybe Vestavia’s scientists could evaluate the impact a major disturbance in North America would have on global warming in the meantime. Something to use as leverage if the vote came up that fast.
Three generations of the Angeli council had spent the last seventy years manipulating industry and governments to reach this point environmentally. After all the effort they’d gone through to put global warming on a schedule and to manipulate green awareness when necessary to control its speed, no one wanted to cause a major shift in the environment prematurely.
“I’m all for a Council vote on this.” Vestavia maintained a slow breathing rhythm. No one would know he seethed inside.
A quick rap at the door swung his anger from Bardaric to Linette. The woman might not be as bright as he hoped.
“Give me a minute.” He walked to the door and wrenched it open, trying to decide what would be the best punishment for her insubordination.
“There’s a problem, Fra,” Linette whispered. She looked over her shoulder.
He followed her gaze to four grim-faced men in dark suits armed with automatic weapons. He cut his eyes back at her. “What happened?”
Linette turned back to him. “Gwen Wentworth has been shot and they don’t know if she’ll make it or not. Peter Wentworth is… upset. He sent these men to escort us all to another location.”
Chapter Eleven
Someone dropped a blanket around Abbie’s shoulders. She murmured her thanks.
Emergency personnel and security staff choked the narrow patio area around Gwen’s pool. Abbie told her brain to keep sniffing the chlorinated water and not the sick odor of coagulating blood.
One team worked on Gwen, who had been placed on the gurney, her face covered with an oxygen mask. A female EMT connected a tube to her limp body and lifted a saline bag into place.
Another EMT spoke into a radio, then turned to his team. “We’re taking her to Kore. Her father said they have her blood stored there. He’s coordinating a surgeon.” The entire emergency team kicked up their pace a notch, wheeling her away in the next fifteen seconds.
Police officers filled in spots vacated by the EMT team. One burly cop with wavy brown hair and square shoulders spoke to the Hispanic security guy who had held the makeshift compression bandage on Gwen’s shoulder until the EMTs arrived.
The wide-body cop zeroed in on Abbie. He walked away from the security guy, heading straight for where she sat on a fallen chair cushion with her legs tucked.
“I’m Detective Flint,” he told her, then squatted down. “I understand you were with Ms. Wentworth when she was shot.”
Abbie nodded.
“What exactly were you doing out here?”
She swallowed. “We were talking about the Kore Women’s Center. Ways to bring more funding into the Wentworth Foundation, the reason for the party tonight.” Her stomach already churned with the fallout from an adrenaline charge and blood on her clothes. If he pressed her very hard she might toss her cookies on his shoes.
“Did you see anything unusual out here?”
“No.” Abbie paused when she noticed the Hispanic security guard had stepped over to another guard standing close by but wasn’t talking. Had he moved over to eavesdrop on her conversation? She took a breath and met the pudgy-faced detective’s flat gaze. “We couldn’t talk with so many people trying to capture her attention inside so she said to meet her here. We’d just sat down when she got up to call for tea and—”
The vision of a hole exploding from Gwen’s body burst into her mind. Abbie covered her mouth. Her stomach lurched.
For a big guy, the detective jumped up and moved out of barf range really fast.
The Hispanic guard brought her a drink. “This is seltzer water. Should settle your stomach.”
She drank it and thanked him with a nod.
“You have ID?” the detective asked.
In answer, Abbie reached for her purse that had ended up next to her on the ground. This probably wouldn’t go well. She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to the detective, who jotted the info on his pad. He looked at her, then the license again. “You here as a guest or working?”
She ignored the disgust in his voice. She’d been the driving force behind the story that had turned his department upside down last year. “I’m a guest.”
He finished taking her statement with cool reserve, then handed back her license. “That’s it… for now.”
“I understand.” When Abbie unfolded her legs to get up, the Hispanic guy was there again, offering her a hand and saying, “I’ll have someone take you home.”
“No, thank you. I have a car waiting.” She took her handbag and wobbled her way through the house, past gaping guests taking in the blood smeared across her dress and skin.
Probably wondering if she’d attacked Gwen.
She put one foot ahead of the other and finally reached the front door, where Wentworth staff rushed up, offering her a car.
“I have a car,” she repeated. “My driver should be here… uh, somewhere.” She gave him the name of the car service she’d made Stuey hire for her.
“Right away, ma’am.” A male valet full of youth and vigor dashed out to the sea of black sedans and limos, pausing at one, then pointing in her direction. The car’s headlights powered up and the vehicle pulled alongside where she stood. One of the staff opened her car door.
She sank into the backseat, wishing the leather would wrap her into a safe cocoon for a few hours until her brain caught up with what had happened tonight. “Take me home.”
The driver didn’t ask for her address, but he’d picked her up from home and surely still had the location in his GPS since he’d been hired for a round trip. The car moved away as if floating on air, or maybe her body had lost touch with the earth.
Gwen said a “Fra” would try to kill them if they found out. What in the world was a Fra?
And what was worth killing people for?
Once Dr. Tatum had started sharing her mother’s history two days ago, he’d prattled on with endless details. Abbie had never known her mother underwent tests at the Kore Women’s Center prior to getting pregnant and after each baby.
Hearing the EMTs talk about Gwen reminded Abbie that Dr. Tatum said the Kore Women’s Center banked her mother’s blood, which they might need if her mother got the chance to go through surgery for a transplant.
Was rare blood at the center of this?
What had been important enough to shoot Gwen for, or was that even the reason someone tried to kill her?
Something else important pressed on Abbie, but warm air flooding the car turned her tight muscles to jelly and lulled her to sleep. She nodded off… safe. For now.
Hunter ignored the cold air piercing his tux and took in the area up and down Cornelia Avenue, watching for any hint of threat in the areas that were vaguely lit and not dark as a bottomless well.
The address for the modest four-story brick apartment building across the street had been loaded in the hired sedan’s GPS system as tonight’s pickup and return point for A. Blanton.
That would be the woman passed out in the backseat.
He opened the passenger door directly behind the driver’s seat and leaned in to shake Abbie gently. Her pale face glowed in the dark, stirring a desire to pull her into his arms so he could soothe away the fear. A ringlet fell to the bridge of her nose.
He hooked the strand of hair and it curled around his finger.
Why couldn’t he recall where he’d met her? He remembered her eyes and face, sort of, but something didn’t match enough to raise a clear memory. What he did remember was a sense of innocence about her, but that didn’t fit with the woman he’d heard threatening Gwen tonight.
What had Abbie said to Gwen just before the shooting? Hell of thing to watch someone get shot.
He lightly rubbed the back of his hand over her cheek. Smooth skin sprinkled with a few tiny freckles.
Her cheeks had more color now. The only color before had been in those rosy lips, kissable lips. Her teeth weren’t chattering anymore. Even with the heat on high, she’d still shivered from shock on the drive to her apartment.
Maybe he should have stopped to cover her with his jacket. She looked small coiled up on her side with her legs tucked…
Hunter stood up quickly and took a step back. What was he doing? He shouldn’t think about her as anything but a lead on this mission. He shrugged off the moment of concern.
She had information he needed, but he had to be careful. He’d taken a risk by telling Carlos she wasn’t conscious when she was lying by the pool, but Hunter would not give her up until he gained the information he needed.
She couldn’t be an undercover operative. Nothing about Abbie fit, but the very best agents were hard to identify.
Like Tee, the codirector of BAD, a tiny, perfect beauty who had to be one of the most lethal female agents in the world.
Until he confirmed Abbie’s stake in all this, what she’d been after with Gwen and why someone wanted to kill Gwen, she was an unknown entity. He leaned into the car. “Come on, Abbie. Let’s go.”
She murmured something and squirmed. Her eyelids moved up slowly as though made of lead. She blinked, squinted, rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. “What are you doing here?”
“I drove you home.”
She lifted her head, studying the front seat, then slumped against the seat again. “What’d you do with my driver?”
“Paid him plenty to find his own way home.”