I'd Rather Be In Paris (17 page)

Where she primped every morning in the mirror just in case she ran into him at Langley. Where she deluded herself with imaginary conversations that would never take place and made up excuses for his absence.

He was attracted to her, his kiss had told her that loud and clear. But a kiss in the heat of an adrenaline-pumping getaway was just a kiss. It probably never would have happened if Zara hadn't broken down in the first place. He'd tried to console her and gotten carried away because of the heightened stress of the night.

She had too. That was all it was.

Hour by hour, though, Lawson was getting under her skin. He was forcing her to face her past and yet protecting her at the same time. Every time he looked at her or touched her, a strange drumming took up residence in her rib cage. A drumming she recognized as sexual attraction and something else she couldn't quite define.

She knew about hostage situations, knew about transference. Was it possible to have a crush on the man who'd saved her life two months ago? Was it the previous night's heroic acts making her feel this way?

No, it's not transference.

Sex with Lawson could be fun, but she couldn't do it. A short-term fling on this mission was out of the question. For her and for Lawson. It would undermine their professionalism and endanger the success of the operation.

Pushing him out of her mind, she considered what still needed to be done. First, she had to find some clean clothes and get some food in her stomach. Second, get some sleep. Sleep would give her perspective and help her figure out this mess.

The memory of Lawson's kisses surfaced again and a flutter drummed next to her heart.

Three, she added to her list, stay away from Lawson's lips.

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Lawson finished his second cheese and walnut omelet and took a sip of coffee. Then he reached for his third croissant and buttered it under Christian's watchful eye.

Christian sat across the glass-topped table, a curious smile on his face, and sipped his own coffee. Lawson knew he should be more polite and make conversation, but at the moment he just wanted to keep eating. The food was delicious and he didn't know what to talk to Christian about anyway. Jobs? The man was a freakin’ ballet teacher.

Sports? Was ballet a sport? Not to him.

Zara? No way. Lawson didn't know how much Christian knew about Zara's work with the CIA so that was not a safe topic.

Where was Zara anyway? It had been over an hour since she'd disappeared into the Tower Room. It didn't take that long to shower and brush your teeth. Lawson had been done and out in ten minutes. Of course, he'd been around his share of women, including his mother and sisters, and he knew how long it took a woman in the bathroom. It took as long as she wanted it to.

There had been times in the past few days when he'd have sworn Zara was a high-maintenance woman. She had some of the attitude and that girly obsession with clothes, but she wore almost no makeup and kept her hair natural. She actually seemed comfortable with her body and adamant he not instruct her on how to dress.

"Would you like another omelet?” Christian asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Lawson swallowed the last bite of croissant and his cell phone vibrated on on his belt. It had been going off for the past few hours, one reason he'd put it on vibrate. Flynn, Annette and Del had left messages. None of which helped him and Zara in the least. “No, thanks, but I'd appreciate a glass of milk."

Christian raised a hand and the maid appeared. “Marie, bring a glass of milk for Mr. Vaughn."

As the woman nodded and walked back into the house, alarms went off in Lawson's head. “You know my last name?"

"In my business, people are my number one asset. I must know all about them to understand them. Who they are and where they come from, what their dreams are and, more importantly, what their fears are. Then I can give them what they want. Or"—he shrugged nonchalantly—"take it away."

Lawson wondered what
business
Christian was referring to. “Why would you know about me?"

"Because of Zara, of course."

Marie returned with Lawson's milk and he thanked her. She returned to her post out of earshot of the table near the veranda doors.

Christian sat back in his chair and fiddled with a heavy white cloth napkin. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my Zara from that despicable excuse of a human, Alexandrov Dmitri, earlier this year.” He smoothed the napkin into a triangle. “Whatever you want, Lawson, it is yours."

Lawson didn't like the way Christian constantly referred to Zara as
my Zara
, but now at least he knew the man was aware of what had happened. He raised his milk glass in salute. “The shower and the breakfast are more than sufficient payback."

The man's expression remained serious. “Alexandrov threatened someone I love very dearly. In my opinion, he should not be allowed to walk the Earth, but I am hardly in a position to mete out justice. Zara claims she is all right, and for that, I'm glad. So perhaps one day in your personal or professional life you will need certain information or a favor of some nature. You have only to ask me and I'll provide what you need."

Lawson finished his milk and stared out at the pool and garden around it. The sun was high enough now its reflection on the water caused the pool to look like a blanket of sparkling diamonds.

Wealth could buy a lot of things other than a cache of material goods. Loyalty, security, information. He wasn't sure how far to trust Christian, but his gut told him the man could be a valuable asset. He found he wasn't opposed to using Christian's money or his love for Zara to help him track down Dmitri. Especially since his backside was a little vulnerable at the moment.

Setting his empty glass on the table, he turned his attention back to his host. It seemed like the time to find out if Christian Bernier could indeed help him. “Right now, I need to find Alexandrov Dmitri."

"His prison reprieve was well financed,” Christian said without missing a beat. He lifted a porcelain coffee cup to his lips. “It should not be that hard to find out who provided such monies and follow the trail. The only reason the French authorities have not found Vos Loo is because the two men have bought themselves new identities."

It was no surprise that Christian knew about the prison break. It had made the
International Herald Tribune
in Paris and most of the British dailies as well. Lawson agreed with his theory on the new identities. “I think both men are here in Switzerland."

Christian nodded slowly, mulling the idea over. “Geneva?"

"Possibly."

Again Christian nodded, his gaze falling to the pool. “Private banking and an international community. Makes sense. But what does dear Alexi need with Dr. Vos Loo?"

"Vos Loo is a chemist. He specializes in biological agents."

Christian's attention returned to Lawson. “Weapons?"

"With the research universities and companies around here, Vos Loo has easy access to what he needs to create biological weapons."

"But for whom?"

"The Italian Mafia."

Christian's brows lowered. “You have names?"

"Varina Scalfaro. Yvette LeMans. A bodyguard named Giovanni. A customer or possible business partner of Yvette's named Rogan Janvrin who was arrested two nights ago for drug possession."

"Janvrin? The computer wizard?"

"You know him?"

Christian picked up a carafe and poured more coffee into his cup. “His wife. She's publicity chair for our local arts council which serves the Alpine Diamond—Geneva, Lyon, Basil and Turin—helping local artists promote their work and bringing cultural events to the area."

"What can you tell me about Janvrin?"

"He was a technical prodigy hired by the Swiss Institute of Technology when he was eighteen to write software code for laparoscopic surgery simulators. He now heads The Image Medical Group's technology team. They specialize in virtual reality simulators for the medical field."

Lawson toyed with his knife, flipping it end over end. How did a computer geek fit in with a terrorist, a biochemist and the mob? “He apparently enjoys the company of women other than his wife. Recreational drugs too."

Christian's expression turned bemused. “What man doesn't?"

"Do you think his wife knows about his indiscretions?"

"She has quite a list of her own.” His head came up and his eyes zeroed in on a spot over Lawson's left shoulder. “'She moved with a slowness that was a sign of richness; cream does not pour quickly.’”

Even before he followed Christian's eyes, Lawson knew he was referring to Zara. She walked through the veranda doors, smiling and saying something in passing to Marie. The maid dipped her chin and curtsied.

Zara turned her smile on the two of them as she walked across the patio toward the table. She looked refreshed, her skin flushed and her eyes bright again. She was wearing a pale pink dress with some kind of gauzy material over it which seemed to float around her knees. On her feet she wore a pair of ballet slippers.

Lawson heard the sound of Christian's chair scraping on the inlaid concrete, and he too pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

Christian stepped around him and reached for Zara's hand. Immediately, the show was back on. “Feeling better, love?” he asked as he led her to an empty chair between them.

"Yes.” She lifted her face to Lawson's as she accepted the seat. “I hope you didn't wait for me."

Lawson sat and pushed his plate back, suddenly feeling a bit like a country bumpkin compared to the aristocrat next to him. “Sorry, I didn't. I was starving."

"Me too. I'm hungry enough to eat a cow whole."

Christian clucked his tongue and reached for the carafe of coffee. He poured some into a clean cup and set it in front of her. “Meat is bad for you, my dear."

Zara glanced at Lawson as she sipped the steaming coffee. “Christian's a vegetarian. No meat of any kind."

"Clogs the arteries and weighs the body down. Sure death to a dancer.” He motioned to Marie and she scurried to the table. “Bring Ms. Morgan one of Gunther's fabulous omelets,
s'il vous plaît
, and some fresh croissants."

Marie hurried off, and Zara said to Lawson, “So what were you two talking about?"

Before he could answer, Christian jumped in. “Why, ballet, of course.” He reached for a bowl of cut-up fruit and placed a spoonful of melon on her plate.

"Really?” She quirked a brow at Lawson. “Was Christian entertaining you with his great success stories?"

Lawson wasn't sure why Christian had lied about the conversation topic, but before he could decide whether or not to go along with it, Christian interceded again. “I was just about to tell your friend what an exquisite ballerina
you
were.” He speared a piece of melon and looked at Lawson. “Her talent was exceptional. Guaranteed future with the Royal Ballet."

A flicker of sadness crossed Zara's face as she stared into her coffee. When she looked up and met his eyes, she smiled, brushing the sadness aside. “He says that about all of his students."

"I do not.” Christian set down the fork and tapped his chest with his closed fist. “The dance was in Zara. Inside, you understand? It came from her heart. She is one of the few I have ever worked with who had pure, genuine talent. Just like her mother."

Zara unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap. “I loved dance, but it wasn't meant to be."

Christian dished melon onto his plate. “
C'est vrai
, but you could have done it, Zara. You could have been greater than Olivia. If only she had not fallen in love with your father. But then, you would not be here, right? It is a shame for the ballet world both of you gave up so soon."

"My mother gave up ballet for love.” Zara's voice was a fraction lower than Lawson was used to, but every bit as spunky. “You know I had an injury and decided I wanted to do something else with my life. Not the same thing."

Christian studied her for a long moment. “You were injured, this is true, but you defied the doctors and danced again."

"Not competitively."

He shook his head. “Your talent is wasted."

The urge to defend Zara rose in Lawson like a flash fire, but he saw her lips thin in resolve. She didn't need him to come to her rescue.

"I have many talents,” she said, looking Christian squarely in the eye, “and none are wasted. You of all people should understand exactly what I'm doing and respect my choices."

Marie arrived with Zara's omelet, a basket of warm croissants and a carafe of fresh coffee. Zara thanked her and she nodded, picking up the empty carafe and returning to the house. Lawson watched Zara dig into her food.

Christian also watched Zara. “Your eye for design and costumes along with your own experience as a ballerina would make you a good choreographer. I could take you on as an intern and make you a great one.” His arm flourished through the air. “You could start your own business and freelance or perhaps gain a spot with Mark Morris in America. He's almost as good as me."

She swallowed. “I won't give up my job with the CIA for ballet."

"Ha.” Christian rolled his eyes. “The CIA. As if any such organization could compete with ballet."

The corners of Zara's mouth slid up. She gave Christian an endearing look. “The next time I have a few days to myself, I'll spend them with you, okay? Maybe I can help with one of your camps next year."

"I would love that!” He rose and pushed in his chair. “Now I must excuse myself. I have a few phone calls to make and other business to attend to. Marie will prepare your rooms, and you know you are welcome to use the pool and the riding stables and anything else that appeals to you. Lunch is on your own. Just tell Marie what you'd like and she will pass it on to Gunther. Dinner will be at eight tonight. Please dress for it.” He took Zara's hand, bringing it to his lips. “I will see you then, love."

He nodded at Lawson. “The names you mentioned. I will investigate and see what I can find out."

Lawson nodded back. “Appreciate it."

He disappeared into the house.

"What names?” Zara asked.

Lawson's phone buzzed on his hip again. He turned it off. “He knew about Dmitri and Vos Loo. I told him we suspected they're connected to the Mafia. He asked for names and I gave him what we had. He thinks he might be able to dig up something for us."

Zara helped herself to a croissant and broke it in half. “Christian has a lot of contacts, but I don't want to drag him into this."

"The minute you showed up on his doorstep, you involved him. No one knows we're here and we won't be staying."

"If he starts asking too many questions, or asks the wrong people, he could end up in trouble."

"He's very shrewd and he wants to help. He has connections here in Switzerland. We need him."

Zara frowned, breaking a piece of bread off and dropping it into her mouth. Lawson shifted in his chair to stretch his legs. “Do you visit Christian often?"