32. Grace #2
“You see?” Richter stalked toward me, keeping the gun trained on my chest. “This can all be painless, but you’ll have to let your team know I don’t want any trouble.”
“I’m contacting my team,” said Garrett.
Richter’s focus stayed locked on me, but he nodded.
“Merlin. Arthur. Radek.” Garrett’s voice was the same one he’d used when I’d called him in London. The calm one. The one his training must have drilled into him. “We have two armed hostiles inside. Hold all positions. Do not engage.”
“Smart man.” Richter grinned and finally stopped, less than a foot from me.
If I were Garrett or one of the feisty heroines in my novels, maybe I could have used his proximity to my advantage.
Grab his gun, do some complicated wrist thing, and turn it on him.
Surely his accomplice would back down, right?
Except any order my brain gave didn’t seem to translate into the rest of my body.
I just stood there, unable to raise my hands.
“Confirmed,” said Garrett. “Now take the egg and go.”
“Dr. Caulfield?” Richter didn’t look away from me. “Do as he says and get the egg for us.”
The slimy authenticator skittered around behind Richter, glancing at me as he stopped at the spot where he’d been sitting. Caulfield grabbed the hen off the table and shoved it into his jacket pocket, then the yolk into the other. He clutched the blue enamel shell against his chest.
Checking his phone. Checking the door. His fidgeting and texting. He hadn’t actually been thorough with the egg—he’d been waiting for an opportunity to call Richter in.
“How could you?” I breathed. “I trusted you. Henri trusted you.”
He shrugged. Shrugged! Not even a full shrug, but one of those tiny little ones like he didn’t understand what was wrong with all of this. To Richter, he said, “I have it.”
“Go.” Richter inclined his head backward toward the garden doors.
“What did you do to Ale??” asked Garrett.
“He’s fine.” Richter didn’t move, despite Dr. Caulfield hurrying past him to the garden doors. “Small tranquilizer. He’ll wake soon.”
Hurried footsteps sounded from somewhere behind me.
Richter’s gun was in his holster so fast it was a blur. Then his hand was on my forearm, spinning me and pulling me against his chest.
Then a knife.
At my throat.
“Put the gun away, or she’s fucking dead,” growled Richter, his breath hot against my ear.
Arthur stood at the entryway with his stun gun in hand. He’d been the footsteps I’d heard.
Garrett was halfway between us, his nostrils flaring and eyes wide.
My head swam, and a wave of nauseous heat came over me. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.
“Let her go,” Garrett said. Quiet. Almost civil. “And maybe I let you live.”
“Any of your men so much as turn a corner,” he said, sliding his hand around my waist to pull me backward in step with himself, “and she stops being your problem. You think about shooting me? My hand’s not going to behave on the way down.
The blade comes with me. Think about that before someone gets clever. ”
Garrett took a half-step forward, matching Richter’s speed.
The second man’s pistol tracked the motion and held.
Garrett’s hand lowered. Slowly. Two fingers, headed toward his neck to key his mic. “They have the package. Repeat. They have the package. Do not engage.”
Richter continued backing us toward the garden doors, moving me with the pressure of the knife at my throat and his hand at my waist.
Garrett’s eyes found mine as we reached the garden doors. “I’ll come for you, Grace.”
I wanted to tell him I knew. That I knew inside my bones he wouldn’t let them keep me. But the knife stopped my words, so I mouthed, ‘I know.’
“How precious,” drawled Richter, his face tight at my shoulder, where he had cover.
“If anyone lays a hand on her,” said Garrett through clenched teeth. “If a single hair on her head is touched, every one of you suffers a hundred times what she does. I will see to it personally.”
“We simply need to speak with her.” Richter walked me through the garden doors and around the unconscious Ale?, onto the stone garden path.
This was not happening. It couldn’t be happening.
Garrett was so close, but not close enough. Had Dr. Caulfield used his body as a distraction to get Garrett far enough away that he couldn’t protect me? Had this been his plan all along? Was that why he’d suggested the break and the drinks?
He’d been the leak. Not the jeweler. His texts. His suggestions to come to his office in London. Richter searching my purse for the egg.
I wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted Garrett to magically rescue me. But the knife pricked at my throat, and I knew Garrett wouldn’t risk it moving, tightening, or slipping. He was protecting me by letting me go.
A car came to a sudden halt on the road bordering the garden.
Merlin and Radek appeared from around the corner of the building. Merlin carried a stun gun, while Radek’s pistol pointed toward the ground. Richter’s accomplice’s gun swung from Garrett to the two newcomers and back again.
“Guns, gentlemen.” Richter lifted the knife higher so it was almost at my jaw, forcing my head up. “I wouldn’t want to ruin such a lovely summer day.”
Garrett, I cried inside my head.
‘I got you,’ he mouthed. He was still moving forward, maintaining his distance. Tears welled against my eyelids, and I tried not to squeeze my eyes shut, so I wouldn’t lose track of him. He would rescue me. I had to hang on long enough for him to fix this.
Richter released my waist, opened the door, and pulled me into the backseat with him. The knife was there the entire time. The pressure. The knowledge that if I moved wrong, too fast, or if I tripped, I was dead.
Dead!
For some gold, jewels, and fucking enamel. For things.
He pulled the door closed, then the doors on the other side of the car opened and closed. Once they were all inside, Richter loosened the blade, pressing it against my cheek instead. “Drive.”
The car sped off, and Richter put the knife away. “You did well, Ms. Laurent.”
This was my one chance.
I slammed my elbow up into his face, felt the crunch, and yanked the door handle.
But it didn’t open.
“Stupid bitch.” Richter spat blood that landed on my shorts, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pressed my face to the glass. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend.”