The Makeover Mission

“I still don’t see why it’s important that I look like her.”

“Because early last month there was an assassination attempt against her.”

Silence hung in the air. McConneghy could tell to the second when she grasped what he was saying.

“If Elena dies, the country could be plunged back into civil war?”

“Not could. Would. There’s no doubt about it. Her family has a distant contention to the throne. If she’s killed it will be seen as an attempt to discredit her family’s future ties to the royal family.”

“So you’re trying to make sure that the marriage goes through.”

“Once Elena and the king are married, her value as a political pawn is decreased.”

“Because?”

“Before her marriage Elena is seen as much as a daughter to her father, Pavlov Rostov, as a fiancée to the king. After the marriage—”

“After the marriage, if she’s killed, the king or his family will no longer be the prime suspects.”

He’d definitely have to watch himself around this one, he thought, admiration—and wariness—increasing.

“So where do I come in?”

Seconds ticked past while he grappled for the right words. As if there could be “right words” in a situation like this. “We need a stand-in for Elena. Until the wedding.”

“A what?” She rose to her feet now, facing him across the cabin, all color drained from her face.

“We need a volunteer to take Elena’s place until the wedding.”

“A volunteer?”

“Just until the wedding.”

“To do what?”

It was getting sticky. “To take over her official duties. To portray her in public.”

The silence thickened until he could have sworn he heard the pilots breathing in the cockpit.

“Portray her in public?”

“Just routine. At this time she has no real duties, but she’s appearing among the people before the wedding so that they feel a part of the process.”

“You want a guinea pig.” Her voice rose an octave. So she wasn’t as calm as he might originally have thought. “No. No, make that a target. A sacrificial lamb.”

He could lie to her. Tell her he’d do everything in his power to protect her, which he planned to do, anyway. But there was something in her gaze that made him hesitate. He could appreciate someone who wanted the truth—the unvarnished truth—rather than platitudes.

“That’s exactly what we need.”

She swayed. He moved to prevent her crumpling to the floor, but at the last second she raised her hands, warding him off. He told himself he deserved her lack of trust. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

She lowered herself to the couch, perching on the very edge of the leather cushions, her fingers curled into the fabric as if she was holding on for dear life. When she glanced at him he saw the confusion, the disbelief in her gaze. If he’d felt like pond scum before, he felt like bottom sludge now.

“Who are you?”

It was a fair question, just not one he had expected so soon. “My name’s McConneghy. Lucius McConneghy.”

“Major McConneghy.”

Yes, he’d definitely have to watch himself around her.

“Major Lucius McConneghy.”

“Which branch of the military?”

This is where things started to really get sticky. “It’s an obscure bureau tucked in a back corner of the Pentagon.”

“But it’s one that allows you to abduct and drug unsuspecting civilians in broad daylight and transfer them, against their will, to small eastern European countries?”

“Something like that.”

“Aren’t there laws against that type of thing? Or do you think yourself above the law?”

He tried to ignore the disdain in her voice, but couldn’t. Then he wondered why it didn’t just slide off his back as it should.

“There are times when laws have to be bent.”

“Semantics.”

“Reality.”

She was glaring at him now. No longer looking as though she’d crumple and fold, for which he was grateful.

“There are people who’re going to notice I’m gone.”

He heard the hope and knew he had no choice but to crush it. Hope might cause her to take unacceptable risks, putting both her life and the lives of his team at risk. So why did it feel as if he was destroying a child’s vision of Santa Claus? Sometimes he hated his job.

“The library has been notified there’s an illness in your family. That you’ll be away for some time.”

“You know I work at a library?” She shook her head, obviously not comprehending the means available to someone like him to meet a strategic objective.

“Of course you know.” She slid back against the cushions, her shoulders slumped, her voice less forceful. “What else have you taken care of?”

“We’ve canceled your speaking engagement for the grant-writing seminar, asked your landlady to look after your cat until you return and have arranged to have your bills automatically paid, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

If he thought he would interject a little levity into the situation he was dead wrong. Her gaze, when she raised it to his, was as bleak as any he’d ever seen. And that was saying a lot.

“I have friends—”