The Makeover Mission

“Of course you can do it.” He stood, moving toward where she still sat, petrified in her seat. He knelt beside her, unbuckling her seat belt as if she were a small child, extending his open palm to help her to her feet.

She placed her hand in his. An automatic response, she told herself, until she felt the heat of his fingers close around hers, comforting and commanding at the same time.

“When the door opens you’ll step forward—”

Her breath hitched but he continued, pulling her to her feet.

“I’ll be right beside you. If there are reporters nearby you’ll wave and act as if everything is fine.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

He gave her a look that reminded her of her maiden aunt Gertrude. The one who didn’t like sticky-fingered, skinned-kneed little kids.

“We’ll walk down the stairs and directly to the waiting limo.”

He propelled her forward, giving her no choice but to move, his hand no longer holding hers but tight around her bare arm. She swore it would leave a brand there, but wasn’t sure she could blame it all on him, not when she was dragging her feet as much as he was tugging her forward.

“What if there are reporters and they want to talk?”

“They’ve been informed you’re still a little shaken.”

“I won’t have to act that part.”

“—and that there’ll be a formal news conference.”

When her knees started to buckle at that piece of information he only held on tighter and added, “Later.”

“But what if—”

“You’ll be fine. Just smile and wave.”

“But—”

The man obviously didn’t take terror as a reason not to keep plunging forward. Already the sounds of a ramp being adjusted into place sounded from the other side.

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Major Gray-eyes all but breathed against her ear, his words meant for her alone. “You’ve made your choice.”

As if she’d been slapped with cold water she felt her panic recede. Anger replaced it. She’d had no choice. Not really, and the look she gave her abductor told him as much. Right before she shrugged off his hold, straightened her shoulders and told herself that nothing, no one, especially not a gray-eyed dictator standing almost on top of her, was going to know the cost of the next few minutes.

When the door slid open, and a rush of fresh mountain air washed against her, she stepped forward. The sunlight blinded her, the air chilled her skin, creating a ridge of goose bumps along her arms. She wanted to choke. Or cry. And made herself do neither.

Just as he’d said, there was a crowd of people beyond a barricade of orange cones and yellow flapping tape. She raised a hand to her eyes to cut the glare and scan the rest of the tarmac.

A stretch limo waited at the far end of a blue-carpeted runway that began at the base of the stairs where she stood.

Once, long, long ago, when she had watched a television special about a Hollywood star, she’d wondered what it would be like to ride in a car the length of a city block. Now she was about to find out—if an assassin’s bullet didn’t stop her first.

“Don’t think about it.” The major spoke behind her. Either a remarkably astute man or a compassionate one. But that would make him human and she didn’t want to think of him that way. Not when he was the reason she was in this mess in the first place. “Smile and wave.”

She did. Ignoring that her arm felt like a lead weight and her jaw muscles ached after only a few seconds.

The major took her arm; from a distance it probably looked as if he was assisting, not forcing her to take the first step down the metal stairs. First one, then another.

“I can walk by myself,” she muttered between stiff lips locked in a smile. “You don’t have to worry I’ll run away.”

“There’s nowhere to run.”

Oh, the man was just a font of cheerful news.

“Pause before we enter the limo and give the reporters one last photo op.”

She did as he asked, no, demanded, and was never as thankful as when she slid into the cool leather interior of the vehicle and heard the door slam shut behind her.

So far, so good, Lucius thought, watching the color seep back into Jane’s face as she leaned against the limo’s luxurious seats, her eyes closed, her breathing less shallow than it had been only moments ago. He’d give her a minute, but couldn’t afford much more than that.

He watched her eyes flutter open and asked, “Feeling better now?”

“No.”

He wouldn’t smile. Not at her acerbic response, or the brutal honesty of it.

“Fine, we’ll start, anyway.”

“Don’t let the grass grow under your feet do you, Major?”

“Can’t afford to.”

She took a deep breath and glanced out the window. Except for the way her fingers smoothed and re-smoothed the folds of her dress he’d have thought her totally under control. If she managed to keep her composure, and if his team had made progress on who was behind the attempt on Elena Rostov’s life, and if there were no more attempts until they could eliminate the threat, they just might make it through this mission. But that was an awful lot of ifs.

“When we reach where we’re going you’ll be taken to your quarters.”

“Where we’re going?”

“There’s a small villa outside of town where we’ll remain as long as we can.”

“Doing what?”

“Teaching you to be Elena.” He noted her puzzled look and added, “It’s wiser to ease you into your position. Cover the basics. The way Elena talks, the way she walks, who her friends are and what foods she’ll eat or not eat.”

He thought he could hear the air sigh from her lungs.

“And you didn’t think I should know there was going to be a reprieve, even a short one, before you throw me to the wolves?”

“Listen very carefully, Miss Richards.” He leaned forward, watching her eyes widen with his movement. “There is no reprieve. The mission has begun and you are the mission. From now on you will think, act and believe you are Elena Rostov. Your life depends on it.”

She glanced at him but said nothing.