The Makeover Mission. Mary Buckham

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СКАЧАТЬ was going to make things clearer, she was wrong. She was more confused now than when they had started this bizarre conversation.

      “I don’t get it.” Ignoring the pain it caused, she shook her head, and tightened the grip of her hands wrapped around her arms. “Why does it matter that I look like this Elena Ro…Ros…”

      “Rostov.”

      “Why does it matter that I look like her?”

      “Take my word for it that it does. That’s all.”

      Obviously she wasn’t going to get any more information. At least for now. He rose from his seat, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of pressed khaki pants, uneasy about something. He walked away and she guessed it did not bode well for her.

      Lucius glanced out the window, seeing nothing, buying time, even seconds worth of time. How had things unraveled so quickly? Had it been only minutes ago that he was thankful Jane Richards wasn’t in hysterics or fighting him tooth and nail? Not that he’d blame either reaction. But he wasn’t getting that.

      His limited research had informed him she’d taken a job as a librarian straight out of college, was dependable and conscientious in her habits, didn’t even have an outstanding parking ticket to her name and, if a bit boring, could be expected to behave in a rational manner.

      What they had neglected to discover was that she was also a woman who had a quick and ready intelligence. One able to control herself under the most extreme circumstances, and one who was unlikely to accept pat and pretty answers about what was going on.

      Things were going to hell in a hand basket.

      “You’re not answering my question.” She sounded almost prissy.

      If he didn’t think it would get him into hot water he’d smile at her tone. Didn’t she realize he was the one in the position of dictating—not her?

      He turned to face her, wondering if he was doing it for her sake—or his own. “Elena Rostov plays a very pivotal part in the politics of Vendari. She’s the daughter of one of the king’s leading rivals for power.”

      “So her marriage to the king consolidates power in the country.”

      “Exactly.”

      “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.”

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