Black Ice - Anne Stuart [31]
“We should work tonight,” Hakim broke in, and it was clear he was equally annoyed with Monique’s behavior. “We’re behind schedule and we can’t afford to wait for Mr. Christopolous any longer. We have too many things to decide in too short a time—the redivision of territories, our new leader and what kind of response we should make to Remarque’s assassination. These are things of monumental importance, and we can’t waste any more time.”
Ah, Chloe, Bastien thought. She’d turned to look at Hakim in surprise, and he could read what was going on in her mind. Why should the importation of grocery products and livestock be of monumental importance? Why was their leader assassinated? She was either impossibly gauche or incredibly clever.
“So we’ll work,” the baron said.
“Those of us who need to. Miss Underwood, your services will be dispensed with tonight. We can manage without you.”
Chloe took that as the dismissal it was, and she rose. “I’m sorry I forgot the books,” she said.
“What books?”
“The ones you sent me to buy.”
Hakim waved a dismissive hand. “Unimportant. We’ll be working in the conference room—I’m sure you’ll be most comfortable in your own rooms.”
It was as clear a directive as possible, a warning, but Chloe was still performing her artless act. “I wondered if there’s a computer around I might use? I wanted to check my e-mail.”
Dead silence, and Bastien leaned back, wondering how Hakim planned to deal with it. To his surprise Hakim nodded. “In the library just off the stairs on the first floor. Feel free to browse all you want.”
“Just my e-mail,” she said, rising from the table. The rest stayed put—no courtesies for the hired help, Bastien thought, resisting his own urge to rise. And if she only wanted to check e-mail then he was the prima ballerina with the Ballet Russe. But would she be smart enough to cover her tracks?
The door closed behind her, and conversation broke out immediately. “I don’t think having the woman here was a very good idea,” von Rutter said in German. “We could have muddled along well enough without a translator. Why bring a stranger into the place?”
“The woman I originally hired was an airheaded blonde with just the marginal skills to make things easier and the self-absorption not to notice anything unusual,” Hakim replied in the same language. “I’m not so sure of this one.”
“Not sure?” Monique said sharply. “I never thought you were the kind of man who left things to chance, Gilles. You should get rid of her, immediately.”
“If necessary,” Hakim said. He wouldn’t like being told what to do—he thought his time had come and he was ready to sit at the power table. “You know I have no qualms about doing what needs to be done. But I never act rashly. If an American disappears without a trace there might be too many questions. I need to be convinced that either no one would miss her, or that her presence was too incriminating. I’m not sure of either. As soon as I am, Miss Underwood will cease to be an issue.”
“English or French, please, if you can’t speak Italian,” Ricetti grumbled. “What are we talking about?”
Monique turned and smiled sweetly. “We’re discussing whether Miss Underwood is a danger, and if so, how we can neatly dispose of her?” She spoke in her flawless Italian.
“Kill her and set up a fake auto accident,” Ricetti said.
“Perhaps,” Hakim responded. “But she’s traveling with my chauffeur, and I’m not sure I want to give up my Daimler just to cover an execution. I would have a hard time replacing my driver as well.”
“Just kill her and stop fussing about it,” Mr. Otomi said. “If you are too squeamish I can have my assistant take care of it. We are wasting our time arguing when we have more important things to do. I want to know how we are going to transport the four dozen Legolas weapons into Turkey without anyone noticing.”
“That’s your problem, Otomi-san,” Bastien said smoothly. “I want to know where the money’s coming from before I put my goods on the table. And trust me, they’re