Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [104]
“I could cry,” Genevieve offered instantly. “Give me a minute and I’ll be a useless, sobbing wreck.” In fact, it was true. For the past twenty-four hours, for the past God knows how many days, she’d been on the edge of it, ready to start crying and never stop, but she was far too pragmatic to give in.
“I thought Peter said you agreed to this.” Her perfect, unlined face managed to express concern. How many face-lifts, how many Botox injections had gone into making that perfect, ageless mask?
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice. I’m not sure the same could be said for the six children Harry’s planning to kill if we don’t deliver you.”
She felt sick inside. Could things get any worse? “No choice at all,” she said.
Madame Lambert nodded. “The trade-off is going to be at his place up in Lake Arrowhead. I don’t know why he’s chosen it—there are only two main roads down out of the mountains.”
“Maybe he thinks you’ll just let him just walk away.”
“It’s happened in the past. We have to make some uncomfortable moral decisions in this business, Genevieve. Sometimes evil gets to walk away untouched. But he’s not walking away with you or the children, I promise you.”
“Have you found Takashi yet?”
Again that faint, imperceptible shadow. “No,” she said. “But he’s a hard man to kill. If anyone could make it then O’Brien could. I haven’t given up hope.”
“He saved my life.”
“So did Peter,” Madame Lambert pointed out. “Several times, in fact.”
“He was also going to kill me. Your orders?”
The woman didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes. Trust me, it was a difficult order, and I’m glad he chose to ignore it.”
“And now I get a brand-new way to die.”
Madame Lambert rose and stubbed her half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray. “You aren’t going to die,” she said again. “Not if I can help it. We’ve got a Kevlar vest for you, just as an extra precaution, there’ll be snipers all around, and the moment someone gets a clear shot they’ll take it. You won’t get anywhere near him.”
“How about having a few paramedics around, just in case.”
Madame Lambert looked at her coolly. “We always do.”
“Did he tell you my conditions?”
“‘He’ meaning Peter? Yes. He said you didn’t want him anywhere around. You shouldn’t let adolescent emotions interfere with something that could make the difference between life and death. Peter’s a crack shot—you couldn’t have anyone better watching out for you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said. “And I don’t have adolescent emotions. I just don’t like being used.”
“Who says the adolescent emotions are yours?” Madame Lambert said with a faint smile. “The tradeoff time is three o’clock this afternoon. They’re expecting some fog up in the mountains, and it can be quite treacherous. In the meantime, you must be famished. Why don’t you freshen up and I’ll take you out for a late breakfast?”
“I’m not really hungry,” she lied, still smarting from the “freshen up” comment. She did look rumpled, particularly compared to Madame Isobel Lambert’s perfection, but then, a few weeks ago that perfection had been hers as well. Designer clothes and shoes, perfect hair and makeup, the quintessential corporate goddess.
Now she was rumpled, barefoot, tangled hair and no makeup. No defenses. “Food sounds great,” she said wearily when the woman made no comment. “As long as I don’t have to run into anyone who’d ruin my appetite.”
“Peter’s already on his way back to England,” Madame Lambert said. “I’m afraid he didn’t leave a message.”
Genevieve knew her expression didn’t change. She was already prepared for it—desertion was just one more thing to be expected. It didn’t matter that she’d told him to go, he was still feeding her to the wolves and abandoning her so he wouldn’t have to watch. Bastard.
She rose. “Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready,” she said in an even voice.
“That’s fine. We’re in no particular hurry.” Madame Lambert made no attempt to move.
“Could