Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [108]
Mannion had enough sense to keep quiet. He kept his attention riveted on the scene below, not glancing at the machine in his hand.
There were other snipers around, but no one with as clear a vantage point, and Peter knew in the end it would be up to him. He’d never missed a shot, no matter how difficult it was. He could see through fog and a moonless night, he could see through anything to keep her safe. He couldn’t waste his time making excuses or telling himself lies—they were down to the bare bones now. All that mattered was that she lived. Because he’d done the unthinkable. For only the second time in his life he’d fallen in love, when he didn’t even believe it existed.
It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t some crazy protective notion motivating him either; there were plenty of other people who could do as good a job of keeping her safe.
And it certainly wasn’t that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He might be in love with her, but he devoutly hoped he’d never have to see her again after this afternoon. He wanted his old, calm, cold life back. He didn’t like the heat melting the ice around his heart.
The iron gates swung open, slowly, and the back door of the car opened as well. He saw her blond hair first, and he held his breath. As far as he could tell, Harry had no comparable snipers overlooking the site, but he couldn’t risk her life on that belief.
She stood very still, and he looked at her down on the driveway with the thick white fog blanketing her. She stood tall and straight, probably because of the armor they’d given her, and she didn’t look around, or look back. Harry would know she wasn’t alone. She took a step forward, and then another, and the door to the waiting limousine opened and Harry stepped out.
He had him in his sites, a perfect target, and then he was obscured again, fog rolling down in thick, wet waves.
“Peter!” Mannion’s voice was urgent.
“Shut up,” Peter hissed. “I can’t see.”
“Take your shot, man. He doesn’t have the kids. They were found wandering down in the woods just off 330. She doesn’t need to go.”
Peter rose, but everything had disappeared. It wasn’t a thick blanket of fog, it was a deep, poisonous shroud, and he couldn’t see anything anymore, not the cars below him, not Genny’s stalwart figure as she walked toward death.
He didn’t hesitate. “Run, Genny! Get the hell out of there! Run!” he shouted. And then he started scrambling down the hillside, trying to make it to the driveway in the impenetrable mist, and it clung to his skin like tiny particles of ice, as he felt the first burst of fear crack inside him.
He slipped, rolling down the hillside, landing on the wide driveway just as the headlights of a car zoomed down on him. He rolled out of the way, into the bushes, and it moved on, clipping the waiting car as it went. And then all was silence in the cottony darkness.
He scrambled to his feet, the sniper rifle still with him, when Madame Lambert loomed out of the mist. “He’s got her,” she said, and he almost thought he heard emotion in her cool, controlled voice. “He shoved her in the limo and got away. I’m so sorry, Peter. At least he won’t be able to take her off the mountain—we’ve got all the roads blocked. If it weren’t for this goddamn fog…”
He’d never heard her swear before. It didn’t matter. “I’m taking the car,” he said.
“You should wait for backup…”
“I’m taking the car.”
And a moment later he vanished into the mist, letting the darkness close behind him.
Harry Van Dorn was in the best mood he’d been in since he could remember. After weeks of having each of his careful plans dismantled, finding his most trusted servants betraying him, things had finally turned his way. Genevieve Spenser was sitting beside him in the back of the limo, looking pale and frightened, and he’d just been given a gift by the universe. He should have known his position as one of