The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [106]
She made ground fast. Keeping close to the fence she penned Lazarev in. She knew that if she could run him along the fence she would have a better chance of keeping him on track. She wanted to force him up the Kantonspolizei booth that stood at the exit. If she could get him arrested, perhaps he could be held long enough to foil any back-up plan the kidnappers might have.
The ground flew under her and she was catching him. She was going too fast and her head ached—but her blood was boiling and all caution had been trashed.
The man had almost reached the parking lot. She saw the orange lights of a Subaru WRX flash twice. Lazarev’s getaway car.
Faster.
She was almost on top of him. She shouted to the police. They ran towards her, not sure who was the victim in the scene that was unfolding at high speed before them, the middle-aged man in the Loden or the young Bodicea, all flaming cheeks and wild hair, hunting him down on the back of a galloping horse. A radio message crackled from security in the tent. Now they understood.
Lazarev was trying to zigzag, but Stevie’s horse had been trained to do just that for polo and she kept on him, only metres away now.
Then Lazarev caught his foot on a bank of snow and went down, skidding across the hard white floor, rolling twice. Stevie pulled up the horse and half slid, half fell to the ground.
The police advanced on Lazarev, their handcuffs open to receive him.
Although shaken by the encounter, Sandy proved surprisingly resilient. She refused to miss Yudorov’s party that night and seemed to relish the extra attention her brush with disaster drew to her.
‘It only makes the champagne taste sweeter, darling!’ Stevie heard her exclaim several times with a laugh.
Kennedy-Jack remained oblivious that anything had happened and was now happily sleeping with the manny and the minder on guard in his room. Douglas was beaming with protective strength and pride.
The fears of the Hammer-Belles, after all, had been justified. The famous couple was indeed a target of much desirability all over the globe, but they would not let their prominence become a burden for themselves or their host. Beam, smile, beam.
As for Stevie, the whack she had received to her head throbbed painfully and she was still shaking from the adrenaline surge. It wasn’t enough to keep her from her job, although Dovetail had made her promise she would stay firmly in the background, no matter what.
A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne glasses—Cristal, the infallible favourite of rap stars and oligarchs—that had been sprinkled with large flakes of gold leaf. Stevie took a generous gulp of champagne, swallowing a large flake of gold in the process. She was sure someone had told her gold was good for the digestion . . .
The party in Yudorov’s chalet was in full swing even before the helicopters ferrying the host and a slew of guests touched down in the snow outside. The car park was full—Maybachs, Bentleys, two Rolls Royce Phantoms, and a Bugatti Veyron—the outside of the huge chalet lit up like a Christmas tree. Security forces were everywhere: in suits by the front doors, side doors, throughout the house; in black camouflage on the roof, the balconies, and sprinkled amongst the pine trees around the perimeter. These had attack dogs on short leashes and automatic weapons tucked under their arms. No chances were being taken.
Yudorov had been horrified at the attempt on Sandy and Kennedy-Jack and he’d seen the breach in security as a dereliction of his host’s duties, especially seeing as the aggressor had been an invited guest. This detail Sandy was not told, not by Yudorov, nor by Stevie.
Owen Dovetail had checked Kennedy-Jack’s sleeping arrangements and was now back watching the room with Sandy and Douglas.
He was moving on an irregular circuit that would allow him to keep an eye on both baby and parents. He didn’t have much faith in the action-man minder.
Stevie wandered from room to room, taking a look at the other guests, keeping an eye out for any signs that something