Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“It may take a while.”

“It had better not,” Jock said softly. “I’m very angry with you, Venable.”

Venable felt a chill go through him. He shook it off. It was difficult not to feel a little intimidated by Jock Gavin. His history alone was enough to make a man think twice. He had been an assassin without equal, and that lethal coldness lingered like a shadow that refused to leave him. But Venable had been a CIA agent for too many years to let the intimidation be more than temporary. It was his job to deal with men like Gavin, and he’d do his job and do it well. “I’ll call you back if I have any trouble.” He hung up.

Trouble? There was nothing but trouble popping up all over the place. Dammit, everything was going to hell.

Presnell, the agent he’d sent to protect Jane MacGuire, was almost certainly dead. He was too good a man to screw up like this.

Find out. Then send another man to watch Jane MacGuire. Though with Jock Gavin on the scene, it would probably be extreme excess.

His phone rang, and he glanced down at the ID.

John MacDuff.

Oh, shit. He should have known MacDuff would be hovering over Jock Gavin like a protective hawk. He considered Gavin his responsibility since Gavin had grown up on his estate, MacDuff’s Run, in Scotland. Though, God knows, Venable had hoped that the two might have lost contact since Gavin had moved to the U.S. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with MacDuff.

He punched the cell. “I was just going to call you.”

“The hell you were.” MacDuff’s voice was silky. “What are you trying to do, Venable?”

“Gavin called you?”

“Yes, he didn’t want to involve me, but he thought Jane MacGuire might need help since you’re screwing up. You son of a bitch, you’re trying to drag Jock back into that same hellhole he pulled himself out of.”

“I needed him.” He paused. “I’d do it again, MacDuff. There was a leak among my team. I needed someone good who had no connection with the Company. It’s not as if Gavin was an innocent. He was lucky I didn’t lock him up and throw away the key. After all, he was probably one of the most accomplished assassins either one of us have ever seen.”

“We made a deal. I helped you get your hands on that bastard, Thomas Reilly, who had brainwashed Jock and all those other kids he’d kidnapped, and you gave me custody of him.”

“I needed him to do a job for me. Don’t expect me to feel guilty for using Gavin.” He repeated, “He was an assassin.”

“He was a young kid who was medicated and brainwashed. Do you know how many times he tried to kill himself after he started to come off that medication?” His voice turned savage. “I should turn him loose on you, Venable.”

“Go ahead. But that wouldn’t keep him from going right back to Jane MacGuire afterward. I’d just be a minor bump in the road. And you might need me. This is a very ugly business.”

“And you used Jane to draw Jock into doing your damn job.”

“She was in the middle of it anyway. She just didn’t know it. But, yes, I gambled that he’d do anything to keep her safe.”

“Since Jane was the one who brought Jock back to the land of the living. Sure, why not send him out to kill a few scumbags to show how grateful he is?”

“What do you want me to say? I did it. I’d do it again. Dammit, I may have lost a man tonight while he was protecting Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “And the situation in Paris may be awkward. It’s too late for me to do a cleanup. We need damage control.”

“If Jock is roped into your damage control, I’ll come after you myself.”

And he’d do it, Venable thought sourly. MacDuff was a throwback to the Lairds who first ruled MacDuff’s Run. He was possessive of every person on his property and protected them with passion and ferocity. Jock Gavin had not only grown up in the village at MacDuff’s Run, but MacDuff treated him as a younger brother. “Actually, I was going to rope you into doing that for all of us. They love you in Paris. You’re a big hero to them. As I recall, one of the medals you won was a Croix de Guerre. Do you know the prime minister?”

“I’ve met him several times.”

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to convince him that it would serve no purpose to victimize a young woman who has suffered enough already. The media doesn’t need to know anything about Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “Or Jock Gavin. They’re both obviously innocent of the crime that took the life of an outstanding French citizen, Celine Denarve. And that scum that Gavin put down was clearly no loss. Can you convince the prime minister that for you to remove both Gavin and Jane from the public eye would permit the police to focus on what’s important in the case?”

MacDuff was silent. “It’s possible I can get him to go along.”

“More than possible. I’ll do my part behind the scenes to help it along.”

“Very well. Hang up, and I’ll call him. I’ll have to work fast. He won’t like being roused at this hour of the night.”

But Venable had seen MacDuff when he was moving toward a goal with a confidence and charisma that was truly awe-inspiring. He was as good at negotiating his way through social and diplomatic circles as he had been searching out the enemies in the jungle as a commando. Hell, maybe there was something to all that Laird bullshit. “I knew you’d be willing to cooperate when you realized that we all have to do what we can to make sure that-”

“Listen, Venable. I’m not willing to cooperate with you on any level. I’m pissed off, and I can’t see that changing in the foreseeable future. I’ll call the prime minister because I don’t want to have to run the gauntlet when I get to Paris. I should be there within two hours. I have a plane standing by.” His voice lowered to velvet softness. “And after I finish the call, I’m going to phone you back, and you’re going to tell me everything you know or guess or even vaguely speculate. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it, Venable,” MacDuff said. “I don’t like the idea of your manipulating one of my people. It’s not going to happen again.” He hung up.

“I MADE YOU COFFEE.” Jock crossed to where Jane was sitting on the brocade Louis XV couch and handed her the tiny flowered cup and saucer. “But this is all I could find to put it in. It’s hardly worth bothering.”

“Celine loved dainty cups. She said she felt like a princess when she-” Jane drew a deep, shaky breath. “I argued with her. I was used to cups that were more like pitchers. Eve never liked to run to the kitchen for a refill while she was working on her reconstructions, and she always started out with a big cup. When I’m painting, I do the same thing. But Celine said that coffee should be an experience and should be savored and-I’m babbling, aren’t I?” She took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks, Jock. Thanks for everything.” The hot coffee tasted good and some of the chill that she was feeling ebbed away. It would be back, she knew. Every time she thought of Celine, it attacked like an enemy in hiding.

But for this moment Jock had managed to lessen that terrible hollowness. He was smiling gently at her, and it warmed her. Gentleness, strength, and yet that sense of underlying loneliness.

Strength. Yes, she always thought of him as the boy she had first met, but he was older now, in his early twenties. Just as stunningly handsome, with those silver-gray eyes and wonderful features, just as quietly contained, but the years had taken away that almost breakable quality and replaced it with a sort of subtle power.

“I’m sorry your friend was killed.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “She was a beautiful woman.”