Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 8

I stood, feeling in a fog but if the clock was ticking I couldn't sit around like a pampered princess.

As I turned to the door Ling Mai's voice stopped me. "I've requested special a.s.sistance for your mission."

"What kind of a.s.sistance?" I eyed her.

"Someone who knows Bran well and who might be willing to help."

"A friend of Bran's?"

"A connection."

That didn't help. The Bran I knew had few friends, except for his cousin and I'd helped kill her.

So I shrugged and walked to the door. But leave it to Ling Mai to throw a few daggers before I escaped. "Mandy and Jaylene will be working with you at all times."

I got the message. No more escaping on my own. No more off the reservation as Stone would say. Now I had guards.

Better than being sent back to prison.

"Oh and Miss Noziak." At this rate I'd be down to twelve hours and counting.

She waited till I looked at her before continuing.

"Remember there is no "I" in "team"."

My smile was tensile tight as I nodded, wondering if they had a t-shirt with that logo on it. Then she added, "This is your last chance."

Somehow, though she hadn't mentioned my freaky ability, I knew she knew. Which meant she was no longer threatening me with prison as an alternative to being an IR agent. She was threatening me with the Council.

CHAPTER 17.

As if a jet had slammed into him, Jeb scrambled to understand what Pdraig was saying. Alex never mentioned she was coming to Paris. Last he'd spoken to her she was in a work release program in Maryland.

He speared Philippe with a look. "I don't understand."

Philippe nodded at his protege who leaned so far forward Jeb was sure the young man was about to topple from chair to gra.s.s.

"I have stumbled across conflicting reports but it appears your daughter is wanted by certain people."

"Why?"

Pdraig shrugged. "I haven't been able to determine this. As soon as I uncovered what I had I brought the intel to Philippe."

"Who wants her?"

A head shake as Pdraig added, "I don't know that either."

"Then tell me exactly what you do know," Jeb demanded, aware his voice had risen.

Pdraig sat back as if slapped. But his voice was calm as he said, "Your daughter is in Paris. She's a target with a sizable bounty on her head, but only if alive."

"How much?"

"A million euros."

Jeb glanced at Philippe. "Roughly a million two hundred and eighty thousand US dollars."

"For Alex?" This time the words escaped as air from a deflated balloon. "This doesn't make sense."

"I was concerned," Philippe kept his tone even, "that this attempt on her might be tied into your son's disappearance."

Jeb shook his head. Not because his friend's words didn't hold a possible explanation, but because he was still grappling with the ramifications. He eyed Philippe. "But why Van and Alex? What's to gain? I'm not a wealthy man."

Philippe released a long slow breath. "You are an influential man, Jebediah. That may be the key."

"You mean the Council?"

Philippe nodded before glancing at Pdraig. "It is the only thing that makes sense to us."

Jeb stood, no longer able to sit. Not with a father's fear roaring through him. "Do you know where Alex is? Right now? She should be under protection."

Pdraig crooked his neck as if to relieve strain even though it was Jeb who was avalanched by the weight that had just come down on him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Noziak." Pdraig rose to his feet too as if in commiseration. "I had a lead on her earlier today but then I lost her."

"Where?"

"She was visiting a notable dress designer who has offices here in Paris. At the Tour FIRST building."

"Alex?" His daughter wore jeans and t-shirts. What in the world was she doing with a dress designer?"

But before he could ask more questions Philippe gestured to the seat Jeb had just vacated. "I'm afraid there's more, my old friend. It involves Council business."

Jeb sank back upon the weathered surface of the chair, wondering how much more he could handle.

"Pdraig, would you check with Zeid about some refreshments? I know I am famished."

The young man cast a quick look between Jeb and Philippe before offering a curt nod and leaving.

"Zeid?" Jeb asked, latching on to the mundane while he grappled with the explosion.

"Tunisian butler," Philippe mentioned, leaning forward, more serious than Jeb had ever seen the druid. "There's more going on here than I can tell you in a few moments, but I will share this. The Council is under attack."

No words came to Jeb so he listened.

"The threat against your children must be part of this larger threat. You're the only Council member with offspring, which makes you vulnerable."

He could see the logic behind Philippe's words. "But who is attacking? And why?"

"I'm attempting to get to the bottom of that." He glanced toward the house. "Pdraig has been invaluable as my eyes and ears. You can trust him if you need to do so."

That had Jeb more alert. "Do you fear for your life?"

"There have already been two near-death occurrences. I don't know if I shall survive another."

"But . . . you didn't tell me. And why isn't the Council up in arms?"

"They-or I should say some on the Council-may be behind the agitation."

This was more than serious, this was catastrophic. The Council was the only law between non-humans and humans and had been for centuries. If the Council fell the mostly peaceful co-existence also fell. There had always been beings within the preternatural community who resented keeping their ident.i.ties hidden. The Weres were always agitating for more recognition as they held no Council seat. Could they be behind these new disturbances? But what would they hope to get out of Jeb?

"Who on the Council are working against you?" Jeb asked, knowing their time was limited as Pdraig was already crossing from house to garden.

"We'll talk later. There's a gathering this evening that I'm afraid I must attend. Pdraig is going with me." Philippe smiled as the young man set a tray of cheese and bread down on the table before them. "Why don't you join us, Jebediah? As my guest. We can talk after."

Jeb shook his head. Last thing he wanted to do was bide his time when his children were under attack. "Jet lag," he murmured. "I'm afraid I'd be poor company."

"I understand." Philippe leaned back in his chair, once more the convivial host. "Then instead of talking to me, I think Pdraig should show you what we've gathered. In the library."

Jeb rose to his feet before the older man finished speaking. "I'd like that. Regarding Van?"

"Regarding both your children," came Pdraig's response.

"Then let's have a look." Jeb started to walk away then stopped, turning to Philippe. "This dress designer. He have a name?"

"Bran."

"Only the one name?"

"Oui." Philippe glanced at his protege. "Pdraig has a thick file on him."

Good. Finally something was going right.

CHAPTER 18.

I was chomping at the bit as I tapped my fingers on the metal top of an outdoor bistro table. It was late afternoon and my time frame was winging past; last thing I wanted to be doing was biding my time waiting for my new contact to appear.

"Where the h.e.l.l is this guy?" I snarled at Jaylene loud enough to earn a few head turns from other bistro patrons. I was tempted to bare my teeth at them. That would show them that not everyone spent their days lounging around sipping cafe au lait and reading Le Figaro or Le Monde. Didn't these people ever work?

"He's coming," Jaylene murmured, her attention on some hoity-toity French magazine. Bran probably read it too.

"Why can't we approach Bran without him? Meet this guy later?" My voice intentionally nudging my handlers into action.

"Ling Mai said meet him first. Approach Bran second," Mandy replied around a sip of some chocolate drink with whipped cream on it.

"Never saw you as a bootlicker." I raised my brows, waiting for the explosion.

Jaylene reached a hand out and stopped Mandy from lunging across the table without ever raising her gaze from her magazine. "She's just p.i.s.sed that she screwed up."

"Again," Mandy snipped.

This time I was the one standing, my fists curled, my temper on a short and getting shorter fuse.

"Dahling, you don't have to rise on my account," a familiar voice brushed against me.

Male. c.o.c.ky. British.

No way.

"Oui, it is moi, Francois Dupris, at your service."

I turned, my whole body stiff, except for my shaking head. "Tell me you're a figment of my worst nightmare."

The man before me, looking radically different than when I knew him on my last mission, was too familiar. Before he'd been effete, mincing and a royal PITA. The last part still applied but now he looked more like Gabriel Aubry, tousled blonde hair, stubbly chin, smoldering s.e.xy golden-brown eyes. I felt like I'd tumbled down the rabbit hole.

"You like the look? Oui?" he prodded in the voice I a.s.sociated with Franco, a majordomo in Bran's fashion events. But this wasn't Franco.

Obviously enjoying my discomfort he lifted first Jaylene's and then Mandy's hands for a kiss as he murmured in a sultry deep accent, "Enchante, Mademoiselles. I have met the delectable Jaylene before but you, ma bichette, I have not had the pleasure."

"Did he just call you a b.i.t.c.h?" I asked, wondering why Mandy let him linger over her palm instead of scratching his eyes out.

"He called me his little doe." Mandy didn't even look at me but kept her focus on Francois or whatever he was calling himself now. And she was smiling. A sappy ooh-la-la smile.

I wanted to gag.

Jaylene whistled. "Francois," she purred his name. "You're looking good. Like what you've done with the hair, the clothes, the whole you."

He flashed her a dazzling smile.

At this rate I really was really going to gag, or shoot myself.

Instead I resumed my seat and leaned forward, knowing that whatever his name, or look, or accent he was still an undercover agent for a new branch of MI-6, an elite group tasked to keep an eye on preternatural activity just like the IR Agency. He was also a shifter. I couldn't out him in public for being a fake, but I could remind my fellow teammates not to fall for his acting abilities. Or one teammate in particular.

And Ling Mai didn't think I could be a team player.

"Look," I snarled, but quietly, "Enough of the reunion. What are you doing here?"