Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 9

"Mais, ma minette," he said, earning a snort from Mandy. "I have been called in to be of a.s.sistance."

I didn't know what he just called me, but I'd find out. Right after I wrung Ling Mai's elegant neck for foisting another handler on me. One not of my choosing and one I didn't quite trust. Heck, I didn't even know if I could remember to call him Francois so I didn't blow his current cover.

Yes, he turned out to be one of the good guys on the last mission but Frank here . . . Francois, call him Francois . . . always had his own agenda.

"What are you getting out of this?" I asked, almost nose-to-nose with him, which given the way he looked now was disconcerting.

He gave a Gallic shrug, released Mandy's hand but not after one more come-hither glance from his eyes that I didn't remember were an amber color. Almost wolf-like. He pulled a chair to the table, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath and adjust to the new Franco or Francois. Which I wasn't doing so well. "I'm here because Bran is my friend and he needs me. So do you."

"Your friend?"

"Oui, didn't I tell you we were at Balliol College Oxford together?" He arched an elegant brow and for a second I could see him with Bran in their school days-arrogant, at ease, killer looks-even though I had to wonder if either had ever attended Oxford. Bran was too secretive about his past and Francois here made lying as easy as breathing.

But I didn't care about the past. I cared about the now that was slipping away from me. "You can get Bran to see me?" I asked, all business. I didn't share that I'd tried to text Bran several times while waiting for Francois to arrive. Not in front of Mandy or Jaylene but under the table and he hadn't responded.

Each non-answer making me more afraid for him. But that was neither here nor there.

"I'm meeting with Bran in about twenty minutes," came Francois' blase response.

At last, something breaking open. "Then let's get going." I rose from my seat.

"Not looking like that," came Francois' quick and almost horrified retort. A little more tone in his voice and I would have sworn he'd switched back to Franco.

I eased down, bracing myself to pulling out word by word what Francois meant. But it was Mandy who beat me to the punch. "We need to change?"

"Oui." He flashed a dazzling smile. "I have arranged to have us all present at an very exclusive soiree." He raised his hands, palms out. "You may thank me later."

Yeah, like right after I took him out. Or cast a rash-inducing spell. Not that I would, magic had too much backlash. Just like my now having to work with Franco/Francois here, probably as a direct result of the amplifying stunt I'd pulled this morning.

I ignored the voice deep inside me that whispered, you wish. I hadn't been able to forget that twitching lace curtain, or who had been behind it.

"Alex?" I glanced over at Francois who actually looked worried. "Are you alright?" And he sounded concerned. d.a.m.n he should have gone onto the stage.

"She's prepping herself to do battle over dressing for this soiree," Mandy sniped. "How formal is it?"

"More than jeans and your wind-cheater," Francois said.

"He means hoodie." I glanced at Francois, waiting for what he wasn't saying.

"c.o.c.ktail dresses. Evening theater. Casual, by Parisian standards, not . . ." He eyed me and I stuck my tongue out at him.

Oh yeah, working together again was going to be loads of fun.

"Bran's going to be at this event though?" my words sounded even as my gaze drilled Francois. The you-screw-with-me-and-you'll-pay look both of us understood.

He nodded.

We were on the same page. Not for the same reasons and finding out what Francois wanted was on my to-do list. Right after getting Bran to help me, before he was arrested, and right after freeing my brother. If he was still alive.

"Where are you going?" Mandy asked.

"To get dressed. We don't have that much time."

Mandy's stunned expression was worth having to try a dress on. But only one.

No shoes though. I didn't do the frou-frou shoes.

"I have just the shoes for you," Francois murmured, looking straight at me as if he'd read my thoughts.

Oh, yeah. One big happy team.

Not.

CHAPTER 19.

He had not expected much to happen at the soiree. A lot of useless chatter, a few pointed expressions, one or two sycophants angling for more connection but he could ignore them. All of them.

The pieces were in place. The game had commenced and whatever else one might say about him, he was a player without peer.

Standing on the open second floor landing of the Nissim de Camondo Museum, he sipped champagne from a fluted gla.s.s, watching the arriving guests below. Tonight one of them would not leave and the game would begin in earnest.

With a smile he hid with another sip, he noted five of the Council of Seven members, blending seamlessly with the bankers, power brokers, politicians and society elite of Paris. Philippe Cheverill was half-listening to Mme. Bonheaur who was a bore of a woman but very well-connected. The dress designer Bran had just arrived, looking impatient and not happy to be here. Wouldn't he be surprised at what was in store for him?

The Council members had been invited as individuals, each not necessarily knowing the others would be in attendance. Nor did they all know they were in Paris at the same time. That took some maneuvering but not as much as one would expect. Preternaturals were nothing if not predictable, once one knew which strings to pull, which inducements to use. Jebediah Noziak was the most unpredictable, but even he had been brought to town via his Achilles Heel; his loyalty and trust.

The fool.

Noziak did not need to be at the soiree though it would have been enjoyable to see his expression when the events unfolded.

Patience. The game always went to the one who dared and the one who was resolute enough to see it through till the end.

He was just turning away from the gilded wrought iron railing when a commotion at the front door arrested his attention. Three women and a man. Two of the women he dismissed as attractive and preternatural, at another time and place he would have been interested, but it was the third woman that intrigued him now.

She had come. Here? But why?

Then he caught her looking around, seeking someone and not impressed by the private residence-turned-a-frozen-monument to the Belle Epoche decor. A shame because it was quite good. Most were only able to enjoy the place as a museum with grubby-fingered urchins whining as their parents trudged them through the expansive mansion or j.a.panese tourists snapping photos at every turn, as if one only succeeded by the sheer volume of images taken while abroad. How pedestrian.

But there was nothing pedestrian about the woman standing in the black and white hallway below. He leaned a little closer to the rail, following her line of sight but only paying attention when her expression shifted from restive to engaged.

Ah, of course, Monsieur Bran.

He had stepped in to help her earlier but without a clear motivation. Though one look at her now and the motivation might be simple.

She was stunning, in a gold strapless gown that glowed against her caramel skin, in part because of the revealing slit that opened thigh length as she shifted. Her hair was pulled away from a sculpted face but when she leaned over to speak to the blonde man at her side a rope of thick dark hair was visible down her back.

He'd been told she was attractive but that paled in seeing her in person. The banked vibrancy, the raw energy simmering within her. She was a woman dressed to capture the eye, particularly the male eye, but in spite of the several very interested looks cast her way, her focus was only on one man.

A complication or a bonus?

Tightening his fingers around his empty gla.s.s, he weighed the probability factors, the pros and cons of tweaking his original plan, and only when sure he could still accomplish his goals did he set his gla.s.s aside.

The game had just become more stimulating.

CHAPTER 20.

"I see him," I whispered to Francois who was hovering at my side like a parental hawk. "I'll be back."

But leave it to Francois to have his own agenda as he placed my arm over his, a gesture that looked refined but made a very effective deterrent to my walking away. Not without tugging him along like a reluctant barge.

And he wasn't budging.

I flipped my hair which I'd tied in a braid over my shoulder and leaned in close to him, a smile plastered on my face, my whisper for his ears alone. "You want to tell me what you're doing? We're here to talk with Bran."

"Patience mon chou," he murmured, nodding his head at a couple strolling past us. "It will be better if he comes to us."

But he wouldn't. Not after this morning. Bran was nothing if not stubborn and difficult.

I eyed Francois, the first part of his words seeping into my awareness. This time I didn't keep my voice low. "What did you just call me?"

It was Mandy who answered. "He called you a cabbage."

She was still chuckling as she walked away, until stopped by a very attractive man introducing himself to her. An older man but familiar looking, though there should be no reason I'd know anyone in France. Except Bran who had his back to me across the room. A very tense back.

Another man was approaching Francois. A younger one who looked like he belonged on an American magazine cover, such as Success or Entrepreneur. Fit, a.s.sured, almost c.o.c.ky. Not Frank kind of c.o.c.ky but that same the-world-is-my-oyster-look.

Not what I wanted to be doing, chit chatting with a bunch of strangers. But the other man did act as a distraction as Frank slipped into his role as Francois Dupris, urbane, charming, and cultured.

The second Francois turned his head to talk to the newcomer, I kissed him on the cheek, surprising him enough to loosen his grip. "I'll be right back, Cherie," I murmured. Two could play the false endearment game as I flashed a smile at the other man. It must have been one h.e.l.l of a grin as he looked as taken off guard as Frank.

I didn't hang around but pulled away and crossed the crowded room, reaching Bran just about the time he turned around and spied me. Thunderstorms looked more warm and friendly.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled, grabbing my upper arm and tugging me toward an oasis of quiet in the curve of the circular stairway leading to an open second floor. Tara had nothing on this place. "Don't you realize how dangerous this is?"

What was he talking about?

With my back against a marble wall he had me effectively caged, not that I was planning to escape; I'd worked too hard to get to him.

"Do you mean the Council?" I whispered, looking around to make sure no one else could hear us. Of course they couldn't, they were too caught up in their own chatter to pay attention to us. Except for Frank and the other man who still seemed off kilter. As if no one had walked away from them before. And any vampires in the room. Or Weres. Come to think about it there could be a lot of eavesdroppers.

Bran towered over me, all pent up emotion, dark looks and flashing eyes. Which as the old Franco would have said was a very good look for the warlock. Very hot. "What do you know about the Council?"

Shaking my head to get back on task I was pleased my voice didn't betray my distractions. "They summoned you. Didn't they?"

Unless Ling Mai made up a threat against Bran to make me jump higher and faster.

"How do you know?"

I shrugged. I doubted Ling Mai wanted me to blab agency secrets. "What does it matter? You're in danger if you go."

The sound he uttered was a cross between a snort and a choked laugh. "I have no choice."

That word again. But he was right. One didn't ignore a Council summons without dire consequences.

Suddenly I wanted to soothe the deep lines along his brow, the weariness around his eyes. He was seriously worried and, if my guess was right, on the razor's edge of losing his warlock control.

"When do you have to appear?" I asked, no longer just on my mission.

"Tomorrow at one."

"Why?"

"You don't know?"

The way he said it you would have thought I'd been the one to turn him in, not his cousin's actions. d.a.m.n her anyway. But that was the way it'd always been between us. He'd protect psycho Dominique till his dying breath even if she'd already bit the dust. What would it be like to have that kind of loyalty?

Didn't matter.

"I heard that there might be another synthetic drug still out there." It was petty of me to add, "One Dominique knew about."

I watched him take the blow and flinch. Not noticeable except to someone looking for the response.

He said nothing for a moment but he averted his gaze as I felt the beat of my heart slow. He was pulling in and away.

Wasn't this what I'd asked him to do earlier? Have nothing to do with me?

Be careful of your wishes, little one, my father had told me more than once. Wishes create intentions and intentions create actions, and actions create your results. So what did I want now?

My brother's safety of course. Could I achieve that without harming Bran more? I didn't know. But maybe he did.

"Bran?" His gaze rose to mine and I forgot my next words as I felt the free fall created just by looking at him. His eyes were open, vulnerable, unsure. Not the arrogant warlock I knew too well but a man at war with himself.

I raised one hand to brush it against his cheek, just one touch like the ones we'd shared before.

As if he read my desire, his eyes darkened, became opaque and unreadable, as his own hand caught and banded around my wrist.

"What do you want, Alex?"