His to Defend - Em Petrova Page 0,5
am to impersonate the man.”
Tipping his head, Oz studied him. “That’s up to you. You determine your moves on the missions. Why question yourself now?”
“I guess I don’t want to break any more rules.” He tossed the shot down his throat and breathed through the burn. “There’s a hit out on this guy.”
“Yes. Word came through the usual channels, along with a case of human trafficking.”
“Trafficking is becoming our number one game, isn’t it?”
Oz nodded and swallowed the last of his vodka too. “Unfortunately, yeah. North and Frisco are handling it.”
“And I get to guard some racer with a swollen ego who pissed off the wrong person?”
“Wrong people, it seems. Moreau’s at the top of his game, but these guys want to unseat him.”
“That’s the only motive? Move someone else into top rank?” Lars stared at his friend.
“There’s also a small matter of an insurance policy taken out on him. And rumor of a bet with high stakes.”
“So it’s gambling. If Moreau’s knocked out, these people collect on a bet, receive a fat check from a life insurance company and get to move whoever they want into the running for the title.”
Oz gave a single nod. “You’re as astute as always.”
Lars sat back in his chair and thought of the beautiful redhead again. Maybe he should have taken her to bed, after all. A window of time remained open for personal pursuits before taking the private jet to France.
“Do they plan to kill him on the track?”
“Precisely.”
“Which means one of the contestants is the hitman.”
“Yes. And we knew only you were capable of handling yourself at speeds over two hundred miles per hour.”
Lars converted that number to kilometers. It sounded a hell of a lot better in American terms.
“Yeah, I can handle the speed. But who guards Moreau while I’m driving his car?”
“Missionaries will be on site to help in any way you need.”
He nodded. The Church—set up like a real parish—kept missionaries all over the world doing good works, same as him. “I guess all I need to do is brush up on my driving skills.”
“We figured as much. There’s a car waiting for you at the local track.”
He shot Oz a grin. “You up for a small competition between friends?”
He cocked a brow. “What do you have in mind?”
Lars grunted. “As if you could outdrive me, old man.”
“Who are you callin’ old man?” Roman sauntered through the door and stopped at seeing them at the table. “Should have known you’re talking about Oz.”
“I might have some white in my hair, but I’m just hitting my prime.” He scraped his hands through his dark hair. “I will decline the wager, Lars. Rose would kill me herself if she heard I was racing at speeds like that. Besides, I can’t give my sons any ideas.”
Recently, Oz had reunited with his lover from years before and learned he’d fathered twin sons. Over the past few months, they’d been adjusting to life as a family, and Lars saw changes in Oz, such as the happy crinkles that never seemed to leave the corners of his eyes.
“Too bad. I was looking forward to some healthy competition.” He looked to Roman. The man didn’t like him much, and Lars couldn’t say the sentiment didn’t run both ways. “You willing to take the challenge, Roman?”
For a moment, he held Lars’s gaze. “You’re on.”
Oz stood. “Don’t kill each other. You’re both far too valuable to lose. Lars, I trust you’ll remain in touch on your mission.”
“Of course.” He shifted to his feet and gripped Oz’s hand in farewell. Then he turned to Roman. “Well, friend, you ready to burn some rubber?”
* * * * *
Lillian scanned the group of drivers, but she didn’t see Pierre among them. “Damn that man,” she bit off under her breath and strode toward a spot where he should be getting suited up in his fire retardant gear for the race.
Another driver exited the racers-only locker room, and she stopped him. “Is Moreau in there?”
He dipped his stare over her very slowly and then back up. “No.”
“Are you sure?” She balled her fist as the man’s gaze crept over her. Instead of punching him, she reached for the door handle.
“Mademoiselle, that dressing room is for men only. I can’t account for what will happen to a pretty lady who goes inside.”
“I’ll take my chances.” She whipped open the door and stepped in. One quick rotation of the space earned her some strange looks and a proposition to come back after the