WW13 Christmas at His Command Page 7

  He covered her body with his again, a low growl rumbling his chest. “How about I try a different form of persuasion?”

  A knock sounded on the door, jerking his head upward. Ginger tugged on the covers and Hank frowned, readying to call out for whatever room service or maid waited outside to come back later—

  The opening door preempted him. What the hell? He’d secured the lock—pissed off already because of the old-fashioned keys. Heads were going to roll in security in about sixty seconds.

  But first, he reached for the gun he’d kept on the bedside table for Ginger. Gripping the barrel and blocking Ginger from sight ranked as his number-one priority.

  The portal filling with a quartet of men cut short anything else he’d even considered saying as recognition stunned him silent.

  The oldest of the crew, apparently the only one not shocked speechless, stepped forward. “Mom?”

  “Thank you for a most enjoyable afternoon, Senator Landis.”

  “Thank you, Chancellor. I look forward to the rest of the visit as well.” Ginger gathered her composure as she nodded to the German Chancellor as well as Franz Kohl, the Minister of Arts, and Igor Mashchenko, the Vice-Chancellor from neighboring Kasov. The meeting had been called seconds after she and Hank had tossed out her sons and tossed on some clothes. Which left no time for her or Hank to speak to her sons after the enormously embarrassing encounter.

  In the grand hallway outside the dining room, she finished her farewells to the heads of state after their lengthy luncheon. Her eyes lingered on the two special guests as she took a final moment to gather her impressions of them. She thought of Hank’s concerns regarding the crèche being the focus of the threats.

  Could the Minister of Arts want the crèche for monetary reasons? She studied the ambitious young man, a traditional-looking academic in his layered sweater and jacket with slightly rumpled pants. She could have sworn she caught a hint of paint on his brown leather shoes. His thinning hair, however, had been neatly groomed for the important occasion.

  She shifted her attention to their guest from neighboring Kasov, Igor Mashchenko. A grandfatherly figure with a full head of steel-gray hair, he had a regal bearing that inspired confidence. He’d risen to the heights through shrewd investments that had helped finance his rise to power. He definitely didn’t need money.

  Mashchenko bowed over her hand with an old-world elegance that elicited a low growl from Hank only Ginger would have heard. She lightly elbowed her general in the side before smiling at the visiting dignitary and wishing him farewell until the sunset ceremony.

  Now that this final meeting was past, she and Hank had no excuse to avoid what waited in the sitting room back in her quarters.

  Walking down the castle corridor with Hank distinctly quiet by her side, she winced to think of the conversation still waiting to happen between her and her boys. She wanted to say it didn’t matter what they thought. They were the children and she was the parent.

  Except they were adults, and actually their opinions did matter to her. She didn’t want dissension in her family. Something special had happened between Hank and her, and she wanted to start things off on the right foot with her boys.

  Plus, it was damn embarrassing to be caught in flagrante delicto, no matter what her age.

  Rounding a corner, she followed the path of sconce lights, updated with bulbs made to resemble candles, as she found her way back to her and Hank’s quarters. Strange how, in the past, meetings with the heads of state of other countries had given her less anxiety than the upcoming one with her boys.

  Outside the door, Hank gripped her by the arm, stopping her. She blinked, her eyes wide at his public display in touching her in front of the security personnel stationed at the end of the hall.

  Given the widening of Hank’s pupils, the touch to her arm was only the start of his intent. He leaned closer, his mouth a whisker away from hers. “What happened earlier was amazing and don’t you doubt for a minute that, given the chance, I would dive right in for a repeat. Don’t let anything that’s said in there steal a second of what we had. Got it?”

  “Roger that, General.”

  He nodded, backing away without the kiss. She should have known he wouldn’t actually risk her reputation with any outright display. Gracious, his words had bolstered her when she needed it. More of that friendship-knowledge of each other coming into play, she imagined.

  Shoulders braced, Ginger swung open the door to find her four sons waiting. Matthew paced. Kyle sprawled. Sebastian tended the fire while Jonah sent text messages on his cell phone.

  Her boys. Grown up, but still her babies, each with a wicked little one-sided dimple. She opened her arms. “I can’t believe you’re all here.”

  She fell into the familiarity of their boisterous hugs.

  Matthew pulled back first, her oldest taking charge as usual, so far keeping his eyes solidly off Hank. “Once we learned of the attempt on your life, nothing would keep us away. Then we got here and found out you were missing…holy hell, Mom.”

  She should have realized it wouldn’t matter whether or not her boys knew she was missing. The shooting incident alone would bring them to her.

  Ginger moved deeper into the room with them, toward the sofa. “I thought for sure they would keep this silent for at least a couple of days.”

  “Mother,” Matthew shook his head with an unshakable self-confidence he’d inherited from his father. “I won my seat in the House of Representatives, in case you’ve forgotten. I have access to information.”

  And a forceful, no-backing-down determination she suspected he’d made full use of.

  “Thank you for worrying, son, but as you can see, my security detail is working overtime.” She sank onto the sofa, her boys sitting around her. “I’m in capable hands.”

  Kyle quirked a brow. “I can certainly see you’re in someone’s hands.”

  Leave it to her outspoken Kyle to address the issue first. She could already feel Hank advancing farther into the room with powerful strides. Ginger held up her palm to stall him. She and Hank might not have had time to determine where things were headed between them yet, but without question, they had something special.

  She wanted this settled without contention between these important males in her life.

  “Excuse me, young man?” Ginger tipped her chin and stared him down. “I’m still your mother.”

  Sebastian, her middle-child peacemaker, interjected, with both hands raised between them, “You know he’s not being disrespectful to you, Ma, or to the General. Kyle simply wants to make sure you’re all right in every sense of the word.”

  Her baby, Jonah, reclined in the wingback, laughing. “Like we have anything to worry about. The General would kick his own ass if he hurt Ma.”

  A cleared throat reminded them all of Hank hovering behind her. “Damn straight.”

  Heat crawled up her face.

  Good Lord, she wasn’t in high school, caught talking about a boy in the lunchroom. Still, these feelings she had felt were just as fresh and new as anything she’d experienced then, combined with the maturity to know how very rare and valuable such emotions were.

  Hank put his hands on her shoulders. “However, boys, if you know the first thing about your mother, you understand she can kick my butt all on her own if the need arises. And if you know me at all, you realize the last thing I would ever do is let anybody harm one hair on this lady’s head. Are we on the same page here?”

  They all nodded, although she noticed that Matthew was a hint slower than the rest to accede.

  Hank nodded in return. “Fair enough. Now, as much as I would like to catch up on old times with you four, your mother has some official business to attend to outside.” He extended his elbow. “Ginger.”

  She thought of the gun he always carried. A skitter of unease iced up her spine. They’d caught the confessed perpetrators. Still, security would always be an issue in her job and she hated that she put Hank in harm�
�s way.

  She could almost hear him gruffing that he had his own job to perform as a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, so get off her haughty high horse.

  A smile trembled at her lips as she wondered why she couldn’t simply grab hold of this happiness. Oh, how she wished she could spend more time with them since she’d only just darted into the room a minute ago, but she truly did have obligations waiting and she needed to change for her final appearance.

  “Mom?” Sebastian’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Ginger gave her grown-up child a quick hug and blinked away the sting of tears. “Of course. I’m just sentimental at the holidays.”

  But as she and Hank both left to get ready for her final appearance on this Christmas tour, she couldn’t stop the fear that happiness would be snatched from her once again.

  Hank didn’t care that they had an entire flipping courtyard littered with security, even a sniper perched on two parapets. He still had what his youngest daughter would have called the heebie-jeebies.

  He tried not to fidget while he sat next to Ginger in the front row of chairs set up in the chapel ruins, but there were just too many people at this sunset dedication ceremony. Dignitaries, locals, media, the military aircrewmen who’d flown him and Ginger around from the start. Not to mention an orchestra, all bundled in jackets under tents erected around the chapel remains.

  An earpiece in place, he listened to the security chatter, but it did little to reassure him or stop him from scanning the area. The Christmas decorations of lit trees in every corner, live boughs, bows and floral arrangements were magnificent; still, he couldn’t help but think of the personnel who’d tromped through setting up each and every piece.

  Most of all, he couldn’t help but think of how vulnerable Ginger was, sitting next to him wearing her creamy off-white suit and a matching overcoat. She stood out like a beautiful beacon amid all the formal black and festive red.

  A Christmas angel to his Scrooge.

  They could tra-la-la all they wanted, but he was in more of a bah-humbug mood. Something felt off.

  Ginger sat perched on the edge of her chair alongside the remains of the stone altar, empty velvet bag in her lap as Franz Kohl made comments about the rarity of the crèche now nestled on the stark stone altar. As if having Ginger here in the open wasn’t enough, to up the stakes, his own kids had arrived for the event as well, showing up a mere twenty minutes before showtime.

  They all sat in the audience with Ginger’s boys, their friends since childhood. Hank eyed them lined along the front row of observers—vulnerable, even if his children were all trained Air Force warriors as well.

  His oldest, Alicia, and her husband Josh, who both flew fighter planes, passed their wide-awake baby girl back and forth to quiet her while the Minister of Arts continued his lengthy speech.

  Shifting his gaze to his own baby girl, Hank could hardly believe Darcy would be a mother soon. Part of him wanted to launch down there and protect her, but she had her special agent husband sitting next to her on one side and her navigator brother—Hank Junior—on the other. Hank couldn’t suppress the twinge of surprise at his son’s appearance, since his namesake usually checked out of family stuff, especially if “the old man” was around.

  As much as he appreciated their support in showing up, he really wished they were somewhere else tonight. He’d asked them to consider observing from the safety of the castle—but none of them would even consider it.

  “Hank,” Ginger whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “do you have your BlackBerry with you?”

  “Does a rose have thorns?” he answered softly without moving his lips. They’d gotten pretty good at near-silent ventriloquism over the years of sitting in the limelight for hours on end.

  She rested a hand on the crook of his arm. “Could you look something up for me without appearing conspicuous?”

  “No one will think it’s odd if I’m using the thing. What do you need?” He surreptitiously slid his BlackBerry from beneath his jacket and cradled it in his palm, his hand large enough most should never even notice he held it.

  “You mentioned not liking the look of Mashchenko.”

  “That’s because he was checking you out.” The lech.

  “Oh really?”

  Hank growled lowly.

  “Your instincts are usually right on. Why not run a search on him?”

  Hank’s eyes shot over to Mashchenko where the older man waited for his turn to speak after Kohl. “Now?”

  “Why not now?”

  Of course nothing about this weekend had been on anything but a breakneck timetable.

  “Okay, sure. We already know he’s not from here. He’s from the neighboring country of Kasov.” Hank tapped through to the green screen for a secure connection with deeper files and typed in Mashchenko’s name. The man had a healthy portfolio…but sketchy info on his youth. He’d certainly made something of himself from very little past, but then many did. Still. Hank went back to his original gut feeling about the attack being somehow tied into the crèche. “Where did you say the crèche came from?”

  “An auction in New York City.

  “Before that.” He eyed the velvet bag in her lap

  “The auction house had papers that traced it to a village outside of Berlin. I thought since it was a German piece, it would be nice to dedicate it to this chapel and return it to the same general area.”

  “Papers can be forged.” He gripped her arm and began hauling her out of her chair. “This ceremony is officially over—”

  A gunshot ricocheted off the stone alter, just missing the crèche.

  “Run!” Hank shouted.

  As he ran with Ginger, he searched the crowd to check on their children. Alicia and her husband scrambled to safety with the baby, while Darcy’s husband covered his pregnant wife.

  Ginger’s boys and Hank Junior were all currently being restrained—looking none too happy about it as they struggled to get to Ginger, but Hank couldn’t think of that now.

  His earpiece blared with a multitude of voices blasting conflicting instructions and reports. Ginger sprinted along with him to the side as people scattered. The crowd shrieked and dashed in mayhem, clearing the chairs and stage. Damn it. He could only guess where to turn for safety.

  The stone altar. He could tuck her into the nook in the back and they would be protected on at least three sides.

  Four more pops of gunshots launched another round of shouts. Followed by a bullhorn—and a loudspeaker. “Everyone halt. We have the gunman.”

  The words repeated in German, again in French and in Russian, until slowly the frantic mass of humanity calmed. A secret service agent inched toward Hank and Ginger. People rose from their crouched positions by chairs and columns. The echo of a mishandled instrument—some kind of string instrument—twanged. A baby whimpered.

  Still, Hank kept Ginger tucked behind the stone altar as one of the Christmas trees crashed to the ground. He wasn’t risking anything until his gut said to.

  The voices in his earpiece slowly quieted to only two or three speaking at once. In the mishmash he did hear the distressing news of a sniper down.

  His body curved around Ginger’s. Their breaths mingled in the small enclosure. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, until slowly, his synched-up with hers and he had this sappy romantic image of the two becoming one right here at the altar.

  What was the deal with that? An old salty warrior like him thinking something so sentimental? But he couldn’t deny what he felt in his gut as much as his heart.

  He loved this woman. It didn’t take anything away from Jessica, or anything away from Ginger. He was just a freaking lucky man to have such an incredible love twice in a lifetime.

  No way did he intend to let her go.

  From his hidden position, he forced himself to listen to the settling situation outside. Yes, there was a sniper down. From what he could tell, the other didn’t hav
e a clear shot behind the altar if things went bad again, if there was more than one gunman.

  Hank used his peripheral vision and found a secret service agent tackling a man with a weapon. Shouts sounded from the pile. Slowly the words became intelligible.

  “I’m not taking the fall for this. It’s him. It’s all his doing.” The gunman pointed at Igor Mashchenko, the vice-chancellor of Kasov who’d been hitting on Ginger earlier. “He hired me to shoot the crèche and destroy it,” he continued to babble, thrashing away. “My people have been trying to take it since she landed on European soil, damn it.”

  Mashchenko stood between the gunman and Hank, the vice-chancellor only ten feet away. “He is talking crazy nonsense.”

  “I am not an idiot,” the young gunman said, his racing voice beginning to slow, a cunning edge cutting the night air. “I videotaped all of our communications—and our monetary transactions.”

  Hank didn’t like how close Mashchenko stood to Ginger and began scouting for an alternative place to take cover just as—

  An ominous click, click sounded.

  Mashchenko had trained his weapon on them. “Maybe one of your security men can shoot me, if they are good enough, but I will pop a shot off first.” He lifted his head to shout, “Does everyone hear that? I have a weapon strong enough to pierce through the General and kill the lovely senator—that is, if I don’t hit her anyway.”

  Hank held tight, but it didn’t matter, damn it, because the bastard already had a gun pointed toward Ginger’s head and the sharpshooters weren’t an option any longer.

  “Why, Mashchenko?” Ginger’s voice didn’t even shake as she tried to shrug her way free of Hank, but he wasn’t budging. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You have brought that nativity back out in the open.” The older man moved closer, the lethal weapon all the closer. “The crèche would be back where it originally belonged. I tried to simply steal the crèche back, but Senator Landis never let it out of her sight. As time drew near, I’ve had to resort to desperate measures. Now that it is out there, where people in this part of the world can examine it, I will be ruined.”