‘There’s a woman stuck on the south wall, boss. What do you want us to do with her?’
Wolfe pulled up in the middle of an arched hallway in Château Verne and pressed his phone a little tighter to his ear. ‘On the wall?’
‘The very top,’ repeated Eric, one of the more junior members of Wolfe’s security team.
Wolfe tensed. Perfect. Most likely another interfering journalist, trying to get the scoop on his friend’s extravagant wedding to the daughter of a controversial American politician. They hadn’t let up all day, circling the château like starving buzzards. But none had been brazen enough to go over the wall yet. Of course he’d been prepared for the possibility—the reason they now had this little intruder in hand.
‘Name?’
‘Says she’s Ava de Veers, Princess of Anders.’
A princess climbing over a forty-foot brick wall? Wolfe didn’t think so. ‘ID?’
‘No ID in her handbag. Says she had a car accident and it must have fallen out.’
Clever.
‘Camera?’
‘Check.’
Wolfe considered his options. Even from inside the thick walls of the château he could hear the irritating whine of distant media choppers as they hovered just outside the established no-fly zone. With the wedding still three hours away he’d better extend the security perimeters before there were any more breaches.
‘Want me to take her back to base, boss?’
‘No.’ Wolfe shot his hand through his hair. He’d rather turf her back over the wall than give her even more access to the property by taking her to the outer cottage his men were temporarily using. And he would—after he had established her identity and satisfied himself that she wasn’t a real threat. ‘Leave her where she’s perched.’ He was about to ring off when he had another thought. ‘And, Eric, keep your gun on her until I get there.’ That would teach her for entering a private function without an invitation.
‘Ah…you mean keep her on the wall?’
When Eric hesitated Wolfe knew right then that the woman was attractive.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’ For all he knew she could be a political nutcase instead of an overzealous journo. ‘And don’t engage in any conversation with her until I get there.’
Wolfe trusted his men implicitly, but the last thing he needed was some smoking Mata Hari doing a number on their head.
‘Yes, sir.’
Wolfe pocketed his phone. This would mean he wouldn’t be able to start the pre-wedding game of polo Gilles had organised. Annoying, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d offered to run security for Gilles’s wedding because it was what he did, and the job always came first.
Once outside, Wolfe found Gilles and his merry band already waiting for him at the stables, the horses groomed and saddled and raring to go. Wolfe ran his gaze over the roguish white Arabian that Gilles had promised him. He’d missed his daily gym workout this morning and had been looking forward to putting the stallion through his paces.
Hell, he still could. Taking the reins from the handler, he swung easily onto the giant of a horse. The stallion shifted restlessly beneath his weight and Wolfe automatically reached forward to pat his neck, breathing in the strong scent of horse and leather. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Achilles.’
His mouth quirked and Gilles shrugged. ‘Apollo was taken and he’s a bloody contrary animal. You should enjoy each other.’
Wolfe laughed at his aristocratic friend. Years ago they had forged an unbreakable bond when they had trained together for selection on an elite military task force. They’d been there for each other during the tough times and celebrated during the good. Inevitably Gilles had started sprouting reams of poetry and Greek myths to stay awake when they’d spent long hours waiting for something to happen. By contrast Wolfe, a rugged Australian country boy, had used a more simple method. Sheer grit and stubborn determination. A trait that had served him well when he had swapped special ops for software development and created what was currently the most sophisticated computer spyware on the planet.
Wolfe Inc had been forged around that venture, and when his younger brother had joined him they’d expanded into every aspect of the security business. But where his brother thrived on the corporate life Wolfe preferred the freedom of being able to mix things up a little. He even kept his hand in on some of the more hairy covert ops some governments called consultants in to take care of. He had to get his adrenaline high from something other than his beloved Honda CBR.
‘Always the dreamer, Monsieur le Marquis,’ he drawled.
‘Just a man who knows how to have balance in his life, Ice,’ Gilles countered good-naturedly, calling Wolfe by his old military nickname. He swung onto the back of a regal-looking bay. ‘You should try it some time, my friend.’
‘I’ve got plenty of balance in my life,’ Wolfe grunted, thinking about the Viennese blonde he’d been glad to see the back of a month ago. ‘No need to worry your pretty head on that score.’
Achilles snorted and tossed his nose in challenge as Wolfe took up the reins.
‘I won’t be joining you just yet. I need to check on an issue that’s come up.’ He kept his tone deliberately bland so as not to alarm his friend, who should be concentrating on why he was signing his life away to a woman in matrimony rather than why a woman was currently sitting on one of his outer walls. ‘Achilles and I will join you in a few.’
The horse pulled against the bit and Wolfe smiled. There was nothing quite like using all his skills to master a difficult animal, and he wondered if Gilles would consider selling him. He already liked the unmanageable beast.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that much easier to scale a high brick wall as an adult, Ava conceded. In fact it had been downright scary and had shown her how unfit she was. Her arm muscles were aching in protest. It hadn’t helped when she’d discovered the ancient chestnut tree she had been relying on to help her down the other side had been removed, and then two trained security guards wielding machine guns had happened upon her.
She hadn’t considered that Gilles would have hired extra security for the wedding, but in hindsight she should have done. Naturally the men hadn’t believed her about the car accident, and now all she needed was for one of those media helicopters she could hear to zero in on her and her joyous day would just about be complete.
It was all Gilles’s fault, she grouched to herself, eyeing the uneven terrain at her feet where the magnificent tree had once stood. And surely they’d raised the height of the wall since the last time she’d climbed it as a tearaway twelve-year-old.
Shifting uncomfortably, she eyed the two killers camouflaged in street clothes below, glad she was conversant in English. She knew no self-respecting Frenchman would ever be seen mixing flannel with corduroy. ‘If you would just check a couple of hundred metres up the road you’ll find my car and realise that I am telling you the truth,’ she repeated, struggling to hold back the temper her father had often complained was as easy to strike up as a match. Which actually wasn’t true. It took special powers to induce her to lose the plot.
‘Sorry, ma’am. Boss’s orders.’ That from the one who looked slightly more sympathetic than the other—although that was like saying snow was colder than ice.
‘Fine. But I have a headache and I’d like to get down.’
‘Sorry, ma’am—’
‘Boss’s orders,’ Ava finished asininely, wondering what the two men would do if she decided to jump. Not an entirely practical option since she would likely