Chapter Twenty-Five

Nomad

Here I go, figuring out a creative solution. Nomad sent a quick glance Elena's way.

Clearly in shock, she hugged herself and trembled.

That was okay by Nomad. As soon as she got her wits about her, she'd start asking questions and making demands.

If she asked to get out of the car, and he refused, it would be kidnapping.

He decided to stay on the highway and keep his speed up so they didn't hit a stop where she might try to jump out of the car.

He was still waiting on his orders.

And now, Elena was pulling herself together.

Wing it. "I'm undercover security," Nomad said softly but authoritatively. "I'm sorry those men got as far as they did. That shouldn't have happened. It was our duty to protect you, Elena."

"Me?" She pulled her chin back. "How do you know my name?"

Glancing quickly her way, Nomad realized his two mistakes. He'd said her name when she hadn't introduced herself that evening. And he'd saved her and left the other woman zip-tied in the van. He'd lean on his training to get out of this mess—obfuscate and then hand her the reins. "It is my duty to create a safe environment this evening. How do I know your name? It's listed on the security roll. We took pictures as the guests came through the checkpoint. We're aware of everyone who attended the ball." He sent her a smile. "My turn; do you know who that other woman was back in the truck with you?"

"No." Elena shook her head vigorously. "I mean, she tried to help me. But no. I have no idea who she is. I think she maybe wanted to rob me of my ring." She folded one hand over the other. On each finger, Elena wore various sizes of red-stoned rings. No one had stolen them from her. Nomad had no idea which one was the ring she'd hoped to sell. But she had absolutely used the singular in that sentence.

"Your ring?" He shot her a glance that he hoped read as confused. "Of all the jewels in the room tonight, why would she want your ring?"

"Oh." She tucked her hands under her thighs. "I don't know. I simply can't imagine another reason for her ... Unless she …" Elena turned her head to look out the back window. "Wait, you asked me if I knew her. I don't. Why don't you know her name when you know mine?"

"Her name is Mrs. Bland," Nomad said evenly. "I asked if you knew her. I never said that I didn't." Nomad thought that played smoothly. "But what was that thought you just had?"

"I was at the ball this evening to speak to a man about an important business transaction. I noticed that this woman was paying attention to him. She seemed to be consistently in his vicinity, shadowing him but looking around him, not at him. I'm thinking," Elena's gaze was on her lap, but she was clearly reimagining the ball, "Yes, I'm quite sure she must be part of his security. And that makes sense, doesn't it?" Elena looked over at Nomad, eyebrows pulling tightly together. "He would want to ensure my safety until we've completed the transaction."

Nomad decided that he should align with this thought process. Let her see that he was in lockstep with her. "There are places that a woman goes that a man cannot. So a female undercover—"

Elena cut him off. "And he would have been right to care for me this way. I was heading to the ladies' room when the men grabbed me. They held a knife to my ribs and forced me down the hallway to the kitchen. I thought that once I was in the kitchen, guards would be at the back door to help me. But they were not."

"And this woman?" Nomad asked.

"Yes, she came behind me, bursting through the doors. She threw a pan at one of the men holding me, and it hit him in the head. Did you see her dress? Her shoes? So impractical." Elena pinched her bottom lip. "And yet there she was fighting them. Fighting to get me free from them. She broke one of the men's arms. I heard it crack. I thought I was going to vomit." Elena pulled her hands up to cover her face. Speaking into her palms, she said, "The kitchen staff crouched on the ground, holding pans over their heads to protect themselves. She was succeeding. I thought she would get me free even if there was a man by the back door with a gun." Elena dropped her hands and faced Nomad. "You're security? You are part of the ball's security?"

"Security," Nomad said.

"But you didn't know her? I mean beyond her name."

"She's not on my team." Yeah, he didn't know how to play this scene. He simply didn't have enough information. Elena might be right about Kamal sending personal protection to cover her. That would make all the sense in the world, except for the impracticality of her red dress and high heels. Okay, he'd try this, "It sounds reasonable that the person who invited you to the ball would—"

As they drove, in his rearview, Nomad spotted a car suddenly speeding up, moving to the right of a truck already in the righthand lane. Now, all three vehicles vied for the same limited space between the walls of the underpass. The other car's driver blared his horn which echoed off the cement.

The truck driver must have startled and tried to pull away from an accident with her but over-corrected, shrieking to a stop just before he hit the wall in front of Nomad.

In his mind, it was slow motion, and that move was both ballsy and genius.

"Brace!" he yelled.

They were flung forward and back again as Nomad slammed on the brakes, bringing them to a sudden and complete stop. Elena screamed and flailed her arms. One of her rings caught on his face. As the truck came to rest directly in their path, Nomad felt the bite of the prongs slashing his forehead.

The person driving the truck applied their brakes, bringing them to a sudden shrieking stop.

The other car that put him in this tactical configuration was now in front of the truck.

The truck rested diagonally across the underpass, blocking any forward movement on this highway.

Nomad's stolen vehicle was a hair's breadth from the wall.

Not a single vehicle was damaged.

Not a single person hurt.

But just like with the van accident earlier, Nomad could not open his door. He couldn't back up for the traffic piling up behind him. And he certainly couldn't find a way out of the passenger's side because of his size. He was trapped.

A tickle of blood dripped down his cheek.

Nomad watched with zero surprise as not-Mrs. Bland approached their car, her voluminous skirt piled over her arm, exposing shapely legs. She was like something out of Hollywood, and Nomad felt compelled to give her a round of applause. Instead, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

Not-Mrs. Bland opened the door, crouching down to be eye-to-eye with Elena. "Thank goodness!" she said, all care and concern. She reached over and unclasped Elena's seatbelt. "I've got you. You're safe now, Elena." She handed Elena a phone.

Elena stared at it with confusion, then looked up to catch not-Mrs. Bland's gaze. "Thank you for getting this back to me."

Now, the woman in red was close enough that Nomad could see heavy bruising up the side of her legs.

Nomad's heart pounded in his chest.

Was it possible?

He stared hard at her in the partial glow of the overhead light, trying to see past any CIA-taught makeup skills.

Then he snapped himself back to reality. He didn't know who this woman was. Elena was his mission. How could he keep control?

He didn't grab at Elena or try to stop this. It would have been illegal and also pointless. Men trapped in the traffic jam behind him would climb from their cars and intervene. The best he could do was let Elena go and track her to the next site with the trackers he'd planted.

Nomad pressed his handkerchief to staunch the blood flow before it hit his white shirt. He did have to go back and retrieve Frau Leitner.

Elena was obviously weighing the situation. He had saved her, and the woman in red had fought to save her. In the end, Nomad imagined her reasoning that not-Mrs. Bland was connected to the ring and Kamal, while Nomad was event security. She made the decision that Nomad would have made; she went willingly with the woman in red.

Holding Elena's hand, not-Mrs. Bland leaned in and pointed at his wound. "You're good, right?"

He felt the rebuke like the sting of a whip's lash. He felt like an utter cad.

***

The truck driver apologized, corrected the truck on the road, and continued with his night. Nomad drove back to the city where he parked the car a few miles from the gala, found a taxi on the cross street, and gave them an address around the corner from the ball.

Hard to hide where he was heading; he was wearing a penguin suit.

After dabbing his forehead to ensure he hadn't started bleeding again, Nomad paid the taxi in cash and walked toward the ball. He was surprised that there weren't police cars everywhere. He had some guesses as to why. The Society had a great deal of pull and would handle things quietly. Their guests should not be upset, and the paparazzi would have no access to pictures or stories.

But they wouldn't know about the dead bodies yet. This event wasn't going to go quietly into the night.

It was actually kind of eerie and strange that he could just pull his valet ticket from his pocket and let the same man that he'd shoved on his butt know that he was ready to leave.

Undoubtedly, the man knew who he was. And yet, nothing.

"Little bit creepy," as his mom liked to say on dark nights in ancient cities.

After showing his ticket at the entrance, Nomad moved through the security steps, then down the grand staircase to the ballroom where Frau Leitner, still asleep, perched like a china doll on the satin couch. He crouched in front of her, capturing her neatly folded hands in his.

When she blinked her eyes open, he smiled at her, "Cinderella, the clock is about to strike midnight. Do you think I should take you home?"