An Emissary
Flicka von Hannover
A proposition and a revelation.
The next day, Flicka was on edge every time someone walked by the door to their suite, even though Raphael had assured her that nothing would happen that day. She took an extra-long trip to the park just in case she might be able to find an opening to grab Alina and dart away into the crowd, but the Russianguards’ eyes followed their every move. When she went to drink from the water fountain, several of the guards followed her, and others moved closer to Alina, watching around them.
Flicka strolled around Alina and the other children playing on the slides and swings as snow fluttered through the late November air. Alina had good clothes now, thick tights, a warm coat, and fluffy gloves, and sheloved playing outside in the cold.
Walking around the playground kept Flicka warm enough to deal with the Swiss weather. She’d spent the summer in the sun-scalded desert of Las Vegas and was living in Geneva, Switzerland for the alpine winter. Something was terribly wrong with that.
Well, yes, somethingwasterribly wrong, and she had to find a way to escape from it.
After the park, it wasback to the Mirabaud mansion for more hours of tedious terror, always suspecting that the next footsteps outside the suite’s door might result in the doors being kicked in and bullets spraying the room.
She practiced silent scales on the electronic piano while Alina napped, then worked on some pieces she knew from memory. Heck, let’s face it, she knewhundredsof pieces from memory, maybethousands.She ran through some quickly, just letting her fingers remember, and then worked on the Prelude in G-Minor by Rachmaninoff to make her mind stop tearing itself to bits.
Flicka didn’t know how she had lived like this for over a month. The human body and soul could adapt to anything.
Afterward, as she sat on the floor with Alina, playing with dolls that were talking to each other in simple Frenchsentences, a quiet knock pattered at the doors.
Murderers would probably knock more forcefully.
Without standing up, Flicka called, “Come in!”
Sophie let herself in and stood in the doorway, leaving the door open behind her. Her hands climbed over themselves, and she stared out the tall windows at the fog-covered sun.
Alina asked,“Grand-maman?”and waddled over to hug her.
Sophie pattedthe toddler hanging on her leg and said to Flicka, “You have a visitor. I think you should talk to him.”
Confusion blew through Flicka.
The Russian guards standing on either side of the door glanced at each other but didn’t say anything.
After the brouhaha when Anaïs,Océane, and the other women had visited all at once, the girls had been more circumspect, coming over to the house singly orno more than two at a time to chat and gossip. It was a relief to have people to talk to, and Flicka breezed through those days with extra energy.
However, having them over irritated Valerian and Sophie, both of whom had been angry as hell for days about it the first time. Every new visit reminded them that Flicka had somehow made contact with the outside world, and people knew she was there.
That knowledge may have already saved her and Alina’s lives.
Flicka had hidden that burner cell phone extra well because it was, quite literally, her ace in the hole. At some point, it might become more dangerous for her not to call Wulfram than to call him.
Plus, Flickaneededpeople to talk to. She was going stir crazy.
But the way Sophie had said that Flickahad a visitor,and she shouldtalk tohim,didn’t sound like one of the Mirabaud girls had shown up for tea and cookies.
“Who is it?” Flicka asked her.
Sophie’s quick glance looked guilty. “I didn’t get his name. He said he has a message for you from Pierre Grimaldi. He seems like a nice young man, so very handsome, and so very—” she trailed off like she was trying to dream the words,“—attractive.”
Oh.
Flicka staggeredto her feet and ran through the hallway to peer over the railing at her visitor standing in the foyer downstairs.
For a moment, with the black-clad man in silhouette against the fog and stormy lake, Flicka thought everything looked black and white.
The tall, slim man wore a dark suit, and he was looking at the gray expanse of Lake Geneva beyond the towering windows of the house’s rear wall.His black hair curled over his collar like he needed a haircut.
