All that being the case, Christian supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to discover Angel was in Europe.
Yet he was. “Anyone know what Angel is doing in France?” he asked.
“He’s not in France. At least not yet anyway. When I called headquarters to tell them the cheese had hit the grater, I found out he was doing some work in Bruges. He’s in his car right now. If he takes the highway the whole way and doesn’t run into traffic, he’ll beat us to Calais.”
“Jamin Agassi.” Ace shook his head. “International man of mystery.”
“Better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” Zoelner said. “Which brings me back to this fishing-boat guy in Dover.”
“Right.” Chelsea exited the loo while still in the process of pulling on a jumper—orsweater, as the Americans called it. She had immediately set off to change clothes after they burst through the door of the flat, ready to grab their bits and bobs and jet back to the States.
Was that really only five minutes ago?A look at the clock on the wall confirmed that it was.Oh, how time flies when you’renothaving fun.
“That’smyquestion,” Chelsea continued, joining the group around the piled rucksacks. “How do you know this man, Emily?”
“He was an asset to one of the agents run by my FAS,” Emily explained. “I helped him out of a pretty gnarly jam before I quit the Company to work for BKI. Now he’s ready to do the same for me, forus.” Her tough, South Side Chicago accent made the wordforsound more likefer.That toughness encased inside such a tender-looking package had been making Christian’s inner hound dog sit up and pant from the beginning.
“Dover is more than seventy miles away.” He ran through scenarios in his head. “We’ll need to rent a car.”
They had been using public transportation to get around London to avoid the headache and the paper trail involved in purchasing a vehicle for the mission. But with the APW out on Chelsea, hopping a bus or riding the train was out of the question.
“Already taken care of.” Emily grinned. “The minute my Dover connection agreed to sail us across the Channel, I called that motorcycle shop three blocks down. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed the sign in their front window said they rented bikes for day trips. So I got us three Ducatis.” She made a face. “I wanted five. I hate riding bitch. But three was all they had, which means Chelsea and I will bow to your fragile male egos.” She sighed like this was the greatest sacrifice ever. “The bikes should be delivered any minute now, and once they are, we’ll bid a fond cheerio to merry ol’ London.”
“Ducatis?” Christian made a face. “Are you off your trolley? It’s bloody cold outside. Would not a car or a van have been the better choice?”
Unlike the other Black Knights, he didnotride a custom Harley back in Chicago. Black Knights Inc. operated out of a custom chopper shop, a good cover since most of the Knights were burly, tattooed, and prone to sporting denim and leather. But Christian liked his wheels to count to four, thank you very much. And he far preferred a mode of transportation that provided a roof over his head should the weather turn inclement.
“And what if we encounter traffic on the A2?” Emily lifted a pert eyebrow. In fact, come to think of it,everythingabout her was pert. “We’ll be a lot more maneuverable on bikes. And this is no time to dillydally. As for the cold, it’s notthatcold.”
“But—” Whatever argument Christian might have made—and hehadbeen about to make one, because the entire conversation wouldn’t feel right if he hadn’t at least hadonego-round with Emily—was cut off when the sounds of street bikes echoed up from below.
“They’re playing our song.” Ace bent to lift his rucksack. He slung the straps over his shoulders, stopped to grab his coat and gloves from the hall tree by the door, and exited the flat without as much as a backward glance. The rest of the group wasted no time following suit.
Left with no choice but to shoulder his own rucksack, Christian grabbed his cold-weather gear and trudged down the four flights while shrugging into his coat. He glanced at his watch and realized only seven minutes had passed since they’d burst through the door to the flat. Seven minuscule minutes. And now they were out the door and on their way with a brand-new plan.
Emily Scott is a wonder, he admitted to himself. Of course, he would never admit as much to her.
Pushing through the building’s front door, he found three exquisitely engineered Italian-made motorcycles waiting for them. Unlike the fantastical choppers the Knights designed back in Chicago, the Ducatis were built for one thing only: speed. And loads of it.
Watching his two teammates each chose a bike and shake the hand of the man dropping it off, Christian desperately missed his Porsche back in Chicago. All those lovely horses in her engine. Two doors. A rather wonderful sound system. And the smell of rich, handcrafted leather.
“You do know how to ride, don’t you?” Emily asked. The sun chose that moment to peek through the clouds, running bright fingers through her brown hair and bringing out the gold and auburn highlights that wove through the darker strands. She really was quite an arresting-looking woman. And that beauty mark high on her cheek made him oddly excited.
“Just because I choosenotto do something doesn’t mean I’m incapable of it,” he told her.
“Well, then, let’s pretend for a minute that you’re someone less uptight, someone who likes to get a little dirty, someone…else, and mount up.”
To his complete bewilderment, and as had been the case since she’d set foot inside the BKI compound a few months ago, she was trying to get his goat. For once, he refused to let her.
“Oooh,” he crooned and gifted her with a toothy grin. “I do so love role play, darling. Tell me more about my character.”
“How about, just for today, you trynotto be a wiener on a half shell?”
For a moment, he stared at her, drawing blank on a comeback to that little bon mot. Damnit! She had bested him again. He was overcome with the urge to either shake her or kiss her senseless. Both options would surely shush that wickedly quick mouth of hers, but only the second would give him anyrealrelief. “Devil take you, Emily.”
“Not likely.” A smile pulled at her tempting lips. “The devil wouldn’t know what to do with the likes of me.”
Before he could tell her that he wholeheartedly agreed, Zoelner asked Chelsea, “Who do you want to ride with?” The words and tone were casual, but Christian could read the strain on Zoelner’s face.
