Playing for Keeps by Cherry Adair Page B

front as the truck hurtled past the openmouthed, uniformed guards, around the large stone fountain and wobbled crazily up the grand stairway leading from the sweeping gravel driveway directly into the public rooms of the palace. People poured out of various wings, like ants at a picnic, as the vehicle came to a shuddering, smoking stop, wedged partially inside the giant double doors.
    “Very dramatic,” she said admiringly as the truck gave an exaggerated death rattle and spewed a plume of steam from the gaping mouth of the hood.
    “Wasn’t it, though?” Jon said, turning to run his gaze over her. “Any damaged body parts?”
    She held up a finger. “Broken nail. You?”
    “My nails are just fine.” He jerked his head toward the front of the hissing, smoking, pinging truck and the horde of men striding toward them. “Check out who’s coming this way to greet us in all his pompous, sleazy glory.”
    Danica tucked her hair behind her ears with shaking fingers. Just seeing the monster, knowing what he’d done to her, what he planned to do to the president, made her breath hitch and her palms sweat. “He looks a trifle cranky, don’t you think?”
    “Oh, yeah,” Jon said with satisfaction. “That bemused guy next to him must be the president. Why don’t you hop out and go give old Ed a big hug?”
    “Why don’t I?” Unfortunately, it was a little hard to “hop out” since the truck was wedged firmly between the heavy wooden doors of the palace. Vera broke away from the president and his entourage and started drifting backward. “Oh, damn. Lookit, he’s slithering away!”
    “Come on.” Jon stood on the seat and held out his hand. “This way.” He helped her through the broken windshield, onto the hood of the truck, and then, assisted by some very confused gentlemen, onto the marble floor. Jon jerked his head toward Vera, who had his back to them as he tried to squeeze through the various palace personnel and make a break for it.
    “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and ran after the chief of security. People parted for them like the Red Sea.
    As he ran, Jon started shouting in rapid-fire Spanish. With much screaming and drama, everyone scattered. “Hey! Ed!” Jon yelled, closing in on the man, Danica trying to keep pace with his long strides.
    There was a small flight of shallow marble steps leading off the grand entrance to the bowels of the palace. Vera’s shoes tapped out an imperative beat as he ran. Danica eyed the back of his shiny black head then launched herself off the landing, slamming into him. She clung like a monkey, arms and legs wrapped about him as he crashed to the floor face-first. They sprawled there, Danica on top as if the entire move had been choreographed, her thighs straddling his butt. Her knees stung like fire, and she’d bitten her tongue as they landed hard, but she punched the air with a fist and gave a rebel yell.
    Then, leaning close to the terrified man beneath her, Danica said, “Let’s see you blow me up now, asshole!”
    Jon jumped lightly down the stairs and held a nice, big, black gun to Vera’s temple. Then he roared with laughter.

    Raven wasn’t laughing an hour later as he paced outside Dani’s bedroom door. The musty-smelling corridor, with its funky-colored wallpaper, lined with useless antiques, was crowded with people, from el presidente’s weird-looking kid and members of his cabinet to a dozen dark-suited men from the FAA, the NTSB, Interpol, and other assorted agencies.
    Raven stormed the length of the corridor–194 paces–and back again-for the fifth time.
    What the hell was taking so long?
    The president of San Cristóbal had been in there, alone, with Dani, for thirty-four minutes. Thirty-five minutes. He sure as shit didn’t want to speak to the alphabet soups, all spit-and-polished in their official-issue suits, who kept trying to question him.
    He tilted his wrist to see the face of his watch in the gloom. Thirty-seven minutes.
    She