She refused to let the lump welling in her throat steal her ability to say the words hammering at her heart. “We probably only have a minute or two before the security folks unleash the kids on us, so I’m going to talk fast because I don’t want to wait another second to say a few things that should have been said a long time ago.”
“Okay.” He settled back into his seat, warding off a circling police officer who obviously wanted a word with him.
Her heart pounding, hopeful, she gasped in a deep breath of the icy night air. “You asked about me being afraid. About my feelings when I lost Benjamin. What happened out here tonight made me remember that there are no guarantees of tomorrow. This is a scary world we live in—whether it’s a terrorist, a crook or a fluke of fate.”
“Where does that revelation leave us?”
“Oh, Hank, it made me realize I’m an extremely brave woman. Sure I’m scared. Who wouldn’t be? But you’re more than worth the risk. We’re worth the risk.”>“Okay, sure. We already know he’s not from here. He’s from the neighboring country of Kasov.” Hank tapped through to the green screen for a secure connection with deeper files and typed in Mashchenko’s name. The man had a healthy portfolio…but sketchy info on his youth. He’d certainly made something of himself from very little past, but then many did. Still. Hank went back to his original gut feeling about the attack being somehow tied into the crèche. “Where did you say the crèche came from?”
“An auction in New York City.
“Before that.” He eyed the velvet bag in her lap
“The auction house had papers that traced it to a village outside of Berlin. I thought since it was a German piece, it would be nice to dedicate it to this chapel and return it to the same general area.”
“Papers can be forged.” He gripped her arm and began hauling her out of her chair. “This ceremony is officially over—”
A gunshot ricocheted off the stone alter, just missing the crèche.
“Run!” Hank shouted.
As he ran with Ginger, he searched the crowd to check on their children. Alicia and her husband scrambled to safety with the baby, while Darcy’s husband covered his pregnant wife.
Ginger’s boys and Hank Junior were all currently being restrained—looking none too happy about it as they struggled to get to Ginger, but Hank couldn’t think of that now.
His earpiece blared with a multitude of voices blasting conflicting instructions and reports. Ginger sprinted along with him to the side as people scattered. The crowd shrieked and dashed in mayhem, clearing the chairs and stage. Damn it. He could only guess where to turn for safety.
The stone altar. He could tuck her into the nook in the back and they would be protected on at least three sides.
Four more pops of gunshots launched another round of shouts. Followed by a bullhorn—and a loudspeaker. “Everyone halt. We have the gunman.”
The words repeated in German, again in French and in Russian, until slowly the frantic mass of humanity calmed. A secret service agent inched toward Hank and Ginger. People rose from their crouched positions by chairs and columns. The echo of a mishandled instrument—some kind of string instrument—twanged. A baby whimpered.
Still, Hank kept Ginger tucked behind the stone altar as one of the Christmas trees crashed to the ground. He wasn’t risking anything until his gut said to.
The voices in his earpiece slowly quieted to only two or three speaking at once. In the mishmash he did hear the distressing news of a sniper down.
His body curved around Ginger’s. Their breaths mingled in the small enclosure. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, until slowly, his synched-up with hers and he had this sappy romantic image of the two becoming one right here at the altar.
What was the deal with that? An old salty warrior like him thinking something so sentimental? But he couldn’t deny what he felt in his gut as much as his heart.
He loved this woman. It didn’t take anything away from Jessica, or anything away from Ginger. He was just a freaking lucky man to have such an incredible love twice in a lifetime.
No way did he intend to let her go.
From his hidden position, he forced himself to listen to the settling situation outside. Yes, there was a sniper down. From what he could tell, the other didn’t have a clear shot behind the altar if things went bad again, if there was more than one gunman.
Hank used his peripheral vision and found a secret service agent tackling a man with a weapon. Shouts sounded from the pile. Slowly the words became intelligible.
“I’m not taking the fall for this. It’s him. It’s all his doing.” The gunman pointed at Igor Mashchenko, the vice-chancellor of Kasov who’d been hitting on Ginger earlier. “He hired me to shoot the crèche and destroy it,” he continued to babble, thrashing away. “My people have been trying to take it since she landed on European soil, damn it.”
Mashchenko stood between the gunman and Hank, the vice-chancellor only ten feet away. “He is talking crazy nonsense.”
“I am not an idiot,” the young gunman said, his racing voice beginning to slow, a cunning edge cutting the night air. “I videotaped all of our communications—and our monetary transactions.”
Hank didn’t like how close Mashchenko stood to Ginger and began scouting for an alternative place to take cover just as—
An ominous click, click sounded.