He did examine his combat knife and decided that wasn’t a bad idea, so he tucked the sheath into the back of his jeans.
Ian was so damn pissed. They would have been fine if that blowhard of a secretary of hers hadn’t opened his trap. Nobody knew where they were. Sofie had been nicely anonymous.
But the best news he’d gotten was that the authorities in Aubonne had shut down the main terrorist cell, and Homeland had stopped two suspected assassins from entering the country.
They were so close to ending this nonsense, but now because of one person, Sofie was in more danger than anyone else.
There was a crash at the back of the house, glass breaking, and Ian kicked into gear.
From the corner of his eye, he could see two bodies in motion through the sidelights by the front door.
His bureau training would serve him well, but it was his special ops training that might possibly save them both.
He had to give the bastards credit. Timing this attack during a storm meant it would be that much harder for help to reach them. He didn’t know how many people he was dealing with, and he only hoped Sofie would be safe locked in the closet upstairs.
Not counting the subjects at the front door, he knew he had hostiles in the house, Ian didn’t know how many, but was obviously outnumbered. Ian had to count on not only his wits, but his knowledge of his environment and his training to get him through. Aubonne, for all the things it did well, had a small army that did very little except appear in parades and to provide occasional protection to the royal family.
Ian was a combat-tested Army Ranger who had engaged in hand-to-hand combat with more than a few bad guys. Unless Aubonnian rebels were fucking ninjas, he should be able to handle the assassins sent for the princess.
Sofie. Normally a calm man, Ian felt the rage bubble up inside him. He didn’t care how much blood he had to shed, or how many dead bodies were left in his wake, Ian wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Sofie.
Not while he was still breathing.
According to the clock on the phone she was holding, Sofie had been in the closet for only ten minutes when she heard voices. There were two or three, but she couldn’t tell anything else. Not right away. Watching the rain come down, Sofie was figuring out her best option. The roof was too wet, she’d slide right off, and that was a lot different than easing her way down.
Not to mention, she didn’t know who was outside. There may have been a couple of
people in the house, but there was no guarantee there weren’t more outside even with the storm raging.
There was banging at the bedroom door and eventually a crash which indicated they’d broken in. Two voices. Louis definitely, and a woman. Mariette. Her bodyguard. This infiltration had gone as high as state security. No wonder all the plans were telegraphed. The question was, why hadn’t she killed her sooner? She’d had more than enough opportunity, why wait? And where was Ian? What had happened to him?
“Sofia,” Mariette called. Stronza. The woman was nothing but a two-faced bitch.
“There’s no reason to hide, princess. You’re safe now. We have a boat waiting to take you home.”
A boat? To take her home to her landlocked country? Across the Atlantic? More lies, and on top of that, they thought she was stupid. They were probably going to throw her overboard in the storm. She’d drown for sure and they could say what a tragedy it was when they tried to rescue her.
There was a jiggling of the door handle, and Sofie grasped the hockey stick that had been stored in the closet. Between that and the cleaning products she’d found in a storage box, she was all set. They might try to take her, but she wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.
“This is locked,” Louis said.
“She must be in there. I checked the other rooms, the only thing I found next door were four empty condom wrappers. Once a whore, always a whore.”
Sofie cringed at the words.
There was a thud against the heavy door, then another and Sofie flinched with each one.
Where was Ian? Was he dead? How had this happened?
Finally, after several more hits, Louis came flying into the closet. He turned to where she was crouched on the floor and came at her. His large, blue eyes were bulging and all Sofie could think was that she had one chance to get the upper hand. One.
She whipped the spray bottle of window cleaner from behind her back and sprayed it
three times in his face. He screamed, but not nearly as much as when she rammed the butt end of the hockey stick right into his balls. He yowled and fell over, blocking the entrance just enough that Mariette couldn’t get at her easily.
Louis, the poor bastard, was clutching his crotch with one hand and his face with the other. He wasn’t saying much because he couldn’t really breathe.