Chains of Fire Read Free Page B

trustworthy leader of the Chosen Ones.
    Samuel wanted to laugh in triumph. How he had enjoyed this!
    Instead he spoke with cool composure. “There’s nothing more I require.”
    Maybe a good stiff drink , Dina suggested.
    “Very good. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Wagner stood again.
    Samuel walked toward the door. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, also.”
    “I trust now that your business is concluded, you’ll have a chance to experience our magnificent skiing. It has been a record year for snow.” Wagner pressed the button on the wall. The doors swung open. “I’ve lived here twenty years, and I’ve never seen powder this deep.”
    They walked into the corridor and toward the elevator. The guards fell in behind them.
    “Tonight I’m going to Monastère for the party benefitting the World Children’s Literacy Foundation; then, alas, tomorrow I must return to New York,” Samuel said.
    “Probably just as well. There’s a storm coming in. Just wind, they’re saying, but that always makes the slopes dangerous. Avalanche weather, you know.”
    Samuel didn’t know, but he smiled and nodded, wanting nothing more than to clear out of here before Wagner realized what had been done and why. “That’s it, then.”
    They shook hands.
    The guard punched the elevator button.
    The doors opened and Samuel stepped in.
    The doors started to close—and right before they snapped shut, Wagner stuck his arm in.
    The doors reopened.
    “We should probably clarify one matter.” Wagner frowned.
    Samuel’s heart stopped.
    Wagner asked, “Will someone else return to claim the contents of the safety-deposit box?”
    Samuel stepped back out of the elevator. “The safety-deposit box?”

Chapter 3

    Monastère, Switzerland

    A t first Isabelle Mason thought the bump from behind was an accident. The ballroom was, after all, full of guests wearing designer clothing, expensive jewelry, and subtle colognes, all ostensibly to support the World Children’s Literacy Foundation.
    Then a maternal hand slid its way around Isabelle’s waist, and in perfectly accented French, Patricia Mason asked, “Ambassador, would you forgive me if I steal my daughter away for a moment? I need her help.”
    Isabelle glanced around to find her mother, thin and elegant, standing at her side, and she tried not to look surprised at the interruption. Because for all Patricia’s graceful, fragile appearance, Isabelle knew her mother was perfectly capable of directing this party, auditing the charity’s books, and arranging next year’s vacation in Aspen all at the same time. She most certainly did not require Isabelle’s help.
    Michel Moreau managed to contain his skepticism, also; Patricia Mason was famed for her competence. Instead he kissed Isabelle’s fingers, a lingering yet respectful kiss the French performed so expertly. He bowed to Patricia Mason. “Madam, your party is, as always, a tribute to charity and elegance.” With a smile, he made his way toward the buffet, leaving Patricia and Isabelle alone in the midst of the crowd.
    For all of her urgency, Patricia took a moment to stare after the balding, stylish Moreau. “Such a charming man. Such aristocratic lineage. Why couldn’t you have married him?”
    Isabelle did not sigh. There was no point. She’d heard it all before, and until she married the proper man, she would continue to hear it. “Because Michel is twice my age. And half my height. And he’s already married.”
    “I suppose. But—”
    “Mother, I can’t believe that’s why you interrupted our conversation. He was about to get out his checkbook to make a sizable donation to the foundation.”
    “I’m sorry, dear.” Patricia patted Isabelle’s hand. “You do make the gentlemen loosen their purse strings in a formidable way.”
    “I learned from the best. Now—what’s wrong?”
    Recalled to her grievance, Patricia said, “Look. There!”
    Something had put an edge to her