The Makeover Mission Read Free Page A

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her eyes again.
    But Gray-eyes had his own agenda.
    "We're thirty-two thousand feet above the Atlantic
Ocean," he remarked, his voice calm and level. "We should be landing
in a little over two hours, given our present rate of speed."
    "Landing where?"
    "Dubruchek."
    "And Dubruchek is where?" Jane wrapped her arms around
herself to keep from shaking.
    "Dubruchek is the capital city of Vendari. A small, very
important mountain country in the Balkans."
    "Important to whom?"
    "To a lot of people." He shifted in his seat, leaning
forward, his fingers splayed across his knees as if they were discussing the
weather. It was then she saw the gun peeping out from a shoulder holster he
wore and knew, like a swift kick to the head, that this was not a dream. It was
a nightmare.
    "I know this is all very confusing."
    That was an understatement if she'd ever heard one. But something
in his look told her he'd have little patience for pithy comments.
    "Vendari is a monarchy sandwiched between two larger, and
unstable countries, which makes it of strategic importance to the United
States."
    Great, she wakes up to a strange man and a throbbing head only to
get a geography lesson.
    He continued. "It's a monarchy with its own history of
bloodshed and violence. Its last king, Zhitomir Vassilivich Tarkioff, was
assassinated twenty years ago."
    "And this means what?"
    "Since then they've undergone two attempted coups." He
was ignoring her. "Again, not without bloodshed."
    "What does this have to do with me?"
    His gaze asked for patience, his voice gave nothing away.
    "Today Vendari is ruled by King Viktor Stanislaus
Tarkioff."
    "The man with the medals?" It was a wild guess, but
obviously right on target as she saw his glance narrow, his hands tighten
minutely.
    "Yes, the man with the medals."
    "And what is his relationship to Elena?"
    Instead of answering directly, Gray-eyes leaned back in his seat,
his gaze shifting to scan the horizon out the row of small windows, his
expression blank.
    She thought he might have sighed before he turned to face her
again. "Elena Illanya Rostov is the king's fiancée."
    If she thought pushing for answers was going to make things
clearer, she was wrong. She was more confused now than when they had started
this bizarre conversation.
    "I don't get it." Ignoring the pain it caused, she shook
her head, and tightened the grip of her hands wrapped around her arms.
"Why does it matter that I look like this Elena Ro…Ros…"
    "Rostov."
    "Why does it matter that I look like her?"
    "Take my word for it that it does. That's all."
    Obviously she wasn't going to get any more information. At least
for now. He rose from his seat, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of
pressed khaki pants, uneasy about something. He walked away and she guessed it
did not bode well for her.
    Lucius glanced out the window, seeing nothing, buying time, even
seconds worth of time. How had things unraveled so quickly? Had it been only
minutes ago that he was thankful Jane Richards wasn't in hysterics or fighting
him tooth and nail? Not that he'd blame either reaction. But he wasn't getting
that.
    His limited research had informed him she'd taken a job as a
librarian straight out of college, was dependable and conscientious in her
habits, didn't even have an outstanding parking ticket to her name and, if a
bit boring, could be expected to behave in a rational manner.
    What they had neglected to discover was that she was also a woman
who had a quick and ready intelligence. One able to control herself under the
most extreme circumstances, and one who was unlikely to accept pat and pretty
answers about what was going on.
    Things were going to hell in a hand basket.
    "You're not answering my question." She sounded almost
prissy.
    If he didn't think it would get him into hot water he'd smile at
her tone. Didn't she realize he was the one in the position of dictating—not
her?
    He turned to face her, wondering if he was doing it for her
sake—or