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Their faces weren’t set with determination to meet the moment and finish a mission.
Those were the expressions of men who wanted to exact vengeance.
If Red was forced to define those four men and make a call on what was happening, she’d stake her reputation that they were part of the treasure-hunting group that had successfully found the Fire of the Desert and taken it to Dr. Klien for identification. Five of them should have been sufficient to maintain control of the ring. Any more, and it would have gone negative in terms of attention and pressure on Klein.
Yes, Red believed these were the four that were left behind.
Their teammates dead, their work vanished, they wanted the ring, and they wanted retribution.
If they had the skill to find the ring, they had the skill to find Elena. In doing so, they’d probably come to the same conclusion as Color Code: that the ball was a public opportunity.Otherwise, she’d go to ground and finding her would be all but impossible.
This team was singularly focused.
And so was Red.
They just had very different needs.
Red needed to know the plan for the forty million euros.
Where was their target?
What was their message, and what would have been their gain if the terrorist event had been successful?
Red would get none of that if anyone hurt a hair on Elena’s beautifully coiffed head.
Reaching for the front of her dress, lifting it, and moving her hands to the rear of her hips, she tried to free herself of the cumbersome lawn of skirt. The ridiculousness and look-at-me red of this gown impeded Red’s ability to function.
What was she going to do?
Red had no idea. Just getting in the same space was the goal at this moment.
Once there, she could see what options presented themselves. Screaming at the top of her lungs, for example, would pull every eye and every resource forward.
But as she screamed, Elena could use that opportunity to slip into the night.
That might not be a bad choice, Elena’s escaping since Red knew what flight she was taking to Marrakech, and Red had full access to Elena’s phone.
It made more sense for Elena to refuse to make this silly trip to Morocco that Joel Brighton proposed. Reaching out privately, Elena could explain that she wasn’t playing games, that there was money for the ring, or the ring would disappear again. She had leverage.
Scenarios presented, were processed at lightning speed, and set aside as Red made her way through the revelers with apointy elbow held up like the bow of a ship, forcing the tide of glitterati to shift out of her way.
Damned stupid time for Grey to have had to go to the bathroom.
Red wanted to pull out her phone and tap the button to let him know this was an emergency, zip up his pants, and get here. Now! But the time and distraction of looking down was a price that Red wouldn’t pay.
This event wasn’t supposed to turn kinetic. Red and Grey hadn’t come with comms taped to their sternums lest their voices be picked up on security radios or seen on scanning machines at the front door.
Maybe it was a mistake to come ill-prepared for things turning FUBAR.
And if—if—Red couldn’t help her, and Elena didn’t get away from this team, Color Code could track her via phone and a GPS Grey had placed on Elena’s dress.
But surely these men knew enough to toss the phone and force Elena to change clothes.
And then what? Andthenwhat?
Red’s mission was to keep Elena in play. Anything less would be a failure.I don’t do failure,she growled in her mind as shereached the last man on the team with enough time to grab an empty party tray. Using the swing toward the man’s carotid, dragging the long edge of the rim slowly down his artery, depriving his brain of blood flow, he dropped into a heap, unconscious.
Three instead of four, that would be a short-lived reprieve. The man would quickly revive.