Ransomed Dreams by Amy Wallace Read Free Book Online Page B

American and dumb down his language. Something he had to do many a day he spent slaving for. The Regiment. Something his sister, Charlotte, did with ease, living in this uncultured pastureland.
    He rang his sister to reestablish specifics. “Petrol up, my dear?”
    “Stop it, Gordon. And yes, everything is as you requested.”
    A loud wail split his eardrum. “Little one’s not happy trapped in his pram?”
    “He’s like Harry always moving.” Charlotte’s words drove his cause. “If you plan to stay out of prison this time, dear brother, I suggest altering your word usage.”
    He looked like an American; now he needed to sound like one. No need to rouse suspicions. Though he doubted the estimable Sir Walter Kensington even knew his name.
    Or his brother’s.
    Intelligence officers were a dime a dozen to the Crown. That’s what Harry had said in their last row on the phone. Too little evidence to send Sir Walter Kensington to jail. Not enough blood to return his brother to him.
    Harry’s blood had been spent for the corrupt ambassador. Now Sir Kensington’s daughter would be returned to him in like manner.
    “Remind me again why there’s no security for the young beauty queens?” Gordon watched for his moment, when they were too tired to fight and too intoxicated to know the difference. Piece of American cake.
    “They’ve outgrown bodyguards. At seventeen, unless there’s a threat, they are on their own.”
    “Good for us.”
    “Good for you. I’m not laying a hand on those children. I’ll do my part at the embassy.” She huffed into his ear. “I never approved of your gray ways, Gordon. And I don’t still. But Harry’s fresh in his grave, and the ambassador’s got to be stopped.”
    “Always loyal to home, eh?”
    “Americans believe loyalty is paramount.”
    “Be loyal to me, Charlotte. You’ve little else left and no mum to run home to.”
    “Be done soon and go home, Gordon.”
    He shut the phone and considered his approach. Should he offer to buy Olivia a drink? He shook his head and watched the two recent high school graduates dance the Electric Slide. They were sloshed already and Olivia and her friend, Jordan, were far too young for his nearly forty years. Socializing wouldn’t appear proper. All business was right on.
    He straightened his black suit and tie. A regular Secret Service bloke—he stopped himself. Even his thoughts had to be American.
    A regular Secret Service agent if there was one. Drinking-uptime for Sir Walter Kensington’s eldest had come.
    Weaving through a sea of gyrating bodies, he found his mark at the edge of the mass. “Miss Kensington?” Gordon grabbed her elbow and directed her toward the back door. Jordan followed as predicted. “Your father felt midnight was late enough for your party. It’s time to return home.”
    Both teens, dressed in similar black-and-white minis and halter tops, pouted as they moved through the crowd surrounding the dance floor.
    “When’s your dad going to figure out all the good stuff happens after midnight?” Jordan drew her overly painted red lips down and huffed her bangs out of her eyes.
    Relief that he had no bratty offspring filled him. “Right this way, ladies.”
    Jordan covered her red cheeks with matching manicured nails as her eyes grew wide. “Livvie! How’d your dad find out about our fake IDs? He’s gonna kill you and me too.”
    “Hush, Jordie.”
    They slipped out of the blustering dance club without further chatter and didn’t arouse a bit of suspicion. He even held the door open for them.
    The back alley devoid of any cars or bodies, felt muggier than the dance club.
    Olivia blinked as the sound and smell of the nightclub was silenced with the clank of the heavy metal back door. “You don’t … look … like …” The woozy youth cleared her throat and stiffened. “You’re not … part of our regular detail. What’s your name? I mean, who are you?”
    Gordon broke into a grin. Which passport ID