The first guard waved Lars’ card under his nose. “What exactly do you do for this international security company?”

“Electronics. I program computers.” Lars cocked his head to one side. “Though I hate to admit it, I am quite the desk jockey. Coming here was my first vacation in over a year, but it will be ruined if my laptop was trashed.”

“You live in Heidelberg?” the second guard asked. “German national?”

Lars nodded. “Yes to both. You saw my passport.”

The guards exchanged another glance. The redhead raised his eyebrows in a quizzical expression, and then used his own key card, obviously a master, to unlock the suite’s door. “Stay back,” he instructed Lars, “until we’re certain there’s no further danger.”

It chafed, but Lars did as he’d been told and waited while the guards swept through his rooms. He heard a long, low whistle. That did it. He stepped inside. The balding guard hunkered next to a circular pile of shrapnel. Lars tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth together. Not a bomb. Not exactly. Compressed air, and enough shrapnel to kill him—if he’d been standing in just the right place. Even if he hadn’t, flying debris would likely have wounded him. Lars had used similar devices. They were handy because damage was localized to a small area.

Once I was incapacitated, they would have let themselves in here and finished me off. Guess they did not factor hotel security into their equation. Whoever was behind this had probably fled as soon as the two security men showed up. Lars smiled sourly to himself and walked past one of the guards into the bedroom. Once there, he pulled his valise from the closet and started tossing clothes into it.

“You are leaving, monsieur?” The balding guard came up behind him.

Lars spun to face him. “Would you not do the same?”

“We know where to find him.” The first guard pocketed Lars’ card.

“Indeed.” Lars glanced from one guard to the other. “Might one of you be so kind as to call for a private car to take me to the Nice airport?”

“Of course.” The older guard spoke into his mouthpiece.

Lars grabbed his Dopp kit from off the bathroom ledge, dropped it into his valise, and zipped everything up. His next stop was for his laptop, which didn’t look as if it had been touched. He stowed it and its charger into a hard-sided computer bag. Stupid of them, he thought. They should have taken it the first time they were in here. Not that it would have done them any good. The hard drive was programmed to self-destruct if anyone unauthorized tampered with his computer.

He slung his valise and computer bag over one shoulder and started out the door. The guards were taking samples of something and dropping them into sealed bags. One looked up. “Your car should be waiting. Will you be returning to the casino for your suit jacket?”

Lars drew his brows together. “Under the circumstances, no. I am a bit concerned about my plane. Airport security is impeccable, but still…” He let his words trail off.

The red-haired guard straightened. He met Lars’ gaze. Lars stared back, his expression guileless. “If we find your jacket, we’ll have hotel staff package it and ship it back to you.”

Lars waved a dismissive hand. “You need not bother. I have dozens of suits. Besides,” he cocked his head to one side, “I have been gone from the casino for long enough, someone has likely stolen it by now.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, and then a snort of laughter crept past his carefully constructed cop persona. “Maybe so.” He shook his head. “Get going, monsieur. Those private cars are expensive, and you’re on their meter from the moment they roll up to our door.”

Lars didn’t wait for a second invitation. He loped down the long hall to the stairwell closest to the front door. He’d just started down the risers when he heard footsteps and spun to see who’d followed him. Muscles so tense they felt like rocks, he yanked his gun out and stared upward.

Only the older guard. Lars dropped the gun into his pants pocket, but its outline was unmistakable against the linen fabric.

“Monsieur, we thought it prudent to accompany you.” The guard looked meaningfully at Lars’ right front pants pocket. “It appears you’re more than you revealed.”

“Hmph.” Lars engaged the gun’s safety and moved the revolver back to its ankle holster. He met the guard’s green eyes head-on in a silent challenge to make something of it.

“If you were planning to stay, I’d make you leave that in the hotel safe. As it is…”

“Thanks.” Lars trotted down the remaining stairs, with the guard flanking him. He started toward the front desk to settle his bill, but the guard hooked an arm through his and drew him off to one side.

“No need. We’ll see the paperwork is closed out.” He leaned close. “Can you think of a reason anyone would want you dead?”

Lars drew back as if he’d been whipped, congratulating himself for a stellar performance. “Dead?” He shuddered. “Absolutely not. Appreciate you taking on the front desk for me. My French is not quite up to par.” Without waiting for the guard to come up with another hard-to-answer question, Lars sprinted for the front door where a uniformed chauffeur scanned the crowd. “I believe you are hunting for me,” he told the man. “Where is our car?”

“Right this way, monsieur.” The chauffeur held his hands out for Lars’ bags, but Lars shook his head.

“I am fine. They are not heavy.”

“If you’re certain, monsieur.” The chauffeur hurried ahead and tugged open the limo’s rear door.

Lars tossed his things inside and followed them. Though it was foolhardy, he deluded himself that the satisfying thunk of the door closing meant he was safe. He leaned against the plush upholstery of the limousine’s rear seat and took a deep breath. The rich scents of leather and liquor filled his nostrils; there must be a bar behind one of the rosewood panels.

The chauffeur met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “I would offer you a drink, monsieur. You can help yourself.”

Lars shook his head. “Sounds wonderful, but no thanks. I am flying.”

The man glanced over a shoulder and winked broadly. “Rules are only rules if they catch you breaking them.” Lars felt a chuckle bubble up. He let it go, pleased it lessened the tension in his gut. The chauffeur merged the big car into heavy traffic. “What’s so funny?”

Lars shrugged. “I am not certain I can tell you. What you said was just so…French.”

The chauffeur laughed too. “Oui, you Germans have a bit of a different world view. Rules, rules, rules.” He tossed both hands in the air. The car swerved and he made a grab for the steering wheel.

Lars shut his eyes for a moment, choreographing his next move. Should he fly back to Germany, or rent a business class jet, file an international flight plan, and head for New York? Perhaps the most prudent course would be to return to Germany and take one of his own jets, but that would take additional time. He’d just decided to call Garen and discuss his options when a loud boom rocked him. The limousine’s rear window shattered, coating him with shards of glass.

Lars ducked below the level of the rear seat. “Drive,” he shouted to the chauffeur. “I do not care how you do it, but get me to Nice and the airport.”

“In a pig’s eye. If you wish transport to a funeral, you will have to drive there yourself.” The driver sounded truly terrified, voice high and screechy. The limo squealed to a stop and the he hurled headlong out his door, running for all he was worth.

Cursing, Lars exited his door staying low, got behind the wheel, and took off. If luck was with him, the bad guys wouldn’t try again because Monaco was crawling with cops. Part and parcel of the casinos, there were almost as many of them as there were gamblers. Maybe that would work in his favor.