THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

you.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “The FBI had you under surveillance. They knew you weren’t part of Mason’s operation and were hunting you to use as a witness against Mason. They also have information to clear your name from the drug transporting conviction when you were a teen.”
    “Really?”  That one breathless word conveyed just how much she’d been hurt by the wrongful conviction.
    Zane caressed her soft cheek. “I’m so sorry about not accepting what you told me, and for what your father did to you. No one can give you that back, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I’ll tell the FBI I hid the coins on the boat and they’re gone. They’ll just have to deal with it.”
    She graced him with a blazing smile. “The coins aren’t gone.”
    “Yes they are, baby. I stuck them under the anchor rope.”
    “I know. When I pulled the anchor rope out to tie the wheel, I found them. The bag of coins is lying about fifty feet behind me on the seawall.”
     
    Chapter 60
     
    Chatton finished washing her hands in the bathroom onboard the private jet traveling from London to Paris. The airplane offered a safe meeting location for three passengers who trusted no one, especially each other.
    Being seen together would be unwise considering their individual positions within three different governments.
    As an MI6 agent, she worked alone, but she’d wormed her way into the Czarion alliance to find out who had been systematically killing off everyone in her Macintosh family line for over three decades.
    She should be dead, too. The assassin who’d killed her mother must have been bloody pissed when he couldn’t find Chatton, a two-year-old at the time.
    She’d had a habit of climbing into cabinets and falling asleep. That’s where her father, an MI6 agent at the time, had discovered her.
    He’d made sure she was never vulnerable again. Before he’d died, he’d passed on files detailing deaths in her Macintosh family, both accidental and intentional. He’d taught her many valuable lessons, but one to be remembered above all.
    Those with the money manipulate power in the civilized world, but the one who knows their secrets owns the money movers .
    Possessing a powerful secret trumped bank accounts any day and provided the best resource for tracking prey.
    Her father’s research went back many generations and had uncovered a surprise – an ancient group known as the Orion Hunters. People who searched for five artifacts believed to unlock the mystery behind Orion’s Legacy that prophesized the Final Conflict, a war to end all others.
    Chatton’s eye muscles should be stretched out from rolling them every time she read another warning about the “Final Conflict” of the world. She was a skeptic of the nth degree on this Orion Legacy crap, but no believer had ever studied the Orion Hunters as thoroughly as she had.
    She’d used that knowledge to locate Wayan, an advisor to China’s Party Chief, and the General, a powerful player in the US Pentagon. Both were her traveling companions on this private flight.
    Time for the Czarion meeting. Only the second one since she’d joined ten months ago. She did a final touch on the pretty thirty-two-year-old face she still didn’t recognize sometimes, any more than she recognized the golden-brown hair that fell to her shoulders.
    Giving one last brush of her hand down the front of her flawless black Christian Dior suit, she exited the bathroom at the rear of the aircraft, feeling naked without a weapon.
    She glided past two of Wayan’s guards who eyed everyone as if constantly assessing the quickest way to kill them. She and the General had security personnel onboard as well and all six guards had swept the cabin for bugs.
    Her personal guard stepped forward as soon as she entered the cabin. She said, “Yes?”
    “Your purse was searched.”
    She’d intentionally left her Hermis Birkin purse in the meeting area when she’d excused herself. “As I expected.”
    Having made his report, her man nodded and returned to his position behind where she’d sit across from the other two men who lounged in identical cushy leather armchairs. “Gentlemen.”
    Wayan nodded in his formal way with elbows on the chair, arms and hands steepled. His round face, chopped black hair, and thin black mustache reminded her of a little boy playing grown-up due to the youthful face and slender build for a man of forty-four years.
    The General’s