33. Chapter 33
Chapter 33
Elsa
C hapter 33:
Duncan was driving me up the wall. No two ways about it. A protective man in a book or movie sounded sexy, but in real life, he was an imbécile , an ass.
"Elsa, just wait for a half hour and I'll come with you," Duncan said as I packed a basket for Emile, Vincent's father.
" Non ," I said simply. "I want to go out and stay out, alone ."
"Elsa. Damn it." Duncan was on the phone. "Dean, give me a minute."
I blew him a kiss and walked out of Délices d'Elsa. He came running behind me. "Fuck no. You're not going alone anywhere."
I put my free hand on my hip. It was September in Paris. Summer had given way to fall. As it was the norm, the temperature changed like a mood. One minute, you thought it was Indian summer, and the next, Fall had arrived.
I wore Mamman's old Chanel coat, the one she had cherished. It was a classic, timeless piece made of luxurious black wool with a tailored fit. The coat's soft lining provided warmth, and its sophisticated design elegantly accommodated my large belly.
"It's a five-minute walk, Duncan." I put my hand on his cheek. "And it's Vincent's place, so—"
"I'll walk with her," Thierry said, stepping into the boulangerie through the kitchen. while I was arguing with my husband.
Duncan sighed. He kissed me on my forehead. He had started taking such liberties, and I didn't mind. In fact, I liked it but I hadn't let him go beyond a few kisses. We slept in the same bed, but I used pillows to divide the bed. It was for me because hormones made me horny, and my husband in a pair of tight boxers was very tempting.
He kissed me goodnight and good morning; innocuous gentle brushes of his lips against mine—sadly, no tongue.
I wanted to give in, I really did, but my heart wasn’t ready to take that risk. I knew it hurt him—I could see it—and I wished I could be more flexible, more forgiving. But my mother had married a man she couldn’t rely on, and look where that left her: heartbroken for life. The same man had no problem using me. Would Duncan be the same? Would he use our daughter the way he tried to use me?
Even now, as I went to Vincent's home, I didn't want Duncan to accompany me. What if he had a bug with him? What if he was using me to get into Vincent's home? I hated that I didn't trust him. Hated hurting him. I loved him. It was confusing the hell out of me.
"He worries like a mother hen," I complained to Thierry. He carried my basket of pastries in one hand and held mine with another.
"He's worried about you. We all are," Thierry said noncommittally.
"Pascal isn't stupid enough to come after me." I believed that because it had been several days since Vincent had warned me, and there had been no overtures from Pascal's end.
Duncan didn't agree—and wanted me to have a security detail. Me? A security detail? Merdé ! No fucking way would I allow that to happen. I was a normal person, and I didn't need security or any of that other nonsense in my life. I'd lived for twenty-four years as Jean-Luc Moreau's daughter, and no one had hurt a hair on my head; I wasn't going to cower and hide now.
I told Thierry I'd call him when I was ready to leave.
Vincent wasn't home, and I had a fun visit with his father. We played a game of chess, and when I could see he was tiring, I told him I had to get back. His nurse took him to bed, and I texted Thierry that I was ready. He said I should just wait fifteen minutes, and he'd come to me.
In the movies, this is where the audience probably screams at the stupid heroine who decides to go out without protection. But this wasn't a movie, and I wasn't an actor. I texted Thierry that I'd walk back to my boulangerie . It was, after all, just a few minutes away.
The evening air was crisp as I walked down the quiet street, heading back to the Délices d'Elsa. The sun had just set, casting long shadows and an eerie stillness over the neighborhood. I clutched my coat tighter around me, suddenly feeling a strange sense of unease. I wished then that I had waited for Thierry, but I shrugged it away and walked faster, holding the now empty basket of pastries tightly, ready to use it like a weapon if I had to.
As I turned the corner, I smiled when I saw the back of the boulangerie where I took deliveries. There was nothing to worry about. I was home.
Too late, I noticed the van parked a little ways away from the back entrance. My instincts screamed that something was wrong, and my heart started to race. I quickened my pace, but before I could reach the door, a group of men jumped out of the van, their faces hidden behind masks.
One of them grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. Like hell, I thought, even as fear surged through me.
"Let me go!" I shouted, panic rising in my chest. I clawed, kicked, and scratched. And I screamed, loudly . Duncan would hear me. He was inside the boulangerie. Wasn't he?
"Shut her up and get her in the van!" Another masked man cried out in French. It was Pascal Fournier's voice. The realization that Pascal was here sent a jolt of terror through me.
" Duncan ," I screamed. Someone put a hand on my mouth. I started to struggle. No way was I going into that van. I began to fight in earnest.
I hoped that if I kept making as much noise as I could, someone would come by.
Suddenly, everything stilled, and I heard the distinct cock of a gun.
" Lache-la maintenant ." Let her go now a familiar voice said. I turned to see Dom holding a gun.
Pascal and his men turned, momentarily distracted. Dom stepped into the dim light, his gun aimed directly at them. "I said, let her go!"
Pascal sneered, pulling his own gun. He was going to fire, I could see it in his eyes. "Fuck off," Pascal cried.
"I don't think so," Dom shot back. The man holding my arm loosened his grip, and I ran, wanting to get inside the boulangerie.
Then everything went crazy for a moment. Dom grabbed me, pushing me behind him.
"You don't want to play this game," Pascal threatened his gun on Dom.
"Elsa, get down," Dom screamed. I dropped to the ground just as gunfire erupted around me. The sound was deafening, and I covered my head, praying for it to stop. I could hear the shouts and chaos, the terrifying clash of bullets flying in all directions.
Dom pulled me behind a dumpster, where we could take cover. He started to return fire with precise shots. But even I, who had only seen such things in movies, could see that Dom was outnumbered.
Where the hell was Duncan? Where was Thierry? I started to panic. My baby was going to get hurt. I was so scared.
One of Pascal's men went down, then another. Pascal was screaming, and I heard the sound of sirens. The police were coming. Thank god.
The remaining men scrambled back to the van, dragging their wounded with them. Pascal shot one last hateful look at Dom before jumping into the driver's seat, speeding away.
I leaned against the trash can, breathing in relief. I'd first hoped for Duncan or Thierry to come and help; and then I'd been scared when the shooting began that Duncan or Thierry would get hurt.
It took me a moment to notice that Dom was hit. He was sitting against the big trash container, and his dark shirt was getting darker. I crawled over to Dom, my hands shaking. "Oh my God, you're hurt."
I could see blood seeping through his fingers where he clutched his side. "Fuck me," he gasped, though his face was pale.
"Are you alright?"
“Yeah.”
“What on earth were you doing here?"
"Making sure that asshole didn’t get his hands on you,” he groaned, his voice slurred. “ Putain! Getting shot fuckin’ sucks.”
Tears streamed down my face.
"Elsa," I heard Duncan.
"Duncan, here. We're here," I cried out. "We need an ambulance."
" Bordel de merdé , Els." Fucking hell, Elsa. I heard Thierry before I looked up to see him with a gun and Duncan as well.
Within moments, Duncan was by my side, his face a mask of worry. He quickly assessed Dom's condition and then turned to Thierry.
"How far is the ambulance?"
"Minutes away." Thierry was on his phone, but his eyes darted around to ensure the area was secure.
Dom had passed out, and Duncan was checking Dom's pulse, but his eyes were on me. "Elsa, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Dom's hurt. Dom, that's his name right?"
"He is Dominic Delacour," Duncan told me. He tore open Dom's shirt, checked his wound, and sighed, "It's a through and through."
I had no idea what that meant. I felt nausea rise through me.
Thierry came to me and helped me up to stand.
"It was Pascal," I said to no one in particular.
"I told you to wait. You couldn't do that, damn it," Thierry thundered.
"They got me right outside Délices d'Elsa," I threw back at him, now anger and frustration flowing through me at ramming speed, "like hell you could've stopped them. Instead of Dom, you would've have been shot."
"Dom," Duncan said to his friend, who groaned. Duncan gripped his hand tightly. "Help is on the way. Just stay with me, buddy, okay?"
The police came first, but the ambulance was on their heels. Paramedics rushed to Dom. They quickly assessed his injuries and prepared him for transport.
Duncan draped a protective arm around me. "Call Moreau," Duncan instructed Thierry, "I need this thing buttoned down. That man cannot be left to come after my family ever fucking again."
"I'll call Jean-Luc," Thierry agreed, "but if you want to shut down Pascal, you'll have to do it."
"What?" I burst out. " Non. Non. Non. You stay away from Pascal Fournier, you hear me, Duncan?"
"Shh. The police are here, so keep a lid on it, will you?" he whispered.
Two uniformed cops came up to us as Dom was taken away in the ambulance.
One of them, a tall man with a stern expression, addressed me directly.
"Name?" he asked, his tone professional but inquisitive.
"This is my wife Elsa Archer. I'm Duncan Archer." He held out his hand and shook it with both cops. He spoke in French. "As you can see, Elsa is very pregnant. This incident has been traumatic for her, obviously. I'd like to get her to a hospital. Why don't you come there to speak with us?"
"She looks fine and—"
"I don't feel so great." I slumped against Duncan in an exaggerated film heroine from the thirties way. I could almost feel Duncan's eyes roll.
" Please , just a few weeks ago, she had to spend a night in the hospital because she was tired and stressed," Duncan spoke softly, and I didn't think he was pretending to be worried; he was worried.
They turned to Thierry then. Before they could say a word, he held out his hand, which had a card in it. "You want to talk to me; you go through my avocat ."
Thierry had a lawyer on call?
"Come on, Lisange. There's been a shooting and you're involved," the shorter, portly cop said.
The police knew Thierry? Well, of course they did. He used to work for my father. I knew he wasn't a choir boy.
"My avocat can help you set up a time to speak with me."
I noticed his gun was missing, as was Duncan's. They'd put them away. When? Probably when Thierry disappeared for a minute. I understood they had to hide them. This was France, not America. You couldn't just carry a weapon on you. There were a whole hell of a lot of restrictions in my country. I always wondered if Thierry had his fingers in some shady pies; now I knew . Well, I couldn't say I was surprised.
"Thierry, may I request you to drive Elsa and me to the hospital so we can get her checked out," Duncan spoke in English now, and the two cops grimaced.
Duncan pulled out his wallet and handed the tall policeman a card. "Actually, please call my lawyer if you want to speak with Elsa."
They paled when they saw the card.
"What?" I whispered.
"The Archer family's lawyer in Paris has a reputation for being a real barracuda." He nuzzled his mouth close to my ear.
The cops made some phone calls and told us to not touch anything as crime scene people would come to make sure to get slugs and fingerprints and all of that.
"Can we go to the hospital now?" I murmured.
"Are you not okay?" Panic laced Duncan's voice.
"I'm fine. I smell so probably need to change, and Mamman's Chanel coat is never going to be the same again." It had Dom's blood on it; I could smell the iron. "But I want to check on Dom. He saved my life, Duncan."
Thierry left to take care of something , which I suspected was to start tracking down Pascal Fournier. So, Duncan and I went to the hospital without him. We found that Dom had been rushed into surgery. We sat down in the brightly lit waiting room, exhausted. Duncan stayed close, his arm around me, offering silent support.
"We should get you home so you can rest." Duncan put a hand on my stomach. "Do you need anything?"
"I want to know how Dom is doing."
We'd been having this discussion since he drove us to the hospital.
"How about when Dean gets here, he takes you to my apartment. You can rest there. We have a shit ton of security. I can stay here and—"
" Non ."
"I'm getting pretty sick and tired of you saying no to everything, Elsa. Hell, you almost got taken by that bastard today. So, stop saying—"
" Non? " I asked cheekily.
"Elsa," he said softly, his voice shaky. "I need you to know something. Seeing you in danger like that scared the life out of me—first when you fainted and now this. I can't…you understand? If something happens to you, baby, I… can't."
Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him, seeing the raw honesty and emotion in his gaze. "Duncan," I whispered, my voice trembling.
"I love you, goddamn it, and there is no fucking way I can go on if something happens to you, to our baby."
I leaned into him as he pulled me into a gentle hug. Despite everything that had happened, a calmness washed over me.
I trusted Duncan, I realized. Today, I instinctively and immediately knew that everything would be alright once I heard his voice. He'd straighten it all out because that's what he did.
Now, no doubt that he messed up with me. But he wasn't one mistake—he was more than that. In the past weeks, he'd proven again and again how he was mine even though I'd kept him at an arm's distance.
Dean came with food, a change of clothes, and a big bottle of water. Everyone was taking my dehydration scare seriously.
Marcella had come by the boulangerie before she left for San Francisco and read me the riot act about taking care of her grandchild. Duncan all but counted the deciliters I drank each day, and Dean and Thierry helped him.
It took a couple of hours before we got an update on Dom's condition. The surgery was successful, and he was stable, but he would need time to recover. Relief washed over us, and we thanked the doctors profusely.
Since I had lied to the hospital officials and told them I was Dom's sister, they let me in to see him. Duncan came along because I was a hapless pregnant woman and needed my husband. Whatever !
Dom was still unconscious. I hated to see him like this but I was ever grateful to him for saving my baby's and my life. I kissed his forehead and thanked him.
"You sure he'll be okay here?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Can we come see him tomorrow?"
"He's not going to be here much longer," Duncan said cryptically.
"What does that mean?"
"That means someone will move him to the US Embassy before those pesky cops show up to talk to him."
"And what about the conversation they want to have with me?" I wondered as we walked out of Dom's room.
"They're going to be stalled."
"They are?"
"Yes," he said supremely confident in his ability to manipulate the police.
"Until when?" I asked.
"Until I can get Pascal Fournier out of the picture," Duncan said ominously.