Chapter 5 #2
“We need to drop everything we possibly can until we find Chloe,” he said. “Don’t worry about Bastien—he can take care of himself. It’s Chloe I’m worried about.”
“Yes, boss,” Anderson said. “I’ll be in Amsterdam by this afternoon…”
“Check the manifests first. Chloe’s no fool. She could know something we don’t know.”
“What are you going to tell her kids?”
“Absolutely nothing. They’re having too much fun at the dig and with each other to notice. We’ll get their parents back before they even notice they’re gone.”
“Yes, boss,” Anderson said, sounding sure.
Peter wished he had as much certainty.
“So, what are we going to do with her?” Luc said. “She’s been tied up in there for hours. Are we going to keep her or get rid of her? If we’re keeping her, we need to feed her, take her to the toilet.”
“You make her sound like a new puppy,” Jean-Marc grumbled.
“We can always kill her, put her back with the bones,” Luc said, looking troubled.
“You can’t shoot a puppy,” Jean-Marc said, leaning back in his chair.
“You can’t let them run loose in the streets either.”
Jean-Marc sighed. For a while, he’d been able to put the troublesome female out of his mind, but Luc was right, a decision had to be made. “Killing her is the simplest solution,” he said. “I haven’t been making calculations and plans only to have them ruined by an interfering female.”
“But?”
“But what?” Jean-Marc said, annoyed.
“I know you. There’s a but in there somewhere,” Luc said.
“We don’t want an American tourist showing up dead.”
“That’s not what you were going to say.”
Jean-Marc hesitated. “I told you, I might have a use for her.”
“She can’t be trusted.”
“Not yet. It wouldn’t take much to win her over—I look like her husband.”
“You believe that cock-and-bull story?”
“I’m beginning to. The man left her and now she’s searching for him, determined not to lose him. She’ll take me as a substitute.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Luc said.
“Not quite. I told you, I need someone with me at the gala in Como. A woman would provide the perfect cover.”
“And she’s going to stand aside and watch you shoot the woman? I don’t think so. She’s American, remember. Full of idealism and righteousness. She’d scream bloody murder.”
“She isn’t going to know, if things work out as planned. If they’re looking for anyone, it would be a lone male, not a couple, and if you think I can’t distract her while I take care of business, you don’t know me very well.”
Luc shook his head. “It seems like you’re making this too complicated.”
“It’s fucking complicated,” Jean-Marc snapped. “I’ve spent the last weeks working on blueprints and itineraries and the like, figuring out a way to make this foolproof. I can use the woman, get rid of her afterward.”
“I don’t know.”
“It isn’t your decision to make. You can report back to Le Faucon, tell him to get someone else if he doesn’t trust my judgment,”
“You know he does. There’s no one he trusts more for this kind of job,” Luc said in a pacifying voice.
Jean-Marc watched him, his temper simmering.
The moment he thought of using the woman, the more he liked the idea, and he had no hesitation at all about its success.
He knew how to bend women to his needs. The woman in the bone room was already attracted to him, simply because he resembled her missing husband.
A couple of nights and he’d have her eating out of his hand.
A few more and he’d have her handing him the gun.
“All right,” he said with deceptive affability. “What do you think we should do with her?”
Luc considered this. “Keep her with us,” he said finally. “Whether you use her in the hit or not, she could have value. I’ve seen your effect on women—I have no doubt you can tame her. I’ve got to warn you, though, Flambeau won’t like this.”
“And I’m supposed to worry about…what did she call him? A henchman? He has no say in the matter.”
“Then it’s decided. We keep her alive. In which case, I’d better feed her.”
“Untie her and bring her in here. She needs to get used to her new lover.”
“Don’t rush things,” Luc said uneasily. “American women mistake clumsy flirting for rape.”
“You think I’d be clumsy about it?”
Luc laughed. “Of course not. Then is she sleeping with you tonight?”
“You’re right—there’s no need to rush things. We’ll give her time to get used to the situation. Put her in here—you can find a pallet somewhere, can’t you?”
“Sure, boss.”
Jean-Marc narrowed his eyes. Like Flambeau, Luc had a habit of calling him boss that annoyed him, but he let it go this time. He was the boss. Le Faucon had sent Luc and Flambeau to help him, nothing more—in the end, he was the one who made the decisions.
And he’d decided. Killing the woman made sense, but for some reason, he didn’t want to. He had a use for her, and that was enough to keep her alive. He could always change his mind later. “Go get her,” he said, and Luc gave him a mock salute.
She was a pitiful sight when Luc brought her back in.
Her blond-streaked hair was down, her face pale, and she was having trouble walking.
Jean-Marc looked at her impassively. She’d clean up well—she had good bone structure, a patrician bearing that would work perfectly for the gala.
All he had to do was convince her, and knowing American women, all he had to do was fuck her and she’d fancy herself in love.
It would be easy enough—he looked enough like her errant husband to make it child’s play.
He just had to regain a little lost ground.
There was a comfortable chair Luc had salvaged from some street corner, and he led her to it with a certain amount of solicitude. She stumbled, and he caught her, and she flashed him an automatic smile of thanks. Yes, she was quite pretty beneath her bedraggled appearance—she’d do the job well.
She sat bolt upright in the chair, long legs together, looking at him with ill-disguised distrust. “Are you going to kill me?” she said in a husky voice.
“No.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders and she sank back into the chair. “Are you going to let me go?”
“I’m afraid the answer is no to that one as well. I have a job for you. If you agree and perform it well, then you can go back to searching for your runaway husband. If not…”
“If not, you’ll kill me?”
“You’re an inconvenience and a liability. What would you do in my place?”
“Let me go,” she said promptly.
He shook his head. “I can’t do that, chérie. What is your name? I can’t keep calling you Madame or Chérie.”
For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to tell him, but she raised her head and her eyes met his. “Chloe,” she said with a trace of defiance. “Chloe Toussaint.”
If she expected some sort of reaction, she was going to be disappointed. He’d never heard the name in his life, just as he’d never seen her before. “Well, Chloe Toussaint, do you realize I’m not your missing husband?”
She looked at him quite fearlessly. “You’re not. Bastien would never stand aside and let a man hit me.”
He made a face. “Some things are necessary. As long as we’re clear about things now, there should be no more need for violence.”
“What are we clear about?”
He had to admire her bravery. She would serve him very well at the gala, as long as he’d gotten her properly conditioned. “That I’m not your husband. And if you help me, I’ll let you go.”
“I would think once I helped you, I’d no longer be of any use to you and you’d kill me,” she said caustically.
“Such a depressing thought. You won’t know enough to cause me any trouble. All you have to do is accompany me to a party at Lake Como and disappear while I talk to someone. You’ll get a pretty new dress and drink champagne and dance…”
“With you?” she scoffed.
“I’m a very good dancer,” he said. “My wife insisted.”
“Your wife?” There was no missing the shock in her voice.
“I’m married, didn’t I tell you? To a very jealous woman named Maddalena. If she knew about you, she’d be quite angry. So you see, I can’t be married to you.”
“How long have you been married?”
“A long time, chérie. We don’t usually live together, but she’s quite possessive anyway. She doesn’t need to know about you.”
“Why can’t she help you?
He smiled at her, quite sweetly, and she blinked in sudden confusion. “Because I don’t trust her.”
“But you trust me? That’s ridiculous!” she said.
“Nevertheless, it’s true. Ah, here comes Luc with your dinner. I imagine you’re hungry.”
She stared doubtfully down at the bowl of cassoulet Luc set before her. “Is it poisoned?” she demanded.
“So distrusting. I’ve told you, we’re not going to kill you,” Bastien said wearily.
“And I’m supposed to believe you? What if I refuse to help you?” she shot back, making no effort to pick up the spoon.
“Then things change,” he said. “It’s a simple choice. Help me and walk free. Refuse, and things become complicated.”
He saw the flash of real fear in her eyes. Good. She needed to realize he wasn’t bluffing. “I’ll help you.”
“Of course you will. Now eat your cassoulet. You must be famished.”
She stared down at it. And then she picked up her spoon and began to eat.