Chapter 18 #2
Peter had been pretty sure he’d find the missing Bastien at the gala, but not with a sniper rifle trained on LaDonna, and not with an overdressed Chloe by his side. She’d stopped Bastien from shooting, but she’d gotten in his way—of course, she had. And he had no idea what the hell was going on.
Had someone managed to turn Bastien? People had tried during his active years, but he’d been immune: to money, women, ideological causes. Now, after years of retirement, he’d suddenly become a danger, and Peter needed to know why. And neutralize him if necessary.
The murder of LaDonna told him it was necessary. How would their children react when he came back and told them their father was dead? Would he be bringing Chloe with him, or would she…
He didn’t want to think about it. First, he needed answers.
Maybe Bastien had had an excellent reason for aiming a sniper rifle at LaDonna.
He needed to get back, find out what he could from his usually reliable sources.
Bastien knew too much about the Committee and its far-flung operatives.
If he had turned, he would have to be dealt with, and Peter would be the man to do it.
First things first—he needed to find Bastien in this madhouse of police and reporters, news crews from around the world interviewing anyone they could get their hands on. He needed to find Bastien and get some answers before he left Como, then he could make up his mind.
Maybe there was a solid reason behind all this, there had to be. But there was the incontrovertible fact that LaDonna was dead, and Bastien must have killed her. And Peter Madsen was going to have to do something about it.
When Bastien had been driving, their journey was sensible—they’d stopped for food, albeit they took it with them, and they’d spent that last night in Milan rather than push on to Como.
Luc was the opposite—he drove with a single-minded concentration, and it was all she could do to talk him into stopping for a restroom.
He would stop for coffee and nothing else as they drove, and his interest in conversation was nil.
It was as if the man who’d been her comparative friend had vanished, and he no longer looked like a rumpled schoolboy but more like a stern professor.
He was older than she’d thought, she realized, stealing a glance at him as they sped along the Autostrada leaving Como, maybe even in his forties when she’d assumed he was still a student.
There was something about his grim, silent determination that stripped away his youthful veneer.
She’d forgotten they would have to take a tunnel to cross the alps, and she felt her palms damp with sweat as they approached it.
This was a different tunnel than they’d used going into Italy, but not any more acceptable.
The traffic jam at the toll was endless, not helped by Luc’s relentless drumming on the steering wheel.
“Isn’t there another way we can go?” she asked hopefully.
He barely glanced at her. “The Alps are there, and we have to cross over or under them. Stop complaining.”
She was about to deny it, when something about his demeanor stopped her. “How long is the tunnel?” she said in a small voice.
“Eight miles. If you’re going to hyperventilate, then sit in the back,” he said grimly, and she would have gladly done so, but he kept edging the car forward toward the tolls and she had no way to crawl over the headrests to the back seat.
Instead, she tightened her jaw, staring straight ahead, and wondering if she dared close her eyes. It hadn’t worked before, and with Luc in such a dangerous mood, she wasn’t about to try it again. She’d survive. Somehow.
He must have lied. The trip seemed to take endless, breathless hours, and as they came out the other side into the bright sunshine of France, she took surreptitious gulps of air, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she’d practically held her breath for the majority of the eight miles.
The autoroute was wide and traffic heavy as they wound their way past Lyons, and the road was like any interstate highway back home.
Endless cars, all driving at terrifying speeds, dodging in and out of slower traffic.
Luc was one of them—he seemed to have a problem with anyone passing him, particularly the larger trucks, and he stomped on the gas pedal, gripping the small steering wheel in tight hands as the miles passed.
They’d been driving forever, the long shadows of afternoon were drifting down, and she wondered where they’d spend the night.
Somewhere with a good restaurant, she hoped.
But Luc made no effort to slow down or stop, racing down the highway at breathtaking speeds, and she tried once more to engage him in conversation.
“Where will we stop for dinner?” she asked with a decent attempt at sounding casual. “I’m starving.”
“We’re not.”
“Not what?”
“Not stopping for dinner. Not stopping for anything. I plan to be in…at our destination by tomorrow night, and that doesn’t involve time for such things as hotels or restaurants.”
Chloe looked at him in dismay. “But…”
“But nothing. You’ll do what I tell you and you won’t complain.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll find that I can be just as brutal as my late friend Flambeau.”
A chill filled her stomach. “You wouldn’t rape me,” she said with a certain amount of bravado.
“No. I’m not interested. I could still hurt you very badly. Jean-Marc has kept his hands off you for some reason, but after the mess of last night, there’s no room for squeamishness. Be quiet and behave yourself, or I’ll make you wish you had.”
She stared at him in shock. Clearly, his earlier friendliness had been as big an act as Bastien’s tender feelings.
Luc had a gun tucked into his waistband, and she had no doubt he would use it if she became too troublesome.
She lapsed into silence, leaning back in the seat and staring out the window.
If he wanted quiet, she would give it to him, and her bladder would explode before she begged him to stop.
She took one last surreptitious glance at him.
He looked hard, almost inhuman in the gathering dusk, and she fought hard not to shiver.
Just when she thought things were better, she had to contend with this new enemy.
It was dark when they drove along the Mediterranean coast, and she couldn’t see the sea.
She’d been hoping for a glimpse of the clear azure water, only to be greeted by the cars that raced alongside theirs, with no noticeable lessening of the traffic as the hours passed.
Finally, she slumped down in the front seat and closed her eyes, hoping to sleep.
The more she slept, the faster this endless drive would go, and she wanted it over.
Except that she had no idea what would greet her at the end of it. Would Bastien be there? Or was he long gone in another direction? What would they do with her then?
Despite the tension that wracked her body, the steady sound of the tires lulled her into unconsciousness, and she slept for hours, deep and dreamless, her enemy by her side.
When she awoke, the sun was just rising, and Luc was still driving like a race car driver, fast and steady beneath the glow of a new day. He didn’t even look tired, or as difficult as he had the night before. And she had no choice.
“I need a bathroom,” she said.