Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“Who’s Peter Madsen?” Bastien said, looking startled.
“He’s the man who tried to kill you at the gala.
He’s head of an operation that’s been a pain in my behind for years now.
It’s past time for him to go. He has an office in London where you can do the deed.
If there are any problems, you can always go out to his home in Hampshire, but he has half a dozen children hanging around.
I’m not particularly averse to collateral damage, but it would make things easier if you just took care of him in London.
People do get so upset about dead children. ”
“I’ve told you before—no children,” Bastien said, still sounding confused by this latest task.
He clearly had no idea who Madsen or the Committee were, but it seemed as if something had struck a chord in his tangled brain.
He shook his head as if to clear it and focused on Le Faucon.
“If I can’t take care of him at his office, I’ll do it elsewhere. ”
“You’re a sentimental fool,” Le Faucon said genially, with no sting in his voice. “Next, you’ll be telling me you won’t kill women. Or dogs.”
“No dogs either. As for women, I could care less.”
Chloe felt a shiver run down her spine. He sounded cold and heartless, and yet that last night they spent together...
What the hell was going on? If Bastien really had amnesia, then he wouldn’t react to Peter’s name, but she could swear he’d had some kind of recognition.
Or maybe it was her own hope, a commodity that was getting harder and harder to come by.
She’d come to the conclusion that this was more than simple amnesia.
Someone was manipulating him, everyone was lying.
There would have been no chance for him to marry Maddelena in the short time he’d been away from her, and his relationship with Le Faucon and Luc was clearly a long-standing one.
It made no sense, but someone, somewhere, was pulling the strings.
It had been Le Faucon’s name that had set Bastien on his odyssey, and it made no sense that he acted as though he’d been doing this for years.
Le Faucon must be behind it. All of them were lying to Bastien, lying to her. She had the very unpleasant suspicion that they had no intention of letting her go. Ever.
That was all right—she didn’t want to leave Bastien, for fear she’d never find him again. She would wait, and be as docile as she could be, and just hope that Bastien would remember his real life, and her. This was the first sign of memory, as infinitesimal as it was.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “But first, Chloe has to be returned to the States. I can drop her off at an airport on my way to London, but I’m not going until I’m certain she’s taken care of.”
“She’ll be very well taken care of, right here,” Le Faucon said in his plummy voice. “When you return from killing Madsen, you can take her to whatever airport you want. Or keep her with you, since you seem so determined to protect her.”
‘Is there something I need to protect her from?” Bastien asked silkily.
“Not at all, my boy. You know you can trust me to look out for her. And the job shouldn’t take you long. You’ll be back here in no time, and then you can take her away from us.”
“Why does this feel like a threat?” He wasn’t looking at her, but Chloe could feel his attention centered firmly on her.
“Nothing of the kind, old chap. I wouldn’t make the mistake of threatening you. But Madsen needs to be dealt with quickly, and I don’t want you distracted, as charming a distraction as Miss Chloe is.”
Chloe resisted the impulse to growl. She didn’t trust Le Faucon, or Luc for that matter, and she suspected Bastien didn’t either. But he sat back, nodding. “Is this a solo operation, or is Luc coming along?”
Le Faucon gave him a toothy smile. “You don’t need Luc’s help in such a simple mission. You should be in and out in no time, and back here to love’s young dream.”
“He’s not coming back to her,” Maddelena said in a high-pitched voice at odds with her usually sultry contralto.
“My dear, control yourself. If Bastien has chosen her, there’s nothing you can do but wait until he loses interest. He always does. No offence, Miss Chloe.”
“None taken,” she said through gritted teeth. “It sounds as if your daughter’s going to have to get used to someone supplanting her.”
“Bitch!” Maddelena spat, and threw her glass of wine at Chloe, crystal and all, but Chloe managed to duck and the glass shattered on the tiled floor.
“Your aim needs to improve,” she said sweetly. “Or your taste in men.”
“Jean-Marc!” Le Faucon’s voice was plaintive. “Why can’t you keep your willy in your pants? You know my daughter is a jealous female.”
“I work for you, not your daughter. Come along, chérie,” he said, rising and holding out a hand to Chloe.
They were back to chérie, and probably bébé, and mon ange. It didn’t matter. She was holding on to the first sign of memory she’d seen, as slight as it was. He knew the name Peter Madsen. Was it familiar enough to keep him from killing his best friend?
“I thought I made it clear, Jean-Marc.” Le Faucon’s voice was unctuous. “She’ll be sleeping alone while she’s here. I can’t have jealous women interfering with our plans.”
“Talk to your daughter about that,” Bastien said coldly, taking her hand in his large, strong one. “And I’ll sleep where I please.”
“Jean-Marc,” Luc said in a placating voice. “You know you don’t care that much about pussy. Just do as Jefe says and everything will be fine.”
“Much as I disapprove of your language, you’ve made a very good point,” Le Faucon said.
“You aren’t that enamored of the girl, are you?
I’ve never known you to let a woman get in the way of doing your job.
We’ve got plans to make, and nothing will get accomplished if you’re rolling around in bed with your latest conquest.”
To Chloe’s fury, Bastien hesitated. He released her hand, his momentary rebellion settled back into boredom. “I’m not enamored of anyone, Jefe. You do know me—I’ve never let sex get in the way of anything I need.”
“And you need to complete this job, as soon as possible,” Le Faucon said in a soothing voice. “Luc will escort her back to your bedroom. In the meantime, you’ll be taking the room next to his. Better to keep out of temptation’s way, don’t you think?”
“If you say so, Jefe.” He sat back down, leaving Chloe standing there like a fool. She wondered whether she dared sit. Maybe she could simply refuse…
Luc rose from his seat across the table. “Come on, Chloe,” he said in that deceptively friendly voice. “I’ll take you back to your bedroom.”
She wanted to refuse. Maddelena was looking smug, eyeing Bastien with hungry eyes, and she wondered if he’d really be sleeping alone.
She had no choice. Luc held out his arm, but she ignored it, walking away from the table. She could find her own way back to the bedroom—if Luc wanted to tag along, that was his business.
He hurried to keep up with her. “I hope you can forgive me,” he said in a rushed voice. “I was doing it for the best.”
“Locking me up? How is that for the best?”
“Because I was supposed to kill you. You’ve gotten in the way, and Le Faucon very sensibly wanted you dead. I talked him out of it.”
“Thanks for small favors,” she said cynically.
“Hardly a small favor. I hope we can still be friends.”
She was about to tell him where he could stuff his friendship when she hesitated.
If she were at war with everyone in this place, she’d get nowhere, especially with Bastien out of reach.
She trusted Luc least out of all the people there.
The others made no pretense of their enmity, even Bastien. Luc was a lying snake in the grass.
“We can,” she said, putting just the right amount of doubt in her voice to convince him.
He’d never believe too easy a capitulation.
But she had no doubt—he was her enemy, worse than the others, because the others made no pretense at being on her side.
Le Faucon had probably told him to cozy up to her, to spy on her. She could use him as well.
“Do you think he’ll let Bastien send me home?” she said in a tremulous voice. She wondered if she was coming on too strong, but Luc simply made soothing noises, as if she were the frightened little female she was pretending to be.
“You can trust Le Faucon,” he said, and Chloe resisted the impulse to laugh. “He’ll see you safely home once Jean-Marc takes care of business. He’s a man of his word.”
She sincerely doubted it. She knew too much, and they never would have disclosed his latest assignment in front of her if she weren’t disposable. “That’s good to know.”
“You seemed startled when Le Faucon talked about the latest job. Does the name Peter Madsen mean anything to you?”
Shit. Though if he noticed her instinctive reaction, then he was probably too busy to see Bastien’s initial start of surprise.
She shook her head. “Should it?”
“He’s the man who almost shot Jean-Marc at the gala. The one you saved him from. Why did you do that? If Bastien was dead, you could have found yourself on your way home by now.”
He was trying to trip her up, but they were almost at her room, down at the end of one long hallway. “I thought that was clear to everyone. I’m in love with him.”
“Oh, Chloe.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “You know he can never love you. Jean-Marc is not like other men—he’s a killer. He has no tender feelings.”
But you were the one who killed LaDonna, she thought. “Love isn’t practical,” she said loftily.
“And what about the husband you were looking for? The one who looks like Jean-Marc? What did you call him? Bastien?”
She had to tread very carefully. If they were behind Bastien’s memory loss, then they knew about him, and probably about her as well. This game of double-blind was giving her a headache. “They are not that much alike,” she said.