Chapter 22 #2
“Left you? I don’t believe it! Who would leave such a charming, clever girl?” Le Faucon looked suitably surprised, but he was acting, watching her carefully for some kind of tell. One that she was determined not to give.
Could she convince them that she thought Bastien really was a different man?
She would have to try. “Apparently my husband would,” she said wryly.
“He looks a great deal like Jean-Marc, and I was initially confused. But after spending time with him, I know that he’s not my husband.
He’s what I wish my husband would be,” she added, hoping it would help convince him.
Le Faucon’s smile was thin. “How interesting. They do say everyone has a doppelganger somewhere. And where is your home?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because you’re my guest and I’m interested,” he said innocently. “So is Luc. Aren’t you?”’
“Very interested,” Luc said.
If Le Faucon could look innocent, then so could she. “We have a house in North Carolina.” They would know that anyway. She suspected they already knew everything about her; they were just trying to see how open she’d be with them.
“And children?”
Damn, she hated admitting to it. If they knew about them, they knew they were staying with the man they were sending Bastien to kill.
They would be one more weapon. “No children,” she said on instinct.
If they knew they existed, not much she could do about it, but there was always the chance they didn’t.
“That is a great regret. Children are the comfort of one’s old age,” Le Faucon intoned, and Chloe resisted laughing at the thought of Maddelena being anyone’s comfort.
“But that doesn’t matter. You’re still young enough.
Women are waiting longer and longer to have children—most unwise in my opinion. Don’t wait too long.”
“I won’t,” she said docilely. Which reminded her—her birth control was packed in her suitcase, wherever the hell that was. She hadn’t had a pill in almost a week. An unplanned pregnancy was all that was needed to make this situation more of a clusterfuck than it already was.
Le Faucon smiled benevolently at her. “You must be growing very bored in your room. I’m sorry you’ve had to stay in there, but I’ve had several sensitive things going on and I didn’t want to draw you into them.
I’ve made Luc promise to take you out for a little walk in the desert tomorrow to brighten up your mood.
There’s an abandoned movie studio not far from here that’s worth seeing. ”
“A what?” She said, confused.
“They used to film movies in the desert around here. I think they called them spaghetti westerns. There was a whole handful of studios in the Tabernas Desert, but most of them are merely ruins nowadays. I think you’ll be fascinated.”
Chloe kept her expression absolutely still. She wasn’t going to be taken on a tour of an old Clint Eastwood set. She was going on a tour to her death, and she knew it.
“I’m not particularly fond of deserts,” she said.
“Oh, you will love this one. It’s the only desert in Europe, and they still film some things here. You Americans are so crazy about your movies!”
“I don’t want to go,” she said stubbornly.
“Oh, come on. The walk will do you good,” he insisted with easy good humor, and she realized she was wasting her time. If they were going to kill her, they could just as easily do it here. Maddelena would cheer.
“When is Jean-Marc due back?” she asked.
“Any day now. If he’s back early, he can join you.”
Did that mean they were planning to kill Bastien too? Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn’t think so. For all Le Faucon’s avuncular good will, he was still her enemy, and she knew too much. If Bastien didn’t return soon, her days were numbered.
Unless they expected Bastien to take care of business. He was hardly a sentimental man; the real Bastien had killed women he’d fucked. His doppelganger could very likely do the same, and he would never know that he loved her.
She was going to have to find her way out of here, and fast. She’d already searched her room, but there was no escape. Maybe she stood a better chance in the desert.
“It sounds lovely,” she said in a flat voice, and Luc gave her an encouraging smile.
“I promise to show you a good time,” he said, and she wondered if she hated him most of all.
It was after five o’clock and the evening traffic noise drifted up to the third floor of Spence-Pierce Financial Services and the two men sitting there. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.
“You’re sure it was Bastien?”
Peter Madsen eyed his companion, Finn MacGowan, with exasperation. “What do you think? He was aiming for her. I shot at him but Chloe pushed him out of the way.”
“I should think so. Are you sure he was aiming at LaDonna? Maybe he was aiming at some threat to her…” His voice trailed off. His Irish accent had faded from his years of living in the States, but it was still recognizable. “No, I suppose not.”
“Considering he killed her the next day, I could say I’m pretty sure,” Madsen said with some asperity.
“Well, what the hell is going on, then? Last I heard, Bastien and Chloe were living in the woods in North Carolina, out of the business. And where the hell are their children?”
“Their children are with ours. They planned to spend the summer with us a long time ago. But Bastien disappeared a month and a half ago and Chloe’s been gone two weeks, and my assistant for the last four years tried to kill me when I found out where he was…”
MacGowan leaned forward in his chair. “Anderson tried to kill you? Why?”
“He didn’t have time to tell me.”
“And he worked for you for four years? Any sign that he was on the other side?”
“He was entirely reliable,” Peter said in disgust. “I don’t know if he was always bent or if someone turned him at the end. I’m afraid it was kill or be killed and I didn’t stop to think.”
“Who do you think is behind this mess?”
Madsen shrugged. “It could be any number of players, but I’m assuming it’s Le Faucon. The assassination of LaDonna has his fingerprints all over it. The only problem is, Bastien went after him a long time ago, nearly caught him. Le Faucon would hardly let him back into the fold.”
“You think Bastien’s undercover?”
“Not without my knowing it. He’s been retired for more than fifteen years, and now this. And dragging Chloe into it as well. Though my guess is, she did better than us and found him first, and he simply pulled her into it.”
“That doesn’t sound like Bastien. He worships the woman,” MacGowan said.
“None of it makes any sense.” Peter’s exasperation was clear. “Their kids are beginning to wonder why Chloe hasn’t called them, and I almost killed their father with a bullet to his head. It’s a clusterfuck of monumental proportions, and I need help.”
“You need answers,” MacGowan said. “And I think I’ve got them. You ever heard of Agent Gray?”
“Who’s he?” Madsen said irritably.
“Not who, what. It’s a new drug that’s out, very hush-hush, very expensive. Like millions of dollars expensive.”
“And you’re going to tell me it can turn my agent?”
“Bastien isn’t your agent anymore. Neither am I. But yes, it could turn Bastien. It’s a combination of powerful drugs that can brainwash someone so effectively that he’d kill his own mother without a moment’s hesitation. I’m betting they’ve got Bastien on it and he doesn’t know who the hell he is.”
“That doesn’t explain Chloe being with him. Or do you think they’re drugging her too?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. My guess is if Bastien’s taking Agent Gray, he wouldn’t recognize his own wife.”
Madsen made an explosive sound of frustration.
“I don’t even know where the hell they are.
I’ve had people crawling all over Northern Italy, looking for them, either together or alone, and no one’s seen anything.
I’m afraid he’s going to go to ground until we’re distracted by other business and then strike again. How long does this Agent Gray last?”
“No one knows for sure—it’s too new and experimental. It seems as if it’ll work as long as they keep taking the stuff.”
Madsen was silent a moment. “I can’t afford second thoughts. I may not want to kill my friend, but I’m not going to let sentimentality stop me.”
“What about Chloe? She’s not going to stand by while you put a bullet in her husband.”
Peter closed his eyes as he imagined the possible debacle, and he knew the truth. If they were drugging Bastien, they would probably be drugging Chloe too, which would make her a danger on her own. He could protect their children, but there was no way he could protect the parents.
“I’ll do what I have to do,” Peter said heavily.
“What do you need me to do? Elizabeth and I can take the kids if you need us to. Or I can be the one to take out Bastien if you want. He’d never see me coming.”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to bring you into this. I just needed someone to bounce ideas off, and you came up with what’s probably the answer to everything. The thing is, if Bastien is brainwashed, does that absolve him from murdering a modern-day saint?”
“I don’t know, man,” MacGowan said. “That’s for you to decide. All I know is, I’m glad I’m out of the business.”
Madsen shook his head. “I wish I could say the same thing.”