Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chloe stared at him in uncomprehending rage. “Isn’t this cozy?” she said icily. “I take it you changed your mind about killing him.”
“Chloe…”
“Did you ever have amnesia?” she interrupted him. He didn’t look guilty, he looked annoyed, and her fury surged to such levels she felt almost dizzy from it.
“No,” he said, and her heart spasmed. “They used a combination of brainwashing and drugs.”
“And when did these convenient drugs wear off?” she demanded.
“Last week.”
“Last week!” she echoed in a raw voice. “You knew when you took me out to the desert to kill me? You knew when you put me on a plane back to the States?”
“And why the hell didn’t you go?” he shot back. “These are dangerous men we’re dealing with. They’ve already ordered your death, and they’re going to do anything they can to see they succeed.”
She stood very still. The sense of betrayal was absolute, and for a moment, she thought she hated him. They never lied to each other, not ever, and yet he’d scared her half to death when he’d taken her out to the desert to die.
She couldn’t stay there a moment longer. “Fuck…you,” she said succinctly, and turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her.
Peter gave Bastien a pitying look. “She’s pissed.”
“You think? I better go after her.”
“Give her a few minutes to calm down. She’ll come back, if only to rip you a new one.”
Bastien glanced at the door. He was surprised the smoked glass hadn’t shattered with the force of her slam. “I should have known she wouldn’t do as I told her.”
“Does she ever?”
“When it’s a matter of life or death. Just because she’s out of Spain doesn’t mean she’s out of danger,” he said ruefully.
“At least you finally brought me Le Faucon. Fifteen years late, but worth it in the end. Do you want to go with them when they capture him?”
“Chloe’s mad enough already. I told her I’d never work for the Committee again,” Bastien said.
Peter nodded. “I have the same arguments with Genevieve. She’d like nothing better than for me to retire.”
“You’ll never retire.” He glanced at the door. “She should be back by now. She never stays mad for long.”
“From what you’ve told me, she’s had a hell of a time. It might take her a little longer to get over it. Do you even remember any of it?”
“I remember all of it. She really is going to kill me.” He rose, moving toward the window, but there was no sign of her.
“That bad, eh?”
Bastien said nothing. He turned. “I’m going after her. If I meet her coming back, then so much the better.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“I don’t want you to see me grovel.” He picked up his Glock. Peter didn’t make the mistake of asking him whether he needed it or not.
“She won’t have gone far.”
“Maybe,” Bastien said, an uneasy feeling teasing at him.
“Go get her, then,” Peter said. “There’s a room waiting for you in Hampshire. In case you’ve forgotten, your kids are there.”
“Missing us wildly,” he said in a cynical voice.
“Well, you two are pretty tame compared to an ancient Viking burial mound,” he said. “My luck that it had to be right next to our lands.”
But Bastien wasn’t listening. He was already out the door, in search of his furious wife.
Chloe was so angry she was crying, the tears blinding her to the pedestrians around her.
She stormed down the street, having no idea where she was going, only knowing that she wanted to get away from that traitorous, lying son-of-a-bitch.
He could have known the entire time; he could have been lying to her…
No, that was wrong. He definitely hadn’t known her for most of the time she was their hostage. She would have been able to tell. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t lied to her, when they’d sworn they’d never lie.
Her feet slowed from her headlong dash, and she wiped the tears from her face.
She was being irrational, and she knew it, but she was just so overwhelmed by the last few weeks that she was ready to lash out at anyone.
Bottom line, Bastien was back. He knew her.
Whether it had been one week or longer didn’t matter anymore. He was back.
She slowed, forcing the other pedestrians to go around her in their mad dash to the tube or wherever they were going.
It was just past five—they were probably heading home.
And that’s where she needed to go, home to Bastien.
She turned, ready to head back, ready to give him holy hell, ready to fall into his arms.
Instead, she ran full force into a strong male body, and for half a moment she thought it was Bastien, looking for her.
“Chloe,” Luc said, his voice soothing. “I’ve been following you for blocks. What’s gotten you so upset?”
He was holding her arms so she couldn’t go anywhere, and he was looking like the almost-friend he’d been for most of their sojourn. She wasn’t fooled.
“Let go of me,” she said.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, chérie.” Releasing one arm, he reached up to touch the side of her face. She felt a slight stinging sensation, and then she was falling, falling into darkness. A moment later, she was gone.
When Chloe woke, everything was in darkness.
It smelled of damp and rotting vegetation, almost like low tide, and she tried to move, but her hands were tied in front of her, and she couldn’t break free.
Her whole body ached, and she struggled to sit up, trying to lever herself using her bound hands.
She finally managed it, and she reached up to her face.
They’d blindfolded her, but she had enough dexterity in her fingers to pull it down, and she looked around her in well-controlled panic.
“Oh, you’re awake,” said Le Faucon in his plummy, soothing tones. “I’m sorry we’ve had to tie you up, but I was afraid you’d take exception to coming here with us. It seemed prudent to restrain you.”
She glanced around her. They were in an odd sort of room, with paneled walls and smallish windows, and she could feel the faint sensation of movement beneath her, adding to her disorientation. “Where am I?”
“We’re down by Tilbury Docks,” Luc said. “We’ve chartered a boat and we’ll be heading back to Spain tomorrow morning.”
“We?” she echoed, trying to keep the fuzz from her voice.
“Well, Le Faucon and I,” Luc clarified. “Don’t worry—Bastien will be here soon—we all know he will. He’d never let you stay in our wicked clutches for long.” His charming smile was oddly chilling.
“And what will happen when he comes here? You’ll kill him, won’t you?”
“Nonsense,” said Le Faucon. “He still has a great deal of value to us. We simply have to get him back on his medicine and he’ll be as right as rain.”
“And what about me?”
“We’ll leave that up to him. But once he’s feeling more like Jean-Marc, he’ll probably realize that you’re a liability.”
“He didn’t kill me the last time you told him to,” she shot back. “What makes you think he will now?”
“Because it won’t take much to turn him back to the man we know and love. And he won’t remember you. He’ll take my word that you’re a danger, and he’ll take care of you, swiftly and painlessly, I assure you,” Le Faucon said.
“For some reason, I don’t find that comforting,” Chloe said.
Le Faucon laughed his hearty laugh. “You’re such a delightful girl, my dear. I really do regret doing this to you. But then, Maddelena would have my head if I don’t bring her husband back to her.”
“She’s not really his wife,” Chloe said firmly.
“Oh, but I assure you, she is. I facilitated their wedding, long ago, before you even knew him. I’m afraid you’re the one who’s not a real wife, not if the laws against bigamy still hold true.”
She felt a stab of pain inside her, but she kept her face impassive. “I don’t believe you. Bastien would never have married me if he was already married.”
Le Faucon shrugged, a startlingly French gesture on such a quintessentially British figure. “Who knows what goes on in the boy’s brain?” he said. “It’s possible he thought it wasn’t legal. But I assure you, it was. I arranged it.”
“He’s not a boy, and I’m not a girl,” she said bitterly.
“I beg your pardon, my dear. I’m a bit old-fashioned. He should be here before long. I don’t suppose I could rely on you not to warn him?”
“What do you think?” Lying would have done her no good.
“Luc, tie that gag around her mouth, would you? Not too tight, now. We wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable,” Le Faucon cautioned.
“How does he know where I am?” she said quickly, before Luc could approach her.
“I sent a message. It’s damned inconvenient that he doesn’t have a phone.”
“Bastien hates cell phones,” she said.
“So does Jean-Marc. Unfortunately. Nevertheless, he’ll be here shortly if he values your life.”
“He values it,” she shot back.
“For now,” Le Faucon said.
“Sorry, chérie,” Luc said, before he tied the gag around her face. It bit into the sides of her mouth, and she wanted to scream, to see if any noise came out, but she didn’t dare. She’d have to wait for Bastien to come.
And he would come. Those fools thought they’d get him back on their filthy drugs, but they didn’t know Bastien as well as they thought they did. They wouldn’t get near him.
She had no sense of time. It could be early evening; it could be after midnight.
It was dark past the windows, and she was more aware of the boat rocking gently on the water of the Thames, the smell of the docks, slightly dank and rotten.
They were on some sort of yacht, and she wondered where the crew was.
Given the size of the room, it was too big for Luc to manage on his own, and she couldn’t imagine Le Faucon was going to be of any use.
Maybe they expected Bastien to sail it, but it was more likely the crew was out on the town.
He didn’t come. It seemed as if hours passed, though her current uncomfortable position might have contributed to that feeling.
She kept her hands in her lap, her fingers working on the knots, trying to loosen them, as she watched Le Faucon pace around the salon, getting more and more edgy as time went on.
“Will you stop pacing!” Luc snapped, surprising her. Le Faucon was his employer, wasn’t he? That was hardly the way to talk to a man who held life and death over you.
“Where the hell is he?” Le Faucon said fretfully. “He should have been here by now.”
“He’ll know it’s a trap,” said Luc. “He’ll be figuring out the best way to approach us.”
“But what if he brings others with him? We told him to come alone or we’d slit her throat, and he’s not about to risk that. But he’ll be furious that we’ve taken her, and he might not be thinking clearly.”
“Jean-Marc always thinks clearly, not with his dick.” Luc said. “And if he brings anyone with him, our guards will take care of them.”
“What if they kill Jean-Marc by accident?” Le Faucon fussed.
“Then we cut Chloe’s throat and drop her overboard and we sail away. We can find someone else with his special gifts.”
“I don’t think so,” Le Faucon insisted. “He doesn’t have his reputation for nothing.”
“The guards will stop anyone he brings with him and they have orders not to interfere with him.”
“Was that wise? He’s going to be very, very angry. He’s irrational where that girl is concerned.”
Woman, Chloe thought defiantly, working the ropes with her long fingers. They almost felt as if they were beginning to loosen, but she didn’t know if that was simply wishful thinking.
“That’s exactly why we took her,” Luc said patiently. “Why I made sure he kept her with us when we went to Como. It will upset his equilibrium, and he’ll be so desperate to get her safely away from us that he won’t be thinking clearly.”
“He’s a dangerous man,” Le Faucon warned him.
“Granted. But he’s not going to risk Chloe’s life. He’ll try to negotiate, not come in guns a-blazing like some terminator.”
“Maybe,” said Le Faucon. “I don’t think you should underestimate him.”
“I never have.”
The rope came loose, but she kept her hands together as if they were still tied.
At this point, there wasn’t much she could do with her hands free, but she could count on the element of surprise.
She desperately wanted to rip off her gag, but she remained totally still, her head slightly bowed, the perfect image of lost hope.
As Luc and Le Faucon continued to bicker, Chloe took in her surroundings.
There were two doors to the salon—one at the far end, another in the middle of the cabin, near her.
If they went to the farthest one, she could possibly make it out the other door and over the side of the boat.
The idea of immersing herself in the Thames was far from appealing, but a definite improvement on having her throat slashed.
Given her choice of execution, she’d rather be shot—it would be faster, neater.
She didn’t think they were going to ask her preference.
“What was that?” Le Faucon demanded suddenly.
“What was what?” Luc said irritably.
“That noise. It sounded like someone falling.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I heard someone fall. Check with the guards.”
“And alert him? I don’t think so. We wait.”
“I don’t like waiting,” Le Faucon whined.
“Tough. Unless you want to take off now with no crew and Chloe as our hostage. Then we could be sure Jean-Marc would follow us, but we wouldn’t be in such a protected position.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Why did we decide to go after Jean-Marc in the first place? Why didn’t we just accept our loss and move on?” Le Faucon demanded.
“I had my reasons,” said Luc.
The contentious conversation was adding to her confusion. Why was Luc making the decisions, not the supposed mastermind of whatever they called themselves. She would have liked to ask, but the gag was still in place, digging into her mouth.
This time, she heard the loud thump, the sound of a body hitting the ground. Le Faucon looked terrified, and even Luc swore. “He’s here,” he said flatly, drawing out his gun.
“I told you,” Le Faucon said sullenly. “What are we going to do?”
“Don’t forget, we have what he wants quite desperately. Frankly, I don’t see the attraction. She’s just an ordinary-enough woman, nothing like Maddelena. Nothing to risk your life for.”
They hadn’t tied her feet, Chloe realized with real gratitude. And there was a handgun just sitting on the table in front of Luc, almost within reach. If he could just be distracted for long enough…
Another thump, this time from directly overhead, and Luc’s curse was louder. Le Faucon, however, had dissolved into pure panic.
“How many guards did you set out?”
“Three.”
“Then that’s the three of them gone,” Le Faucon whined. “What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to have to shoot me,” Bastien said.