Chapter Nine
GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT. Ford didn’t want to leave Natalie here on her own, but taking her along would slow him down and divide his attention. Now he prayed she’d actually listen to him and stay put.
Sprinting away from the car, he stayed low and ran alongside the berry bushes that had overtaken the south-facing fence line, using them for cover. He might be overreacting. Everything might be fine. But the gravel drive had looked heavily disturbed, like a large vehicle had backed out quickly.
Someone could have been lost and used it to turn around. Or they could’ve come looking for Henri. No idea how they’d have found him, but as careful as Ford had been, he wasn’t infallible. He knew that all too well.
As he approached the house, he lost his concealment.
Before moving Henri into the house, he’d cleared away the bushes and brush within thirty yards to prevent someone from creeping up on it exactly as he was trying to do now.
Racing across the grass, he hopped a short wall and crouched beneath the kitchen window.
Slowly, he rose and peered through the glass.
No movement. Everything looked quiet. Too quiet.
His scalp prickled. Henri might be taking a nap, but Blitz should be barking right now. She didn’t bark indiscriminately, but she was an effective guard dog.
Ford’s stomach churned. Circling the trees, he crossed the back patio to the door and found it locked. Jogging around to the front of the house, he took a peek through the bedroom and living room windows, seeing nothing. Nerves increasingly wound tight, he checked the front door. Still ajar.
Fuck.
Had Blitz run away? Part of him hoped it was that simple.
He pushed open the thick wooden door. It squeaked, as always, a simple early warning. Henri had refused to have an alarm system in the house despite Ford’s insistence. Ultimately, Ford had backed down, hoping that the remote location was enough protection. He should’ve pressed harder.
Thump. The sound came from the second floor, followed by a several other unrecognizable sounds.
Despite the pulse pounding in his ears, he felt preternaturally calm and focused as he glanced into the main room, finding it empty, before he raced up the stairs. Adrenaline was his friend right now, but he’d pay the price later.
His stomach bottomed out at the sight of Henri on his back, the lower half of his striped button-up shirt soaked with blood.
A sound from the far wall caught his attention. The window had been tilted all the way open and a man slithered through the opening. Ford raced after him, but the acrobat gripped the sill with one hand, while producing a pistol in the other.
Fuck. Ford hit the floor and a tuft of carpet flew into the air a foot from his face. Crack!
He rolled and landed in a crouch, ready to evade another round, but the gunman had disappeared. Dashing to the wall, Ford reached the window just in time to see the assassin get up, dust himself off, and limp down the gravel drive to where a small Dacia Duster idled.
Dammit. He waited just long enough to ensure the little black SUV drove away, and then dropped to the floor next to the injured doctor.
“Henri?” Ford’s hands shook as he ripped apart the buttons on the man’s shirt and located the wound at the base of his ribs. “Hey. Look at me,” Ford said in French.
The older man blinked his eyes. “I am going to see Delphine.” His voice was weak and hoarse.
“Not yet, goddammit.” Ford put pressure on the oozing wound. “Not yet.”
The man might want to join his wife, but he also wanted justice for her killer. His testimony might be the only chance for that outcome.
Also, Ford didn’t want him to die. “Henri, stay with me. Please.”
He fished in his front pocket for the untraceable cell phone he’d brought to France, while keeping an ear out for the intruder. If the shooter returned with reinforcements before the cops arrived, he and Henri were screwed.
Sure, Deschamps’ hired guns were likely to find Henri easily in a hospital, but that was a problem for later. Without immediate treatment, he would die. Ford had no choice but to call for help.
At some point he’d learned France’s emergency numbers, but at the moment, he couldn’t remember the right one. The all-EU number, 112, might take a few extra seconds to transfer him over, but it would get the job done.
The phone was tangled in his goddamned pocket, and he shifted his hips for better access, but before he could pull it free, the sound of the front door’s squeaky hinges broke the quiet.
Shit.
Ford gave up on the phone and braced himself to fight.
As soon as Natalie heard the distant pop! she grabbed the key fob, climbed out of the little Renault and started running. She wasn’t medically cleared for strenuous activity yet, but fuck that. Ford might be outnumbered, and he was definitely out-armed. Maybe she could level the playing field.
Somehow.
Her still-healing wound throbbed and her lungs burned, but the house sat less than two-hundred yards away, mostly downhill. She could suck it up.
Running with only one free arm was even more awkward than walking.
A couple of times she almost tripped on the uneven ground, but she made it safely to the corner of the house on the side with her bedroom window.
She peered through the glass and the sheer curtains, but didn’t see anyone in the room, or in the sliver of the main room visible beyond.
Darting to the front of the house, she crab-walked beneath the window and ran for the front door. Ford’s voice came through the open upstairs window, but she couldn’t make out the words as she stood there, trying to catch her breath. No other voices answered.
A quick turn of the handle revealed the door was unlocked, so she pushed it open, a loud creak announcing her presence. Dammit. Inside, she glanced into the dining room/kitchen/living room. Empty. Her stomach sank. Where was everyone? Why hadn’t Blitz come running?
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Ford?”
Something thumped lightly on the floor. “Up here! I could use your help.”
At least her sprint hadn’t been for nothing.
Still breathing hard, she tackled the steps, her legs like jelly.
At the top, she gasped at the scene. Henri lay on the floor, his shirt dripping red.
Ford knelt next to him, pressing one hand to Henri’s stomach as he rolled the man away from him and lifted his shirt. Otherwise, the room seemed empty.
“Oh, my God.” She dropped to her knees next to Henri, her stomach suddenly made of lead. “What happened?”
“I think he was stabbed. It’s too clean for a bullet wound.” Ford returned Henri to his back.
The older man moaned, his eyes remaining closed as he mumbled what sounded like, “Delphine.”
“I heard a shot.” Or had she misinterpreted? Heard something else, like a car backfiring?
Ford nodded. “Pretty sure I interrupted the attack. He climbed out the window, but took a shot at me before he dropped down.”
She gasped. “Are you okay?”
Ford nodded. “He missed.”
Thank God. “What can I do?”
“I need to call an ambulance. Can you get the phone out of my pocket?” He nodded toward his right hip.
Swallowing hard, she nodded. The sight and smell of blood, Ford’s hands smeared with red…
She saw him lying on the ground four years ago, after suffering a similar attack, his face so damn pale.
She remembered the horror of watching their informant fall to the ground three weeks ago, and felt the shock of the bullet puncturing her chest just hours later, her pink shirt turning red as she lay on the floor of the condo in Lucerne, Emma and Jason’s faces etched with fear.
The edges of her vision turned black, and her head felt like a helium balloon.
“Natalie?” Ford’s voice pulled her back to this room, to this moment.
She blinked and sucked in a deep breath.
“Yep. I’ve got it.” Jesus, get a grip. Henri needed her.
Ford needed her. She leaned in as he rose to his knees to give her access to the front of his khakis, revealing bright smears of blood on the fabric.
“We’re here, Henri. You’re going to be okay.
An ambulance is coming.” She slipped her hand into Ford’s bloody pocket and grabbed the phone.
“Don’t let Deschamps win. You have unfinished business with that asshole. ”
Henri grunted, but didn’t open his eyes.
She dialed the emergency number and held the burner to Ford’s ear.
Less than a minute later, he began speaking French to whomever had answered his call.
Complete gibberish to Nat’s ears, and right now she would give almost anything to be able to speak even a few words of comfort to Henri in his native language.
She should’ve taken advantage of her confinement with him to study French. Instead, she had only rusty high school Spanish. Not even good enough to decipher some of the billboards around LA.
She kept pressure on his wound with her good hand, and ran her other palm gently up and down his arm, her range of motion limited by the sling and a slight twinge of pain.
Worth it to provide a—hopefully soothing—distraction.
“Help is on the way,” she said softly. “Just hang on, okay? Do it for me. Do it for your wife. Please, Henri. Just a little longer.” Her voice cracked. Tears ran down her cheeks.
In a few short weeks, the grumpy man had become a friend.
Ford pressed a button on the phone and set it on the floor. “Natalie.”
She looked up at his tear-blurred face.
“They should be here soon.”
“Good.” God, let it be soon enough to save Henri.
“I need you to do something for me.” Ford’s voice became stern. “No argument. We don’t have much time.”
Her back stiffened. “What?” She sniffed and blinked hard, trying to get the waterworks under control.
“I want you to take the Renault, and drive back toward town.” He nodded his head toward the street where he’d left the little hatchback.
“There’s a busy shopping center with a Carrefour—it’s a grocery store—between the traffic circle and the highway.
You won’t stand out if you park there. I’ll deal with the police and meet up with you as soon as I can. ”
“But…” So much could go wrong. What if they arrested him again? What if some—
“Natalie.”
She jolted and met his pale blue gaze.
“If they find you here, there are too many questions we don’t want to answer.
” Ford gently moved her hand away from Henri’s stomach and replaced it with his own.
“I don’t think the dispatcher heard your voice, so they shouldn’t be looking for you.
The police will probably dust for fingerprints and figure out you were here at some point, but I don’t want you here when they arrive. ”
He nodded toward the cell phone on the floor. “Keep this turned off, but if I’m not there by—” he glanced at the little alarm clock on the bedside table “—seven o’clock, call the contact in this phone and tell her you need somewhere safe to stay.”
He wanted her to leave him. And Henri.
But he was right. If the police found her here she’d have to come clean, and that would expose her before she was ready.
Leaving them behind felt ten kinds of wrong, but hadn’t she made almost the same argument to Emma and Jason just weeks ago? Now she understood why they’d been so reluctant to leave her behind.
The key difference was that Henri wouldn’t be alone.
The faint wail of sirens heralded the first responders’ approach.
“Please, Nat.” Ford said, his voice strained, face taut. “You need to leave. Now.”