Chapter 13
Maurice could tell Amelie was revving up to do something when she yelled at him to throw the map case. From where he was standing, he could do nothing to help her. He figured once the map case left his hands, they’d shoot him.
What could one lone female do against two men, one of whom was pointing a loaded gun at her? She was going to get herself shot.
“Don’t do it,” he muttered as he cocked his arm. “Don’t do it.” However, as soon as he thrust the map case into the air, she did it.
Amelie kicked the guy reaching for the case so hard, he flew down the staircase, bulldozing the guy with the gun and sending him tumbling further.
The gun flew into the air and fell, bouncing off the big bell on its way to the floor twenty feet below.
All of this happened so fast that he didn’t know which way to look.
At the same time, the bells started ringing so loudly they reverberated off his eardrums.
In a flash of movement, Amelie turned, flung her hands in the air and caught the map case strap on her arm.
Just when Maurice thought she was safe, the map case bounced back, hitting her in the face, and she lost her balance and tipped over the rail.
“No!” Maurice didn’t hesitate, didn’t think. He ran across the beam and threw himself downward to the next lower beam. He reached his arms out and caught himself on the wooden joist, hitting it so hard that it knocked the air from his lungs and shot paint through his arms and chest.
He pulled himself up to straddle the brace and searched the floor far below for Amelie’s broken body, expecting the worst but praying for a miracle.
The crisscrossing beams, bells and cobwebs made it difficult to see the floor so far below. Where was she? His gut clenched.
If she died...
His pulse pounded hard through his veins like a bass drum against his ears. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“Not again,” he wheezed through constricted lungs. The scent of garlic and burning flesh filled his memories. His head spun, and his stomach roiled.
No. He couldn’t lose it.
Fuck no.
He couldn’t see her on the floor below, because she hadn’t fallen that far.
Forcing back the dizziness and muscling air back into his lungs, he pushed to his knees and shimmied across the beam, searching, scanning. She had to be close. She had to be alive.
He refused to accept any other option.
A moan sounded directly below him.
He flattened himself to the beam and leaned over.
Amelie lay sprawled across a wider junction of joists, face down...and moving.
“Amelie!” Maurice called out. “Amelie, sweetheart. Answer me.”
“Ugh,” she groaned.
“Babe, are you hurt?” He snorted. “Of course, you’re hurt. Can you tell if anything is broken? Can you move your fingers and toes?”
“I... can...move.” To prove it, she pushed her body up on her arms and cursed. “Please tell me you got the number of the truck that ran me over.”
“Don’t move,” Maurice called out.
“Couldn’t if I wanted to. Got nowhere to go.” She raised her arm. “Didn’t drop it. All I got to say is that Monet better be in here.” She lay back down on the junction.
“Amelie, talk to me,” Maurice said as he looked for a better way to get down. Unfortunately, from where he stood, there wasn’t much of a choice other than jumping. At least the beams Amelie was on came close to the spiral staircase.
He glanced up at the tangle of arms and legs that was the pair of thugs who had threatened to shoot them. One appeared unconscious, trapping the other beneath him.
Maurice wasn’t sure how long the two would remain incapacitated. He had to get to Amelie and get her down from the tower before they came after them.
And where the hell were Luis and Xavier? They were supposed to have their six. Communications were nil after he’d lost his earbuds in the fall. He suspected Amelie’s had been dislodged as well.
Moving further down the beam, away from where Amelie lay, he found a cross piece that was only four feet down, versus the eight feet he’d dropped the first time.
Maurice channeled his inner BUD/S trainee, the one conditioned to embrace cold and pain, and focused, steadied and dropped onto the post below. He ran to where one beam crossed the one Amelie was on.
This time, he lay on the post, swung his legs over the side and eased himself down until his feet touched a hard surface.
As soon as he was steady, he hurried to Amelie and dropped down in front of her. “Hey. No sleeping on the job.”
“Not sleeping,” she muttered. “Contemplating.”
“Contemplating what?” he asked, glancing around, worried he was taking too long.
“Contemplating my life choices,” she said.
“Sweetheart, we need to get you up and out of here before Tweedle Dee and Dumber manage to untangle themselves from the staircase. Let me help you up.”
She waved her hand. “I’ve got this.”
He waited.
“Okay, I don’t have this. I could use a hand.”
He slid a hand beneath her arm and rose, pulling her up with him and bracing himself in case she passed out.
Once she was upright, she swayed, and her eyes rolled back.
Maurice shifted for a better grip.
Then her head came up, she blinked and smiled at him. “Thought I was going to go down, didn’t you?” She laughed and coughed, pressing a hand to her chest. “Psych.”
“Out of all the starving comedians, I get stuck with you.” He slipped the map case off her arm and slung it over his head and across his chest. Then he turned her to face the staircase. “I need you to walk the plank.”
“Aye, aye, matey.” She placed one foot in front of the other.
He walked her forward, holding her by the hips to correct her balance along the way. They made better progress than he’d expected, crossing over to the spiral staircase without falling to their deaths.
Groans and curses sounded from above.
“I believe Dee and Dumber are on the move. Let me go down first.” He stepped in front of Amelie.
Amelie laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m feeling a little steadier,” she said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Moving as fast as he could without leaving her behind, Maurice hurried down the spiral stairs until they arrived on the floor with the clock.
Maurice glanced around. The gun had fallen to this level. The last thing he wanted was for the two miscreants, now pounding their way down the stairs, to retrieve the gun and come after them. The pounding sounds increased, even louder than he thought two men could possibly create.
He almost gave up looking for the gun when something shiny caught his attention. “Hold on.”
Maurice sprinted across the floor and grabbed the gun.
“Maurice!” Amelie yelled.
On instinct, Maurice spun and dropped low, his heart sinking to the pit of his belly.
Eugene Peltier stood between Maurice and the staircase leading down from the clock tower. He held the woman Maurice loved captive, an arm wrapped around her middle with a gun pressed to her temple. “I will take the case,” he said, his tone as cold as his eyes.
“Let her go, and you can have it,” Maurice said.
“No. The pretty chef is my insurance policy. I will have the case and the chef until I am clear of American airspace.”
Maurice shook his head. “Not an option.” You’re not taking her anywhere.
” He pulled the map case over his head with his right hand, while aiming for Peltier’s chest with the gun he held with his left hand.
“You see, if you shoot her, you lose your leverage and your body shield. You won’t have time to shoot another round before I put a bullet in you. It’s a lose-lose situation.”
Peltier pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Amelie’s temple.
“Are you willing to stake her life on it? I have nothing to lose,” Peltier said.
“I wasted two years chasing clues, looking for The Lady by the Stream. Two years, following a long list of false clues that lying bastard Beno?t gave me when I threatened to kill him. He finally gave them to me, but I killed him anyway. You know where his clues led me? To a cave in Portugal. In it, I found a painting. A picture a child could have painted, titled Deception. The bastard deserved to die. He knew where she was all along but kept her hidden away.”
Heavy footsteps clomped down the spiral staircase, nearing the bottom. It was only moments before the goons joined the fun.
“Now, I will have the last laugh and the Monet my family was promised for helping the Nazis assimilate into France. A painting my grandfather gave his life for. It will be mine.”
Amelie’s eyes narrowed.
Maurice was beginning to know that look. Once again, she was revving up to do something. She mouthed the words, Shoot him. Her hand at her side displayed three fingers, then two.
He braced himself, his finger caressing the trigger. “I almost feel sorry for you. Your obsession has consumed your humanity.”
One.
Amelie went limp and slipped through Peltier’s grip, dropping to the floor.
Maurice fired.
The bullet hit the man in his left shoulder, but he barely jerked backward. Seconds later, he had his gun aimed at Maurice.
Maurice fired again.
Peltier staggered and fired, the bullet going wide.
The two men reached the bottom of the spiral staircase.
Peltier cried out, “Kill him!”
The men rushed Maurice.
He raised the gun and tried to pull the trigger. It misfired. He flung it to the ground, pulled a knife from the scabbard on his arm and flung it at the closest of the two, the blade piercing his neck. The man slowed, clasping a hand to his throat while blood streamed down his arm.
The other guy charged at Maurice like an angry bull.
Maurice waited until the last moment and stepped aside. As the attacker staggered past him, Maurice planted his hand in the middle of the man’s back and pushed hard.
He fell, crashing hard against the floor.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Amelie said.
Maurice glanced up to find Peltier with his hand fisted in her hair.
“Let go of my hair and I’ll let you keep them,” she said through clenched teeth.
Maurice followed her hand to where she had it pressed against Peltier’s balls with the plastic knife he’d insisted she bring to the party.
“I’m a chef,” she said. “I’m pretty good with a knife, and I know how to cut meat.”
“Amelie?” Maurice started toward her. “Need a hand?”
“I’ve got this bastard. You heard him. He killed Armand. He deserves to die.” She bared her teeth at him. “Go ahead. Make your move. I don’t really need an excuse to bury this knife in you.”
Unarmed and bleeding profusely, Peltier wouldn’t be a problem for Amelie.
Still, Maurice moved closer, ready to take him out if he tried anything more than pulling her hair. Already, he was losing his grip and swaying. Blood loss did that to a man.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs coming up from below.
Xavier, Luis, Remy, Gerard, Lucas and Beau burst onto the scene. A few steps behind them, huffing and puffing, came Fredrick Schulz.
“Right.” Maurice crossed his arms over his chest. “Now you show up.”
“Had a little difficulty with the door. It was blocked,” Xavier said.
Luis tipped his head toward the German. “Schulz found us another way in.”
Remy tipped his head toward Amelie and Peltier. “That woman has rage.”
“Tell me about it.” Maurice shook his head. “I should be all right with her. I think she might love me.”
Amelie shot a glance his way, eyes wide.
Maurice smiled. “And it’s a good thing, because I love her right back.”
Her lips spread in a radiant smile, which was a little unnerving considering she still had her knife all up in Peltier’s business.
Remy elbowed Maurice. “Just remember not to piss her off.”
“Roger that,” Maurice said.
Remy strode over to Amelie. “Let me take over from here. The police are on their way.”
“He killed Armand,” she said, her eyes filling.
Maurice moved up behind her. “Yeah. But now you know, and he’ll pay. No use ruining your life by taking his.”
She lowered her arm and let Remy lead the man away.
Maurice turned her toward him and pulled her into his arms.
She pressed her forehead against his chest. “I heard what you said.” She leaned her head back and met his gaze with a watery one of her own. “Did you mean it?” A tear slid down her cheek. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You know...love me.”
He touched a finger to her lips. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Another tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m glad,” she said and pressed her forehead against his chest again. “I really didn’t know how to compete with a ghost.”
He tipped her chin up. “You’re not competing with a ghost.”
She nodded. “I know that now. I would never want you to forget her or the love you felt for her. That love is a part of you. It made you who you are today. And I’m falling hopelessly in love with you. So, don’t screw it up,” she said with a saucy tilt of her head. “I’m wicked with a knife.”
“I’ll never sleep again at night,” he said.
“There are many better things to do at night than sleep,” she whispered.
“I can think of quite a few,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
“Jesus, Mo,” Xavier said. “Get a room.”