“This from the girl who knocked El Cobra rolling and foiled a whole gang of international kidnappers? This from the girl who—”
“Why did you come back?” I cut in.
That totally startled him. “Um ... because your grandfather asked me to.”
My head popped up. “Wait. I thought it was because you had a strong feeling that you needed to come.”
“I did, and so did Dad. But this was a few days before. I had been wondering if I had done the right thing, and how you were doing, an... .” He shrugged. “You know, all that kind of stuff. So I called your grandfather to see what he thought.”
“Why Grandpère? Why not Dad? Or Mom?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. It just felt right to call Grandpère.”
“And what did he say?”
“Four words. That was all.”
“Four words? Let me guess. ‘Danni really needs you.’”
“No. All he said was, ‘The chariots are here.’”
I just stared at him. “‘The chariots are here’?”
“Yes. That was it. Then he told me to trust my feelings and that if I did come, you would probably be in Paris by then.”
I started to cry. “I do need you, Rick. After all that happened, I thought it was over for us.”
“What do you mean by ‘all that happened’?”
“You know what I mean. I’m talking about me being such a total jerk. Me feeling like I was the hottest ticket in town. Me treating you like dirt. Me, the new and wonderful Katniss Everdeen. Me not even seeing you leave the restaurant because I was so busy with my adoring fans.” I had to stop for a moment. “Me telling the whole world about a very special kiss.”
There was a smile behind the gravity of his eyes. “Oh, yeah. That is quite a bit.”
I almost punched him as I laughed. “That’s not the right answer. You’re supposed to disagree with me.”
“No, I’m supposed to help you.”
I had to turn away. “I don’t know if you can. Not anymore. Remember who you’re talking to. The girl who, even after being chewed out by her grandfather for treating the pouch so casually, goes off and leaves it in her hotel room. The girl who was so chapped because no one even questioned whether she could actually shoot her best friend in the leg that she sent her friends on a hundred-mile goose chase to see Chris Hemsworth.”
He said nothing when I finally shut up. Those dark brown eyes, now almost black in the gray light, were unreadable as they searched my face. After what seemed like a full minute, I finally snapped at him. “Well, say something.”
His breath came out in a long, slow sigh. “I think I got here just in time. I think Danni McAllister has been, once again, beating up on herself.” He took me by the shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes. “And I don’t like that, because I think Danni McAllister is too hard on herself. And it’s time she stopped.”
I looked up, my eyes swimming with tears. “And what if she doesn’t?”
He leaned in very slowly, drawing me closer, and kissed me very gently. I felt my body go weak and nearly slipped out of his grasp. He held me tighter and kissed me again. “Then she’s going to have to deal with me.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,“ I whispered. “Tell me again.”
He did, and this time I put my arms around his neck and kissed him back. It was a kiss filled with longing, with hope, and with pure joy. Back at Leprechaun Canyon, I thought that there would never again be a moment as sweet and precious as when Rick kissed me.
I was wrong.
When we finally leaned back, we were both a little breathless. I found a smile somewhere deep inside me. “Bring on the chariots,” I said. “I think I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 28
By the time Grandpère rejoined us and we made our way to the visitors’ center, the security guard was ushering everyone out and locking the doors. I told him I thought the guard would let him in long enough to change out of his uniform, but he shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll change at the hotel.”
It was almost full dark and snowing steadily as we left the memorial and headed for the parking lot. There was now about an inch of snow on the ground. If it kept up like this, by morning there would be six or seven inches.
Another guard was waiting for us and a few other stragglers at the gate. He called out in both French and English as we passed by him, “Thank you for coming. Take care. The roads will be getting slick soon.”
The parking lot was nearly empty and partially obscured by the snow, but as we started for our van, I pulled up short. There was a sudden prickling at the back of my neck. “Grandpère?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a car parked near our van, and the engine is running.”
His head came up and he stopped. So did Rick. We peered through the gloom at the black Mercedes sedan parked just two spaces from our van. There was still enough light that we could see clouds of steam coming from the exhaust. I gave a low cry. “Look. There’s another one just like it. It’s just outside the parking lot, on the narrow road that leads to the highway.” The prickling became a slow crawl down my spine.
As we stood there peering at the nearer vehicle, the back door opened and a dark figure in an overcoat and dress hat got out. With the overhead light on, we could see that another man was at the wheel. One hand came up and waved. “Jean-Henri LaRoche? Is that you?”
“Oh my word,” Grandpère breathed.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
He swung around, a huge smile wreathing his face. “It’s Louis. Louis Girard.” And he broke into a rapid walk, waving back and calling out.
It was with great enthusiasm, much hugging, backslapping, and kissing on the cheeks that these two boyhood friends greeted each other. Rick and I stood back and watched the warm reunion. Grandpère kept two faded black-and-white photos on his dresser at home. One was of him and Grandmère on the day they were married in Boston. The other was of two boys outside Le Petit Château with their arms draped around each other’s necks. Grandpère looked like he was ten or eleven. That was a long time ago, but there was no mistaking the resemblance between the men before us now and the boys in the picture.
Louis was an inch or two taller than Grandpère, with broad shoulders and a wrinkled but kindly face. Unlike Grandpère, he was clean shaven. His heavy eyebrows were perfectly white, as was what hair I could see beneath a black homburg hat. His overcoat and black shoes looked expensive, perhaps even custom made.
When they finally let go of each other, Grandpère took Louis by the elbow and turned him toward us. “Louis, I wish to introduce you to my granddaughter. This is Carruthers Monique McAllister. But we all call her Danni.”
Louis stepped forward, beaming happily. “Yes, I know. I saw you and Rick on television. How do you do, Rick?” They shook hands. “And I must say that when I saw you, Danni, I was shocked. You look so much like your great-grandmother, Monique.”
“Merci,” I said with a slight bow. “I take that as a compliment.”
“As you should, my dear. As you should.” He took my right hand and raised it to his mouth. His lips brushed the back of my fingers lightly. “Enchanté, ma petite Monique.”
It was seriously one of the most romantic things that had ever happened in my life, and I think I went as red as a rose. I didn’t have to ask what it meant. Enchanté—literally, “enchanted”—was a common French greeting—their equivalent of saying “I’m pleased to meet you.” But I thought “Enchanted to meet you” was much more lovely. The rest meant, “my little Monique.”
I did a little curtsy. “Merci, Monsieur Girard. I am very pleased to meet you as well.”
Louis looked around. “But where is the rest of your family, Jean-Henri? Where are Angelique and Lucas? And your grandson? They are with you too, no?” His English was very
good, the French accent very light.
“They got sick,” I explained. “Some bad food. They went back to the hotel.”
“Oh?” He didn’t seem happy about that. “We were watching. We didn’t see them.”
“They took a taxi back to Caen,” Grandpère explained. “We are just headed back to see how they are doing.”
“Dad called about an hour ago,” I volunteered, “and said they were feeling much better.”
“So why don’t you follow us back?” Grandpère said. “Angelique and Mack would love to see you again and you could meet my grandson as well. We’ll have dinner together.”
His face fell. “I would like that very much, but I’m afraid we must go back to Paris tonight. I apologize, Jean-Henri, for not making contact sooner. But I’ve been in hiding. I had to be absolutely sure it was safe for me and for you to make contact.”
“Not a problem,” Grandpère said. “I’m just glad we finally connected. But why in hiding, Louis? Is something wrong?”
He frowned. “Actually,” he went on, “I was at the office yesterday morning when you came to see me. But I did not want to reveal myself. First of all, I wanted to make sure it was really you. Second, I wanted to see if you were being followed.”
This was starting to creep me out. In hiding. Being followed. Making sure it was safe. We had already played a starring role in one action movie. We didn’t need another one.
“You’d better tell us what is going on, Louis,” Grandpère said.
“Oui, oui.” Louis turned and motioned toward the car. “Come. It is warm inside. I want you to come see me as soon as you return to Paris, but I will give a quick summary now.”
As we slid into the Mercedes, I decided that Louis had done much better financially than my grandfather. I don’t know cars all that well, but I guessed this was the largest of the Mercedes models, the kind that was just one step short of a limo. Inside, it was top of the line in every respect. The leather seats felt almost like we were seated on carpeting. Walnut paneling was everywhere. What I guessed was a minibar was folded into the backseat. Louis got in the front with the driver. Grandpère, Rick, and I sat in the back. Louis didn’t introduce us to the driver, who never even looked in our direction.
When we were settled, Louis half turned so he could look at us.
“I was out of the country when you first started calling,” he began. “Actually, I was in New York, looking for you.”
We gaped at him. “But why?” Grandpère asked.
“Well, it all started one morning back in September. When I come to work each morning, I always turn on the news and listen to it as I start my day. So imagine my surprise when Fox News announced that a family from Hanksville, Utah, including the grandfather, Jean-Henri LaRoche, were going to be their special guests that morning.
“Imagine how shocked I was to hear what had happened to you.” He looked at me. “And to hear how you and Rick were able to free your family. I was stunned. And not just because it came out of the blue like that. I’ll explain what I mean in a moment. So I immediately left to go and find you. To warn you.”
There it was again. “Wasn’t it a little late by then to warn us?” I asked. “I mean, by the time we were in New York, it was all over with.”
“Was it?” he shot right back. Then he held up a finger. “Un moment, Danni, and I shall try to answer your question.” He turned back to Grandpère. “But when I got to New York, you had disappeared. Without a trace. Poof! You were no more.”
“Thanks to the FBI,” I said.
“Yes, I thought as much. I went to Utah, but you were not there either. But then, my office called to say that they were receiving calls from you. That you were in France. I could scarcely believe it. I was elated, of course, but cautious. I had to make sure this was not a trap.”
“A trap?” Grandpère asked.
“Yes. I had to be sure it was really you. So I had my security team start investigating. They quickly confirmed it was really you, but I had them continue to investigate, to see if you were being watched or monitored down in Le Petit Château. You were, but only by one of Interpol’s officers, which was good. And by the way, not to be critical of Interpol, but they had no idea my team was in place.”
He gestured toward the other Mercedes outside the car park. “The other car is the security team that has been following you, making sure all was okay. I was greatly relieved to learn that it was. So when you came to the office this morning, I decided it was time that we meet. And so here I am.”
He leaned in a little, looking at Grandpère. “When will you be back in Paris?”
“We had planned on heading back Saturday morning. But with the family being sick, they missed the cemetery experience today, so I think we’ll extend that another day. Why?”
“You must stop and see me before you return to Le Petit Château. It is imperative. There is so much I have to tell you. And show you. And things we need to put into place for your protection. But for now, let me share the essentials.”
“We’re listening,” said Grandpère, who by now looked as grave and worried as Louis.
“Perhaps I should begin by saying that your family was not the first to be kidnapped.”
“What?” Rick and I cried out together.
“Who else?” Grandpère asked, his voice low.
“My granddaughter was kidnapped about two years ago.”
I fell back against the seat, sick with shock.
“It cost me a million Euros to get her back safely. But that is not all. Eighteen months ago, Jacques Rousseau was kidnapped from his office in broad daylight. He paid two million Euros to his captors.”
“Jacques too?” Grandpère whispered.
“Oui. At the time, I thought it very odd that two former Resistance members from Le Petit Château should be the target of criminals, but I assumed it was just a strange coincidence. But I immediately hired a highly professional security company to investigate. I had to make sure this was more than blind chance. I also went into seclusion, fearing that something else might happen. That’s why my people were so evasive with you.”
“Have your security people found out who is doing this?”
He held up his hand. “Let me answer that in a minute, Jean-Henri. First, let me say that I had them look up some of our old comrades and see if there were more instances of kidnappings.”
“And were there?”
“No, not exactly. Except for yours, of course. But listen to this. Last January, André Villeneuve had his supermarket in Bordeaux burned to the ground under very suspicious circumstances. When he filed a claim, the insurance company had no record that they had ever insured him. He was financially ruined. Still hasn’t recovered. A few months later, Étienne Giroux was accused of embezzling from his company. He’s the chief financial officer there.”
“Étienne?” Grandpère exploded. “Impossible!”
“Agreed. But the proof was ‘irrefutable.’ He was convicted and is still serving an eighteen-month prison sentence. No trace of the money he supposedly embezzled was ever found. It was a high-profile case and generated a lot of terrible publicity. His wife divorced him and his children now refuse to visit him. The evidence was so strong that even they believed he did it.”
“So five of us from Le Petit Château?”
“Oui, and that’s only the beginning. Do you remember Célina Chastain? From Strasbourg?”
“Of course.” He turned to me and Rick. “She was our courier. She was just sixteen. Your age, Danni. She had the face of an angel and could talk her way past almost any German patrol.” There was a fleeting smile. “Both Louis and I had terrible crushes on her, but she was older than we were and barely knew we existed.” Back to Louis. “What about her?”
Louis’s face was filled with sorrow now. “Célina, now Célina Morneau, worked in the French Civi
l Service for many years and retired on a small pension a few years back. Last November, her grandson and granddaughter were arrested for the sale and possession of cocaine, methamphetamine, and heroin. The police got an anonymous tip and found several bags of cocaine in the boy’s apartment and more in the girl’s car. At their trial, people they had never seen before swore that they had been their suppliers.”
He sighed. “I know that family well. The boy was one of my employees for a time. He was not a drug user. Neither was his sister. I sent my corporate counsel out to represent them. Because it was a first offense for both of them, they finally got three years of probation. But they cannot get jobs now because they have felonies on their records. It has nearly killed Célina.”
“So all of those targeted were former Resistance fighters?”
“That’s what I thought at first. But then the security people started finding other puzzling cases where seemingly innocent people were set up, framed, and convicted of fraud, embezzlement, or other crimes. Three had their assets totally stripped by professional identity thieves. Another was convicted of manslaughter after a barroom fight that he didn’t start. A bloody knife, which he had never seen before, had his fingerprints on it.”
Louis stopped, his eyes far away now. “Are you seeing anything strange about these last examples?”
Grandpère thought a moment, then shook his head. “Not really. What?”
“These brought no financial gain for the perpetrators. In fact, there was another kidnapping two months ago in Le Mans. Same mode of operation. A lot of evidence to suggest it was the same gang. But the man they captured was a factory worker, the son of a retired factory worker. Guess what the amount of the ransom was? Two thousand Euros. That wouldn’t even have covered their expenses. Who kidnaps people for two thousand Euros?”
Rick spoke up. “Why else would they do it, if not for money?”
“Exactement!” Louis exploded.
“For revenge,” Grandpère said quietly.
To Run With the Swift Page 37
