by Lola Gabriel
The couple gaped at him in surprise.
“I can drop you at your flat,” Tanya replied. “It was all part of the plan.”
“No, thank you,” Ansel said. “I will just hail a taxi.”
Louis scowled slightly.
“Where are you going?” he demanded. “You need to rest after your flight.”
“And I will rest,” Ansel assured him. “After I return from taking care of something important.”
“It is no trouble,” Tanya hurriedly added. “If that is your concern. I had already intended to drive you home. I am surprised that Louis did not prepare you.”
“I am not going with you,” Ansel said flatly. “But I would appreciate it if you take my bags to my townhouse. My man, James, should still be awake, but if he does not answer, just use your key.”
Louis snickered. “Oh, no,” he snapped. “I am not your servant. You can take your bags with you, or you can come with us. It’s your decision.”
Ansel gritted his teeth in annoyance. He could not bring his luggage with him to Switzerland, and if Louis was going to be stubborn… He was obviously still annoyed at Ansel because of what he’d said in the flight.
There is no point in fighting with him, Ansel thought with a sigh. We’re both exhausted. I will simply leave from my house.
“Very well,” Ansel agreed. “I will go with you.”
Tanya visibly exhaled, as if she had been expecting a brawl.
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed with too much enthusiasm, and Ansel glared at his trainer. Louis didn’t seem to notice. “Where do you live, love?” Tanya asked cheerfully after they had climbed into her vehicle.
“He lives in Chelsea,” Louis volunteered.
“As do I!” she squealed. “What part?”
Ansel cringed inwardly. The thought of having this woman for a neighbor was excruciating. Luckily for him, he could always avoid any potential friendship with her under the guise of training. Ansel gave her his address, and Tanya maintained a happy babbling all the way from the airport to their borough.
In ten minutes, Ansel thought between her yapping, I will be in my front door, and in half an hour, I will be heading out of the country again.
As they pulled onto Beaufont Street, heading toward the River Thames, Ansel was struck by a sense of déjà vu, like he had driven by the Thames before—or at least walked by it. He remembered that Nora had always loved to stand by the river and think.
Ansel wondered if maybe he had captured Nora’s memory, rather than recall his own.
“Is this yours then, love?” Tanya asked as she pulled toward his townhouse.
Ansel nodded, but his brow furrowed when he noticed the police vehicles parked at the curb.
“What’s going on?” he wondered aloud.
“We left them back in Vegas and they followed us home,” Louis chuckled, but Ansel did not smile as he slowly got out of Tanya’s car.
When they had left the Bellagio that morning, there had been half a dozen law enforcement cars parked in the lot, including a crime scene van. Louis had made a glib comment about them, but Ansel had barely paid him any attention. After all, they were in America. It was hardly an uncommon sight.
But there was something unnerving about what seemed to be the entirety of Scotland Yard waiting for him as he pulled his luggage from the trunk of the car.
Louis stepped from the passenger seat, and they looked up as a man and a woman slowly descended the steps leading to Ansel’s front door.
“Good evening,” the woman called. “Do you live here?”
“Yes,” Ansel said. “My name is Ansel Williams. What can I do for you?”
The man’s face lit up. “You really are The Dragon, aren’t ya?’
Ansel nodded, his eyes narrowing as he dropped the bags to his side.
“I am. What is this about?”
“I am Inspector Watkins, and this is Inspector Valentino,” the woman explained. “We have a few questions for you about Carolyn Halpstern.”
Louis and Ansel exchanged a glance.
“I’m sorry,” Ansel replied. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Louis shrugged to confirm his ignorance. “Who is she?”
“I’m sorry, you are?” asked the man.
“Louis Brandt. I am Ansel’s trainer. We were in Las Vegas together.”
They inspectors looked at one another.
“And you’re certain you don’t know Carolyn Halpstern?” asked Inspector Watkins.
Again, Louis and Ansel peered at one another blankly.
“I am afraid it doesn’t ring a bell. Have you a photograph? We meet a lot of people day to day,” Ansel explained.
Who is this woman? he thought, wracking his brain. He still came up empty-handed.
“That is very interesting, Mr. Williams, because we have witnesses who saw you together in Las Vegas, at the bar of the Bellagio,” Inspector Watkins supplied, handing him a picture.
Again, Ansel shook his head, reaching to look at the picture.
“I have no idea—” His sentence trailed off as he recognized the woman from the photo. “Oh! Carrie?” he realized, laughing slightly and returning the picture to the inspector. “Yes, of course. I didn’t know that was her name, she just introduced herself as Carrie. Sorry. What about her?”
The police officers did not smile, and Ansel felt a slight chill of apprehension flow through him.
“So you do know her?” Inspector Valentino pressed. “How well would you say you were acquainted?”
Ansel did not like the implication of his tone, and he was suddenly very aware that they were in the middle of his street.
“If you’re asking me if we’re sexually acquainted,” he said, “then yes. Yes, we are. Why, what is she saying I did?” He gestured towards his home. “Shall we go inside?”
He couldn’t imagine that the passionate brunette had turned on him after their experiences together, but unfortunately, it didn’t surprise him. After he had risen in the world of boxing, he had expected a day like this to come.
If she’s looking for a payout, she is going to have about as much luck as Tony Valducci, Ansel thought grimly. It was a shame—he was not looking forward to burning Carrie’s house down.
“She is not saying anything, Mr. Williams,” Inspector Watkins said flatly. “She’s been murdered.”
Ansel had no chance to react to the news before Inspector Valentino interceded.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside after all, sir.”
10
I must not drink the tea, Nora thought when she woke that morning, her brain a fog of confusion. I must stay alert and hidden from the staff. I must get out of here before Jerome returns.
She had lost a day, swimming in and out of consciousness as Collette kept a close eye on her.
Ansel had not returned to her in her dreams, and she began to wonder if she had lost him forever. But that was not something she could afford to dwell on. She needed to devise a plan, and it began with leaving the tea.
It proved to be harder than she anticipated.
Collette was at her side more often than Nora ever remembered. She had to keep her wits about her and run from the prison she was being kept in. How long would it take her to reach Lucerne on foot if she simply slipped out the door? She had no idea, and in the bitter February temperatures, there was no guarantee that she would make it.
That left stealing one of the cars parked in the garage.
Can I even drive? Nora asked herself in despair. She could not recall the semantics of handling a vehicle, but that didn’t mean she would not remember them once she got inside a car. It didn’t matter; it was the only way she could assure she put some distance between herself and her captors.
Nora hadn’t completely forsaken the idea of enlisting an ally, but it wasn’t Collette she had in mind. Alex was newer to the household. She might believe Nora if only the brunette could get her alone and away from Collette.
“Mademoiselle Nora, I have your breakfast,” Collette called from the sitting room. “May I enter?”
Though question was rhetorical—she was going to walk in anyway—Nora responded anyway.
“Oui, Collette.”
The housekeeper appeared in the bedroom, smiling, but Nora could read the tension beneath her calm façade.
Has she always known something was amiss in this house? she thought to herself. Or has she always believed what Jerome has told her, the same way I have?
“Collette, may I borrow Alex today?” she asked sweetly, reaching for her tea. She was careful to purse her lips as she pretended to drink.
Collette peered at her, narrowing her eyes.
“You know we are all at your disposal, mademoiselle,” Collette said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Nora laughed nervously.
“It is terribly vain, but Jerome returns today, and I wish to look my best for him,” she explained. “I would like Alex to help me with my make-up. You know, make me look like a princess.”
Collette shook her head.
“Monsieur Charpentier will not return for two days, mademoiselle,” she replied, a pitying note to her words. Nora exhaled silently.
Good. I have not completely wasted my chance to leave.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Won’t he? I could’ve sworn it was today.”
Collette seemed to relax, taking comfort in the fact that Nora was apparently delusional. “Would you still like Alex to visit you?”
Nora sighed and nodded.
“I did have my heart set on having my hair styled today,” she explained, pouting slightly. “Even if Jerome will not see it.”
“Well, mademoiselle, I am sure that Marc will stare at you admiringly as he always does,” Collette chuckled. “I will send Alex in after you have finished your morning nap.”
Nora remembered that she was supposed to be falling asleep.
“Très bien,” she mumbled, feigning a yawn. “Merci.”
She allowed herself to settle back into the pillows, and Collette hurried forward to take her cup of tea and keep it from spilling as Nora closed her eyes, listening for the housekeeper to leave the room.
Her mind was whirling.
Does Marc really stare at me admiringly? she thought, her pulse racing. Perhaps I will have an ally in this house after all.
She lay still for a long while, ensuring that she had been left alone. When she was certain that no one would come inside the room, she leapt to her feet and hurried to the ensuite to brush her teeth. She gazed at her reflection in the glass, examining the sleepy expression critically.
Am I beautiful? she wondered. If so, am I beautiful enough to pull this off?
She was going to find out.
Spitting into the sink, Nora found a silk robe hanging on the back of the door and slipped it around her lean frame, gritting her teeth with nervousness. She glanced out the window of her bedroom and saw it was snowing again. She silently hoped that her plan would work… if only she could make it out of the house undetected.
Slowly, Nora pried open the door to her suite and peered down the hallway. Just below, she could hear Collette and Alex talking, and she crept into the corridor to listen to their conversation better.
“I worry about giving her so much, but you remember what happened the last time,” Collette said. “And that trip to town was just a sign of bad things to come.”
“I was so scared that we would be fired, but I did not know how to stop her without upsetting her!” Alex confessed. “The last time, she broke two windows, and I swear I saw smoke coming out of her nostrils!”
“I have seen that, too! She is like a toddler throwing a wicked tantrum when she is incensed, and there is no reasoning with her,” Collette sighed. “I do know what you mean. I feel like she has some… superhuman power, and it will take us all down with her.”
I do not recall any of that, Nora thought, her brow furrowing. Did I do that or did Jerome convince them I have? She continued to listen to their conversation, hoping to learn more about herself.
“She is like a lost child,” Alex agreed. “Monsieur Charpentier is a saint for dealing with her in her mental state. I don’t know why he doesn’t just lock her up. There are so many good facilities, and with his money…”
“Well, he is a psychiatrist,” Collette explained. “That is why he knows what is best for her. And she is his wife. In sickness and in health, I suppose.”
He’s a psychiatrist? Nora thought, her head swimming. He is my husband? Bile rose to her throat, but she forced it down. She did not want to explain the vomit along the floor runner.
“Still,” Alex insisted. “He deals with insanity all day long. Who wants to come home to a hysterical woman?”
The next time Collette spoke, she lowered her voice, and Nora had to pay closer attention to listen to her words. “I think he might be considering sending her away after that stunt last week. He is giving us two days’ paid leave when he returns because I don’t think he wants us to witness it. Monsieur Charpentier says we should say our goodbyes to her.”
“So sad,” Alex murmured. “I try to imagine what she would be like if she wasn’t so unstable. Sometimes I see such kindness in her eyes. What makes a woman like that?”
“Moi aussi,” Collette replied. “But we will never know, and it is not our place to ask.”
There was a slight pause.
“Do you ever wonder if she is telling the truth?” Alex asked quietly.
Collette scoffed. “About what? That she can fly, or that she is seven hundred years old? She is insane, Alex.”
“No,” Alex said hesitatingly. “Not about that.” She paused for a long moment, and Nora forced herself to remain where she was. She hadn’t heard them move anywhere.
“About what?” Collette demanded, and Alex let out a deep sigh. It was filled with reluctance.
“That she has been kidnapped.”
The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife.
“She babbles in her sleep,” Collette snapped. “That is all.”
“But she speaks English perfectly!” Alex insisted. “And out of nowhere! She is supposed to be from Nice, born and raised, but I am certain her accent is more British than French.”
“Enough of this!” Collette almost yelled. “Go clean the kitchen. I must get to the second floor before she wakes. This is precisely why Monsieur Charpentier does not wish for us to speak with her. This is how silly rumors get started, Alex.”
“I am not starting—”
“Just go! Kitchen!” Collette ordered.
Goosebumps exploded over Nora’s arms, and she watched as the women retreated toward the back of the house.
I have said things to them, things I don’t remember. But are they true? Confusion overwhelmed her. Obviously, she could not fly, so why had Ansel told her to do that? Was he merely a voice in her head? Was she legitimately insane? Did she have multiple personalities or schizophrenia or something?
That didn’t matter in that moment. When Jerome came back, she would either be sent off to some kind of facility, or she would be killed, and she didn’t want to stick around to find out which one it would be.
With new resolve, Nora stole down the stairs, her breath in her throat, and disappeared into the bitter cold without looking behind her. Snow filled her slippers, but she was unaware of the cold as she rushed toward the garage. Marc lived in a small glass building, and as Nora silently allowed herself inside it, she prayed that he was home.
“Allô?” Marc called in surprise as he heard the door open. Nora glanced up at the man looking at her over the railing of the loft, and his hazel eyes widened in shock. “Mademoiselle Nora! What is the matter? Are you hurt?” he demanded, rushing down the steps two at a time.
Nora studied his face very closely as he tried not to look at her figure spilling out the top of her robe.
“I am not hurt,” she assured him, glancing nervously over
her shoulder. “Perhaps a little cold. Do you have any tea?”
Marc nodded uncertainly, also looking toward the house.
“I should call for Collette,” he said, and Nora sighed loudly.
“I cannot find any escape in my own house!” she exclaimed. “I only wanted a moment of reprieve, but I see you are also against me having it also!”
She spun to leave, her robe deliberately falling open as she did. Nora didn’t need to turn to feel Marc’s eyes boring through the flimsy material of her nightie. She wore nothing underneath.
“No!” he cried out, and she released the breath she had been holding. “No, mademoiselle, please stay! I did not mean to be rude, I am so sorry. I have tea, of course.”
Nora turned to gaze at him, her eyes locking on his.
“I do not wish to cause you any trouble,” she muttered, her voice growing watery as she spoke. “I am… I am just so lonely in that house all by myself. Jerome leaves me for days at a time, and those women…”
Marc smiled knowingly. “I understand completely, mademoiselle. Please, come upstairs where it is warm. I have the wood stove going, and I shall find you a blanket for your legs.”
He stepped aside to allow her through, and Nora smiled faintly to herself, even though her heart threatened to leap from her throat.
I can do this, she thought, entering the apartment. I must do this. It is my only chance to save myself.
“What kind of tea would you like, Mademoiselle Nora?” Marc asked, hurrying into the kitchen, his eyes still fixated on her figure. “I have several herbals or black tea. I also have—”
He stopped talking as Nora allowed the robe to drop to the floor.
“I have a better idea,” she told him, sashaying toward him. “Let’s skip the tea and go directly for cookies. I think this is a much better way to warm up, don’t you agree?”
11
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Louis asked as the inspectors finally left them alone. “Who is this girl?”
“She was a fling. I didn’t even know her full name,” Ansel insisted, shaking his head. “This is awful.”
