by Michele Hauf
While Sacha bent to slap some of the fountain water over his face, I tugged the cell phone from my pocket and tapped through the menus to locate the last number received. It was blocked. No way for me to call Kevin. “Where do you think they are?”
“Not sure.” Sacha leaned against the stone wall and spread his legs. He closed his eyes and slumped down a bit. Water droplets dripped from his chin. I suddenly realized just how exhausted he was. The man might look to be in incredible shape, but he was no runner. And he’d taken a hit.
“Sit for a moment.” I pressed on his forearm to get him to comply. “We’ve got to wait it out now, anyway. Eight will surely call once his thugs report back that we got away.” I squatted near Sacha, stretching my legs out before me and wiggling my toes in the cool shade. “I can’t believe they fired with all those kids around.”
“A professional sniper would never have done that. Or rather, a professional would have hit his mark.”
“Me? Or you?”
“Maybe that was the problem. He had two marks and couldn’t decide between the two of us.”
“Joy. Can’t say I’ve ever been on anybody’s hit list. And within the past few days, I’ve joined two of them.”
“You’re not on mine, Jamie. You never were.”
“What about the ride in the boot?”
“That wasn’t me. I don’t know why you believe otherwise. Sure, I had wanted to find you after I heard la lapine had driven the fouled pickup. But I would have never allowed my men to shove you in the trunk. That was another pickup the Faction beat me to.”
“The Faction was responsible for the ride in the boot?”
This was the first time I’d even considered that option. It made enormous sense now that I knew the Faction was dirty. They must have made the decision to go back for the driver after the princess was secure. And yet…
“But you threatened Fitch. I saw the cut on her finger.”
“Thom and Jacques. We tried to get you for a pickup, but Fitch gave us the runaround.”
And all this time…So Fitch had been protecting me. But from the wrong bad guys.
“I’m sorry.”
Sacha shrugged. “I’ve only ever been truthful with you.”
And look what the truth had gotten him—this deadly chase.
The phone rang, and I was so startled at the interruption, I dropped it between my legs. Sacha laid a hand on it, right over my crotch. He didn’t move. The phone rang again.
“If only this phone had vibrate on it.”
That got him to smile. He released the phone with a sexy smirk and a wink. “I thought you saved your lipstick for that.”
“I—what? My lipstick?” Had he been digging in my duffel bag? So I carried a lipstick vibrator. What of it?
Again, the phone rang. I answered. “Eight?”
“Still running, I see.” Kevin’s American accent did nothing but piss me off.
“I thought we had a deal!”
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Are you going to invite me to the party for real this time, or do we start blowing away all your men?”
“As you’ve done so far? Reports tell me you’re unarmed and running about with a man in a towel.”
“It’s a robe.”
“Ah. Did I interrupt something special?”
“Tell me where you are,” I insisted.
“Quai d’Anjou. Number eleven. See you soon.”
I hung up and told Sacha the location.
“That borders the Seine,” he said.
“Yes, it’s on the île Saint-Louis. Not so many people, and a bit of a sleepy neighborhood, if you ask me.”
“Wish I still had my surprise package.”
“The explosives? You’re joshin’ me, right?”
“You do have plans to turn me over in exchange for the princess. Don’t know what the hell you’ll do with her, but she seems to interest you more than I do.”
“She’s an innocent.”
“And I’m not.”
“Exactly.” Well, sort of. In this situation, he was innocent. But not in life. “Please, if I knew I could actually get by with slipping you in for a trade…”
“You don’t think I’ll come along peacefully?”
“I know you will, and you’ll be my backup, right?”
“Who’s calling the shots?”
“I am.”
“I don’t usually take orders from women.”
“Time to learn, Sacha.”
“Back to first-name basis?” He nudged my leg with his knee. “You cozying up to me?”
“Will it get me an able backup man?”
“It might.”
“Then yes.” I leaned in and kissed him, pressing him hard against the concrete wall where the shadow of leaves danced above our heads. Arms spreading above and beside each of his shoulders I flattened my palms to the wall. The position of control. I liked it.
“Did I mention my hard-on?” he muttered, grimacing. “It’s difficult to disguise with a robe.”
“Should I stop kissing you?”
He vacillated, his eyes roaming across my face and landing my lips. “Maybe.”
“Fine. I’ll save it for later.”
He gripped my upper arm as I stood back, stopping me still against his chest. “Will there be a later?”
“There had better be.”
Chapter 23
The traffic was stop-and-go. A few bookseller stalls were open along the quay that paralleled the Seine. They sold mostly early nineteenth-century fiction not the hot and heavy kind of stuff I liked to read. I gunned the Fuego (heck, I still had the multitool. Screwdriver key, remember?).
Man, did I miss horsepower.
“Pity,” I said, thinking of the fire that devastated Sacha’s house—and the garage, where my brand-new Barrique Red Bimmer now simmered. “Two cars destroyed in so little time.”
“Yeah,” Sacha said, “and I’m feeling sixty grand lighter for it.”
“Hey, I’m out a car, which, I will remind you, is my office, my way of life. How will I ever replace it when my only means to do so requires a car?”
“I’m out a new BMW. Barrique Red. What a loss.”
“I thought it was a gift to me?”
“Oh, it was. I’ll get you another one.”
Pulling onto the pont St-Louis, I crossed the Seine for the smaller island. “Is it so easy for you to throw money around like that?”
“When it’s for a good cause, yes.”
“I’m working against you, Sacha. Remember?”
“What makes you think I’m on the wrong side?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly seen the light and have decided to use your powers for good.” I downshifted and turned left. “I don’t buy it.”
“What is it with you?”
The anger in his voice suddenly felt palpable, as if I could reach out and poke it. “What do you mean?”
“Why am I automatically labeled the bad guy, with no hope of redemption, and yet you get to rise above your past with the greatest of ease?”
“I—”
“Get over yourself, Jamie. We’ve both been there, done that. Am I not allowed the same consideration you are?”
Been there, done that. A chill prickled the back of my neck, and over my shoulders. He was so like me, it was scary. Was that why I continued to push him away, even while I was groping him for some skin on skin?
He had a point. If I was going to start believing my own journey had changed, I had to open the court for others to follow. I needed to go there.
“I’m sorry. I really am. Not the bad guy.”
“I’m trying,” he said. “All that concerns me, after we save the princess, is finding my sister.”
“But you’ll have to interrogate the princess to get any information out of her.”
“Oh, sure. But I won’t harm her.”
“You don’t think she’s not damaged enough after all she’s been through?�
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Sacha sighed. “I don’t do what I do for the thrill of it. Not like my…well…”
I remembered his heartfelt plea for me to find his sister after all had been hashed out with the Faction.
Who’d have thought the man I’d decided to trust would be the one I should stay far away from, while the man I’d tried to avoid, would turn out to be more heroic? Just proved I hadn’t a clue when it came to men.
Get all the details. My new mantra.
“Almost there,” I said.
“Cool. But I’m still feeling a bit underdressed.”
I glanced to his open robe, the striped boxers and the ever-so-sexy galoshes.
“Don’t tell me you want to go shopping before we dash in and rescue the damsel in distress? What sort of knight are you?”
He shrugged. “A tired one. A cranky one. Maybe even a little shy. This thing won’t stay tied.” He tugged at the robe ties.
“Works for me.”
“Yeah? But every time I get close to you, people start shooting at us. I think that’s a sign. Don’t you? I do.”
I chuckled. “Maybe. But take heart, I don’t look much better.” I glanced into the rearview mirror. Yikes, did my mop of dirty blond waves need a comb. “Besides, who’s going to suspect danger from a man in a terry cloth robe?”
“This is punishment for the hell I put you through with the chloroform, isn’t it?”
“It’s a start.”
I turned onto the pont de Sully and sighted the lush trees and shrubs bordering the expansive Square Barye. The apartment Kevin had mentioned had to be close. Sunlight kissed the treetops, and the whole area looked like a peaceful forest, save for the long yellow crane perched at river’s edge and stretching over the calm green waters. The island was packed with shops and restaurants, but it still retained that cozy French village feel.
Driving slowly through the historic neighborhood, we both kept our eyes out for any sign of Faction rooftop snipers.
Sacha followed the movement of the crane as it swung slowly over the river and the heavy boom began to lower. I couldn’t see from this angle, and through all the trees, what it held.
“Drive behind that sanitation container,” he directed. “We’ll get out and take a look around.”
“I’m going to park on the quai d’Anjou.” I would not take driving orders from anyone, let alone a man wearing nothing but his boxers and a robe. “There’s only two cars on the street. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Eight could be one of them, along with the princess and thugs.”
“You counting on thugs?”
“There’s always thugs.”
“What have you got against thugs?”
“Besides the unimaginative couture? Nothing. Love ’em. Especially when they’re running from me, not to me. Here we are.”
I parked the Fuego, and it sputtered, rocked and died before I could even turn off the ignition.
“Looks like this old lady has breathed her last breath. Thanks, sweetie.” I patted the dashboard and then looked to Sacha. “You got any cash on you?”
He gave me a bewildered look and lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“Sorry. Just thought to leave a few euro notes in the glove box as payment for use of the car.”
“You really are turning a new leaf. But no, no cash.”
“Ah well. Let’s go. Hopefully the police can trace the registration to the owner.”
“And our fingerprints?”
“Clever.” A swipe of my sleeve around the steering wheel and across the stick shift would do little good. Sacha followed by wiping the corner of his robe over everything he may have touched.
“Must be tough for you,” I commented. “Sitting in this filthy old wreck.”
“Why do you say that?”
I shrugged. “I have been witness to your compulsive wiping and tapping, OCD Boy.”
“OC—” Doing a double take, the man then twisted on the seat to face me fully, and—exploded. “I do not have OCD. Is that what you think? I’ve just got a few…quirks, is all.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” Most people didn’t get so defensive about a nonexistent condition. “I’m not throwing stones. But now that you mention it, what’s the deal with the stones and tapping them?”
He settled back in the seat as I opened the driver’s door and stuck out a foot to stretch. “Stones are a focus object. Part of my anger management process. My therapist prescribed the ritual for me.”
“You’re seeing a shrink?”
“Shrink is not the proper term. She’s a licensed psychotherapist, who specializes in serenity seeking. And yes, I have…issues.”
I lowered my forehead to the steering wheel. This man had issues? I didn’t know whether to agree or giggle. Serenity seeking? I had to press my lips tightly to keep back the giggle. Next he would tell me they sat around cross-legged and hummed om to the gentle lull of a stone fountain.
“When I get angry I tend to lose focus and…”
“Slap women around?” I offered.
“Yes! But you’re all right,” he said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?”
He was genuinely apologetic about that little incident in his office.
“Sacha, you’re freaking me out.”
“I’m freaking—woman, I had sex with you. We had this amazing night of anonymous sex, and we were great. You’re cool. I’m cool. Then, two months later, you’re my enemy. You think you’re freaking? I’m the one who’s freaking here, lady.”
“Yeah? Well, rub some stones, buddy.”
“I do! I’ve been rubbing them a lot since I thought I’d never see you again. But it’s hard to focus when the anger rises.” He clenched a fist. A flash of white teeth glinted.
“Are you angry now?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so.” The fist stretched out to five splayed fingers. He released a breath. “Relaxed, yeah, I’m good.”
It was all I could do not to shake my head in pity. But he must have sensed my disbelief.
“Hey, don’t knock the therapist. You’d be fucked up, too, if you used to toddle down the stairs when you were only five to see some man in the living room, tied to a chair and dripping blood from his nose, while my father paced around him. He used to have these metal instruments, you know. Torture devices. Damn it! And poor Ava…”
Sensing his rising anger, I jumped out my side of the car and searched the ground.
“I need a focus object!” Sacha declared to the world, as I slid around the front of the car and to his side.
I pulled open the passenger door and displayed my find for him on the palm of my hand. “Here. Rub away.”
Sacha took the egg-sized stone I’d grabbed from the street. Turning it about, his eyes crossed, then focused. He tossed it once and caught it smartly. Nostrils flaring rapidly, he breathed fast and heavily. I wasn’t sure if he would throw it at me, or send it through the windshield.
His burst of laughter relieved me more than you can know.
“Oh, this is just sweet, goofy girl.”
“Goofy?”
“You are! And I love you for it. Thanks.” He tucked the stone into his robe pocket and got out of the car. “Sorry to freak you like that, Jamie. I shouldn’t have gone there. My childhood was one nasty nightmare.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you as a kid.”
“Bizarre, actually. But we don’t need to go there, right?”
“Sounds keen to me. Ready?”
“Behind you all the way.”
“Right.” I touched the gun I’d tucked into the back of my jeans and looked back to Sacha. Tension pulsed in his jaw. “Do keep a hand on the stone. Just in case.”
He gave me an all clear with two fingers to his brow.
I scanned the front of the building. It wasn’t large, three stories high and probably twice as long. Windows on the bottom floor were boarded over—must be remodeling—and bright white and red graffiti declaring the revolu
tionary slogan liberté, egalité, fraternité dashed along the brick facade.
Every building was nestled snug against its neighbor. This was not my dream scenario for bursting in and laying the enemy out cold. There would be witnesses, there had to be. So I kept a keen eye on my periphery.
Sacha tightened the belt on the terry robe with a determined tug. With a shake of his arms and fingers, he shrugged off the nastiness that had visited him and assumed a staunch stance. “I am your prisoner.”
“You got it.” And to make it look good, I gripped him by the collar and poked the gun into his back. “Let’s rock this joint.”
An iron staircase clattered with each footstep, so we took it slowly. Not that my bare feet made much noise, but Sacha’s boots clopped like horse’s hooves. We reached the third floor, which curved close to the windows that overlooked the Seine. I peered out at the crane, and saw it held a car by a massive circular magnet and was slowly swinging back over the river.
“Oh my God!” I pressed a palm to the dirty window. My heart suddenly slid into overdrive; I had to swallow to counter the adrenaline flow.
“What?” Sacha paused a few feet away.
“That’s Max’s Audi!”
“Told you I didn’t steal your car.”
“Yes, but—so that means…” It really was the Faction that had dumped me in the boot. I swung a look back at the dangling car. “Why would they—?”
And in the next instant, I knew exactly why a mere car would hold so much sway over me. There was something valuable inside that car. A princess.
Walking swiftly, I set my jaw and passed Sacha. “That bastard is going to pay.”
“Jamie, be careful.”
I tugged my arm from Sacha’s reaching fingers. “Don’t touch me. You just play your part, Vital. The Faction is going down for this one. Eight killed Max. And now he wants me dead, and will likely take down you and an innocent woman in the process.”
A deft move by Sacha pushed me against the brick wall. I lunged forward and lifted a foot, but he countered by slamming his whole body against mine, a move that chuffed out my breath.
“Rub the stone, you arse—”
“I don’t need any stones, but maybe you do. Slow down,” he said. “See me.”
“I see you. You’re standing close enough to kick.”
