Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  The women laughed.

  “OK, then, haul your pregnant ass home.” Liv gave her friend a hug. “Drive safe, Em.”

  “I will.” Emma smiled at Alexandra again. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again very soon, I’m afraid. From today, I’m officially off work here, and Francine takes over all my hours.”

  “Thank you for covering for me over the past week,” Francine said. “I’m very, very grateful.”

  “It was no problem,” Emma told her. “I locked up all my notes about the sessions that I did.”

  “In my desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.” Emma pulled on her coat, sighing as the zipper barely went up over her stomach. “I’m off now, ladies. Welcome home, Alexandra.”

  “I’m glad to be here.” Alexandra looked around, taking in the kids’ art work, the books, the light and calm. “I’m more glad than I think you’ll ever know.”

  **

  He sat five houses down from the house that the two women had gone in to. It was a nice neighborhood, actually, with huge, expensive properties. Flashy, pricey cars in the driveways, elaborate Christmas decorations on the houses and around the gardens. Hell, he even saw a few white picket fences, much to his amusement.

  The house that the two bitches had gone in to was a bit weird, though. Lots of women and kids going in, none coming out, and no men at all. He watched as at the other houses, Dads arrived home from work early to avoid the storm, teenagers wandered in and out, entire families stood in front of open, well-lit windows. But the place that Francine and the dark-haired slut had entered was shut up tight, no drawn blinds, no way to so much as peek in. It also had the most high-tech security system on the block.

  He sat very still, staring at the house, thinking about all of this. And slowly but surely, pieces of the puzzle began to click in to place.

  The house was very large; massive, actually. It was by far the largest one for blocks around, sprawling across the grounds surrounding it. It looked like parts of it had been added on, like expansions had been done to build small apartments… but none of these added-on spaces had their own doors.

  There were no men going in or coming out, there were only women with averted eyes moving quickly, tightly gripping children’s hands. None of them had a key to the front door – they’d been buzzed in from inside.

  Francine had just brought a woman from the hospital straight here. Francine, who specialized in treating women who accused heir husbands of abuse. She helped those same lying bitches to take away children from their own fathers, she made sure that men never saw their own kids again.

  And that was when he knew: he was looking at a shelter. He was just twenty feet away from a bunch of fucking cunts who had done to their husbands and boyfriends exactly what his whore of an ex had done to him. And the woman who had wrecked his life had just brought another bitch here, which just proved that Francine had learned nothing.

  He needed to get in to that house, and he needed to see Francine. Now.

  Just then, a woman walked out, and he stared at her in horror. Fuck, she was pregnant… she was actually pregnant, and she was hiding from the baby’s father, here in this place for women who couldn’t manage to be decent wives and mothers. Goddamn her.

  She had no fucking right to do that to the baby’s father. None at all. Rage swelled in him, large and all-encompassing. This was yet another woman who had to pay for what she’d done… yet another woman whose behavior he had to correct.

  He got out of his car, approached her from behind. She was struggling with her purse, trying to find her car keys, distracted and unaware. Without a sound, without a word, he stepped behind her, drew his knife, pressed the tip against her belly.

  She gave a small shriek, dropped her purse. When she tried to turn to face him, he pushed the knife harder. She froze now, trembling.

  “Back to the house,” he whispered in her ear. “Now.”

  “But –”

  He twisted his wrist, felt the knife slice right through her thick coat. She cried out again, and he was sure he’d cut her tender, swollen skin.

  “Do as I say, bitch, or I gut you here and now.”

  She slumped, and he shook her, hard. “You pass out, and you’ll never wake up again, and your fucking brat will never draw breath, I promise you. Now fucking walk.”

  She recovered, and started to walk back up the path to the house. She paused at the door, glanced up at the cameras.

  “They always look to see who’s outside,” she said, her voice shaky. “They’ll see that you have a knife.”

  “Sure,” he said, pulling his scarf up and over his face. “They’ll see that I have a knife held to your stomach… you really think they won’t let us in?”

  “Please,” she said now. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Too late, bitch.” He pressed harder, and this time, he saw blood seeping through the coat material. “I’m already doing it. It’s done.”

  **

  Olivia heard the front door bell go off, idly glanced at the security camera screen in the entrance area. What she saw froze her blood to ice, made her heart stop dead in her chest.

  Emma was standing there, her face pale and terrified. The man behind her had a large knife, and the knife was jammed in to her stomach. Liv saw blood, and right away, she was back on that conference room floor, being sliced open. Her head spun, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t even see.

  “Hey, Liv… you coming in for lunch?”

  She turned towards the voice, trying to see past the black dots scattered across her vision.

  “…Liv?”

  It was Kristin, she saw now. Kristin had been at the safe house for over a year, and she worked in the kitchen. She was standing there, staring at Olivia with concern.

  “Liv? Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Weak, wordless, Olivia gestured at the screen. Kristin walked closer, looked for herself, blanched.

  “Who’s that?” she whispered.

  Liv shrugged, still not able to make a sound. Her paralyzing terror at her vivid flashback was now morphing in to shrieking terror for Emma. The bell rang again, and both women jumped.

  “I have to let him in,” Liv said hoarsely. “You activate the Code Red. Gather everyone up, get them all to the safe room. I’ll stay here and see what he wants.”

  “You mean, who he wants,” Kristin said, her voice hollow.

  “Yes. Go now.” With an enormous effort, Liv pulled herself together, gathered her chaotic thoughts. “Get everyone downstairs and locked up. Call the cops and Dallas from the panic room, OK? Tell him that he needs to call Dean.”

  “Yes.”

  Liv watched Kristin dash out of the room, and with a trembling hand, she pressed the ‘speak’ button on the two-way intercom, trying to sound calm. “Hello?”

  The man stared up at the camera. “Open the fucking door or I split her open.”

  “Liv,” Emma said, her voice quavering. “Liv…”

  “Shut the fuck up,” the man hissed, and Liv saw fresh blood soaking Emma’s coat. “You want your kid to die right here?”

  “Oh, God.” Liv stared at the red spreading across Emma’s stomach, trapped again in her own nightmare memory. “Please don’t hurt her anymore. I’m buzzing you in.”

  “Hurry up, cunt.” The man shook Emma, and Liv watched as her friend’s small body jerked back and forth like a rag doll. “I’m running out of patience here.”

  Liv pressed the ‘open’ button, stood back. The man shoved Emma in to the entrance area, shot a quick look around. Liv raised her trembling hands, trying to look both helpful and helpless.

  “Please, stay calm,” Liv said. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “Francine,” the man rasped in a French accent. “Where the fuck is
Francine?”

  **

  Two hallways over, Francine and Alexandra stared in dumbstruck horror at the screen mounted on the wall. Dallas had had the screens installed in every room in the house, including the bathrooms. At the time, Francine had privately thought it a silly, superfluous expense which bordered on paranoia. Right this minute, though, she was nothing but grateful for it.

  “Oh, my God,” Francine breathed. She knew that voice; knew it as sure as she knew her own. “Henri Delacroix.”

  Alexandra tore her gaze from the nightmare unfolding right in front of her. “So you do know him?”

  “Yes.” Francine took a deep breath, met Alexandra’s dark eyes. “Back in Canada, I helped his wife and daughter escape from his abuse, and then I helped send him to jail.”

  Just then, a piercing scream forced their wide-eyed stares back to the TV screen. Emma was clutching her stomach, doubling over, screaming. Not in fear, or in shock. In pain.

  “Oh, no.” Alexandra’s voice was thin. “She’s going in to labor.”

  “Is that even possible?” Francine said, aghast. “Just like that?”

  “If a woman is subjected to enough stress, or experiences enough fear? Yes, she can go in to spontaneous labor, especially when she’s as advanced as Emma is.”

  “Merde.” Francine scrambled to think, came up with only one solution. “OK, you need to listen to me.”

  Alexandra was shaking wildly, staring at Emma. Oh, dear God… so much blood…

  “Alexandra!”

  The sharp, almost angry tone rammed through Alexandra’s rising panic. She gulped.

  “Yes?” she faltered.

  “Listen,” Francine snapped, then softened the edge in her voice. “Listen to me, please.”

  “…OK.”

  “I need you to deliver a message for me. Can you remember a message?”

  Stunned, confused, Alexandra stared at Francine. “A – a message?”

  “Yes.” Francine gripped the other woman’s hand. “Will you be able to remember?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was stronger now. “I will.”

  “OK. Tell Mark to find Mary-Anne Delacroix, and ask her where is Henri’s cabin. She told me once, but I can’t remember… Mark needs to find her and ask.”

  “What?” Alexandra shook her head. “Just – what?”

  “Tell Mark to find Mary-Anne Delacroix.” Francine forced herself to speak slowly and clearly, fighting hard to ignore Emma’s screams. “Ask Mary-Anne Delacroix where is Henri’s cabin.”

  Alexandra blinked rapidly. “OK.”

  “Repeat it.”

  “Mark has to – to find Mary-Anne. Mary-Anne Delacroix. He has to ask her – where is the cabin.”

  “Henri’s cabin,” Francine corrected her.

  “Henri’s cabin.”

  “Again,” Francine commanded. “Say it again and again, until you’ve got it.”

  It took four tries before Alexandra repeated the message without hesitation. Francine gave her a hug.

  “You get Emma to the sick bay, OK? You know we have a medical centre here. It’s well-stocked and -equipped, and she’ll be comfortable until the ambulance arrives. If Mark gets here first and things are moving too fast to get her to the hospital, use him. He’s a doctor, so he can do this. But until the cavalry arrives, she’ll need you to help her, alright? You were a trainee nurse, Alexandra, so you need to reassure her that she’ll be fine.”

  “And you?” Alexandra watched in horror as Francine turned and started to walk towards the front door. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to hand myself over to Henri Delacroix.”

  “What? No!” Alexandra made a move to stop her, and Francine backed up. “No!”

  “Yes.” Francine was moving fast now, moving away. “I’m going to try to get him to take me to his cabin. You hear me, Alexandra? You understand why you need to remember the message?”

  She paused, suddenly seeing everything clearly. “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”

  Francine nodded, tried to smile. “You get Mark to that cabin, sweetie, and hopefully, I’ll be there. I’m going to try like hell to get away from Henri Delacroix before that, but if I can’t, then you tell Mark that I intend to be at the cabin, waiting for him to show up.”

  “Mary-Anne Delacroix,” Alexandra babbled. “Henri Delacroix. Henri’s cabin. Francine…”

  “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “You take care of Emma.” Francine’s tone was uncompromising. “She’s the priority, and everything else – including me – waits. Not one word to Mark until Emma and her baby are safe.”

  “But –”

  “No ‘buts’. You make sure that baby boy gets here whole and healthy, and that Emma’s OK. I can take care of myself.” She took a deep breath. “After Emma and her baby are in the clear, then, and only then, do you turn everyone’s attention to me. You got it?”

  “I – yes.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Francine said quietly. “You tell Mark what I said.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Alexandra said. “I’ll tell everyone.”

  Francine nodded, spun around. She dashed down the hallway, and took another deep breath, praying for strength. She arranged her face in a welcoming, worshipful expression. Then she entered the front entrance area eagerly, happily.

  “Mon amour,” she purred, her voice inviting and loving. “Henri, mon cher, you’ve come for me. Enfin.”

  **

  Henri’s first up-close look at Francine in five years was awe-inspiring. Mon Dieu, but the woman was beautiful. An angel and a she-devil, all rolled up in one curvy, delicious little package.

  Right now, though, she was totally confusing him with the words coming out of her mouth. Why was she called him ‘my love’ and ‘my dear’; why was she so delighted to see him; why was she saying that he’d finally come for her like that was a good thing?

  She stared at him like he was the most amazing man that she’d ever seen, totally ignoring the other two bitches. She was alight with joy, and she moved towards him without fear. This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined any of this to happen, and he narrowed his cold blue eyes at her.

  “What do you mean?” he said, speaking French. “Were you actually waiting for me?”

  “Of course,” she responded, also in French, cutting the other two women out of the conversation completely, oblivious to the pregnant one’s screams and tears. “I’ve been waiting ever since Mary-Anne tricked me about you.”

  Henri leaned back, astounded. “Comment?”

  She dropped her gaze now, as though ashamed. When those baby-blue eyes lifted again to look in to his own, he was shocked to see them sparkling with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was so, so stupid. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Forgive you?”

  “For believing her lies. For lying for her in return. For sending you to jail, an innocent man.”

  “So you now believe that I was innocent? I am innocent?” he said softly. “That I was a good husband? A good father?”

  “Oui.” She smiled at him, and it was shining and perfect. “I do. I understand why you came to my house that night, why you were so angry at me. Mary-Anne had lied about you, and you were right to want to talk to me, to try to show me the truth before we went to trial. I was wrong, and stubborn, and foolish. I’m sorry.”

  “So what do we do now?” he said, testing her.

  She looked surprised. “We leave, Henri.”

  “Ensemble?”

  “Mais oui. Together.” She smiled again. “I want you to take me away from this life of loneliness without you. I want you to take me somewhere with just the two of us… hide me away from the world. Keep me safe and
close, mon amour.”

  “Just us?” he said, checking to make sure he understood her. “All alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  She shrugged. “Forever.”

  “Why should I believe this?” he challenged her. “If you lied before, how do I know that you’re telling me the truth now?”

  Francine approached slowly, her eyes locked on his. Surprised, he stood still, his hold on the crying woman slackening. She tumbled to the ground with a moan, but Francine didn’t even glance down at her. She was coming to him, and it was better than any of his dreams. He opened his arms wide, the knife at the ready. Just in case this was a clever trick.

  She stepped in to his embrace with a sigh of happiness, wrapped herself around him. The two women gasped, and the tall, red-headed one with the scarred face choked, “Francine! What the hell are you doing?”

  But his little blonde temptress didn’t give any sense of hearing her: Francine rested her head on his lean bicep with a moan of contentment. And he felt his chest crack open with his love for her – with the knowledge that she was his now. His alone.

  He took her face in his hands, holding the knife close to her cheek, a silent threat, searched her eyes for any fear or deception. He saw nothing but love staring up at him. Henri smiled behind the scarf.

  “Allons-y,” he said.

  “Yes,” she breathed, threading her arm through his. “Let’s go, mon cher.”

  “Francine!” the pregnant one cried from the floor, the name ripped out of her as brutally as the brat was being ripped from her womb right this moment. “Where are you going? What are you doing? Who is he?”

  His ange didn’t even respond. Supremely disinterested in the other women, she turned her back on them, her attention on him. Him alone.

  And they walked right out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Dean Jessop screeched to a halt, not giving a shit that his truck was parked about three feet away from the curb. All he cared about was getting to Emma and his baby.