by Aubrey Dark
“Monsieur, s’il vous—”
“We’ll be in one of the private booths in the back,” he said. He held out a bill to the waitress that looked like a hundred euros.
The waitress almost tripped over her heels to take the tip. She led us quickly back through the throngs of well-dressed people conversing over their glasses of wine. We slid into a plush booth. My knees knocked into Jean-Luc’s and I pulled myself back. It was a small booth, the lamp dim overhead to give the table an intimate glow that only enveloped the two of us.
“A bottle of the Chantelais Merlot,” he said, after a single glance at the menu. He turned to me. “Does that sound good?”
“Sure!” I said brightly. I had no idea what he had ordered, but I think it was red.
“And two glasses,” Jean-Luc said, handing the menu back to the waitress.
“Thank you, sir,” the waitress said. She was studiously ignoring me. “I’ll be right back with that bottle.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, her slim pert body swaying through the tables.
I felt a touch on my wrist and jerked back. Jean-Luc had tapped me with his fingers. I breathed out to try and get a sense of calm back. His dark eyes bored into me and again I thought that there was something familiar about him that I couldn’t place.
“Where is your…ah, friend?” he asked. “Jake Carville, is it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “He’s at a business meeting. That’s why we’re here, actually,” I continued on, flustered. “For him to do a negotiation.”
“Ah,” he said. Then he was silent, staring at me. The waitress came back over and poured us both a glass of wine. Red. It was red. She left the bottle with us.
I looked down at the tablecloth, then around at the room. Nobody was nearby. When I turned back to Jean-Luc, he was stroking the side of his chin idly with his fingertips. I let my gaze drift down his fingers, down to his muscled hand.
“Then we should talk between us, just the two of us, yes?”
“About what?” I could feel my eyes growing wider as I watched his mouth move. His slight accent was strange enough that I had to keep my attention on every syllable to make sure I knew what he had said.
“Business, of course,” he said. “What else?”
I flushed.
“Nothing,” I stammered. Immediately my mind was going other places, thinking about what might happen if Jean-Luc wanted me for more than business. Pressed up against a wall, pinned down onto silk sheets the way Jake did. Silly fantasies, especially during a meeting where I was supposed to be professional. “I mean, I don’t know. Business, right.”
He smiled, as though he had caught me with the thoughts printed on the front of my face. I bit my lip and tried to seem normal. He raised his glass and clinked it lightly against mine.
“To business,” he said. “Now, about this mural…”
We finished the bottle. Well, I finished the bottle. Jean-Luc sipped at his glass lightly, asking me questions about my art and about Jake. Mostly about Jake. I didn’t know why he was probing so much into Jake’s business—maybe to see if he would help to fund his art studio? I wasn’t sure.
As we left the wine bar and walked down to the sidewalk together, Jean-Luc held my arm for balance. I thought he was walking me to the corner to call for a cab, but before we reached the end of the side street, he pulled me into a doorway instead.
His hand gripped my shoulder, and I felt a vague sense of panic. I was definitely a little bit drunk, and there weren’t a lot of people on the street. The Champs-Elysees was visible down at the end of the street, but the people down there were too far away to pay any attention.
“What are you doing?” I asked. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, but I wasn’t going to let him touch me like that.
“Nothing, dear,” he said. As he spoke, he leaned in toward me. I smelled the sweet scent of red wine on his breath as he brushed his lips against my temple. I stepped back and my feet hit the doorway.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey, no.”
“No?”
“No,” I said, pushing back against his chest. “I have a boyfriend.”
“I thought you said you were only casually intimate with Jake Carville,” Jean-Luc said. His eyes were sharp, piercing. I felt dizzy just looking at them. He still held me by one arm.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be intimate with anyone else,” I said, trying to shrug him off. “I thought you were just interested in my art.”
“I’m interested in everything about you, Lacey,” Jean-Luc said. His voice was low. “Maybe we could go somewhere together and talk a bit more.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Interesting. Why don’t you want me?” He cocked his head. I frowned.
“Are you that irresistible that you can’t find a single woman who wouldn’t spread her legs for you?” I asked sarcastically.
“Vulgar, aren’t you?” he asked. “A vulgar American.”
His fingers tightened around my upper arm. A pang of fear pierced my chest. There was one man walking down the sidewalk toward us. He was about fifty feet away from us. If Jean-Luc didn’t let me go, I could yell out for help. I breathed in a bit easier, keeping my eyes on the man approaching.
“Actually, I don’t swear.”
“Curse words have nothing to do with vulgarity, dear.”
“Just let me go, okay?”
“No.”
The man was getting closer. He looked strong. Maybe not as strong as Jean-Luc, but it might be enough just to have him close by when I yelled out. I braced myself against the wall to push him away.
“Tell me your real relationship with Jake Carville,” Jean-Luc said.
“Why don’t you tell me your relationship with Jake?” I asked. There was a brief flash of worry in Jean-Luc’s eyes. I felt his fingers loosening. “I know you’re not a real art collector. You’re just one of his friends. When I tell him that you came onto me, he’ll be so angry—”
“Angry?”
“Yeah!” I said loudly. The man walking toward us was watching me now. I hoped he could see that we were in a fight. “You know what, he is my boyfriend. And if you don’t watch yourself—”
“That’s it,” Jean-Luc said. He raised his hand. A black Lexus pulled up to the side of the street and the door opened. Had the driver been waiting all this time? “We’re leaving. Come with me.”
“No!” I was already braced against the wall, and when I shoved him, I shoved him with all of my weight. He stumbled back hard and let my arm go. I ran toward the man on the sidewalk.
“Help!” I cried. The man caught me in his arms and I looked up into calm, golden-brown eyes. “He’s trying to kidnap me!”
“Who?” the man asked.
I turned around to point and felt a sharp pinch on my neck.
“Ow!”
I turned around. To my horror, the man with golden eyes was holding a syringe. I put my fingers to my neck, feeling it already starting to swell. I opened my mouth to shout, but I couldn’t speak. My throat wasn’t working.
I tried to kick out, but the man on the sidewalk held me tight and my body wasn’t responding the way I wanted it to. The world began to spin, and I felt my muscles go limp. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t even scream. I slumped to my knees.
The man who had injected me watched me coldly. He put the syringe back into his pocket. My head lolled back, and I saw Jean-Luc reach down to take my arm.
“Rien, help me to get her out of here,” Jean-Luc said.
I stared baldly at Jean-Luc. His French accent had disappeared. He wasn’t French, he was American. What was going on?
“I’m a surgeon, not a weightlifter,” the man said, crossing his arms. “Don’t you have goons to do that for you?”
“Fine. Never mind.”
Jean-Luc picked me by the arm, not even trying to be gentle. I slapped his chest weakly with one hand before my muscles went completely useless. My lips were
moving in a silent scream as he shoved me into the black Lexus. He climbed in behind me and so did the man from the sidewalk. They left me lying down in the middle of the seats and buckled in as the car pulled away from the curb.
No. For a brief moment, I thought that the men might have been working for Jake. After all, he had basically kidnapped me after the first time we’d met. But as the men spoke, my hopes turned to brute fear.
“Is she paralyzed?” Jean-Luc asked.
The man from the sidewalk rolled his eyes.
“No, she’s just the world’s best actress at playing dead.”
“Rien.”
“Of course she’s paralyzed,” the man named Rien said. My heart beat faster as he looked down at me and smiled. A cold smile. It deadened my heart. This was not a man who would work for Jake. This was something different.
“But she can hear us?”
“Yes.”
“And see us?”
“Yes.”
“Give me the hood.”
Someone from the front seat reached back with what looked to be a burlap sack. My throat tightened up. Was he going to kill me? Oh Lord. I should never have gone out to meet him alone. I should have waited for Jake to be there. I should have told him where I was going to meet the art collector. I should have…
“Sorry, dear,” Jean-Luc said, with a grim expression. “I can’t have you see where we’re taking you just yet.”
Stupid me. I had wanted to prove to Jake that I was capable of handling art business on my own. All I proved was that I was capable of being kidnapped right in the middle of the streets of Paris. I should have never trusted him. God, I was so stupid. Nobody knew where I was, or who I was meeting.
“Isn’t that overkill?” the man named Rien asked. He cracked his knuckles, the popping sound echoing in my ears.
“Maybe. I don’t want her knowing anything. Just in case she escapes.”
“She’s not going to escape,” Rien said. “The injection will last until you get her down into the cell.”
Cell? Where the hell was he taking me?
“Alright. As long as it works.”
“Of course it’ll work. I’m a professional.”
Oh holy God. The man from the sidewalk— Rien. He was a surgeon. A professional. They were professional kidnappers. But why? Why were they taking me away? And where were they taking me? My eyes darted back and forth between their faces. Jean-Luc looked anxious, his fingers clutching the burlap hood.
The other man looked completely calm. His gold-brown eyes blinked slowly.
“You’re sure, then?” Jean-Luc asked. “You said before that you wouldn’t inject her until we were almost at the entrance.”
“If you hadn’t let her go running down the sidewalk like an idiot, that would still be the plan,” Rien said cooly. “But we’ll play it by ear.”
“Look, I paid you—”
“You paid me to get this girl to the catacombs quietly,” Rien said. “Frankly, you’re not paying me enough, not if I have to listen to your conversation all the damn way. ‘Is the injection working, Rien? Are you sure, Rien?’”
“Don’t say anything!” Jean-Luc hissed. “You said she could hear—”
“Sorry,” Rien said, leaning down so that his face was just over mine. His voice was chilling even as he teased. “Are you going to escape now that you know where we’re going, little girl? Hmm?”
I cringed back. He looked back up at Jean-Luc.
“I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
I tried with all my might to scream, but it was useless. My muscles didn’t work.
The catacombs? I knew only a little bit about them—tunnels that led underneath Paris’s streets. But I didn’t want to go anywhere with Jean-Luc. And especially not underground, to—what had he called it?—a cell. I wanted to be back at Jake’s apartment, painting another stupid painting. I should never have come along with him to Paris.
This was all a bad dream. It had to be.
Jean-Luc leaned down and pulled the hood over my head.
It wasn’t a dream. I strained for breath. Fear tightened around my throat like fingers wrapped around my neck. The burlap fabric scratched my face as he tied the hood tight around the back of my head.
This wasn’t the black silk blindfold that Jake used on me. No. This was a man who didn’t care what he did to me. I would have cried if I hadn’t been completely paralyzed.
“Great. Put a hood over her head. That’ll stop her from hearing the conversation.”
“Shut up.”
“Right. Not even a thank you for catching the stupid girl.” Rien paused. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Shut up.” Jean-Luc’s voice was terse now that he had dropped the accent. He snapped at the other man as he made sure the tie around my hood held fast. “You can go back to L.A. if you want people to simper over you.”
“I would just like some common courtesy. I took a day out of my vacation to help you—”
“You owed me, Rien. Until I get the money—”
“Fine. I’ll stay out of your way until it’s all done.”
My mind spun as I listened to them speak. Jean-Luc was an art collector… or was that all a ruse? It was an elaborately planned one, if so.
Why had he taken me hostage? He’d mentioned money. Was that all it was, or something more?
And… a surgeon? Why would he need a surgeon? I’d thought it was just for the injection, but now that I thought about it, it didn’t make any sense. Was he going to kill me? Operate on me? Snippets of television programs about stolen organs flashed through my mind.
My breathing was too fast, and I struggled to keep myself from passing out underneath the hood. I could feel the air, damp against my skin, closing in. Worse than my fear of heights, even. I leaned my head back against the cool stone of the catacombs and tried to stay calm.
Jake will come for you.
I told myself this, over and over again. Even though I wasn’t sure he would. He would. Because if he didn’t…
Chapter Ten
It was only when we were down in the catacombs that Jean-Luc pulled the hood off of my head. He had carried me for a way before setting me down on the hard ground. The only light in the dark caves was cast by the electric lantern sitting next to Jean-Luc. He cast a long shadow against the wall of the catacombs.
And behind him—
My God.
There were bones, piles and piles of bones stretching along the top of the stone ledge of the walls. I shouldn’t be surprised; I’d read about the catacombs. But reading about something was nothing compared to seeing it live. This was a place where dead people rested.
Would I soon be one of them?
I was starting to feel the muscles in my fingers respond when I moved them. My toes, too. I cleared my throat. I should be able to scream out for help soon. If there was anyone around to hear me.
Down here, it was cold, bitter cold. I shivered.
The surgeon, Rien, noticed my body shaking. He took off his jacket and put it around me. I looked up beseechingly into his eyes, but he stared down at me without any emotion on his face. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by the bones surrounding us.
“When will she regain muscle control?” Jean-Luc asked.
Rien looked at me and shrugged.
“Another hour, maybe two,” he said.
“Should we inject her again?”
“Too dangerous to have two doses so close together,” the surgeon said. “You ought to tie her.”
Jean-Luc tossed a length of rope over to Rien.
“Go ahead.”
“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” Rien muttered. He tied the rope around my wrists. I lay there limply as he tied my hands together. I hoped that he wouldn’t notice that I had recovered a bit from the paralysis.
Jean-Luc came over. He was holding my phone in his hand. He lifted it up and snapped a picture of me with my hands tied in front of me.
&nbs
p; “Smile,” he said. “This is going to your boyfriend.”
I frowned. To Jake?
“Will he come looking for you?”
I had to snap back to realize the question was directed at me. I raised my eyes to Jean-Luc and said nothing. I was trying to pretend that I still couldn’t talk.
“Answer me,” he said. “Rien, is she—”
“She’s faking,” the surgeon said, sitting back near the lantern. “She can talk.”
Jean-Luc slapped me across the face. The blow surprised me more than it hurt, but I realized that this might be my only chance. I screamed.
In a flash, Jean-Luc pulled a gun out of his jacket. He pointed it in my face, and I cut off mid-scream.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Will he come looking for you?”
I shook my head helplessly.
“I… I don’t know,” I said. Would Jake come to find me? I didn’t think he would abandon me. But then again, who was I? Just a stupid girl who had gotten herself in trouble.
“Well, let’s hope he has feelings for you,” Jake said. “I’ve told him where to come and what to bring.”
“What… what…”
“He’ll give us ten million. The first million in cash. The rest in a bank transfer. If he agrees that it’s a fair price for you.”
A hostage. That’s what I was. That’s why Jean-Luc had taken me.
“He’ll go to the police,” I said, trying to act stronger than I felt.
“The police? I doubt he’ll do that. Look around you.”
Now I realized why he’d brought me down here. The catacombs of Paris stretched out for miles and miles under the city in a labyrinth of tunnels. Even if Jake got the entire police force to come looking for me, they wouldn’t be able to find me. It would be easy for Jean-Luc to escape out of one of the hundreds of exits into the world above.
“Why me?” I asked. I was dumbfounded. Me, a hostage?
“You’re the first girl Jake’s cared about,” Jean-Luc said. “At least, I hope he cares about you. Then this will all go smoothly.”
The surgeon, Rien, came sauntering over and leaned on the ledge. He didn’t seem at all freaked out by the skull right next to his own head. I wondered if that was because he was a surgeon.
