Mona Lisa's Room

by Vonnie Davis

  He circled the room again, digesting what she said. Here they were, two people pouring their hearts out, thinking neither could understand the other. Only he was playing a dirty trick on her for he understood with painful clarity everything she was saying. Once he stood behind her he stopped, wanting to reach out and touch her in the worst possible way.

  He owed her honesty.

  He untied the blindfold.

  “You’re wrong, cherie. I care for you very much.”

  Her head whipped around and she scowled over her shoulder. “Niko?” She glanced quickly around the room. “Niko, it was you all this time?” He untied the bands securing her to the chair and unlocked her handcuffs. “That was you ranting and…and—” her eyes narrowed “—and listening to everything I said? You deceived me again?”

  Niko shrugged. “Perhaps.” He rubbed her wrists, hating the marks on them. “We need to talk. Things have happened you don’t know about.”

  She stood and he pulled her into his arms. “Aly.” He inhaled the scent of her and kissed her cheek and eyes. “Sweetheart, I was so damn worried about you.”

  “Oh, were you now.” In a flurry of movement, she kneed his groin and karate chopped him across the back of the neck. “You lying bastard!” He dropped to his knees. She started to leave. His hand snaked out and grabbed her ankle.

  She fell.

  ****

  Alyson tried to crawl free, but Niko was too strong for her. Their rasping breaths of struggle echoed off the cold, industrial green walls. Slowly he pulled her back to him, the hem of her dress rising higher, as was her temper. She was tired of all the lying. It was time she showed him she wouldn’t be manipulated any more.

  “Get your hands off me!” She kicked him twice in the knee. He grunted in obvious pain. “I detest you, you lying, manipulating French jerk.” He humiliated her, too, which only fueled her anger. The jerk tried to scare her, slamming the door and banging his fist on the table and then stalking around the room while he ranted in French. He knew she couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he damn well could understand her. Of all the unmitigated arrogant Frenchy gall.

  He rolled on top of her and fisted a hand in her hair. “Do you have any idea the hell you put me through? Leaving the safe house was an idiotic thing to do! I credited you with more intelligence than that.”

  Her eyes opened wide in anger at his words. Before he could insult her again, she grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and belted him a shot. An upper cut to the jaw followed, as did a slap to the side of his head. He rolled off her, cursing and holding his chin.

  She stood and tugged on the hem of her dress. Squaring her shoulders, she resisted the urge to kick the insulting, arrogant French kisser while he was down. “I’d sooner spend the rest of my life in jail than be near you one more minute.” She turned to exit the interrogation room.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “To turn myself in.”

  “Aly, wait! There’s been a murder. At Marie-Clare’s.”

  She halted her exit, her hand on the doorknob and her heart sinking. “Dear God, not my friend? Tell me Marie-Clare’s all right.”

  He stood slowly, his one hand still on his groin, pain evident in his expression. “She’s fine. The victim was her employee, Josette. The Red Hand killed her and left a note saying the murder was for you.”

  Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “No, it can’t be true. Josette was killed because of me? No.” So much senseless killing by these terrorists, all for an ideology or religion, as if God would sanction such murderous acts. “Does Marie-Clare know?”

  “Yes, I told her before I came in here. I secured a female officer to take her home. I promised her you and I would be at her shop shortly.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I still can’t believe Josette is dead. Why? Why would they kill her? She seemed so sweet. Although we only spoke briefly, I sensed a kindness.” She shook her head. “Marie-Clare must be devastated.”

  “She was, yes. I think we should leave now. I want to see how the investigation is going, and you’ll want to check on Marie-Clare.”

  “Am I free to go? Have the charges against me been dropped?” She should have been scared throughout all this—the arrest, the ride in the police van with its sirens blaring the entire way, the booking procedure and then being tied to a chair and blindfolded—but she’d gone from scared to incensed early on in the events of the afternoon.

  “Yes. You’ve been remanded to my custody.”

  “If I so choose, you mean.” At his arched eyebrow, her anger raised another notch. “I’m tired of being told what to do by a man. For twelve years I obeyed Chaz, hoping I could win his love that way. No more. I’d be obliged if you drove me to Marie-Clare’s. If you choose not to, I’ll hail a taxi. I’m going to her, not because you want me to, but because I want to be with my friend. Is that understood?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Your life is in danger.” He looked at her as if she were stupid.

  “Yes, I get it. With the terrorists, my life is in danger. With you, my heart is in danger. You tell me, which is worse? Which is the most painful?” She turned and stormed out of the room. As she charged up the hall, a thought blossomed, a beautiful thought. She didn’t need sexy heels to bring a man to his knees, hell, she could do that with one well-placed kick.

  Heads turned when she stormed though the department, mad as hell and head held high. She shot a quick glance back over her shoulder. Niko, his hair standing on end, his one eye swollen and his jaw rapidly turning from red to purple, limped along behind her. His scowl was either one of anger or pain, and frankly she didn’t give a damn.

  Chuckles and guffaws from policemen filled the room.

  Niko grabbed her elbow and she jerked her arm away. “Don’t touch me again or I’ll kick your balls so hard, they’ll kiss your tonsils.”

  Laughter filled the air as if this were a comedy show, and she and Niko the stars, proving to her while most Frenchmen pretended they didn’t speak English, in most cases they did.

  Niko limped next to her, looking as if he fought with the devil himself. Frankly, she was quite pleased. Nothing felt so good as being in control of one’s life. She reached out and punched the elevator button, stepping on after the doors opened.

  When the doors slid shut, Niko pinned her against the wall and kissed her. She fought and he shoved his thigh between her legs, pinning one of her legs against the wall of the elevator and placing a hand on her other thigh to keep her from kneeing him again. He was angry, that much showed in the way he kissed her. Her anger drove her to return the passion he was pouring into the kiss with her own. His tongue flicked at her lips and she granted him entrance. Good Lord, but I love his kisses. Her hands slid up his chest and fisted in his hair.

  “Aly,” he groaned, “You make me so damned mad.”

  His lips captured hers again and gentled. Suddenly, the kiss turned tender and sweet. Niko broke the kiss long enough to exhale a shaky breath and angle his head before his lips commenced those soft, sipping kisses she enjoyed. She thought her heart would break with the tenderness of his embrace and kisses. “I was so worried about you. So afraid I’d never see you alive again.” His hand ran over her hair and down her back, pulling her against his erection. Both groaned with need. Finally, Niko released her lips and grazed his teeth along her jaw. “Before you do something else to turn my mind to mush, happy birthday, cherie.”

  She’d forgotten. With all the craziness of the day, she’d forgotten this was her birthday. “Imagine everyone’s surprise back home when they ask how I celebrated my fortieth birthday, and I tell them I got arrested for prostitution.”

  Niko laughed. “Actually, prostitution in Paris is legal. It’s the solicitation part we frown upon. You know I’ll never be able to hold my head high in that department again after what you did to me back there.”

  She couldn’t tell if he were teasing or serious. “Maybe you needed a little humbling, Mr. Niko
Reynard. Just like I was humbled after coming face to face with your girlfriend this morning.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The elevator doors opened, Niko punched the button to close them again, keeping the button depressed with his finger. “We’re not leaving this elevator until we have two things straight between us. Giselle is a liar. Our brief affair is over. Has been for a month.”

  “Giselle’s the liar? Or are you? Which one, because I don’t know either one of you well enough to know.”

  “You know me. In your heart, you know me.” He took her hand, laying her palm over his heart. “Look at me.” His dark eyes bore into hers. “Cherie, you know me. You know my heart.” She stared into his eyes, the warmth of his chest heating her palm; the feel of his heartbeat, strong and true. Yes, she did know him, and that fact unsettled her.

  “The second thing? You said there were two.” She hated that her voice sounded breathy and husky.

  Evidently he noticed because his eyes darkened before his head dipped for another kiss. “You won’t leave me again, cherie.” His lips touched hers as he whispered the words.

  Still heady from her display of feminine power earlier, she reared her head back. “Oh? Is that a command or a request?”

  Niko removed his finger from the button, and the elevator doors opened. He grabbed her arm and hurried her out into the parking garage. “For now, it’s a command. Hurry, Aly.” He broke into a run.

  “Slow down! I can’t run in these shoes. What’s wrong with you?”

  He punched the button on his key fob and, after opening the car door, shoved her into his Carrera. He hurried around to the driver’s side and settled into his seat.

  She tugged on the hem of her short dress. “You practically tossed me into the car. What’s the all-fired rush? Have you gone mad?” She glared at Niko as he buckled his seat belt, his bruised jaw set in determination. “Well?”

  He produced a photo from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto her lap. “Maybe that will impress upon you the danger you’re in.”

  “What is it?” She fingered the photo, surprised at the image of her and Niko. Chills ran up her spine. “This is us.”

  “Yes.” He started the car and swung it out of the tight parking space.

  “It’s a picture of us in this very garage.” She stared at it some more and understood why he hustled her to his car. He feared they were being watched. “How did you get it?”

  Niko eased the car out into traffic. “I took it off the goon who chased us up Boulevard Saint Michel yesterday.”

  “Who would take a picture of us? Someone from The Red Hand? Right? How else would that man have it? Do you think he took it?”

  “No. I suspect someone else.” He shifted the car’s gearshift and changed lanes.

  Her gaze swept to him. Niko looked at her, pain in his eyes. “You suspect a coworker, don’t you? How else would the photographer know we’d be in the garage at that particular time? Or where you had your car parked. I’m guessing you have an assigned parking space. Right?”

  Niko glanced in his rearview mirror. “You’re a smart woman, Aly. You see right to the heart of things.”

  “Is that how the terrorists always knew where we were? That we’d be shopping in that area? That we’d be at Shakespeare and Company? Who in your unit knew where we were going?”

  He braked for a light and turned his dark eyes on her. “No one. I never called that information in.”

  “Do you think there’s a tracking thingy on your car?”

  “Tracking thingy?” His eyebrow cocked in amusement.

  “This isn’t funny, Niko. Someone knows our every movement. How?”

  The light changed and traffic started moving. “You’re right. It’s not funny. Just to be sure, I had the car swept for tracking systems and bugs. Nothing. It’s clean.”

  She shifted in her seat, mentally challenged by the questions before them. “Who did the checking? Someone you can trust?”

  He looked out the side window for a beat. “I checked it myself.” His statement was in clipped, angry notes.

  Realization hit her. He suspects everyone in his unit, and it pains him. On impulse she took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find out who it is. Whoever it is, that has no bearing on you or how well you do your job.”

  A long sigh escaped his lungs. “Aly…”

  “It’ll be okay.” She squeezed his hand again.

  “Flip the photo over.”

  She read their names and brief descriptions noted on the back. “‘Blonde female—one point six meters. Black-haired male—one point eight three meters. Five feet eleven and a half inches.’ Gee, good thing I had my hair dyed today.”

  “I like the color and style, by the way.” He reached over and gently tugged a strand, a movement she realized was, for him, a sign of teasing and affection.

  “I thought men preferred blondes to redheads.”

  “The color of your hair doesn’t change who you are, cherie. It’s you I’m attracted to. You, the person.”

  She glanced at him briefly before staring out her side window. Something about the possible depths of his passion made her feel uncomfortable. These feelings couldn’t go anywhere. Just her luck to meet a man who made her feel like a woman—valuable, interesting, alluring—and he lived in another country. Everything about this fragile relationship, or whatever one called these things, was unfeasible. Her heart squeezed with a sense of sadness so deep, it took her breath away. Oh, girl, don’t even go there. I cannot love this man.

  Alyson read the notes on the back of the photo again. “Odd that my height is listed only in metric measurement, while yours is in both metric and English.”

  “Not really. It’s a running joke among some of my coworkers. In America I picked up the idea women like men who are six feet, or taller. I often say I’m ‘five feet eleven and a half.’” He shrugged. “My way of joking I have to try harder to get a woman because I’m not quite tall enough.” He maneuvered the car into a miniscule parking spot along the street.

  So this arrogant man had a bit of an inferiority complex regarding his height. Interesting. “You’re still taller than most Frenchmen.”

  He turned off the engine and set the brake. “Yeah, I know. It’s one of the silly notions we adopt regarding ourselves.” He turned to her and cupped her cheek with his warm hand. “Like the notion you have that you’re not appealing or desirable. We all wish we were more this or that, don’t you think?”

  Alyson nodded, her eyes locked on his mesmerizing dark ones. He had a way of opening himself up, of sharing his thoughts. She never experienced this with a man before. “So, who knew you referred to your height this way?”

  “That’s helped narrow my list of suspects. I won’t share them with you out of respect for the innocent ones, but I will say the names on the list bother me.”

  “Because they’re people you trust. People who are close to you.” He was undoubtedly feeling the sting of betrayal. She knew what that emotion felt like. Her betrayal came from her ex-husband, a man she joined herself to in every way. Niko’s betrayal came from someone he worked with daily. Still, the pain had to be equally unforeseen and harsh.

  Niko leaned across the seat and took her in his arms. “I meant what I said earlier.” He kissed her soft and gentle. His lips pliant, taking gentle sips of hers. “When you walked out of the safe house, I nearly went insane with worry…and emptiness.” He kissed her neck, and she shivered in response. “What will I do when you go back to America? How will I handle the emptiness then?”

  She pulled away for, heaven help her, she was feeling the same emotions and wondering the same thing, wishing for more time with him. “We do need to be realistic.”

  “I’m a very realistic person. I operate on facts and logic. Gut feelings, too. I’ve got a gut feeling about you. Have since the moment you set those blue eyes on me.” He kissed her again, opened the door and got out. She exhaled a long breath, waiting for him to come around
and open her door. What am I going to do about him?

  When she stepped onto the sidewalk near Marie-Clare’s shop, she turned to Niko, watching him close the car door behind her. “Did you ever find the answer to how we were found? If you didn’t call our location in and there’s no tracking device on your car, how?”

  “Well, first of all, we didn’t have the car with us at Shakespeare and Company. We walked there, remember?” She nodded. “Even so, they knew you were at the bookstore. Yet you were able to go get your hair done and do some shopping today undetected.”

  “Actually, Marie-Clare did the shopping. She picked out the dress and shoes while I had a massage and waxing.” She grimaced at the memory and pain of the European wax job. She had no clue women had their privates waxed; once again she’d been out of the feminine loop.

  Niko wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked up the street. “That explains it then.” Twilight was slowly descending on the city like a veil of black lace. Paris, the city of lights, was getting ready to display her crown jewels to her children.

  She gazed up at him. “Explains what?”

  “The outfit. Your tastes run more to the conservative side.” He glanced down at her feet. “Although, I do love the shoes. Most excellent choice.” He flashed his disarming sexy as hell smile. “Back to our topic of discussion, how did you go undetected while at the salon? What didn’t you have with you?”

  “My purse. I left it at Marie-Clare’s. I tucked my Visa and some money into my jeans pockets. Could my purse have a tracking devise in it? How would it have gotten in there?”

  Niko opened the door to the shop. “Would you please go upstairs and get it while I talk to my people? I see they’re still here investigating the murder. Check on Marie-Clare, too. She’s frail, I fear.”

  Alyson nodded, touched by his comment about the older woman. He could be cold at times, but more often he was warm and caring. Niko was already deep in conversation with Jean-Luc and a middle-aged man she recognized from the lobby of the Madison yesterday. The two men were busy relaying information to Niko, yet she could feel his eyes on her. Could one of those men be the one behind the photograph of her and Niko? The thought of being watched by some skulking lowlife gave her the creeps.