“Actually, it was my brother who insisted that you be taken with us. He says that when the two of you tumbled to the floor, you got a good look at his face. Now, we were wearing covers over our mouths and noses, but you never know, you may have gotten a good enough look to give the police a description. We can’t have that for at least the next few days."
"And after that?"
"Hopefully it won’t matter, Miss Banks. My brother and I intend on leaving the United States at that point, and where we’re going, well, disappearing is rather easy."
Something he said pricked at my brain, and finally, it came to me. I would have gotten it sooner, but I must have really been hit in the head hard. "Wait a second. How is it you know my name?"
The man laughed and tapped his forehead. "I have mystic powers. Actually, it's because you were carrying your wallet in your jeans pocket. Your wallet, keys, and money are sitting on the dresser to your right. I was surprised, though, no cell phone? I thought everyone had them nowadays."
"It's in my locker at work," I said honestly. "The wallet was just because it's a habit."
He stood up, and again I was taken aback by just how smooth everything this man did was. Talking, sitting, standing, everything looked like it was just one harmonious never-ending dance. I swear he was the sort of man who'd make picking his nose look sexy. “Be careful. You never know when you might run into a criminal, after all. In the meantime, I suggest you rest, Miss Banks. It’s still early. When you wake up, we can talk about your freedom, and breakfast."
"Wait," I said as he reached the door. He paused, turning his head back towards me. "Uhm, I don't expect the real thing, but what can I call you? I don't want to keep yelling hey you or hello when I need something."
He nodded his head again, smiling softly. "You may call me Francois. And please, not Frank. Francois."
Chapter 4
Francois
I felt bad locking the door behind me. She hadn't chosen to come with us, and I’d be the first to admit that I was a rookie at kidnapping people. Our plan should have been perfect, designed to avoid the very problem that we encountered. Unfortunately for us, we hadn't planned on the janitorial staff being there. We certainly hadn't planned on any of the rest of the staff wearing gas masks. The mist we'd deployed was specifically designed to prevent that sort of problem, containing a fast-acting sleeping agent that would have incapacitated anyone breathing it in within five or six seconds.
"Why'd you tell her your name, you fool?" a slightly deeper voice than mine said from behind me, harsh with reproach.
I turned from my thoughts to look at my brother, who was seated in front of the fire. We were in a valley, deep in the San Bernardino mountains along an mostly overgrown fire trail. The nearest towns were Big Bear and Lake Arrowhead, although there were some villages closer by that we avoided in order to not be noticed. While the snow wasn't very deep, it was cold in the cabin, and we'd made sure to lay aside a decent supply of firewood. We weren't worried about the local authorities, the area was rarely patrolled by the forest rangers, who were used to hunters and other nature lovers using the isolated cabins at irregular times. As long as we weren't causing a fire hazard, we'd be left alone.
"Felix, relax. We're just keeping her here a few days and then letting her go. I'll even give her the keys to the Jeep when we’re on our way out, she won’t be able to get the authorities involved in time. We'll be in Mexico before she even finds her way to Crestline or Lake Arrowhead. Even if she tried to use a cell phone, we're so deep in the mountains she won't get a signal. Which, by the way, she confirmed is not with her, but in her locker back in Los Angeles."
Felix, always uptight, glowered. He was good at glowering when he wanted to. "Francois, you made a mistake. Admit it."
"I admit I told a beautiful young woman my name, nothing more," I said, intentionally needling Felix. I knew, despite anything my brother might say, that part of the reason he'd taken Jordan with us was because of her looks. He always had been a sucker for brunettes, and Jordan Banks had one of the most striking shades of brown I'd ever seen, a rich shade that almost glowed with an inner light, like highly polished cherry wood. There were hints of red hidden in the brown, but not enough to really call it red. It was quite remarkable really.
Of course, Felix hadn't had the pleasure of seeing her up close and in person yet, immediately giving me the duty of putting Jordan to bed while he surveyed the take from the job. I’d been the one to see that underneath the oversized set of coveralls was a pretty, trim physique, highlighted by a nice set of what some of the women in my family would call "child-bearing hips.”Not overweight, but a woman who'd look great in a billowy skirt dancing barefoot around a fire.
"Felix, come now. She's awake, she's not going anywhere, and she's going to be our guest. She sounded like she doesn't have a concussion, but I’m not a doctor. Unless you want me to spend the next three days calling you nothing but brother, relax. Or do you intend on keeping her locked up in that bedroom the whole time?”
Felix shook his head and sighed. "This isn’t what we agreed to do on this job. We were to get in, get the swords, and get out."
"We got a decent bunch, we're not losing money," I replied. "Besides, I already saw the one you wanted. You sure on it?"
Felix nodded, his eyes already going to the one katana we'd grabbed that wasn't in just a blade form. A modern reproduction using ancient techniques, it was in Felix's eyes better than the blades that were hundreds of years old. He picked it up off the table and pulled it from its scabbard, studying the steel in the firelight. "You know, I could actually use this if I had to. It's barely worth ten thousand dollars on the open market," Felix said as he examined the edge. "Those others, if we kept them, I'd be afraid of damaging with the first swing. One scratch and there goes half a million dollars. Seven blades worth selling, Francois, and one for me. Three million total only. After costs, it wasn't worth the risk."
I nodded, not wanting to tell Felix that I too had picked out a sword for my own keeping, knowing he'd override me anyway. If we'd gotten out all twelve, including the Muramasa and Masamune, then it would have been nothing. As it was, that one blade was the difference between profit and loss on the operation. Buying a cabin in Southern California mountains, even one that was barely more than a large hunting cabin, cost a lot of money, and when you added in things like smuggling, the percentage of the sale our dealer would take, bribes to the right authorities to get the blades out of Mexico where we were planning to fly from . . . that blade wasn't to be mine. "Don’t worry. We’ll contact our agent tomorrow, and carry on with the rest of the plan."
* * *
I wasn’t feeling so confident the next day when I hung up the satellite phone with our dealer. Felix let me handle the business negotiation side of things, he was far too blunt for many of the men we worked with, while I seemed to have a silver tongue. All the negotiation skills I possessed, however, didn’t hide the fact that our contact wasn’t pleased. I understood, neither were we. The most difficult part was that during the conversation, he insinuated that because of our less than optimal haul, our extraction would be delayed. I finally had to remind him that if he delayed in getting us out of California, he'd only be delaying getting his hands on the blades we did happen to get. It wasn't like we could just magically transport ourselves back into the museum and smash the glass cases around the rest of the blades and then be gone in the blink of an eye.
"He isn't happy," I said as I plugged the phone back into the battery pack that we'd brought up with us. The cabin didn’t have electricity or even running water, although it did have a hand pump connected to the aquifer directly outside the door. We'd lived in worse, but I was looking forward to getting out of the place. This pioneer stuff was not for me. "He says that the buyers will not be as willing to bid now that there is no chance for the best blades. He also told me the break-in made the news, although as you planned, we weren’t seen.”
"We never are," Fel
ix commented. "Fucking Spaniards. I have known too many Spaniards in my life, Francois. Never, ever, trust a Spaniard!"
I could see Felix getting ready to start off on one of his angry rants, and I quickly moved to deflect him. "They'd probably say the same about our kind as well, Felix. Before we go into detailed discussion of the moral, cultural, and genetic failings of various nations, do you think we should get some breakfast ready? I was thinking, in honor of our devious dealer, perhaps we should prepare some huevos rancheros? I can see if Jordan is awake and ready to join us."
At the mention of Jordan, I could see Felix both cringe and brighten, so obvious to me, so hidden to anyone else. Then again, I guess when you’ve been around someone their entire life, you get to know them better than perhaps they even knew themselves.
Still, Felix had to play it off like he was granting me some great concession or something. "As you wish, Francois. But, let’s prepare the food first. I doubt that Miss Banks is still asleep, and she’s probably suspicious of us. I won’t give her a chance to escape because we’re not on our guard. This operation has gone bad enough already as it is.”
"Like I said, relax Felix. I checked the outside thermometer, it's below freezing out there. She's not going to run away into the deep forest wearing jeans and a sweatshirt without shoes on. She knows she'd die, and she doesn't strike me as a stupid woman," I replied. "But if you want, we can do our mise en place before I go to unlock the door."
Chapter 5
Jordan
I was bored out of my mind, sitting in the bedroom with little to do. I’d walked the room twice, and by my guess, it was ten feet wide by eleven feet long. It gave me a decent math challenge, counting the steps before multiplying them and then converting the inches into feet. And I did it with no pencil or paper even. When you get bored out of your mind, you’d be surprised what you do to keep your mind busy.
I looked around, finding nothing in the room that was even halfway entertaining. There were a couple of trunks that were locked, but that was about it. I thought about following Francois advice and going back to sleep again, but I was too wired. I needed to think.
Obviously, my first focus should have been on escape. However handsome Francois was, he was still a criminal, and I couldn't trust him at his word. I’d seen his face now, after all, and he could just as easily kill me and leave me here to rot. But, there were quite a few challenges for attempting an escape. First, I was in a locked room with no windows, and the only door led to another interior part of the cabin. In said cabin were, at least, two men who were most likely armed, if not with guns, then with at least some samurai swords.
The next problem was, I had no idea where I was. We were far enough from any road that I didn't hear traffic, but that could be as close as a half mile or as far away as twenty miles. Since Francois said it was morning, I assumed from the temperature and the cabin's construction we were in the nearby San Jacinto or San Bernardino mountains — the Sierra Nevadas were too far away. Worst of all, I had no shoes on, or even winter clothing. The best I could do was a light sweatshirt and jeans.
Shivering, I grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders, hoping my kidnappers at least would be kind enough to lend me a jacket or something if they were going to keep me locked in the room. I was just about to knock and ask when the door rattled again, and another man opened the door. Larger and more muscular, maybe a little short of two hundred pounds, it was obvious the two were brothers. They shared the exact same hair color, nose, and jawline.
"We have breakfast for you," he said in the same lightly-accented English. "Come and eat."
I followed the man, if only because I could tell it was warmer in the other room. I followed him out, wincing as my semi-frozen feet crossed the cold boards. In the other room, obviously the main room of the cabin, I saw Francois standing over an older-looking pot belly cast iron stove, nodding and smiling to me. "Are you feeling more refreshed?"
"I couldn’t sleep," I answered, "too much to think about."
"I understand. You look cold. Have a seat in front of the fire with my brother. I’ll have breakfast ready soon."
The fire was small but welcome, and I got as close as I could without burning myself. Francois's brother took a small camp stool nearby, watching me closely as I warmed my hands. "You look cold. Is it cold in there?”
"Considering I've been kidnapped, I don't suppose I have room to complain, but yes it is," I answered. "Think next time you guys could just book us some rooms at the local Motel 6 instead?"
"That wouldn’t have been advisable," the man said. Behind him, Francois chuckled.
"Brother, come on. She’s kidding. It is cold in that bedroom. And I’m glad she has a sense of humor about it, considering the situation we’ve put her in."
The other man turned and glared at Francois before turning back and chuckling. It was the first time I'd seen him smile. It was hidden under a very thick layer of terseness. "Francois is right. I’m sorry, Miss Banks. I’ll make sure you have another blanket when the evening comes around."
"Thank you. I suppose asking for wool socks, a thermal undershirt, and keys to your car are too much?"
"The socks and shirt I can do something about, but I’ll keep the keys to myself," he said. "Although you’ll have to make do with men's size clothes."
"I have a sweatshirt you can borrow," Francois said, "but my only other pair of socks are dirty. What about you, brother?"
"I packed extras, you know that."
As the two brothers jawed back and forth, I gained a sense of the relationship between them. Francois was more playful, and certainly more relaxed than his brother. It wasn't that his brother — I still didn't know his name yet — was cruel or mean, he was just very serious. He was also easily exasperated by his brother's joking tone, yet tolerated it. Francois, for his part, knew exactly how far to push before backing off and acquiescing to him.
True to his word, Francois was ready with breakfast within ten minutes, bringing over bowls of easily identifiable but messy huevos rancheros. "The corn tortillas are but chips, but I think the spirit is still there," he said. “My culinary skills aren’t up to par."
"Considering it is Mexican-American style cooking served in a bowl by a Frenchman, I’m not expecting Michelin stars," I wisecracked, before seeing Francois face. "Sorry."
"She does have you there, though," the other man said with a grin. He dug in with his spoon, taking a bite. “It’s good. What is the red sauce?"
"Just some salsa that I cooked down and added some extra lemon juice to. I had to cannibalize our midday snack for this. So no nachos."
"Okay, that confirms it," I said with a chuckle. I took a bite of the food and thought that Francois was being humble. The food was excellent, considering the things he had to work with. "You may be part French, I can hear that in your voices and in your name, but you two aren't totally French. Do I get to know, or can we play Twenty Guesses to find out?"
"It can't hurt," Francois said to his brother, who nodded. "We are French, yes. But also Roma and American."
"Roma? As in Romania?" I asked. "I thought that was called Romanian."
The other man shook his head. "Not Romanian. Roma. What is commonly referred to as gypsies."
I nodded in understanding, excited that I could place a part of their background.
"We were born in the United States," Francois said, “but we’ve spent our lives living in many places in the world. Fiction distorts many things about our culture, but there are things they get right too.”
"You must have had a very interesting childhood growing up," I said, taking a bite of my breakfast. The avocado added just the right amount of creaminess to offset the salty eggs. “Pretty good,” I admitted.
Francois nodded in gratitude. "I hope you enjoyed because you might be here longer than we anticipated. Our dealer is being . . . uncooperative on our extraction. We might be here a few days."
I shrugged, it wasn't wort
h getting upset over just yet. "I see. Well, I won't worry about my job, I'm sure they have you on video dragging me out of there or something. I doubt my boss will assume I just walked off with you two. No offense."
"None taken," the other brother said. "Enjoy your food. If you will agree to not try and go near the door or window, you can stay out here near the fire. Also, don’t go anywhere near the swords either. I don’t want to lock you in the cold bedroom, but I will if I must."
"You're not much for conversation, are you?" I said with a smirk. "I thought the French were supposed to be these great conversationalists, yet you're worse than a Parisian waiter to tourists."
Francois looked at me in surprise while the other brother glared at me for a moment before grumbling under his breath and digging into his breakfast, finishing it off in five large spoonfuls.
“I’ll wash the dishes," he said quietly before getting up and going outside. I watched him go, shutting the door behind him. I looked over at Francois, who shrugged.
"The water pump is outside. If it were me, I'd have gotten a bucket of water and brought it inside, but Felix is Felix. Oh dear, I've told you his name now. Please don't tell him. He’s angry enough with me as it is."
I grinned and nodded. "Your brother’s a very serious man."
"He has a lot of weight on his shoulders," Francois said to me. “He doesn’t like complications.”
“So you plan to disappear amongst the Roma," I said. "A group that does not trust the government as it is. I assume you plan on going overseas again?"
"Smart woman," Francois replied. "Yes, at least for the beginning, we’ll go back to Europe. Felix has responsibilities there — grave ones. After that, though, our lifestyle is not like most people's. We’re nomadic, more than even most of the Romani. Our father ensured that."
Double Dealing: A Menage Romance Page 3
