Crossfire

by Niki Savage

  “Of course. Doc Louis said yesterday that everything was fine, and my hand feels good as new.”

  She sounded enthusiastic, and he realized it would be useless to try to talk her out of it. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Please be careful. I expect to see you back in one piece.”

  “Count on it,” she answered with a smile.

  He watched from the picture window as Claude helped her into his silver Diablo. Moments later the car pulled off with a roar.

  ~ . ~

  The drive to the track would take forty-five minutes, and Claude wanted to use the time to get clearer on the situation between his friend and the killer. He decided to come right out with it.

  “What’s the story between you and Stefan?”

  She turned her head to look at him. “Story?”

  “You know what I mean. We’re both adults.”

  “Oh, you mean the cozy scene you barged in on this morning? You could have called, or knocked.”

  “I did call, more than once. Don’t try to sidestep. I know I was at fault, but that’s beside the point.”

  She shrugged. “Stefan and I are friends. I have trouble sleeping some nights, and then he stays with me. It’s completely innocent, Claude, my honor is safe with him. No need to be afraid.”

  “Marcelle, I’m terrified for you. That man is a merciless killer. In Italy, he killed a man right in front of me. He was like a predator, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. The expression he had on his face still gives me chills...”

  “Now you’ve lost me completely.”

  Claude slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. He switched off the Diablo’s powerful engine before turning to her. “Three years ago, when Stefan’s organization protected Jean-Michel in Italy, he found a man tampering with Jean-Michel’s car. When the man realized he had no escape, he pulled a knife. Stefan could have drawn his gun and told the man to drop his knife, but he didn’t. Instead, he started circling the man, taunting him, daring him to attack. I could see the man was terrified. I think he knew about Stefan’s reputation, and he wanted to surrender. Do you know what that monster said to him? ‘I’m going to kill you anyway, whether you fight or not.’ He said it in such a malicious way that I knew he meant it. The man certainly believed him, and tried to attack him with the knife. But that savage took the knife away from him, and used it to cut his throat.” Claude dropped his face into his hands. “God, blood sprayed everywhere. I grew up rough, but it made me sick to my stomach.” He was silent for a minute, trying to compose himself, before he looked up at her.

  “But that man had wanted to cause an accident for Jean-Michel. Stefan had to stop him.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to kill him. He wanted to throw down his weapon. But that psychopath wanted to kill him. He enjoyed it. He laughed at the man all the time, mocking him. His eyes had no feeling in them at all. The man’s blood had spilled all over him, but he didn’t seem to mind. I think he got a kick out of it. Marcelle, I was there.”

  She heard the horror in her friend’s voice, and knew he wasn’t lying. Although she knew about Stefan’s terrible past, she had never pictured the killings and the blood. Now she had heard an eyewitness account of something the mercenary had done, but she found it hard to connect what Claude said with the man she knew. “Claude, I know him, and he isn’t like that. He’s understanding and charming, and he’s been so good to me these past few weeks.”

  “It scared the hell out of me to see you two sitting together like that this morning. You think your honor is safe. Let me tell you, he’ll take it if he wants it.”

  Marcelle chilled, remembering how Stefan had pinned her down only two nights ago. She dismissed the thought as it formed. She couldn’t believe that of him.

  Claude saw her skeptical expression and continued heatedly, “You don’t seem to understand. On the inside he’s an animal, with no respect for human life.” He could see he wasn’t convincing his friend, and adopted a more conciliatory tone. “Please believe me. Stefan is a rich and powerful man, and he knows how to act sociable and civilized, but it’s only an illusion. Almost every prominent figure in the world is in his debt in some way or another. He moves in high circles, so he has to hide his true nature, but he can flip at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen the transformation with my own eyes. He has all the characteristics of a psychopath. The man has no conscience.”

  Marcelle felt conflicted, and she didn’t like it. It was believable that all the traumatic experiences in the mercenary’s past could have led to personality disturbances, but Claude’s belief that he was a psychopath was only his own supposition.

  She played her trump card. “So if he is such a terrible person, why did my husband befriend him? Stefan told me Jean-Michel even visited him at his headquarters.”

  Claude’s voice took on a hopeless quality. “I tried to warn him. I even told him about the man Stefan killed, but Jean-Michel didn’t care. Stefan fascinated him, in the same way that people are fascinated by dangerous predators. It was as if he was under some kind of spell, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. More than once, I wanted to speak to you about it, but I knew it would destroy my friendship with Jean-Michel if I did.”

  She shook her head. “Look Claude, I realize you’re worried about me, just like you were worried about Jean-Michel, but I think you’re going off at a tangent. Stefan has killed many people in the past, and will no doubt kill many more in the future. He’s a soldier, and that’s his job. We can sleep safe at night because of people like him. How can we stand in judgment and call him an animal? How dare we exclude him from society because of his occupation and deny him love and companionship? He wouldn’t kill innocent people, but he’ll hunt down the people who threaten the society in which we live. He can tell the difference, you know,” she pointed out, a challenge in her voice. “I like him, and I feel safe in his presence. I don’t believe for one minute that my life is in danger, or those of my friends. I’m not afraid of Stefan in the slightest.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he told me not to be.”

  “So you’ve talked about it.” Claude sighed. “Well, for your sake I hope you’re right,” he said as he started the car again.

  Marcelle was silent for the rest of the trip, her thoughts far away.

  * * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stefan spent a restless day, his thoughts all too frequently turning to Marcelle behind the wheel of a Formula One car. Though he didn’t doubt her ability to control one of those beasts, accidents happened even to the best of drivers.

  He tried to occupy himself by working out in the gym, finding that his past sessions had borne fruit. His body was back to full strength and his arm had recovered completely. He should return to La Montagne, but he didn’t want to go home. How could he leave Marcelle? How would she react to living alone again?

  Later he wandered up to the roof to enjoy the sunshine. He relaxed on one of the recliners beside the pool and dropped off to sleep, the shade of the miniature palm trees playing over his naked upper body.

  His dreams were confused and troubled. He woke with a start a few hours later, sure that he had heard Marcelle scream. Uneasy, he went downstairs and warmed the lunch she had left him.

  After he had eaten, he forced himself to watch a movie to occupy what was left of the afternoon, but he couldn’t concentrate on the plot, finding himself listening for the sound of Claude’s Diablo.

  It was nearly five o’clock before he heard the roar of the sports car. He crossed to the window and looked down. Claude jumped out of the car and walked around to open Marcelle’s door. Stefan felt his heart leap when he saw she was safe. The two were in no hurry to enter the apartment, and stood talking for a few minutes while he watched.

  Finally, Claude gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked back to the driver’s side of the car. She watched him drive off before she turned and entered the apartment through the garage.

&
nbsp; He sent the elevator down for her. A minute later, the doors opened, and he had to suppress an impulse to grab her and crush her in his embrace.

  She greeted him with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed unbearably sad, and he could guess its cause. He sensed her need for comfort, and opened his arms in invitation.

  As she walked into his embrace, and he held her close, he could smell the syrupy, cloying scent of fuel on her clothes and hair. It reminded him of the time he had spent with Jean-Michel in Italy. He had spent half his time at the track, watching the Formula One cars flash by at incredible speeds. The reek of fuel had always been thick in the air, seeming to blanket everything.

  “How did it go?”

  She leaned back in his embrace to look up at him. “It was a lot of fun. I think Claude has a good chance to clinch the world champs this year. His driving has matured a lot, and the car is phenomenal. So if he plays his cards right...”

  “Anything’s possible,” he murmured.

  “I think I had better take a shower, and wash my hair,” she said, stepping away from him. “I smell like an oil refinery.”

  “I’ll have some tea ready when you’ve finished,” he offered, and she rewarded him with a smile as she disappeared down the passage.

  He remained at the window, remembering Jean-Michel. The smell of Marcelle’s hair had brought back memories he had kept buried until now. The Frenchman had spoken often about his young wife, and the future they planned together. Though he had been far too cynical to buy into Jean-Michel’s dreams, it hadn’t affected the instant liking he had taken to the man.

  In the month they had spent in each other’s company, Jean-Michel had received many offers from adoring female fans. Apparently oblivious to the charms of the attractive young women, the racing driver had remained faithful to his wife, and his fidelity had impressed Stefan.

  Now Jean-Michel was dead, his dreams dying with him. He wondered if he could ever ease the guilt he felt at the life stolen from his friend.

  ~ . ~

  When Marcelle returned, she seemed happier, and told him all about the day’s activities. She asked him what he had done to amuse himself all day. He told her about working out in the gym, falling asleep in the sun, and watching the movie.

  “You’re recovering your strength fast,” she commented, “and your color is much better. It must be all those hours in the sun.”

  He smiled. “I’m going to be good as new in no time at all, thanks to you.”

  He saw a shadow cross her face as he said this. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” It was clear that she didn’t want to share her thoughts.

  He wondered if she feared him leaving, but didn’t venture to ask her.

  Marcelle cast her eyes down so that Stefan couldn’t see her thoughts. At his last words, Claude’s words had echoed through her mind, “He’s an animal, with no respect for human life.” She felt torn in two, divided between believing Claude and trusting her own judgment. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the doubts.

  “You look as if you’ve just taken on the world’s troubles.”

  She forced a smile as she improvised, “Just thinking about tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to the meeting out at Pierre-Henri’s place. A representative of the French Professional Cycling Federation will be there, to let me know if I have to appear in front of a disciplinary committee.”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t happen,” he tried to reassure her.

  She smiled sadly. “I wish I could share your confidence.”

  He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but remained silent. He wasn’t the kind of man who went around singing his own praises. If the young widow never knew the part he had played in helping her, it was all the same to him.

  ~ . ~

  That night in bed, he could feel the tension in her slim frame. He switched on the bedside lamp, and raised himself on one elbow to look down at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, blinking in the brightness.

  “That’s what I want to know. You’ve been moping all evening, and I don’t believe you’re just worried about the meeting. You were fine, before you left...” He drew a sharp breath. “Of course, that’s it! What’s Claude been telling you about me?”

  She remained silent, gazing up at him with wide gray eyes.

  “I can’t defend myself if you won’t tell me what he told you.”

  She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest as she drew a deep breath. “Claude told me about the man you killed in Italy. That man who tried to sabotage Jean-Michel’s car.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Claude said you didn’t have to kill the man. The man wanted to surrender, but you wouldn’t let him, and told him he was dead either way. Claude claims you’re a psychopath, and that you suffer from a split personality. He thinks you enjoyed killing the man. Claude says you wanted to kill the man...” her voice trailed off as she hugged her knees tighter.

  Stefan sighed. “Marcelle, if I had let that man live, in a few weeks, or a few months his friends would have tried to free him. And how would they have done it? They would have taken hostages, preferably women and children, and demanded the release of their comrade. They would kill innocent people to prove they are serious. Faced with a choice like that, wouldn’t you have killed him too? He knew the score if my men or I found him. We don’t take prisoners. Does that answer your question?”

  She stirred uncomfortably. “Now that you put it that way, I understand your reasoning, but did you have to do it like that? Taunting him and cutting his throat? Claude said you had a gun, but preferred not to use it.”

  “It was a fair fight. He had a knife, and I had my bare hands. As for my taunting him, I’ve seen you do the same to your competitors, and Richard. You taunt them to upset their composure, to get them angry, so that they lose their judgment. I do it for the same reason. My game is as competitive as yours, except in my case the loser doesn’t go home again.”

  A shudder passed through her frame. “You’ve just said it. It’s a game to you. I race because I enjoy it, so do you fight and kill because you enjoy it?”

  “How can you say that?” Stefan asked, cut to the bone. “Haven’t you come to know me at all since we’ve been together? I’ve told you everything about myself, with no excuses. We’ve already covered this territory. I’ve told you I have loyalties, and that I have a conscience. I don’t kill at random. I have a purpose in life, a job to do. My organization has done more to rid the world of terrorism than all the governments put together. We’ve had success because we solve the problem, even if it gets messy. I enjoy fighting,” he conceded, “pitting my strength against that of my opponent, but if I don’t kill him, he’s going to kill me. That’s the name of the game. What do you want from me?” Marcelle’s apparent rejection had stung more than he cared to admit. When she didn’t answer him, he continued, “Claude and I used to get on well until that incident. He has regarded me as little more than a monster since then. I told you that the day he arrived. Remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think I’m a psychopath or a schizophrenic, out of my mind most of the time, living for the moment when I can kill again? I don’t care what people like Claude think about me, but I couldn’t stand it if you agreed with him.”

  She reversed her protective posture, sitting cross-legged, her elbows resting on her knees. “No, Stefan, I could never believe that of you. I just got confused, listening to Claude. I know he believes it’s the truth, but his is a simplistic view. Your explanation is logical. That man meant to kill Jean-Michel, and he died instead. That’s justice. And...” she paused uncomfortably, fidgeting with her fingers.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, you’ve become a good friend to me since you’ve been here. I’m not going to repay your friendship with distrust. I don’t want this to come between us.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, feeling he had made a
breakthrough. “I couldn’t stand it either. I’ve grown to care for you deeply. I...” He couldn’t say it, feeling that the time wasn’t right. Instead, he reached a hand towards her and continued, “Let’s pretend it’s just the two of us here tonight. No bad memories, no pasts, no judgments. What do you say?”

  She studied him for a few moments, sensing he had wanted to say more, but something had stopped him. She took the hand he offered, and covered it with hers. “Yes, just the two of us,” she agreed, squeezing his hand.

  As they lay down to sleep, she snuggled closer to him, allowing his warmth to melt the ice that had tried to take possession of her heart again.

  ~ . ~

  It was ten o’clock the next morning, and Marcelle had to leave for Pierre-Henri’s smallholding. She looked tired, and Stefan could see the worry just below the surface, though she tried to hide it. The day had dawned cold and blustery, and she had dressed in blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. Workmen’s leather boots with a heavy tread rounded off the outfit.

  Stefan relaxed on the couch in the living room, and couldn’t help admiring her slim figure in the jeans. When she walked by him, he reached out and pinched her bottom lightly.

  She yelped in surprise before turning to him, pretending anger. “If you’d been anybody else, I would’ve slapped you.”

  He pretended remorse. “I couldn’t resist. So shoot me.”

  “Well, just let me get your gun, don’t move.”

  She pretended to start towards his room, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on top of him. “A last kiss for a man about to die,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her, arresting her struggles.

  “Stefan Ziegler, you’ll be sorry,” she threatened with a gasp.

  He regarded her intently for a moment, before he pulled her face down to his. His eyes captivated her, and she didn’t attempt to turn away.

  As his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and relaxed. Stefan explored her lips and mouth with a gentleness that was in contrast to the strength he had used to hold her, and her senses reeled. She responded to the gentle coaxing, giving herself to the kiss, but then the kiss deepened, became more demanding as Stefan’s blood heated, and she panicked, wrenching herself away. She twisted out of his arms, staggering before finding her feet. Her eyes were hot and angry as she turned back to him.