by Nic Saint
“I like you, Jack Carter,” she said softly.
He grinned, never taking his eyes off her. “Same here. There’s just one thing I’m afraid of.”
A twinge of fear crept back into her consciousness. “What’s that?”
“That we’ll discover you’re some princess from a faraway land whose father has already promised your hand in marriage to a handsome prince.”
She laughed at the notion of her being a princess. “Right. Me. A princess. Dream on, prince charming.”
He chuckled amusedly and shrugged. “Who knows what we’ll find in the City of Light?”
She turned her gaze to the window again, staring out at the Brussels skyline, the gray business city that never slept. Jack was right. There was no telling what they would find at the end of the rabbit hole. What awful or wonderful truths awaited them.
She was simply glad that Jack would be there to face them with her.
Chapter 12
“I knew she’d get away from you, you witless lug.”
Rainer glared at the woman he’d come to know as the scourge of his life, but didn’t retort. The simple truth was that Jeannine was right. She had predicted the girl’s escape, and when finally they’d managed to track her down and she’d slipped through their fingers once again, he hadn’t disputed his part in the fuck-up.
Jeannine’s suggestion of hitting the young man over the head with a big stick and grabbing Valerie had met with strong resistance from his part.
Though he looked like the villain in a Hollywood B movie, Rainer was in fact an accomplished painter, and his refined artist’s soul rebelled against the prospect of knocking out perfect strangers who had done him no harm.
Jeannine, daughter of a butcher and wife of a feeble-minded thug, didn’t have such compunctions about using violence to further her needs. And if it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t even have slugged Jack Carter across the face in the first place.
The deed still rankled. He didn’t like slugging people and now, in the space of forty-eight hours, he’d done so twice, the first time a woman no less.
Granted, the wench probably deserved what she got, but still. It just wasn’t right. All they’d ever wanted was to get what was rightfully theirs, and taking Valerie had seemed like the best way to accomplish that simple goal.
“How was I to know she’d get help?” he lamented.
“She’s a young whore. They always get help.”
To describe Valerie Lorgnasse as a whore didn’t seem right. While it was true she’d had her share of lovers in the past, she didn’t differ from most young women in that respect. And anyway, that was none of their business. To each his own.
They were seated in Jeannine’s pea-green battered Peugeot just across the street from the Carlton, still reeling from the altercation with the young man who’d quickly turned into the bane of their existence.
Jeannine, lighting her next cigarette with the last, chewed her lower lip.
God, she was ugly, Rainer thought as he studied her from the corner of his eye. Now that she’d dropped all pretense to be anyone’s mother, she’d reverted back to her usual self, her greasy gray-streaked hair hanging limply around a pock-marked face, bushy eyebrows accentuating black eyes, and a mustache that would have done many a hipster proud.
If she hadn’t been his cousin’s wife, he would have never agreed to the distasteful task, that much he knew.
“So what’s next?”
Her head jerked up and she threw him another one of her nasty looks. “What’s next is that if we don’t get a hold of the bitch, she’ll be squealing to daddy and then you and I will be spending the rest of our lives in abject poverty, lamenting the loss of what we could have had.” She closed her eyes and frowned, drawing together her twin bushes of fur. She tapped her head with her knuckles. “Think, Jeannie. Think!”
While his accomplice thought, Rainer sat and stared forlornly out the windshield, thinking about his cozy little Paris studio and the painting he’d started but hadn’t had time to finish.
It depicted a sailboat, and when ready would, he hoped, find a buyer amongst the many Parisians who lived for the arts.
He just hoped his little stall near Faubourg Saint-Antoine would still be there when he got back.
If only he hadn’t allowed Seth to drag him into this mess, he would be home now, finishing the boat and preparing to go out on his daily sales round amongst his friends, the pigeons.
He looked up when movement attracted his attention. Two people, along with a dog, exited the hotel, approaching a waiting limo. His eyebrows shot up when he recognized them as Valerie and the man who’d declared himself her protector.
“J-j-j-jeannine!” he stuttered excitedly.
“Shut up, you moron. Can’t you see I’m thinking?”
“B-b-but it’s them!”
Her eyes snapped open and she eagerly followed his pointing finger. The girl and the Carter guy stepped into the limo, its driver, a bald, bulletheaded thin chap walking round to the driver’s side and getting in.
“Start the car, you fool!” yelled Jeannine. “They’re getting away.”
“Y-y-you want me to follow them?”
She stared at him blankly. “No, I want you to sell them one of your horrible paintings.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Of course I want you to follow them, you idiot! Follow them to the ends of the earth if you have to. We need that girl!”
Keeping a keen eye on the limo, Rainer started up the engine and rolled the car into early morning traffic. Making an abrupt U-turn, he ignored the dozens of honking horns, and stepped on it in pursuit of the limo. He might be a lot of things, but a bad driver he wasn’t. Years of experience in Paris traffic had taught him the skills to navigate big city traffic. A smaller town like Brussels didn’t hold much of a challenge.
Before long, they were cruising along, allowing three cars in between them and their quarry.
“I think we’re going to the airport.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to think!”
After a moment’s silence, Jeannine piped up, “Dammit. We’re going to the airport.”
Rainer shook his weary head. How he wished he’d never even heard of Valerie Lorgnasse...
Chapter 13
“Come on. Don’t give me that crap.”
“I swear, Mike. I can’t make it tonight.”
Jack looked nervously over to Melanie, who sat gazing out the limo’s tinted windows and scratching Rufus behind the ears, pretending not to listen.
“What’s wrong with you, dude? You never skip a meeting of the brotherhood. Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s a girl, right? You met some chick and now you’re hooked? You can’t abandon your best mates for a piece of ass, chum. It’s rule number one.”
“It’s not a—it’s not that. It’s just that—” He so didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, but Mike was a hard man to shake once he smelled blood.
A hyena-like screech had him hold the phone away from his ear. Rufus gave an excited bark, and even Melanie looked up at the primitive sound. He gave her an apologetic shrug.
“Look, Mike. I simply can’t make it. I have to go to Paris on business, so...”
“I don’t believe you. No. I simply don’t believe you. It’s a piece of ass. I just know it is. Who is she? Just tell me her name. Her name is all I’m asking.”
“Bye, Mike. Have fun tonight.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on a brother, Jack. Don’t you—”
“Goodbye, Mike.”
“On business, huh?” Melanie eyed him with a humorous glint in her eyes.
“Yeah, well... That was, um, Mike. An old friend of mine. College roommate in fact.”
“Is he one of the guys from the fireworks incident?”
Dang. He’d hoped the topic would never come up again. Thanks a bunch, Mike. “Yes. Yes, he is. In fact he was president of the fraternity.”
“The instigator of the revels, huh? I bet Bill doesn’t
like him very much either.”
“No, he doesn’t. In fact I think he hates Mike’s guts even more than mine. If that is at all possible.”
“It was just a college kid prank, Jack. You’re not that guy anymore.”
He was surprised to hear her say the words. And relieved. “That’s—thank you. Now could you tell Officer Rattner? He seems to think I should suffer eternal damnation for the dumb stunt.”
“So you and Mike are still close, huh?”
“Well, yes, we are.” He decided not to mention they still attended monthly reunion parties devoted to the good old days. “I mean, he’s not a bad guy, you know. A bit wild perhaps.”
She laughed. “From the sound of him a lot wild.”
She was right. There was no denying that Mike DeLucas was a bit of an animal, all things considered, but he’d always been a loyal friend, and Jack was devoted to his friends.
“I wonder if I have friends like that.”
“Wild ones?”
She gave him a quick smile. “Good friends. Like Mike.”
He took her hand. “I bet you have plenty. I bet you’re the life and soul of a very tight group of friends.”
“Then why aren’t they out there looking for me?” she said softly.
“Perhaps they are. Perhaps they’re scouring the countryside for you right this minute, papering towns all over France in search of you.”
She shook her head. “If they were, they would have found me by now. Bill consulted the missing persons database for anyone matching my description. Nothing. It’s as if no one even knows I’m gone, Jack. Or maybe they just don’t care.”
Her voice broke and Jack gave her hand a tight squeeze. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation why you’re not in the database, Mel. And once we land in Paris we’re going to do whatever we can to find out, all right?”
She suddenly turned to him with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you, Jack. Thank you so much. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I can’t thank you enough. For caring, for...”
He trailed his finger along her cheek, then dabbed at her tears. “Hey. Everything’s gonna work out fine. Soon you’ll be home with your family and friends. You’ll see.”
She squeezed his hand between her cheek and shoulder, tears streaming down her face. “You’re my friend, Jack. From where I’m sitting you’re my only friend.”
“I love being your friend, Mel. I love...”
At the mention of the word, their eyes met, and she gave him the sweetest smile, then nodded.
He leaned over, and placed a gentle kiss on her wet lips. He could feel it all the way to his toes, that tingling sensation. He didn’t know what it was, but if anyone had asked, he would have said he belonged. In that moment, he belonged with Melanie Harper and she belonged with him. At least for that brief moment they belonged together.
The next moment, the car had pulled over, and the limo driver announced their arrival at Brussels Airport.
Reluctantly, he tore himself away from Melanie, and they exited the car while the driver went in search of the administrator in charge of their flight documents.
They were whisked through one of the smaller airport terminals, and before long were walking along the tarmac to the modest plane Jack’s dad kept fueled and ready at all times. Reminding himself to thank his old man for the favor, Jack graciously stood aside to allow Melanie to climb aboard before following suit.
Ten minutes later the small aircraft was trundling along the runway, and when the wheels were swallowed up by the plane’s belly with a signature bump, he felt a mix of exhilaration and fear tug at his stomach. Exhilaration to be sharing this adventure with Melanie. Fear that at journey’s end, they would part, their roads leading in different directions.
If there was one thing he knew, it was that he wanted to be with her for a little while longer still. In fact a whole lot longer.
To his own considerable surprise, he found that the prospect of saying goodbye to her caused his heart to tremble.
For the young investment banker, this was a first.
Chapter 14
The moment we stepped off the plane, I knew what had to be done. I just didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
We were walking down the tarmac on our way from the plane to the terminal building, Rufus excitedly yapping all the way. I caught up with Jack, whose long legs had an advantage on me. “We should have contacted the Paris police and sent them a description of Linda Soakes and her partner. If they really did kidnap me they must have a criminal record. Or something.”
“I thought of that. Argosy checked into those two but found nothing.”
“Oh.” I deflated a little, seeing my bright idea being smashed to smithereens. But then I was rewarded with another one. “Why don’t we contact Interpol or Europol or whatever they’re called? Perhaps they know something?”
“Argosy—”
“—already did that, huh?”
“Afraid they did.”
“And nothing?”
He shook his head. “Zilch.”
My mood plummeted. If the Belgian, French and European police forces couldn’t figure out what was going on—or Jack’s detective agency for that matter—what hope was there for two amateurs such as ourselves?
He threw me a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out what’s going on.”
Even though I didn’t share his optimism, his words did much to buck me up. “Do you really think so?”
He switched his carry-on to his right hand and took mine in his left. “I really think so.” He then fixed me with those clear blue eyes of his. “Trust me.”
My heart made a sudden leap in my chest at both his touch and reassuring gaze, and I felt my mood make an abrupt about-face and start its ascent.
“Thanks, Jack,” I murmured.
We’d reached the terminal and, like in Brussels, were quickly whisked through on our way to the exit. The perks of the rich, I thought, as I tried to keep up with Jack, who’d clearly done this many times before.
As if answering my unasked question, he said, “The jet isn’t a bad way to travel, but usually I prefer taking the Thalys.”
“You like trains, huh?”
“I do. For some reason traveling by train relaxes me. After a long week, I find it soothing to just stare out at the passing landscape and think of nothing in particular. By the time I step out at the Gare du Nord, I’ve forgotten all about the world of finance and am ready to enjoy the downtime.”
I had to confess I’d never figured Jack the working type. He had to laugh at that.
“What did you think I did all day?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Lounge around in the hot tub with half a dozen supermodels? Entertain the jet set on one of your million dollar yachts? Flit from country to country and mansion to mansion like the rest of the billionaire bunch?”
This seemed to amuse him even more. “You mean like the ducks? Traveling South for the winter?”
“Something like that. Though I don’t think ducks like to take in the ski season in Biarritz or spend the summer in Saint-Tropez.”
We’d reached the exit and he graciously held the door for me. Another limo awaited us, its chauffeur a lookalike of the one we’d left behind in Brussels. He opened the rear door and Rufus was the first to hop inside the luxurious ride.
“Do you have a Belgian twin?” I asked the guy uncertainly.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mademoiselle,” he said with a puzzled expression in his dark eyes.
“You remind her of someone,” explained Jack.
A smile broke through the clouds, and I saw that even his perfect row of white teeth closely resembled his alter ego’s. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. You’re not the first to make the connection. George Clooney and I do have certain characteristics in common.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised. George Clooney? If ever a chauffeur resembled the Hollywood hunk less, it
was this tall, thin man. With his meticulously shaved bullethead, he looked more like Mark Strong than any other actor I knew.
Then it struck me, and I tapped Jack excitedly on the shoulder. “Hey! I just remembered who George Clooney and Mark Strong are!”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid that’s not all that uncommon, honey. People who suffer from memory loss often remember a lot of things that have absolutely nothing to do with their personal lives. Now, unless either Mr Clooney or Mr Strong are great personal friends of yours, I’m afraid there’s not much reason for optimism.”
I slapped him on the arm for dashing my hopes. Then we were ushered into the car by Mark Strong’s twin, and I gasped at the opulence of our new surroundings. Unlike its Belgian counterpart, this limo sported not only a mini-bar but also a wide-screen TV and was so spacious I half expected it to hold a full-featured bathroom complete with hot tub and jet-stream shower.
I sat back against the soft cream-colored cushions. “You rich really know how to live, don’t you?”
Jack chuckled at this. “I’ll have you know that this is the first time I’ve ridden the limo in months. Usually I just take the subway into town.
“The subway? Like ordinary folk? But why?”
He shrugged. “I guess I don’t like the ostentatiousness. Or the loneliness. I like riding the subway so I can study the faces of my fellow passengers.”
“You’re a weird billionaire, Jack Carter,” I said dubiously.
He spread his arms. “I guess I am.”
I stared out the window as we pulled into Paris traffic, secretly hoping the scenery would ring a bell or stir some memory. Nothing. I could well have been on the other side of the world watching the ritual dance of the Baniwa.
Beside me, I felt Jack stir. Though the limo was big enough to hold a meeting of the entire board of directors of Jack’s company, he’d eased closer to me.
“What are you thinking?” he said softly as his shoulder rubbed against mine.
