The Billionaire’s Valiant Rescue

by Nic Saint

  It wouldn’t be long before Jack would confide in her, she knew. He always did, considering her a loyal part of the family. For now, she merely did as she was told, and was gratified when Melanie rewarded her kindness at pointing out the ins and outs of the house with a radiant smile.

  Whoever she was, she liked the young woman already.

  After a last glance around the kitchen, she hitched up her coat, took a firmer grip on her pocketbook, and stepped out the back door, locking it behind her.

  Reaching the street, she walked away fast. She still had plenty of errands to run, and darkness was already descending on Paris.

  She hadn’t walked ten yards, however, before a man fell into step beside her. Looking over, a sense of dread filled her at the sight of him. He was broad, tall and ugly as hell, and hazarding a guess, she immediately pegged him as one of Paris’s growing band of lowlifes and other scum.

  Picking up speed, she threw nervous glances left and right, looking for a shop to disappear into before this man dragged her off into some dark alley and had his way with her.

  “Madame?” the man said, also picking up his pace. “You work for Jack Carter, don’t you?”

  She clasped her purse closer to her body, and didn’t respond. Of course. Work for a billionaire and people start to think you’re loaded with the stuff yourself.

  “No, I don’t,” she quickly lied.

  “I saw you leave his house. Look, I just want to warn you.”

  “Leave me alone!” she trilled with tremulous voice. “Or-or I’ll scream!”

  “Don’t be scared, Madame. I just want to do what’s right. Tonight, some very bad people are going to break into Jack Carter’s house to kidnap a woman.”

  At this, Magali gasped in horror. “Kidnap!”

  “Yes, kidnap,” the man repeated patiently.

  They’d stopped at the corner, and since the man kept a respectable distance, Magali felt her apprehension fade, only to be replaced by a different emotion altogether. Anger. “What’s all this nonsense? What are you talking about? Who are you?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter who I am, and if you tell the police, I’ll deny everything. Just make sure Jack and the Lorgnasse girl are out of the house.” His face turned grim. “These people... They’re planning to murder Mr Carter and string him up from the highest tree.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack entered the room just when I was testing the mattress.

  “Is it to your liking, Mademoiselle Harper?” he grinned.

  I pursed my lips. “It will do for now, Monsieur. Though I’ll have you know I’ve experienced better.” And what was up with all the Disney figurines? I’d seen them scattered all around the house, the bigger ones safely locked inside glass display cases. They reminded me of that first night in Brussels, when he’d been wearing those funky Donald pajamas…

  I tossed my hair and gave him a seductive look. I’d just emerged from the shower and felt reinvigorated. Standing under the hot jets for what felt like hours, the fatigue that seemed to have settled in my bones had slowly dissipated to give way to a feeling of utter relaxation.

  My hair was still wet, and I was only dressed in a towel, and for a moment I played with the idea of dropping the flimsy excuse of a garment and revealing myself to Jack. The only thing stopping me was Jack’s theory that I might have a husband somewhere, even children perhaps.

  Jack swallowed as he let his hot gaze rake my body. The tingling sensation I always felt in his presence quickly returned, and I was on the verge of throwing myself into his arms, damn the consequences, when he announced, “The inspector is here. He’s waiting downstairs for you to join us.”

  “Oh. Right. I’m sorry. I’ll be down in just a second.”

  He lingered by the door. “Take your time.” Then, after a last look of longing, he turned away and softly closed the door behind him.

  I’d completely forgotten about the inspector Jack had contacted. A close friend of the family, the man had promised to take us over to the Rue Notaire mentioned in the GSM found on my person to see if it didn’t jog a memory.

  The theory was that whoever had abducted me had held me there for a while, before transporting me across the border into Belgium.

  Why they would take me from Paris to Brussels was one of the many mysteries confronting us.

  I quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and shirt Magali had laid out for me, and slipped into a sweater. Paris was even colder than Brussels today, and I still wasn’t feeling too well, my head still intermittently hurting from the hit I’d taken.

  Joining Jack and a small man with a drooping mustache in the kitchen, I introduced myself as Melanie Harper for lack of a better name, and the man gave me a pleasant smile.

  “Jacques Gustave Formelle, Mademoiselle Harper. I’ll be helping you to discover the truth behind your disappearance.”

  “Jacques is a friend of the family,” explained Jack. “He’s actually my godfather.”

  “Yes. Jack’s father and I are childhood friends. He even named his son after me.”

  Jack laughed. “Nice try, Jacques.”

  The police inspector held up his hands. “The story could be true, no? Jacques. Jack. Not so much difference, hein?”

  I looked from the diminutive man with the enormous mustache to Jack and nodded sagely. “You know? I clearly see the resemblance.”

  Both men had to laugh at my little joke, and by the time we set off for the Rue Notaire, the three of us were on the best terms.

  Jacques drove his bright red Citroën CS through the worst traffic I’d ever seen, and when he finally steered us into a small cul-de-sac, my heart was beating in my throat. The prospect of revisiting the scene of my kidnapping suddenly filled me with dread.

  I clasped Jack’s arm. “What if I don’t remember a thing? What are we going to do then?”

  He gave my hand a tight squeeze. “We’ll figure something out, Mel.”

  Jacques maneuvered his car between two dilapidated old jalopies, making sure he hit both the rear fender of the one in front and the front fender of the one in the rear.

  “Parisian custom,” whispered Jack when I eyed the maneuver with wonder. “This is the way we like to park. Always leaving a little souvenir.”

  Finally, having squeezed his Citroën between the two other cars, Jacques quickly checked our surroundings. “The coast, it is clear,” he announced before stepping out.

  I joined him in front of a house that had clearly seen better days. If once people had lived here, it was obvious they’d left it in such a state of disrepair no one in his right mind would want to live there now.

  Graffiti had been sprayed all across the ravaged facade, and all windows had been smashed. We stepped up to the front door, which consisted of a plywood panel, fixed to the jamb with electrical wire.

  Stepping over the rubble liberally strewn across the porch, we entered the premises, Jack making sure he stayed right behind me, while Jacques did the honors of leading the way.

  A single room opened up to the left, half-rotted mattresses, empty beer bottles and fast food cartons indicating this might have been the living room. Across the wall the slogan ‘Cochons Riches’ had been sprayed, its author clearly not a fan of the rich.

  “Don’t take it personally, Jack,” quipped Jacques, pointing at the slogan.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t. Contrary to some, I work hard for my money.”

  I rolled my eyes at the quaint conceit, but decided not to get embroiled in a political discussion when on the verge of finally discovering my identity.

  “You recognize any of this?” spoke Jack in my rear.

  I took in the room searchingly, but nothing stirred. I shook my head.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” suggested Jacques. “We have reason to believe that’s where you were actually held.”

  My heart skipped a beat at these words, and I followed Jacques to what was left of the staircase.

  He pointed to a hole in one of the stairs
. “Be careful. The wood is not very strong.”

  The banister had been torn away, perhaps to be used as firewood, and the staircase resembled the mouth of a prizefighter after having received a knockout punch, but we managed to make it upstairs in one piece. Off the landing to the right, Jacques stepped into a small room covered in darkness. Flipping on a flashlight, he gave me a single nod, then stepped aside to let me pass.

  The moment I entered the room, it was as if the world tilted on its axis.

  My eyes darting from the ragged mattress on the floor to the table holding a single copy of the Bible, I felt a wave of nausea and fear knock into my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes as I gulped for air.

  “Mel. Melanie! What’s wrong?”

  I feebly reached out a hand to Jack, who took it anxiously.

  “I-I’ve been here before,” I heaved. I pointed at the Holy Book on the table. “That’s mine. T-that’s my Bible.”

  Both Jacques and Jack sprang forward. Opening the book to its first page, Jack stared down at its contents for a full second before slowly turning to me.

  “Valerie Lorgnasse. Your name... is Valerie Lorgnasse.”

  Chapter 19

  A jolt went through Melanie the moment Jack mentioned the name.

  “V-Valerie?” she said, eyes wide.

  Her face had turned so pale Jack thought she might collapse at any moment so he quickly joined her where she stood swaying on her legs.

  “That’s what it says right here... Valerie.” Jacques pointed to the title page of the Bible, where in a clear scrawl the name was written. The hand seemed almost childish, as if written at the age of twelve, which might well be possible.

  “We’re finally getting somewhere, Mel— I mean Valerie.”

  She nodded quickly, her lower lip quivering, a deep frown etched on her pale brow. Jack wanted to hold her and kiss her and make it well, but with Jacques present he restrained himself.

  The policeman eyed Valerie intently. “Do you remember, Mademoiselle Lorgnasse? Do you remember what happened to you?”

  Valerie closed her eyes as if pained by the question, and the groove between her brows deepened. Finally, she shook her head. “Vague... images. And sounds. Color, as well, but nothing concrete. Nothing to tell me who I am, really.” She finally opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Jack, almost helpless. “It’s not coming back. It’s... still a blur.”

  He held her close, then, and she clung to him. “Don’t exert yourself. The strain of the past couple of days... You’ve had a lot to deal with. Just let it go. Maybe it will come back when you least expect it. Maybe you’ll wake up one morning and have full recollection.”

  Jacques had taken out his cell and stood conferring with a colleague. When he finally hung up, he looked grave. “We have a problem. There’s no record of a Valerie Lorgnasse having an official residence anywhere in Paris.”

  “Didn’t you think you might be from the South, Valerie? Perhaps you need to widen your parameters, Jacques. Include the whole of France.”

  His friend’s mustache appeared to droop even more at these words.

  “Then we have an even bigger problem. But this time one of abundance. An abundance of Valerie Lorgnasses. My colleague counted at least a hundred, and he didn’t even allow the search to be completed.”

  “And still no missing persons report, huh?”

  “None.”

  Jack had led Valerie to a rickety chair next to the table. She looked forlorn. “So we’re still no closer to a solution.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and both Jack and his policeman friend couldn’t but agree with her assessment. They were still groping in the dark.

  Valerie picked the Bible up from the table and leafed through it. “At least I know my name.” She traced her finger across the letters. “Valerie Lorgnasse.”

  “A very pretty name, if you’ll permit me, Mademoiselle Lorgnasse.”

  She smiled wearily and let the Bible fall open on an earmarked page. A passage had been highlighted with magic marker, and she read it before sharing it with Jack and the policeman. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” She laid down the Bible, and added softly, “I hope so, too.”

  Jack didn’t meet her eyes, but instead turned to the policeman. “What do you suggest?”

  “We could always transmit a missing persons report ourselves. Perhaps Valerie’s family will come forward.”

  “What could be the reason they haven’t already contacted the police themselves?”

  Jacques drew him aside, and whispered, “It’s very well possible the kidnappers have warned her family not to contact the police. In that case they’re anxiously awaiting any communication from the kidnappers, not knowing Valerie already managed to escape.”

  Jack watched as Valerie sat paging through her Bible with trembling fingers. Her haunting beauty once again shook him. He longed so much to hold her, to be there for her not as a friend, but as a lover. To stir those lips once again and not stop when his mind told him to.

  “Do it,” he said. “Put out the report. Perhaps when the family sees the broadcast, they’ll overcome their fear and get in touch. They could even do so anonymously, so as not to alarm the kidnappers.”

  “I’ll get on it straightaway. Oh, and Jack?”

  “Mh?”

  Jacques put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you hope.”

  “Hope? Hope what?”

  “Hope that she’s not yet married to someone else.”

  Jack sighed. “That obvious, huh?”

  Jacques grinned, though it was hard to notice beneath his mustache. “Abundantly.”

  “Just... Don’t tell my dad. He’ll never let me live it down. You know how he is.”

  “I know all too well, my friend. Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

  On the drive back to the house, Jack told Valerie about the policeman’s plan. She immediately agreed. The idea that her kidnappers had warned her parents not to contact the authorities had also occurred to her, and it had lifted her spirits considerably.

  “Who knows how scared they are. Perhaps they’re sitting by the phone now, anxiously awaiting news from the kidnappers.”

  “I think there’s a very good chance they are. Which means you’re not alone, Valerie. There are people out there who care for you a very great deal.”

  “And we’ll find them,” added Jacques.

  “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  Jacques smiled through the rearview mirror. “I think I have a pretty good idea, Mademoiselle Lorgnasse.”

  They’d arrived back at the house, and Jack led the way into the kitchen, his favorite part of the place. At one time, the house had been his boyhood home, and he could still distinctly remember his mother baking cinnamon cookies for him and his brother on the stove.

  Though his mom and dad hadn’t lived here for years, he would always remember those days with great fondness.

  After opening the back door so Rufus could prance about in the yard, he sat Valerie down at the kitchen table, and set to work preparing her a cup of hot cocoa.

  “You have a great place here, Jack.” She looked around the kitchen with an expression of appreciation. “A real home.”

  He picked two cups from the cupboard over the sink, and set them on the counter, waiting for the milk to boil. “It was. I grew up in this house. Back when Dad was a mere millionaire.”

  She grinned. “Before he really made his fortune, huh? You know, I would like to meet your family once.”

  His heart leaped with unexpected joy at these words. He would love nothing more than to introduce Valerie to his family. “Perhaps one day you will. When all this is behind us.”

  S
he gave him the sweetest smile. It lit up the room the way he remembered his mother’s smile to light up his life. “I would like that very much. If they’re anything like you, I know I will love them.”

  He looked up at this. Love. The word hung between them as it had before. He did love her, he now knew. He didn’t know when it had happened or how, but at some point over the last couple of days, he’d fallen for this wonderful young woman. And the closer they came to discovering her true identity, the more he feared he might lose her again very soon.

  He merely smiled, and poured hot milk into two oversized cups, stirred in his own secret cocoa-and-sugar mix, and carried them to the table.

  “I’m sure they’ll love you too, Valerie,” he said as they both took a sip from their cups. They locked eyes over the steaming mugs, and he thought he detected a twinkle of amusement in hers.

  “You know? You’re a pretty great guy. For a billionaire.”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Try me.”

  “Actually it’s my father who’s the billionaire in the family. Me and my brother? We’re merely multi-millionaires.”

  Her lips curled up into a delectable smile. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  She leaned forward, and over the smell of hot cocoa, their lips met. The sweetness of the drink mixed with the scent of her, and soon all caution was thrown to the wind and as their tongues danced their intoxicating tango, he was dizzy with desire for this woman who hadn’t merely stolen his heart, but his whole being, mind, body and soul.

  Chapter 20

  The hot chocolate was all but forgotten as I rose to my feet, Jack’s lips on mine. The sweetness of our kiss quickly dissolved into a hot rage of passion as he cleared away the cups with a swift motion of his arm. Walking round, he hoisted me up onto the table, then pressed me into him as his mouth took mine once again.

  All thought of possible husbands was forgotten as we gave way to the yearning that had been burning deep within our souls.

  I clung to him, raking my fingers through his hair as he grasped my buttocks and pulled me into him, my legs enveloping his waist.