Her Dark Knight

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Her Dark Knight Page 19

by Sharon Cullen

But when he reached his office, he had a message from the private investigator he’d hired to look into Madelaine’s background. He listened to the message, the blood draining from his head, leaving him dizzy. Slowly he replaced the receiver and stared into the darkness.

  Lainie stepped onto the elevator and nodded to the man guarding the entrance to Christien’s private quarters. It was Friday night and the club was packed, but all she wanted to do was get upstairs, change out of her work clothes and collapse into Christien’s arms. That wasn’t possible though because Christien was working.

  Maybe a hot bath, a chilled glass of wine and soothing music would do the trick.

  She leaned against the elevator wall and blew out a breath. Two hours ago Giselle had come to her with a big project, the biggest project Lainie would be in charge of to date. She’d been excited Giselle had finally put a little more faith in her and gave her more responsibility. Maybe they’d turned some sort of corner. But then Giselle told her the project was due Monday morning.

  She would have to work all weekend and it still didn’t give her enough time to complete it and Giselle knew it. Once again she was being set up for failure.

  Part of her wanted to walk out of the office and never come back. She could take Christien up on his offer of the trust for her father and find a job she loved.

  However, at this point in her life those thoughts were fruitless so she buckled down and worked until her eyes burned and her back ached because she wanted to prove to Giselle she could do this. And she wanted to prove to herself that someone like Giselle wasn’t going to beat her down.

  She and Christien had plans for Saturday. They were going to move the remainder of her stuff out of her apartment, and Christien was going to take her to lunch. They’d never had a “real” date and she’d been looking forward to it. Now she’d have to work.

  Damn Giselle.

  Lainie entered Christien’s apartment. Their apartment. He kept reminding her it was hers too, but she found it hard to accept these lavish furnishings were actually hers.

  The silence pressed down on her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. As much as she wanted a hot bath and chilled wine, even more, she didn’t want to be alone. And why should she when she had an entire club beneath her?

  She didn’t have “clubbing” clothes, but she chose her favorite jeans that skimmed her hips and made her legs look longer, and a low-cut, somewhat tight blouse that accented her ample chest. It was the best she could do on such short notice. She ran a brush through her hair, applied some lip gloss and headed back down in the elevator.

  As with most Friday nights, the place was hopping and a long line of people waited to get in. Lainie slipped through the crowd and made her way to the bar where she planned to have one glass of wine while she did some people-watching before heading to bed. Christien wouldn’t return until the wee hours of the morning, close to when she would awaken and head back to work.

  Ah, well. They had plenty more weekends together.

  “Madelaine?”

  She turned to find Christien weaving through the thick crowd, moving unerringly toward her. He took her hand, his gaze serious. “What is wrong? Are you all right?”

  She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m fine.”

  “What brings you down here?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to admit she was lonely and not wanting to dump her work problems on him when he was obviously very busy. “I thought I’d have a drink and take in the scene.”

  He smiled and kissed her fingers. “I’m delighted you came. I know the perfect place to put you, away from the action, but still able to see it.”

  He led her to the end of the bar, far from the front door and very close to the elevator leading to his private quarters. He introduced her to the bartender who’d served her the first night she’d come looking for him.

  Christien kissed her on the forehead. “I truly am glad you are here,” he said above the beat of the music. He smoothed her hair, his gaze sincere.

  She smiled and waved him away. “Go. Do your thing.”

  Christien shot Ken the bartender a pointed look. “Take care of her,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.

  The dance floor was filled with writhing bodies and women barely dressed. The flashing lights reflected off the sparkles in their halter-tops and strapless dresses. Scattered among the dancers were couples wound tightly together.

  “Try this.” Ken slid a glass of blue liquid toward her.

  “What is it?”

  “Blueberry martini. My specialty.”

  She took a careful sip and smiled. It tasted like a melted ice pop so she took another sip and turned back to the dance floor.

  Occasionally she’d catch a glimpse of Christien as he moved through the crowd. A man put his hand on Christien’s shoulder and Christien bent his head to listen, laughed and moved on. Both men and women stopped him and he would listen attentively before continuing through the crowd. Lainie fought unexpected jealousy when women touched him. Some provocatively, others possessively and still others just to get his attention. Christien, however, didn’t seem to notice. He treated everyone the same.

  Except for Sabine.

  Immediately Lainie felt the connection between the two. They moved in tandem, one on one side of the room, the other on the other side, yet they communicated silently with just a nod or a glance. It was obvious they had worked together a long time.

  Sabine also talked to whoever stopped her, but was very adept at sidestepping the wandering hands of a few drunken men with a laugh and an admonishment.

  Another blueberry martini appeared at her elbow and Lainie took a sip. Sabine slid onto the barstool next to her.

  “Welcome to The Chevalier,” she said with a wide smile.

  “Thank you.”

  Ken handed Sabine a drink of what looked like carbonated water with lemon and Sabine sipped it.

  Lainie tugged on her plain, knit shirt and ran her palms along her jeans, eyeing Sabine’s silver spangled halter-top that dipped low between perfect breasts and her tight, black leather pants that made her legs look a mile long.

  “Are you having fun?” Sabine asked.

  Lainie nodded, her tongue suddenly thick and awkward.

  A waitress motioned Sabine over and she slid off her stool. “Back to work,” she said brightly with a small wave toward Lainie.

  Christien met up with Sabine and the waitress and the three powwowed with their heads bent together. Christien’s dark hair brushed against Sabine’s nearly white-blond hair and Lainie’s stomach churned.

  Of course Christien had a life before Lainie. He was a good-looking guy and it would be stupid of her to think he’d never had a girlfriend. The internet articles with the pictures of the supermodels proved he had. She drank half the martini in one gulp to drown the jealousy suddenly rearing its ugly head.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had boyfriends. She’d had lots. Dozens. Scores. Legions.

  Okay, maybe just two and a few dates that never panned out.

  Someone slid onto the stool Sabine vacated and jostled Lainie’s arm.

  “Sorry,” said a masculine voice.

  “S’okay.” She turned to the newcomer and smiled.

  He smiled back and offered his hand. “John,” he said.

  She shook. “Lainie. Good to meet you.”

  “You come here often?” He laughed. “That sounds like a lame pick-up line. It’s just I’ve been here a few times and I’ve never seen you.”

  Lainie straightened, recognizing the interest in his eyes. His smile was warm and welcoming. He leaned closer and she caught the clean scent of soap.

  “I’ve been here a few times.” Three to be exact, but the one didn’t count since she’d been running to Christien for help and he’d swept her through so fast she doubted anyone saw her.

  “It’s a cool place,” John said.

  He had red hair. Lainie liked redheads. He had freckles on his hands too.
How cute was that?

  “Yeah,” she said. “Cool.” She stuck with the one-word answers because suddenly she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

  “What are you drinking?” He lifted his chin toward her drink.

  Lainie held up her nearly empty glass and peered into it. Hadn’t Ken just filled it? “Blueberry martini.”

  John smiled again. “You’re hammered.”

  Lainie shook her head. The lights swirled. She lost her balance and had to grab hold of the bar to keep from falling off her stool. “Nah,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  “Want another?” He motioned to Ken.

  “Sure.”

  Ken approached, saw Lainie talking to John and his smile faded. “Another for the lady,” John said. “And I’ll have a beer.”

  Ken eyed Lainie warily, but turned to fill their orders. John swiveled his body fully toward hers. Their knees brushed. He was wearing jeans and a three-button shirt. Not clubbing clothes. She liked him even more.

  “You from around here?” he asked.

  “No. Yes.”

  He laughed again. He had a nice laugh. Very friendly. “So which is it? Yes or no?”

  “No, I’m not from here originally. Yes, I live here.” Lainie concentrated on her words, making sure she pronounced each one distinctly.

  Ken appeared with their drinks. John ignored the mug Ken gave him and drank the beer straight from the bottle. Lainie liked that. He was a man’s man.

  “You wanna dance, Lainie?”

  She looked at the dance floor, at the people packed tightly together yet moving fast. Her legs felt a little numb. “No. But thanks.”

  “Hammered,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  She liked the twinkle. It made him very approachable.

  “Got a girlfriend?” She clamped her lips together. Totally the wrong thing to say. He would think she was interested and she wasn’t. To hide her mortification she took a big gulp of the martini.

  “You applying for the position?”

  She smiled. “No. It’s just you’re such a nice guy I figured some lucky girl would have scooped you up by now.”

  “No lucky girl,” he said. “What about you? Got a boyfriend?”

  “You applying for the position?” Oh, man. What the heck was she doing flirting with this guy? Yet it was fun and carefree and Lord knew she hadn’t had any fun or carefree moments since she’d walked into this place that first night. The martini—martinis? How many had she had?—drowned her inhibitions and loosened her tongue. No harm in talking to the guy. It wasn’t like she was going to go home with him. The only one she wanted to go home with was Christien.

  “Maybe.” He winked at her. “The position open?”

  The laugh died right out of her and suddenly this wasn’t fun anymore. “I don’t know,” she said seriously, looking down into her glass.

  “You don’t know if you have a boyfriend?”

  She shrugged and reached for her martini. But John was holding it. She frowned. When did he pick up her glass? With a crooked smile he handed it to her and she drained the rest of it with a shrug. Ken didn’t miraculously appear with another one. “It’s complicated.”

  “Ah. One of those. Don’t you hate when they get complicated?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

  Christien stepped out of the private party room and breathed a sigh of relief. One more disaster averted. These bachelorette parties were going to be the death of him—figuratively speaking, of course.

  He headed into the crowd and slowly made his way toward the bar and Madelaine. She didn’t normally come down here at night and he was worried something was wrong. She looked tired, beat down. What the hell had Giselle done to her now? Christien had half a mind to follow through with his threat of destroying Lucheux and Giselle’s business with the excuse they were abusing Madelaine, but he wouldn’t. It would be an abuse of his powers and an ace up his sleeve he needed to hold on to.

  He pushed through the last of the crowd and stopped. An ice-cold fury swarmed over him and every muscle tensed.

  Madelaine was leaning toward a man seated next to her. Their knees were touching, her elbow was resting on the bar, her chin in the palm of her hand. They were deep in conversation, the bastard occasionally taking a sip from a beer bottle as they talked and laughed.

  Her eyelids were heavy and her movements sluggish, causing Christien to frown. Surely she wasn’t drunk. She’d said she wanted one glass of wine.

  She smiled and touched the man’s knee. He leaned close and said something that made her frown. Christien was beside her before his mind processed his body moving and Madelaine was looking up at him with big brown eyes, slightly unfocused and a little surprised.

  “Christien!”

  Christien turned to the man, piercing him with a steely-eyed glare that had worked to his advantage in many battles and bar fights. The man slowly placed his beer bottle on the bar and stood. His look was guarded and Christien took some male pride in the fact he was a few inches taller and definitely more muscular. His reaction was ridiculous, of course.

  “Is this your complication, Lainie?”

  The familiar use of Madelaine’s name had Christien clamping his teeth together so hard he almost bit the inside of his cheek. Complication? What the hell did that mean? And who the hell was this man who knew Madelaine by name?

  Madelaine touched Christien’s sleeve. “Christien, this is John. He was keeping me entertained while you worked.”

  He just bet he was. Christien grunted an acknowledgment but didn’t offer his hand as manners dictated. Obviously the twenty-first century Madelaine was just as naïve as the fourteenth century. Couldn’t she tell a player when she saw one? Must he keep his eye on her constantly? And where the hell was Ken?

  John’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile. “Christien Chevalier, I assume? You didn’t tell me your complication was the owner of the club, Lainie.”

  Madelaine shrugged and Christien wanted to punch the man for even uttering her name. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the fourteenth century. Men were allowed to speak to women these days.

  John chuckled and dug into his pocket to lay money on the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Lainie.” He turned to Christien. “No harm done, man. We were just talking.” He walked away.

  Nay. Christien let him walk away. No use causing a scene in his own club, but he kept an eye on this John as he disappeared into the crowd before turning back to Madelaine.

  “I’m a complication?” he asked.

  She looked up at him with those big, unfocused eyes and swayed. He caught her by the shoulder before she slithered off the barstool.

  “You’re drunk.”

  She shook her head, but the movement was slow. “No.”

  He called Ken over. “How much has she had?”

  Ken held up his fingers, indicating three.

  “Three what?”

  “Blueberry martinis,” Madelaine said. “They taste like melted Popsicles.”

  Ken motioned him over but Christien couldn’t let go of Madelaine or she’d fall, so he leaned over the bar.

  “I watered them down,” Ken whispered above the noise. “She shouldn’t be drunk off what I gave her.”

  “Christien?”

  He turned to Madelaine as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped over. He quickly caught her and lifted her in his arms. She was limp, her head lolling to the side, her breathing weak.

  Christien barreled through the crowd. People parted, staring. Whispers followed him as he made his way to his office. Suddenly Sabine was at his side.

  “Call nine-one-one.” Panicked, he shoved his office door open with his shoulder and gently laid her on the leather couch. Kneeling beside her, he took her cold hand in his.

  What the hell happened? She was sitting at his bar, drinking a martini. She was safe. Except she wasn’t. Someone got to her and now she was—

  No. He wouldn’t think l
ike that. She was going to be okay. She had to be. He rubbed her hand to bring warmth back to it.

  “Madelaine? Love? Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t move, not even a twitch. Mon Dieu, what happened?

  People crowded into his office and he faintly heard Ronald pushing them out until it was blessedly quiet.

  Sabine appeared beside him with a look of concern. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” He watched Madelaine’s chest rise and fall. As long as she breathed, she would be okay. “Bring Ronald in here,” he said.

  Minutes later Ronald was at his side, his expression severe. “How is she?”

  “Breathing. A man was with her. Red hair, medium height. Jeans. Three-buttoned shirt. Name was John. Sound familiar?”

  Ronald shook his head, his forehead creasing in thought.

  “I want him found. Have Ken pull the receipts to get a name.” Damn it. Christien remembered him throwing a few bills on the bar. “Never mind. He paid in cash. Try to find him. Ask Ken what he knows. Ask anyone.”

  Ronald nodded and hurried out.

  The EMTs arrived, pushing Christien out of the way. He stood to the side, his heart in his throat, a primal scream on his lips. He wouldn’t lose her. Not yet.

  Not yet, damn it!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christien bathed Madelaine’s head with a cool washcloth. Her face was nearly gray but for now she was resting between bouts of violent nausea. He didn’t know how much more her body could handle as it tried to rid itself of the poison.

  GHB, the doctors said. Gamma Hydroxy Butrate. Street name G, Gook, Easy Lay, Vita G or G Juice, take your pick. Similar to the date-rape drug, Rohypnol, but more insidious and dangerous. He was told to expect the nausea as well as disorientation, dizziness, unconsciousness and memory loss, but the warnings didn’t make it any easier to watch.

  She was in and out, throwing up when she was awake and sleeping fitfully in between.

  A rage unlike he’d ever experienced before swirled inside him. He would discover who did this to her and he would kill the bastard. Slowly. He had a bad feeling this John guy wasn’t acting on his own. If they found him, maybe they’d discover who was behind this.

 

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