by Lyn Stone
She slid her hand into his, palm to palm and intertwined their fingers and drew on his courage. She must be strong.
With his free hand he idly caressed her ear, trailing his fingers down her neck and across her chest as she lay in his arms.
"Are you sleepy yet?" he asked, his voice laced with the barest hint of wishfulness. If she admitted she was, he would insist she go back to her own bed. If she had any sense, she would do just that.
"Not really," she heard herself saying. "Are you?"
Apparently not. He answered her with a kiss, this one in no way tentative, no way questioning, but the kiss of a lover who now knew precisely what she liked and wanted from him.
Though she thought very little at all while Jacques made love to her this time, Solange parted very reluctantly when the time came.
It was then she began to wonder whether she was making excuses, deluding herself. Perhaps it was only gratitude for the comfort he offered that she was feeling. The afterglow of sex with a proficient lover like Jacques could be deceptive, she supposed. How many other women had fancied themselves falling in love with him? Hundreds, no doubt. She seriously doubted she would be the last.
That must be it. Only when they lay together could she focus on something other than the real reason for their being here.
Back in her own bed in René's room, she could not sleep. Her dread of a meeting with Chari about the lab work grew greater with every hour that passed.
And, too, René had grown incredibly restless during the night. When morning came, Solange finally had to grant him permission to get quietly out of bed. They spoke briefly, both fully aware that every word they said was being picked up by the microphone in his room.
René's father had not been in to see him, nor had he asked for her to report on his son's condition. There was nothing wrong with René now but soreness in his braised side and, of course, in his heart. Chari had clearly broken that beyond repair.
They never spoke of it in any detail, even in the short conversations they engaged in where they could not be overheard.
Jacques had interviewed René yesterday at some length in the other room that was no longer wired. Solange had not been present, but only because she was too busy keeping watch at the door to warn them if anyone approached.
Jacques had discovered that René was only aware of what they had known coming in, that there was a lab within the chateau. And that Chari had ordered a supply of the necessary materials for a formula similar to ricin, a protein toxin, a cellular poison.
While the toxin was not practical for use as a weapon of mass destruction in warfare, it could be one that might cause absolute terror and death on a smaller scale. It could not be transformed successfully into an airborne agent. Yet.
This morning she had conducted another brief conversation with the boy. She had felt the need to explain to René the pretense of her affair with Jacques. He did not need to know it was not really a pretense. She wasn't certain he believed it was a ruse, anyway, but he conceded it was necessary.
So far he seemed willing to do almost anything to stop what his father was doing.
Night had not come soon enough to suit Jack. All day he had thought of nothing but Solange. This was not a good thing, considering their purpose for being here.
Now they lay together again like lovers with nothing more to think about than how to please each other next. It made no sense that he, steeped as he was in the importance of his job, would permit a diversion like this to happen. But here he was.
The tenderness he felt for Solange surprised him. Usually he went for the gutsy, competitive type he knew could hold their own in any situation. Like Maribeth. Maribeth had been fiercely independent, her courage flamboyant, her attitude of invincibility unwavering. And unrealistic, too. Loving her had proved mentally exhausting. He couldn't recall a single peaceful, quiet minute in all the time they had been together.
Solange seemed so gentle by comparison. She had courage all right, but it was tempered with logic and caution. She was a giving person, compassionate as well as passionate. He felt guilty comparing the two women, but their differences were so marked, how could he not?
He couldn't recall ever approaching a woman who seemed the least bit delicate and vulnerable.
Now he found himself wanting to know about this one, what made her tick. He wanted to learn how he could best protect her and keep that core of childlike innocence alive in her. This whole experience would change her radically, and more than anything, Jack did not want it to do that.
"Did you always want to be a doctor?" he asked, stroking her arm with his fingers. Her skin was so smooth, so fine textured and perfect. So pale and translucent. He could trace the small blue veins in her wrist, in her temple.
He leaned closer and kissed her shoulder, loving the little intake of breath that told him she liked what he was doing, that she was remembering what he had done before.
"Not always," she admitted. "I loved ballet when I was young."
"I should have guessed that. You move like a dancer," he told her, inhaling her scent deeply. It was like a drug. A truth serum maybe. He couldn't seem to stem the flow of words. "Grace and beauty in motion. Your hands fascinate me."
He took one in his and played with her fingers. Graceful, yes, but capable, too. These hands saved lives, provided care, did wonderful things for people. And for him. He pressed her palm to his lips.
She sighed and cuddled closer. Had he ever felt any closer to a woman in his life? If he had, he couldn't remember it now. She filled his mind, his memory and made him wish for things he should have learned never to wish for.
Jack knew he was in big trouble here. He was feeling things he knew better than to feel, and it wasn't all physical. Not by a long shot. But he couldn't pull away.
He couldn't seem to form any words that would set them firmly back into their roles. He was the operative here. She was just an agent of opportunity, recruited to accomplish what he could not on this mission. He was supposed to use her, not fall for her like a jumper with no chute.
"I love to dance," she said softly. "Tell me, do you dance, Jacques?"
"Like Baryshnikov," he growled, making her laugh.
God, he loved her laugh. It was breathy and soft. Sweet. It made him think of a sudden breeze on a still, hot day. Subtly surprising him with a pure, feel-good ripple that defied description.
It made him want more. She made him want more.
"I wish we were somewhere else," he said honestly. "I wish we had met on vacation somewhere interesting."
"We would be tourists," she said, immediately picking up on the game. "You would ask me to come with you for a drink. Something dreadfully sweet with a small umbrella in it, perhaps. I would abandon caution and have two."
"And then dinner," he added, "and dancing after. I would hold you in my arms and hope you would agree to come to my room with me or ask me to yours."
She sighed again and tucked her head under his chin. "You would ask me where I was from, what I did." She fell silent for a moment. "And I would ask you the same questions. What would you tell me?"
"Lies," he admitted. The word was reluctant, gruff. "And after we parted, I would follow you home from wherever we had met."
"Why?" she asked, drawing back so that she could look at him with an expression of curiosity.
He kissed the frown off her brow. "Because I would want to know you, really know you in the setting you have made for yourself. I would want to explore who you are and become close enough so that I could tell you the truth."
"A lie or a line? I wonder."
"Let's call this truth of the moment," he replied.
"Yes, fantasy," she whispered. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Maybe it could become real," Jack said. "When this is over, I might like to see if it could, would you?" Why had he said that? What was he thinking. He wasn't into lines or into lies. He never lied to his women. But was it a line or a lie?
"Perhaps I w
ould like to," she admitted. "But as you said, this is time out of time, Jacques. You and I are so... very different."
When he said nothing to that, she added, "But it is nice that we have one another now, tonight, isn't it?"
"As understatements go, that's a real winner." He would follow her and see where this led. He knew he would, because he would be powerless to stop himself.
He figured there must be magic at work here because he had lost the power to reason. If he had any good sense left, he ought to be backpedaling like crazy. He needed to leave himself a way out of an entanglement when all this was over. Even if he wanted more, he knew he couldn't...
The power of her embrace intensified. "I think we should not plan beyond our time here."
Maybe because she had said it first, Jack experienced a burning desire to plan like mad. Find a way to have her for as long as this lasted. And to make it last as long as he possibly could. It was crazy.
She was absolutely right. He was the one losing sight of reality here.
"Then we will make this time count," he assured her.
They would make love again. Later, when his blood had cooled, would be a better time to think beyond the mission to what might happen next.
♥ Scanned by Coral ♥
Chapter 6
Solange chafed at captivity. She absolutely hated the lack of freedom. They'd been here three days and nights, and still Chari had not approached her about what he had mentioned—her helping in the laboratory. Without the information she might glean there, Jacques and his people dared not proceed. How much longer could this go on?
Her emotional defense against Jacques Mercier was as thin as the old shirt René had given her to sleep in. She had gone back to Jacques's bed last night.
She sensed he also had reservations about becoming more closely involved. And why would he not? There was no hope for a future relationship for the two of them. They were from different countries, different lifestyles, different everything.
The overpowering attraction that existed between them, plus the on-edge tension of the wait and the knowledge that death lurked all around them made each hour they spent here pure heaven or hell. There were no in-between times. No relief.
"Mercier..." Chari obviously wanted to ask something, but hesitated. Finally he heaved a sigh and turned away from Jack to peer out the window into the darkness. "Has René spoken to you since the escape?"
"Hardly at all. He sleeps a lot and is far from well."
"Were any of his injuries... permanent?" Chari asked softly, playing the part of concerned father. Or maybe some of the concern was real.
"No, I think he will recover from them, but they were substantial," Jack answered.
This was the first time Chari had indicated much interest in the boy. Even now he did not seem nearly as distressed as a father ought to be.
Jack wondered whether he was really inquiring after René's health or just wanted to know how much he had told Jack about what was going on here.
"He is able to walk now?"
Jack nodded. "Yes, a little. The doctor feels he could use some sun and fresh air. As you might imagine, Bau-mettes was very dark and depressing."
For a long time Chari did not reply. Then he faced Jack again. "The doctor may walk him in the back garden for a time tomorrow. You are to go with them."
The thought of getting out of the chateau, perhaps finding a chance to slip into the woods and locate that cell phone appealed to Jack. "I'll keep a close eye out. Depend on it."
Chari merely nodded, then with a flick of his hand, dismissed Jack for the evening.
"We are being closely watched from the rooftop," Solange commented as she looked past René at Jack. "I do not know where they think we could go even if we decided to run."
Thank goodness Chari had given his permission for them to take René outside. They had only been out for a few minutes and already she had brightened considerably. Jack was so glad he had put in her request last evening during his talk with Chari.
"This garden could be beautiful," she said brightly, "but it certainly needs a bit of work."
"It was my grandmother's pride," René said, valiantly limping, pretending he was allowing Jack and Solange to support him in his weakened state. "The roses were magnificent when I was little. Now look at them."
Jack was too busy examining the high stone walls that encircled the place. The only way in or out of this enclosure was over the wall or through the spiked iron gate at a right angle to the kitchen entry. Two well-armed sentries lounged there on the steps.
"There were glass doors just there," René said, nodding at a stack of rough stones stacked nearly eight feet high against the back wall of the chateau. "The main ballroom opened into the garden. My grandparents gave a wonderful party here once when I was small." He looked sad.
"Perhaps one day you will have another party when this place is yours," Solange said with a smile. "Are you tired, René?"
"Not at all, but I suppose I should pretend that I am. We could sit over there, on the stone bench."
They walked him over and he collapsed on it with a touch of drama.
Jack remained standing, still observing their surroundings. Solange stood, too, as she spoke to René. "Lie down full-length and enjoy the sun. We will stroll around a bit."
She took Jack's arm and walked with him around the weed-choked gravel path. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
Jack shrugged. "That the place is as well defended as any castle of old. All it needs is a bloody moat and drawbridge."
"But your people could have taken possession of it easily enough, I do not doubt."
"Yes, we could have stormed it and cleared out this entire nest of vipers and their deadly venom. But we want the people they are dealing with.
"Even if we took some of these people alive, torture is outlawed. They would know better than to reveal anything. French prisons where they would go are two-thirds full of Middle-Eastern immigrants, a good number of them with strong ties to terrorist groups."
"Like Baumettes."
"Yes." He stopped walking and turned to her. "Knowing that, why do you risk your lovely neck working beside your father to treat prisoners?"
"My brother was one of them," she admitted. "The charges were false, of course." She laughed bitterly.
"Of course they were," he agreed.
"Yes, they all say that, do they not? But in my brother's case, it was the absolute truth. He died in prison before his case ever came to trial. Lack of prompt and proper medical care caused his death." She sighed. "He was so much like René, young and frail."
"You are very brave," Jack told her. "I admire you for it."
She blushed and ducked her head. "No, there you are wrong. My courage is all feigned. And at the moment I am terrified this will be the end of me."
She looked up at him, her eyes blue fire. "But I want these people stopped, Jacques. They must be stopped. If there is anything at all worth facing death for, this would be the thing. I think of the terrorist attacks in your country and in other places around the world." She shook her head sadly. "This could be much worse than anything we have seen."
"And much closer to home," he guessed.
"Yes, but that does not matter. If they planned to terrorize even the smallest, most insignificant country, one I have never even seen on a map, I would still want to do this, Jacques. I am sworn to save lives whenever and wherever I am able. I thank you for allowing me to help you. We may save hundreds, even thousands."
He held her hands in his, pressing them gently. "We will almost surely have to take lives before this is over. How will you feel about that?"
"Sad. But I am not so naive that I cannot understand the necessity of it. Do what you must, Jacques Mercier, and help me to know what I must do."
He only nodded in answer. As fragile as Solange seemed to be, Jack knew she had a core of tempered steel. In that respect, at least, she was much like Mar-ibeth had been. Righteous, determined a
nd courageous. No matter how much Solange denied it, she was brave.
But she was also untutored in this line of work, wholly unprepared. It scared the hell out of him how unprepared she was for it.
How much guiltier was he going to feel if he lost her the way he had lost his wife, a woman who was as competent and well trained as any agent he had ever known?
He had loved once and lost. Jack had made up his mind he would never put himself in that position again. But he was half in love with Solange already.
If he didn't distance himself from her emotionally, get to a place where he could view her as only a player in this game, he wasn't sure he could go through with the mission.
Several times now, he had been ready to halt the entire operation because of his fear for her. She was screwing up his priorities.
He let go of her hands and stretched his arms above his head as if to work out the kinks of his recent inactivity. If only he could let go of his feelings for her that easily.
"You lend me strength, Jacques," she whispered, her soft voice seeping through the strong walls he had built around his heart.
During the hour they spent in the garden, she and Jack discussed other inconsequential things. Idle conversation that might have been overheard by Chari himself without any consequences if he'd had any way to listen in.
Jack often found himself smiling at some of the stories she related about medical school. Making it through had not been easy for her, but she had dealt with all of it, employing her finely tuned sense of humor and the shrug of fatalism native to the French.
He reciprocated, unwilling to give her the silent treatment when she was so effusive.
"And so, we broke our glasses in the fireplace to seal our vow and went out to conquer the world with a football. Only we were too hung over to score the next day," he concluded, sharing one of the sillier episodes that took place during his prep school days.
