“Juliette!”
She glanced back at Nana and saw again that uncharacteristic expression of nervousness. “Yes?”
Nana gazed at her a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say I admire you, too…very much.” Nana met her gaze. “I hope all goes well for you.” She looked down at the silk fan. “And…be careful.”
Juliette nodded, then made her way out of the café. While she’d been inside the sun had disappeared and fog had descended on the city.
Her hired carriage waited at the curb a few yards down the street, but the coachman was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she stopped short. She shrugged and crossed the short distance to the door of the coach. Many cafés lined the Pont Neuf, and it was likely the coachman had only stepped inside one of them to refresh himself.
She opened the door of the carriage.
“Bonjour, Citizeness.”
At first she didn’t recognize the man sitting on the seat of the carriage. The entire left side of his jawbone was crushed inward and his nose smashed and twisted until it bore little resemblance to the original orifice.
Then his pouty lips smiled with catlike pleasure and she knew who he was.
“Dupree,” she whispered.
“Certainly. And, of course, you do remember my old friend Pirard from the abbey? He’s standing right behind you.”
She started to turn her head.
Blinding pain crashed through her left temple.
12:30P.M.
Jean Marc opened the envelope, drew out the paper, and read the note.
He paled as panic engulfed him.
“Monsieur Andreas?” Robert gazed at Jean Marc in concern. “Is all well?”
“No.” Jean Marc’s voice was hoarse. “I’ll need a carriage.” His hand clenched, crushing the note. “Immediately.”
1:47P.M.
“Splendid, Andreas. You were very prompt.” Dupree’s gaze fastened eagerly on the oak chest Jean Marc carried. “You can put the chest down there by the bed. You won’t mind if I make sure the Wind Dancer is inside, will you?”
“Where is she?” Jean Marc strode into the room, kicked the door shut with his boot, and dropped the chest on the floor. “You said she’d be here.”
“She is here.” Dupree nodded to the armoire as he limped toward the chest. “A bargain is a bargain. I promised you the woman for the Wind Dancer, and there she is. Just open the door of the armoire.”
Jean Marc went rigid as he remembered the sight of Juliette’s mother in the chest in the casa at Andorra. “You promised she’d be alive, you bastard.”
“Perhaps she is alive.” Dupree smiled maliciously. “Why don’t you go and see?” He glanced casually into the dark interior of the chest as he lifted the lid. “Ah, those emerald eyes of the statue are quite magnificent, aren’t they?”
Jean Marc moved slowly toward the armoire, his stomach churning with fear.
Dupree closed the chest. “You don’t seem to be overeager to see yourpetite amie.”
“If she’s dead, I’ll kill you.”
“You tried to kill me once.” Dupree sat down on the chair. “I admit that sometimes while I lay in pain all those months I wished you’d succeeded. Go on, open the door of the armoire. I want to see your face.”
Jean Marc drew a deep breath and opened the door.
Juliette lay bound and gagged, huddled up in one corner of the huge wardrobe. Her eyes were closed and her muscles lax. Dead?
