Page 10 of Icebound

Luc whistled. “I guess she really isn’t important to you. Flambeau is a brute.”

“Her only use is what she might do later. If necessary, a taste of Flambeau should make her a lot more amenable, but I’m pretty good at making women do what I want.” And without another word, he walked out of the cavern, following the long, twisting corridors back to civilization.

Chapter

Five

If the bone room was supposed to terrify her and cow her into good behavior, her captors were way off the mark. These sad old bones were no threat at all—it was the people in the subterranean passages that would kill her. The man they called Flambeau had tied her too tightly, and she wiggled her fingers to try to keep the blood flowing. She was still a little dizzy from his fists and she shook her head, trying to shake some sense back into it.

The man in the other room was a dead ringer for Bastien, albeit with darker hair and eyes. His hair was long—surely he hadn’t been gone long enough for it to grow. And there was no way he would sit so calmly and discuss her murder, no way he would let that man hurt her.

Unless it was the only way to save her. Bastien’s tortured past could contain any number of people who could put him in this situation. He’d fought with her, told her he was going. Why had she been fool enough to follow?

But she had stared at that cold, immobile face and doubt began to creep in. Could Bastien have a long-lost twin brother? It seemed absurd—like something out of a soap opera, but there had to be some explanation. A cousin, even? But if that man wasn’t really Bastien, then where was her husband?

No, he had to be Bastien. Which meant he had stood aside while she was beaten, which meant he might stand aside while she was killed. What would he do then, go back to her babies like nothing had ever happened? Not that they were babies—Swede and Sylvia were teenagers now, half sweet, half obnoxious. What would happen if their mother simply disappeared? Would they ever know what happened to her?

She squirmed in the chair. The place was silent, as silent as the bones laid out in rough wooden trays around her. Maybe they’d all gone, never to return, and left her tied up. The bonds were tight, but sooner or later, she’d get out of them, escape into sunlight again. What would she do then—run to Peter Madsen to have him make sense of this and hug her babies who wouldn’t want to be hugged?

It was the best she could hope for. Those dark, soulless eyes had stared at her with no recognition, and while Bastien could be a chameleon, there was no faking that. She was a stranger to him, plain and simple.

He didn’t make a sound in the rough stone pathways. One moment she was alone, bemoaning her situation, the next he was there, looking at her from the wrong eyes.

“Do you feel like talking?” he said almost casually. And she realized with sudden horror that he held a knife in one hand, casually, as if it were an afterthought. Bastien had always been very good with a knife.

“Is everyone gone?” she said, not daring to hope.

“Just you and me, chérie. Were you thinking of bribing me with your body? I’m afraid I’ve got access to better ones.”

That stopped her for a moment, absurdly hurt. She brushed it away, vowing to make him pay for it eventually. “Bastien, what is going on? What are you doing, who are these men, why are you pretending you don’t know me?”

He gave a weary sigh. “Haven’t you learned your lies won’t do you any good, madame?” He leaned forward, close, too close, and the knife was at her throat. “I…don’t…know you. Now tell me why you’re here.”

“Move that knife.” Her voice was like ice.

To her surprise, he did. He ran the edge of the blade along her jaw, a twisted caress, and she held very still. If she moved, he would cut her throat, she knew it without a doubt.

“You’re pretty in an American sort of way,” he murmured, moving the blade down the side of her neck. “Maybe I could find a use for you after all.”

“Please,” she said in a strangled voice.

“Does this bother you?” He pulled the knife away. “You’re too squeamish for the business you’re in.”

“I’m not in any business! Bastien, why don’t you recognize me?” she cried.

“Because I have never seen you before today.” There was flat truth in his voice. “There is no one here—I don’t have to pretend. You’re a stranger. So, you are going to tell me what you’re doing here before I lose my patience.”

Fear and anger warred for control. She went with anger. “Your henchman knocked me out and dragged me here.”

“My henchman?” he echoed with a cold laugh, so unlike Bastien’s. “I don’t think Flambeau will like that. I can keep him under control, at least for now, but he’s taken a liking to you and sooner or later, I might let him have you.”

For a moment she was silent, shocked. He meant it. His threats were not to impress the men with him, they were real. And she wondered if she could be wrong.

But if this really wasn’t Bastien, then where was he?

“Do you have a brother? A cousin who looks like you?” she was desperate enough to ask him.

He laughed that icy laugh. “I’m an only child. The world is in trouble enough with just one of me. So, I gather you’re not going to tell me the truth?” He held the large knife casually in his hands, as if he’d forgotten why he had it.