Page 23 of Icebound

It was then she realized the living room was silent. She went down the stairs to look and sure enough, it was deserted. She ignored the dirty dishes and went straight to the front door. Maybe they were going to abandon her here, leave her to find her way home. She viewed that possibility with mixed emotions. Part of her longed to be back with her children, safe from the gangsters who kidnapped her. But one of those gangsters was her husband.

She should have known better. When she opened the door, there was no sign of the aging Renault that had brought them here, no sign of the men, but the sudden explosion of noise almost had her on the ground. It was followed by another, and another. Someone was shooting something.

Holding herself very still, she listened, trying to make sense of it. The gunshots were steady and even. Too many shots for a hunter or a murderer. Someone was shooting at targets, and her stomach sank.

“What are you doing out here?” Flambeau shambled around the corner, glaring at her. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning or something?”

“I wondered where everyone was.”

“Missed me, did you?” His leer showed blackened teeth. “We’ve got work to do—we can’t be babysitting you all day. Go back in the house.”

There’d been a momentary pause in the gunshots, but now they started up again, and Flambeau recognized her interest. “Wondering where Jean-Marc is? He’s practicing his shooting. He’s got an important job coming up and there’s no room for second chances. Play your cards right and maybe he won’t shoot you.”

“Flambeau!” Luc had come around the corner, and he barked out his name in warning.

Flambeau shrugged. “She’ll figure it out soon enough. She’s not that stupid.”

“You talk too much.”

“And what are you going to do about it, pretty boy? You gonna tell Jean-Marc on me? Pussy.”

But Luc didn’t rise to the bait. “Go back inside, Chloe,” he said instead. “It’s dangerous out here.”

“Dangerous for her,” Flambeau said with a laugh. “I think Jean-Marc should use her for target practice—she doesn’t have much other use.”

“You’re forgetting—she can cook.”

Flambeau looked momentarily struck by the notion. “We’ll see what she makes for dinner. Food isn’t everything.”

Luc eyed Flambeau’s impressive gut and rolled his eyes. “Leave her alone. What have you got against her?”

“She’s cooking and cleaning—she can warm our beds as well. I haven’t had a woman in weeks.”

Luc looked disgusted. “And you really think Jean-Marc would share? Not likely.”

“Share what?” said Bastien.

Chloe had been so caught up with the argument that she hadn’t realized the gunshots had stopped, and Bastien was back. He didn’t look pleased.

“Share the woman,” Luc said, while Flambeau retreated into a sullen silence. “Apparently, Flambeau thinks her duties should extend further.”

Bastien just looked at him, and Flambeau seemed to diminish. “Well, you haven’t taken her to bed,” he whined. “Why not me?”

She could feel the force of Bastien’s gaze on her, but she refused to meet it. “I need to check the bread,” she said abruptly, turning away from them.

“You see?” Luc said cheerfully. “She cooks bread, she makes omelets. She’s earning her keep.”

“She could earn it on her back as well,” Flambeau said.

Bastien moved so fast that Chloe barely saw him—at one moment he was at the side of the house, at the next he had Flambeau shoved up against the wall of the decrepit-looking house and had a knife to his throat. “If anyone fucks her it’s going to be me,” he said in a deceptively gentle voice, and Chloe wished she could feel flattered.

She practically heard Flambeau swallow. “Yes, boss,” he said in a sullen voice mixed with bravado. “But can I have her when you’re done with her?”

“There won’t be anything left.”

Chloe slammed the door behind her.

“They think she’s still in Paris,” Anderson said, keeping his voice low. There was no need—he was alone in his flat in Kensington and there was no one to overhear him, but old habits died hard. “I was going to tell him she’d gone to Amsterdam, but he might have wanted to see my intel.”