Page 38 of Icebound

“Did you think I killed him for your sake? I’m hardly that sentimental. He disobeyed orders, and I couldn’t have that. You’d best keep that in mind.” He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Now stop asking me questions you don’t want to hear the answers to and move that lazy ass or you’ll get no breakfast. We’re leaving early.” A moment later, he was gone, leaving her alone in the room.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She had seen him kill. She had seen him kill when they were running for their lives, and she had no idea if his threats were empty or not. She suspected not.

Luc and Bastien were in a small room off the reception area, eating eggs, and she looked at the gelatinous mess with displeasure. They hadn’t eaten much the day before, but as usual her appetite was gone, and had been since she’d been with them. At this rate, she’d be at her goal weight in a few days—her jeans were already looser. Though Bastien always insisted he liked a bit of flesh on her.

She slid into the seat opposite him, aware that Luc was looking at her, probably wondering how they’d spent the night. Or maybe she was being too sensitive, and he really didn’t care.

“Sleep well?” he asked with a sly smile, and mentally she cursed. He cared.

“Very well,” she said stiffly, and Luc’s smile turned into a grin.

“You were remarkably silent,” he said. “Usually Jean-Marc’s women are screaming their pleasure.”

“Enough, Luc,” Bastien said repressively. “And you, chérie, if you want coffee, it’s over on the bar. Get it now or you’re going to miss it. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

She gave him a stony expression, then went and made herself an espresso. The breakfast room came equipped with the same fancy machine that had been in the farmhouse, and she wondered how those two dumbasses had managed to get themselves coffee without her to wait on them. She grabbed a croissant-like pastry and looked around her, hoping for a table. The few that existed were full of tourists, and she moved back to Bastien and Luc with ill grace.

Luc and Bastien were speaking French, and she slid back in her seat, plastering a blank expression on her face. “Was she any good?” Luc was asking, the little shit. “Did she go down on you?”

“What are you, Flambeau?” Bastien said irritably. “Why this sudden interest?”

“I’ve been without a woman for six weeks now. A man gets restless.”

“Well, get restless in another direction. The bitch is mine.”

Chloe almost choked on her coffee, but she managed to get by with a small cough, her murderous impulses building. She had no appetite for the croissant, which turned out to be rich with a sweet, creamy filling, but she dutifully ate it, as she’d been eating everything. She couldn’t afford to weaken—she might have to escape…

She considered that idea. Would she leave him? He might disappear for good if she did, and she didn’t know if she could bear that. But he was probably planning to commit murder, and possibly kill her as well, and she couldn’t let that happen either. Maybe she ought to give up, escape the first chance she got. She had the strong suspicion they wouldn’t look too hard.

She glanced at him across the table, and to her dismay his eyes met hers, dark and enigmatic, as if he knew what she was thinking. She quickly ducked her head. No, she couldn’t leave him, not yet. Not until she was sure there was no hope of bringing him back.

Her first sight of the lake left her breathless. It was a beautiful day, and Lake Como glistened in the sunlight, set between the deep teal mountains, and Chloe felt a peculiar feeling in her heart, what might almost be called hope. Nothing bad could happen in such a beautiful place, could it?

She glanced at the back of her husband’s head as he drove, and her hope rapidly vanished. She knew the man Bastien had been. It could be a bloodbath, one that she was going to have to stop.

She had thought the roads leading to and from that fucking tunnel were twisty and dangerous. They were nothing compared to the narrow roads that ran around the edge of the lake. She knew almost nothing about Como, but they clearly weren’t staying in the main town, and she hunched forward in her seat, as if paying attention would somehow keep them safe on these treacherous roads.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wincing as they dodged a small delivery van.

“Bellagio,” said Luc.

At the same time Bastien said, “You don’t need to know,” and he turned to glare at Luc, taking his eyes off the deadly road.

“Watch where you’re going,” she cried, as a small sports car came zooming around the corner, almost clipping the Renault.

“Why keep her in the dark?” Luc said in French to Bastien. “She’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“The less she knows, the better. I’ll tell her what she needs to know when the time comes.”

“And what if you decide you can’t trust her?”

“Then we kill her.”

“I’d really rather not,” Luc said. “I’ve grown fond of her over the past week. She’s a good cook, and she doesn’t make trouble…”

“Doesn’t make trouble? What about Flambeau?”

“That wasn’t her fault. Flambeau was the weak link.”