Page 59 of Icebound

A sick feeling hit her stomach. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why is the town crawling with reporters and police?”

He gave her an almost pitying look. “Because LaDonna was killed by a sniper this morning, and all hell has broken loose.”

She froze. “Did he do it?” Her voice was raw.

“Jean-Marc? What do you think?”

Chloe thought back to the woman with the kind eyes, and she wanted to howl, to scream at Luc, to weep. Bastien had finished his contract while she was lying in bed dreaming about him, and she hadn’t been there to stop him. Neither had Peter Madsen. She wanted to throw up.

“Get dressed,” he said again. “I want to be out of here in the next fifteen minutes. I think they’re planning on putting roadblocks up and I’m not in the mood to deal with the carabinieri.”

“Why don’t you just leave me here?” she said urgently. “I’m no longer any use to you, and I promise I won’t say anything…”

“Put on your damned clothes!” Luc said, losing all patience.

She took the bag and went into the bathroom without another word. She looked in the mirror and almost did a double take. She was heartsick, frightened, furious. Yet all she looked was well-fucked, with slumbrous eyes and a mouth swollen from his kisses. Right then, she hated him.

There was a pair of jeans, a top, and a pair of sneakers, with the appropriate underwear. Panties, but no bra. She dressed quickly, cursing him, and came back out into the room. Luc had gathered up her ripped dress and even her discarded underwear and was shoving it in another bag.

“Where are your shoes?” he said.

“I left them at the gala.”

“You did what?”

“Didn’t he tell you what happened?” she said, determinedly not looking at the rumpled bed.

“We didn’t have time to talk. All I know is that there was another shooter.”

She nodded. “I was running to warn him, and I took off my shoes. No one can run in four-inch heels.”

“Merde. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m ready,” she said. She didn’t really want to be left behind, but Bastien was the last person she wanted to see. How could he come back from murdering a beloved icon? Normally, Peter Madsen would make things go away when Bastien had to kill. Not this time.

It was a bright sunny day, the lake sparkling down below them as they went back down the broad pedestrian steps of the town. The Renault was waiting at the bottom, illegally parked, and Luc threw the sack containing her ruined clothes into the back while she dutifully got in. She could have run, she knew it, and Luc would have no choice but to let her go. He could hardly shoot her in the middle of town.

It was almost midday, and the throngs of tourists were already jamming the streets. She could get lost in those crowds, find Peter, and together they could…what? Rescue Bastien? He didn’t need rescuing. And she couldn’t be sure Peter wouldn’t finish what he’d started the night before.

She climbed into the car, fastening her seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

Luc pulled into the traffic, his earlier annoyance fading. “Spain.”

Peter Madsen cursed, a litany of profanity that only began to reflect his mood. He’d ballsed it up completely, and a woman was dead because of it. Not just any woman—a modern-day saint who’d never harmed a soul in her life.

He still couldn’t believe what he’d seen last night. Bastien Toussaint, with a sniper rifle trained on her, and Chloe getting in Peter’s way as he tried to take Bastien out. He couldn’t deny the relief he’d felt—he would kill his oldest friend if he had to, but there had to be a reason why Bastien would be aiming a rifle at LaDonna. And why Chloe was with him, dressed to the nines.

It had been sheer luck that he’d discovered Bastien was at Lake Como. Without Anderson filtering his information, finding Bastien in Milan had been surprisingly quick, but after that, the trail had ended.

He’d been a damned fool. There’d been rumors of a threat to LaDonna for the last few weeks, and it was a good guess that Bastien was going to be at the gala honoring her. Maybe he’d gone to protect her, though from his secluded home in the North Carolina mountains, how could he have known she was in danger?

Peter had been pretty sure he’d find the missing Bastien at the gala, but not with a sniper rifle trained on LaDonna, and not with an overdressed Chloe by his side. She’d stopped Bastien from shooting, but she’d gotten in his way—of course, she had. And he had no idea what the hell was going on.

Had someone managed to turn Bastien? People had tried during his active years, but he’d been immune: to money, women, ideological causes. Now, after years of retirement, he’d suddenly become a danger, and Peter needed to know why. And neutralize him if necessary.