AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What’s your problem?” he asked wearily. “Why don’t you drive in Paris?”
“The drivers are too dangerous. I’m afraid to.”
He was silent for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. “Chloe,” he said, infinitely patient, “you have just been the target of some of the most ruthless people in the world today. You’ve survived a bloodbath, you’ve seen people die. One or two impetuous drivers is nothing to worry about.”
She turned the corner, driving too fast, and went up over the curb. If it were midday they’d be dead, in the middle of a twenty-car pile-up. At this hour they might have a slight chance of reaching where they were going. Wherever the hell that was.
She wasn’t going to ask him. “A bloodbath?” she said after a long moment.
“What did you think that was? A parlor game? I couldn’t see much before we left, but the baron was down, as was Mr. Otomi and Monique.”
“Monique?”
“She was shot in the face. Does that make you happy?” He sounded so tired.
“Of course not. What about Christos and his men?”
“Christos is dead. At least that part we got right.”
“How can you be sure? It was so dark….”
“Because I’m the one who killed him. And in case you hadn’t already realized it, I don’t miss.” He closed his eyes again. “Just keep driving. I need to figure out what to do next.”
“Is that what you were supposed to do? Kill Christos?”
“If it came to that.”
“So now I should be safe, shouldn’t I? You accomplished what you were supposed to do.”
“They don’t like witnesses, Chloe. You won’t be safe until you’re back home.”
She wasn’t going to argue with him—the traffic was taking too much of her concentration. The snow had melted, then turned to ice, and the BMW had too much power. She was sure that they’d survived a hail of bullets only to die ignominiously in a fender bender, but for now she didn’t care. She was with him. And she knew it wasn’t going to be for long.
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a cell phone, punching in a number. The conversation was terse and uninformative, and when he shut down the connection he simply said, “Take the next left.”
She wasn’t going to argue, not now. He looked pale, exhausted, for the first time almost human. Vulnerable, a thought that terrified her. Not for her own sake, but his. “Are you okay?” she said. “They didn’t shoot you, did they?”
His cool smile was little comfort. “Don’t you remember that device you strapped to me? It scorched me when it went off. I think I’ll manage to survive.”
“But if…”
“Hush,” he said softly. “For a few minutes, just hush.”
She did as he asked, a greater sacrifice than he would ever realize. She turned on the car radio, only to hear police reports of a terrorist incident at the Hotel Denis. At least eleven
dead, five wounded, and others were being sought. She switched the station, finding French gangsta rap, and she turned it off. She wasn’t in the mood for posturing violence. Not after the real thing.
“Take another left up here,” Bastien said suddenly. She had no idea where they were. It was dark, and they were heading out of town in a direction she didn’t recognize. There was a roaring noise overhead, and she suddenly realized they must be near the airport. He’d directed her via a circuitous route, but there was no mistaking where they were.
He wasn’t directing her to any of the public areas, the parking areas, or the departure gates. Instead they drove on, past the main terminals to the row of airport hotels. “Drive around the back,” he said, when they reached the Hilton, and she dutifully did so. At least he was taking her to a hotel before he sent her away. If one more night with him was all she was going to have she’d take it and be grateful.
“Pull up over there,” he said, pointing toward a delivery entrance.
“There’s no place to park.”
“Just do as I say.”
She had neither the energy nor the desire to argue with him. She pulled up to the curb and put the car in Neutral, pulling up the parking brake. “Now what?”
