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He looked down at the necklace. It was a beautiful thing, very old, very elegant, and he’d chosen that one on purpose for his mother’s beautiful neck.
He turned back, ready to pour all his rage and love and hurt out, but she’d fallen into a drugged sleep once again, her son forgotten.
So he’d pocketed the diamond necklace and walked out of the room, and she’d never mentioned it again.
He never knew for certain whether she even remembered the useless gift. It didn’t matter. He had no intention of giving it to her, or even his marginally more affectionate Aunt Cecile.
Nor was he going to return it. It had become a symbol, an icon of power and independence. As long as he held the necklace he had something of value, and he was no longer dependent on his mother’s whims.
Oddly enough, he’d kept it for all those years. There’d been times when he could have sold it, should have sold it, but instead he’d kept it with him.
It should have been easy prey for a thief, as it had been in the first place. But the shadowy world of criminals was far too close to the Committee, and no one would attempt something so dangerous, no matter what the prize. In the twenty years since he’d stolen the damned thing he’d never seen it on anyone’s neck until he fastened it around Chloe’s.
He went through the house swiftly, efficiently, checking the doors and windows, the vulnerable entryways. The security system was state-of-the-art, which meant it would hold off a determined operative for approximately five minutes. He’d had enough time to boost the outside defenses, and he worked quickly, doing what he could on the inside of the house. Locking them in.
He glanced at his watch. There was no guarantee that Jensen’s detailed information was accurate, though his infallible instincts told him he could trust him. But plans could change, transportation could be delayed, as he knew far too well from the debacle of the Hotel Denis. If the Underwoods had landed on time Chloe would have been out of harm’s way long before the shooting began.
He might be dead, but that was a small price to pay. Life and death had stopped mattering a long time ago.
He came back to the cluttered den, where Chloe lay in a deep sleep on the sofa. There was a brightly colored quilt tossed on a chair, and he picked it up and covered her with it. Her hair was longer now, but no one had given it any kind of professional styling. His trained eye knew it was still the same ragged cut she’d performed on herself while he’d watched from a distance. And damned if he didn’t still like it.
Then again, he’d accepted the fact that he liked far too much about her. Which was why coming back into her life was the last thing he’d wanted to do. But he’d had no choice.
He moved to the window, looking out through the gloomy afternoon. In his preliminary scouting he’d found she’d been staying at one of the guest houses off to the side. He’d turned on the lights, the television, closed the blinds and arranged a little surprise for them. It wouldn’t slow them down for long, but every extra minute of warning could make the difference between life and death.
They’d landed in Canada—five of them, including their leader. Jensen had managed to get that much information to him before he’d gone in, but now he was officially cut off. He was going to have to wing it from here on in.
There were countless computers all over the place, but he was wise enough not to touch them. Without the proper defenses in place anyone in the world could find him. His mobile phone was safer, though not completely, but after a few moments it looked reasonably certain that they weren’t going to arrive for another eight hours at the least. The kind of people he was fighting wouldn’t be deterred for long by the unexpected forces of nature.
Time enough to get her out of there? That was always the question—they were probably safer in this mini-fortress, particularly with his modifications to the security system. Out on the road was a different matter, and they could only run for so long. Her family would return sooner or later, and while he didn’t give a crap about them, she did. So for her sake he had to keep them alive as well. And that meant dealing with the problem here and now.
The den was too vulnerable, and she was going to be out for hours on end. Maybe, with extreme luck, she’d stay unconscious until all this ended, and she’d never have to know a thing about it. By the time she came to he’d be long gone, the danger passed.
The only drawback was that he’d have to take the necklace, and for some reason it was important to him that she have it. But if she kept it, she’d always be wondering when he was going to show up again. Too much to risk on a sentimental gesture.
Their best spot was a second-floor bedroom near the back of the house. The windows on the sloping site were close enough to the ground if they had to jump, but it gave him a decent vantage point of the overgrown grounds surrounding the house. It was a slim advantage, but the only one they had. He picked her up off the sofa, marveling again at how damned light she was, and carried her upstairs. The light from the hallway illuminated his way, and set her down on the king-size bed before he went to open the window a crack. She looked pale, cold, even in the shapeless, bulky clothes no Frenchwoman would ever wear, and he pulled back the covers and slid her under them, tucking her in.
He stood there, staring down at her for a long moment. And then, on impulse, he pushed her tangled hair away from her forehead. She looked the same—stubborn, pretty when there was no room in his life for pretty, and on impulse he leaned down and kissed her, softly, while she slept.
And then there was nothing he could do but keep watch. And wait.
Until Monique came to kill her.
23
When she opened her eyes she was disoriented, confused. The room was dark, only bright moonlight coming through the uncurtained windows, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Slowly it came back to her…she was in the back guest room, the one her older brother and his wife usually used. She was tucked up in bed, in the darkness, and she’d dreamed she saw Bastien once more.
Someone was sitting in a chair by the window. She could only see his outline, but she knew it hadn’t been a dream.
She didn’t sit up, didn’t move. Her voice was very quiet when she spoke. “Why are you really here? It wasn’t the necklace, was it?”
He must have known she was awake. He always seemed to have an instinctive awareness of everything about her. Oh, God, she hoped not everything. She hoped he didn’t know the mixed, crazy tangle of emotions he brought out in her. For a moment he didn’t answer, and it was long enough for him to fantasize all sorts of things, that he couldn’t live without her, that he had to see her one more time, that he loved…
“Someone wants to kill you.” His voice was calm, dispassionate.
It was no more than she’d expected, and that one crazed moment of hope hadn’t lasted long enough to make it hurt. Much. “Of course they do,” she said. “Why should anything have changed? And you’re here to save my life? I thought you’d already done your duty. You got me safely out of France—the rest should be up to me. And presumably the American cops or CIA or whatever.”
He didn’t say anything, so she sat up, frustrated. “And why in hell would anyone want to kill me? You’re a much more likely target. I didn’t do anything to anybody—I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m no threat to any of your insane plans for world domination.”
