Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  “I don’t know how much you know about the Council, but the French chancellor, Maurice Vipond, gave his right-hand henchman the go-ahead to basically kidnap you and keep you under sedation.”

  “What?!” The wrapped stick of butter dropped from her hand and thudded to the floor.

  “I’m sure it won’t involve a sack over your head in the middle of the night, but rest assured, they will lay in wait until you are alone and vulnerable. Their intent is to keep you medically incapacitated. The visions would come at will, over and over and over. You won’t be able to fight the meds.”

  As terrified as she’d been in her dream, she turned to the refrigerator and used the open door as a support. Cool air skimmed over her flushed skin.

  “Listen to him.”

  Delphine whipped around to find her grandmother standing in the doorway dressed in her favorite pantsuit and full makeup.

  “Savard is prepared to torture you indefinitely.” She pointed a finger at Delphine. “Probably beyond obtaining the information needed to locate Wilder Swift.”

  “Mornin’, ma’am.” Zane stood and wiped his greasy hands on a handful of paper napkins.

  “I know everything.” Mamie walked toward Zane. “Jack called me even before he called you.”

  “He said you’d be onboard.”

  “Onboard?” Delphine scooped up the mashed butter and tossed it onto the counter.

  Mamie took both of his hands in hers and gazed up into his face. “You have a good plan. I know you will protect my most precious treasure.” She glanced at Delphine.

  “I promise. Even if I have to carry her out over my shoulder.” He fixed his iron-blue gaze on her, and she felt the truth in his threat. Until that moment, she’d never thought of her cowboy as a rough and tough, but the set of his jaw told her she’d been wrong.

  “Torture? Protection?” Panic had her heart racing. “This is absurd. I shouldn’t have let you in. I am not part of some supernatural espionage.”

  “Yes, dear. You are,” Mamie said. “Zane is going to protect you. And teach you to control your visions.”

  “Teach?” She busted out a humorless laugh. “I need to run.”

  “Savard will find you,” Zane said, cutting her off. “Faster than you think. Hell Runners resources know no bounds.” He started to take a step toward her, but Mamie placed a hand on his arm.

  “Savard isn’t the only one trying to find her.” She turned and exited through the kitchen door. “Wait here.”

  “What does she mean? Not the only one.”

  Zane shook his head and crossed the kitchen to Delphine in two long strides. He clutched both her shoulders in this big hands. “I don’t know, but whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep you safe.”

  Delphine couldn’t understand the wash of relief flooding through her when tension and fear thrived at her core. But she couldn’t deny the cowboy exuded safety as he held her in place. She felt sheltered and steady practically leaning against his expansive chest.

  Mamie entered the kitchen again, this time holding the destroyed canvas. When had she seen it? Last night while she destroyed her favorite painting? Or was her grandmother in the habit of rummaging her room every day? Before she could lay out any accusations, Mamie called to Zane.

  “Is this your Mr. Swift?”

  He turned his head, and his hands dropped from her shoulders, leaving behind a warm imprint she missed more than she wanted to admit.

  “Judas Priest.” He approached the hideous portrait in a slow trudge, his boot heels thudding on the hard kitchen floor. “Yeah. That’s him.” His somber gaze met hers. “You painted that. While you slept, right?”

  She nodded, frozen in place.

  “You’re right about running.” He returned to her, his body blocking her view of the painting. “We’re going to run. He’ll find us eventually, but not before you’re strong.”

  “What do you mean by find us?”

  “Like I said, I’m going to guide you and protect you.” His beautiful eyes bore into hers.

  “Who’s going to protect me from you? You’ll use me to find your friend.”

  “We have a deal, and I always keep my promise. I’ll guide you through the process of controlling your visions with the purpose of eliminating them. But yeah, I hope you find Wilder. Your painting’s proof he’s not hiding in Hell, he’s a hostage.”

  Hostage. The word cut her to the quick, and she recalled his tortured screams.

  Zane continued, “We’re getting out of Paris and away from Savard today. I think with a change in scenery, a place far from the pull of The Gates, your nightmares will disappear. At least for a while. It will give you a chance to breathe. You need a clear head, and I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder.”

  The wall phone sang, the display lighting bright orange. She glanced at it, reading from afar. “Numéro inconnu,” she said, glancing at Mamie. Unknown number. “Who calls at this time of the morning?”

  “Someone like me, only not as nice,” Zane said.

  The phone rang again, and she crossed to the phone, hand poised to grab the receiver.

  “Let it go to the machine,” Mamie said. “Like you said, it’s early.”

  Again the phone rang. Delphine hesitated and then let her hand drop.

  The answering machine clicked on. “Allô, vous êtes bien le répondeur de Solange Claudel. Laissez un message après le bip.”

  She heard a labored breath inhaled before the caller started their message.

  “Excuses pour vocation précoce. Je espériais—”

  “It’s Savard,” Mamie said, her eyes wide.

  “Pick it up,” Zane ordered, his voice tight. “If he thinks you’re not here, he’ll start the search too soon.”

  “This is crazy,” she said, but still reached for the receiver.

  “Hit the speaker button. I want to hear.”

  Delphine grabbed the phone, her heart working its way into her throat. She depressed the yellow speaker button and held out the receiver. “Hello. Who’s calling?”

  “Ah. That’s right. I heard you prefer to speak in English, Delphine.” He used her name like they were old friends. A knot formed at her center and pulled tight. “My name is Emil Savard. I am acquainted with your grandmother.” His cloying accent dripped syrup.

  “She’s acquainted with most of Paris. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “The museum,” he finished. “I understand that you are extremely gifted.” He cleared his throat. “As a grandmother, I expected she would brag whether it is true or not, but I have seen a photo of your latest work, a landscape inspired by Giverny.”

  Her stomach lurched. The destroyed landscape leaned against a kitchen chair several feet away. The contorted face far better work than the fantasy garden of her imagination.

  “Inspired only. It doesn’t exist.” Not anymore. Probably never again.

  “I wish it did, as will anyone that gazes upon it. So many artists attempt to replicate Monet. A foolish endeavor. You, on the other hand, created from your soul, and that passion is rare.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Savard.” She cut him off and then yawned to cover for her rudeness. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m an artist, and it’s before seven o’clock in the morning.” She concentrated on sounding casual and sleepy, hoping to conceal her growing suspicion.

  “I apologize, but I thought I might invite you for breakfast rather than interrupt your creative time. I want to discuss the possibility of a small showing of your work. Next week.”

  “A show?” No one received accolades without working the chain of ass kissing. She didn’t even have a full portfolio with her.

  “I know this is out of the ordinary, but you are an out of the ordinary artist. I’m associated with a small but prestigious gallery in Giverny. It would be interesting to display your interpretations beside Monet.”

  Delphine gripped the edge of the counter, fear pumping fast through her veins. Did this man thi
nk her a fool? The realization Zane could actually be right frightened her more than her the man screaming in her dreams.

  “Are you still there?”

  Unaccustomed to lying, she swallowed hard and dug deep for the courage to fake it. “Yes. I’m just shocked.” She wanted to call his bluff, but her suspicions warned her off.

  “You shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice too jovial. “You should have expected the eyes of the art world on you from birth. You are a talented young woman with a famous heritage. I mentioned that to the owners as well.”

  “Then how can I refuse?” An idea forming, her voice became stronger and lighter. She smiled at Zane, but he scowled. “As they say—right place, right time. Might as well take advantage.”

  “Meet me at the Café de Grenelle in half an hour? And bring your portfolio.”

  “I can’t this morning. Mamie has several doctor’s appointments, and I must accompany her. I could meet you after supper. Tonight at the museum, around nine? I would prefer privacy and room to show you my work.”

  Cheeks blazing, Zane shook his head. He mouthed the word “no.”

  Savard was slow to answer, and for a minute, Delphine thought he was on to her.

  “That would be splendid. I agree wholeheartedly that we will need privacy. No one should see your paintings before the show.”

  “Again, I’m very flattered. And excited. It seems kismet brought me to Paris.”

  “Indeed it does. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Claudel.”

  “Au revoir.”

  She disconnected the call.

  Zane opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

  “No, I don’t believe him. And no, I won’t be going tonight.” She lowered her chin but kept her eyes on his face. “I believe you.”

  He blew out a long breath like he’d been holding it for the entire call. “Thank God. You had me going there for a while.”

  “Hopefully, she fooled Savard,” Mamie said on a sigh. “I believe he will wait for you at the museum, but I’ve no doubt he’ll send someone to watch the apartment in the meantime. You should leave as soon as possible. I’m going to arrange for a driver to take me on a day trip.” Her grandmother stroked Delphine’s cheek, her brown eyes soft with concern. “Don’t leave Zane’s side for a minute. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, and her grandmother left the room, taking the cordless phone with her.

  “What do we do next? Mamie said you had a plan.”

  “I do. I won’t josh ya, this is going to be a complicated deal. For it to work, you must let go of your fear. To believe you’re stronger than anything thrown at you.” He sauntered forward, stopping not more than a foot away. His gaze held her like an embrace yet he didn’t reach out to touch her.

  The very closeness of his body to hers elicited a sense of safety. And longing. “How am I going to do that?”

  “With me. I’m your support. Your friend.”

  “Seems like I don’t have much choice other than to trust you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not trust. As far as you can tell, I’m the lesser of two evils. The only thing you really know is that I won’t hurt you and Savard will. We don’t have much time, but I promise to prove I’m worthy of your trust.”

  “How are you going to do that?” She wanted to believe him, but blind faith meant forfeiting her own will. And she’d never give up her right to choose.

  Strong knuckles rapped on the doorjamb. “Save the talk for the flight,” Mamie ordered. “You need to leave. Now.”

  “Flight? Are we getting on a plane?”

  “Yep.” He hooked his thumbs into his back pockets, and his broad shoulders seemed to widened. “We’re gonna need help, Cutoffs, and help doesn’t live on this side of the ocean.” His grin stretched, and his dimples dug in deeper than his heels.

  “Where is this help?”

  “You wanted peace and freedom. Only one place I know to get that.”

  Only one place. Instantly she recalled him sitting on the ground with Henri on his lap, a contented grin on his face and a faraway glaze over his eyes.

  Delphine wasn’t sure if she tensed more with trepidation or excitement, but she longed to see that one place. Even for a short while.

  It would be a shame to betray his help, but once she got her head on straight, she’d find a way out.

  Permanently.

  With or without Cowboy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sign to fasten seatbelts went out and Zane unclipped a second later. He stood, more grateful than impressed to be flying private instead of commercial. Fancy food or special amenities didn’t mean much to him. He could bunk down in the woods on a bed of leaves with his jacket rolled under his head, but space to stretch out was a luxury he’d gladly pay double to keep. Well, he would if he could afford it. Tall as he was, his knees always took a beating, even flying first class. He extended his arms over his head and twisted until his back cracked.

  “Ah.” He sighed contentedly and twisted again to look at Delphine in the chair beside him.

  She remained seated and buckled, engrossed in something on the screen of her cell phone.

  “You know, you can get up and move around.”

  “I know,” she said without looking up.

  “Hungry? I can have—”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Thirsty?”

  Head down, she raised the bottled water she’d purchased before boarding.

  “Pretty nice plane, don’t you think? Never flown on a Boeing business jet before. Impressed Jack sprung the extra bucks.”

  Still no response.

  Determined to engage her in conversation, he flopped into the armchair opposite her. The deep leather cushion molded around his ass. “I could get used to this. Flying alone. Nice seats. Burled wood walls and cabinets.” He pushed on the arms and reclined twenty degrees. The sex advice Boone doled out popped into his head, and he settled his gaze on Delphine while she worked the keys of her cell phone.

  Black hair tipped with purple curved under the delicate skin along her jaw to her chin. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair as he recalled sliding his fingers through the silky strands and then cradling the back of her head for prolonged access to her mouth. Had any lips been more tender? Or more demanding as their tongues entwined and her breath scorched his cheek? Had he not been a gentleman and escorted her home, would she have consented to a night of decadent pleasure?

  Right or wrong, Boone’s advice could be the way to go. Especially ten thousand feet up with hours stretching out ahead.

  “These chairs turn into beds too” Deliberately, he lowered his voice a register. “Or one bed.”

  Delphine’s eyes snapped to his, holding his gaze with a deep brown caress.

  “Up here is kind of a no man’s land. Time off in limbo.” He got up, and her eyes stayed glued to his face. “No rules.” In one step, he stood before her and then stooped. “No obligations.” He removed the phone from her hands and placed it on the table beside her. “No interruptions.” Long legs exposed thanks to a sexy pair of tailored shorts, he placed a hand on each of her knees and stroked the skin on either side with the tips of his fingers.

  Goosebumps shimmied over her thighs, and she shifted in her seat. All the while her gaze never cut away his eyes.

  Delicately. Slowly. He skimmed his hands up her thighs.

  Both her hands came down on his, strong as vise grips, stopping his progression.

  “Not happening, Cowboy. Honestly, I’m surprised you attempted seduction at a time like this.”

  “We’ve got a long flight ahead of us and a big job to accomplish. I thought we could both use a little stress relief.”

  “Stress relief?” She rolled her eyes as if knowing he’d succumb to desire and poor advice. “I don’t want to be your stress relief. In fact, I don’t want to be your anything.”

  Her pronouncement hit him like a kick in the solar plexus.

  “Boone, you dumb son of
a bitch,” he spat, the oath tripping over his lips more harshly than intended.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He shook his head and swung into the seat beside her. “My fucking brother. He suggested sex to pass the time and, you know, form a bond between us. I never listen to him. I don’t know why I did now.”

  “So,” she cocked an eyebrow at him, “you don’t even want me. The silly words. The groping. All fake.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Cutoffs. I’d like nothing better than to induct us both into the Mile-High Club. And…” He placed a finger against her luscious lips. “No matter how much you deny it, I know you want me. You kiss like you’re starved for my mouth. You tremble when my fingers stroke your skin. But I also understand your precarious position. Scared of the cure as much as the disease. I’ve been there. So has Boone, except he always takes a more base approach to problem-solving. One I shouldn’t have considered.”

  “So, I’m a problem?”

  “Yeah, you’re a problem. A huge problem. I woke up yesterday morning with a smile on my face and the intention of bedding you with intellect and tenderness. Now, I’m reduced to the lesser of two enemies. You’re an assignment. I train. You learn. Once it’s done, you’ll run off, and I’ll be left with a bunch of unsatisfying memories.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Like what?”

  “The man I got to know the other night. The one I like.” She crossed her legs, one shapely thigh resting on the other. Body language indicating she was cutting him off from where he most wanted to place his hands. “If you’re going to talk for the next eighteen hours—and I know you will—I only want to listen to the real you.”

  He nodded, offering her his most genuine smile, and she almost returned it.

  “And about those things you said.”

  Before he could ask what things, she continued, holding up a finger.

  “No interruptions. A good thing because I want to learn all I can before the wheels hit the ground. So trade in your Stetson for your professor hat, Cowboy.” She held up a second finger. “No obligations. You better believe it. If at any point I get the inkling you’re trying to coerce me into joining your crazy Society, I’m gone.”