by Kaylea Cross
He dropped into the chair behind his desk, feeling empty. “Did you find out who told her?”
“Someone linked to the organization the woman you shot in Marseille was involved with. The one that took in the women from the shipment in Le Havre.”
Guillaume stared at him. “So she’s haunting me from the grave.” He gave a humorless laugh, thinking of Gabrielle lying ice cold in the morgue, getting the final laugh. “They both are.”
Jean-Pierre shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll just let you—”
“I’m going to have a shower and then head into the city to see my lawyer. Alone.” He needed time to think, come up with a plan for how he was going to throw himself on Vienne’s mercy. He couldn’t give her up without a fight, even if it was futile.
Jean-Pierre and two other security team members were waiting for him by the back door when he came downstairs half an hour later. He felt like dog shit and didn’t look much better, but he had things to take care of and he needed to at least see his girls. However much Vienne loathed him now, he prayed she wouldn’t try to keep the girls from him. If she did, he would fight her with every last Euro he had.
“You sure about going alone?” Jean-Pierre asked him.
It was his job to worry about Guillaume. Still, today it annoyed him. “I’m sure. Call me if there are any updates. I’ll be in touch once I know what my plans are.”
Outside, the weather perfectly matched his mood. Leaden gray clouds as far as the eye could see, the ground damp and a cold wind gusting through the almost naked trees.
His Audi was parked at the side of the house. He headed for it, his mind churning around something he’d thought of in the shower and couldn’t let go. Had Gabrielle leaked his activities to someone before dying? He couldn’t shake the feeling this had to do with her.
His fist tightened around the keys. Goddamn her, ruining his life from beyond the grave. He’d had her killed too late.
A few paces from the Audi, he stopped. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or his emotional state, or just plain paranoia. But something in his gut told him not to get into that car.
Gabrielle had worked in explosives. Car bombs were an efficient way to kill targets.
He scanned the surrounding property, seeing nothing suspicious. Was he crazy? He had a good security system and two men had been here with him all night.
But he still wasn’t getting into that vehicle without being certain.
Guillaume pivoted and shouted for Jean-Pierre, who came running out of the house. “Have one of the men send up a drone to check the property.”
“Why, is something—”
“Just do it. And come check this thing for me to make sure it’s okay, then start it.” He held out the keys.
Jean-Pierre didn’t move for a moment, then came and took the keys. They studied each other in stony silence for a few seconds. Guillaume paid the man well to watch over him and his family, enough to take a bullet—or a car bomb. It was part of the job as head bodyguard, whether Jean-Pierre liked it or not.
Jaw tight, without a word Jean-Pierre walked to the car while Guillaume retreated to a safe distance away to wait. His bodyguard checked the outside and undercarriage carefully, then peered into the interior before opening the door. He popped the hood and checked inside it.
A minute later the engine started. Guillaume tensed, but nothing happened.
Jean-Pierre emerged, leaving the engine running. “All good.”
Guillaume walked past him to the car. “Get that drone in the air.”
“Already done.”
“Good. Tell me if they find anything.” He slid behind the wheel, buckled himself in and started around the side of the house.
The instant he cleared it, his vehicle’s Bluetooth system signaled a call. He hit accept without looking, expecting it to be Jean-Pierre about the drone. “Yes?”
No one answered. But a classical song came on the car’s radio.
He frowned, glanced at the display. He didn’t like classical. “Hello?”
A chill ran up his spine as he read the words on the screen.
“Ride of the Valkyries,” by Wagner.
He slammed on the brakes, his heart rocketing into his throat. The bitch was still alive and trying to fuck with him.
****
Satisfaction pumped through Chloe when the Audi suddenly slammed on its brakes partway down the driveway. The vehicle’s side windows were tinted enough that she couldn’t see inside, but God, she wished she could see Dubois’ expression.
That’s right, you bastard. I’m coming for you.
Except he was too far away, because earlier security personnel movements had prevented her from getting to the correct spot. She needed to get closer. It was just her and Heath now, the others were waiting in vehicles, ready to extract them once she detonated the device.
She crept over the crest of the hill on her belly, ignoring the pain shooting through her hip and arm as she urged the vehicle forward.
Come on. Just a little more.
The remote she held only worked within a specific range, and Dubois was sitting just outside it. She thought of Fleur and the hundreds, maybe thousands of faceless women Chloe couldn’t save.
Valkyrie justice was the only way. Her particular brand of justice, delivered in a searing ball of fire with the bomb she’d planted in the dead of the night while her team assisted.
A hand grabbed her ankle. Chloe froze and looked back at Heath.
“Drone,” he whispered, face grim as he moved only his eyes upward.
She followed his gaze, lying perfectly still, and sure as hell, a drone was flying toward them from the house. Shit.
She flattened herself against the ground. They were pinned in place for the moment. Their camouflage-pattern clothes would help hide them in the grass. But if that thing had thermal imaging on it, they were screwed. The rest of the team had left the area to avoid detection, and was too far away to back them up.
“Three armed men inbound,” Heath said.
Chloe’s gaze snapped back to the house. Three men were sprinting across the lawn, heading in their direction, two holding pistols and one carrying a rifle.
Hell.
“Let’s go.” Heath grabbed her hand and pulled her to her knees, letting go when she winced. “We gotta move,” he said, putting his rifle to his shoulder.
He was right. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
He cut her a suspicious look. “Not moving until you do.”
Her gaze strayed back to the Audi, pulled there with a force too strong to resist.
“No. We gotta go. Now,” Heath snapped.
She was torn. Torn between escaping the men running toward them so Heath wouldn’t be in danger, and Dubois sitting right there, so close to the trigger point.
“Chloe.”
The Audi suddenly started reversing.
No!
Bracing for the pain, she shoved to her feet and started running toward the Audi. Pain ripped through her hip, radiating down her thigh with each step.
“Chloe, no!”
Heath’s shout sliced through her, the anger and horror in his voice spurring her on. She blocked him and the pain out. She had to kill Dubois. His men weren’t within firing range yet. There was still time to get within range, hit the detonator and then take out the men coming after them.
Her left foot landed on a rock. She hissed in a breath as she slipped. Fire shot through her hip, buckling her leg. She rolled at the last second, taking the hit on her right side and automatically curling to absorb the impact.
The detonator bounced out of her hand and tumbled down the incline.
She shoved up on her hands just as a rifle cracked behind her. Heath firing. And when she looked up at the Audi, she simultaneously realized two things.
It had stopped.
And Guillaume Dubois was staring right back at her through the windshield.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I
t can’t be.
But he couldn’t deny what he was seeing with his own eyes.
Gabrielle. She was here. Still alive, lying prone on the ground as she stared back at him some thirty yards or more away, that stupid fucking song still paying over the radio.
Valkyrie.
She’d leaked his activities to Vienne. She’d destroyed his family, killing his brother and turning his wife and children against him. Faked her own death. Now she’d come to kill him.
Rage blasted through him, so hot and powerful it stole his breath. This bitch had ruined him. She’d come to kill him but now he would put her in the morgue for real.
He threw the transmission into drive, cranked the wheel to the right and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The Audi fishtailed around, spewing gravel behind the rear tires as he raced toward the grassy incline.
Gabrielle rolled to her side and pointed a pistol at him.
Bang! Bang!
He jumped as two rounds hit the windshield in front of his face almost simultaneously. But they didn’t penetrate.
She dragged herself to the side and went for the front tires next. The car didn’t react.
He watched in satisfaction as she jerked her gaze up to meet his through the cracked windshield. It’s bulletproof, bitch. Just like me.
Smiling, Guillaume gripped the wheel tighter, pinned the accelerator to the floor and sped right for her.
“NO, DAMMIT, NO,” Chloe breathed.
She dropped the useless pistol, her eyes darting to the remote lying in the grass down the incline.
It was her only hope. Five yards away, but it seemed like a thousand. And Heath was still firing at the onrushing men.
An anguished cry ripped from her as she dove for it. Pain tore through her left hip and arm like fire. Her vision swam, nausea roiling in her stomach as the sound of the Audi’s engine grew louder, almost screaming in her ears along with the gunfire being exchanged in the background.
She could hear the rapid rounds hitting the windshield in a staccato rhythm. Heath, screaming her name as he fired, trying to save her.
Her groping fingers met plastic.
She grabbed the remote, rolled to her stomach, caught sight of Dubois through the windshield as her thumb moved to the button. He was too close now. She’d be caught in the blast wave.
But this was the only chance she had to survive.
“Game over, asshole,” she grated out.
Meeting Dubois’ maniacal stare through the ruined windshield, she covered her head with her arms, opened her mouth to save her eardrums, and pressed the button.
****
“Goddamn it, Chloe, move!” Heath roared, firing at the Audi as he ran toward her. She was lying flat on her stomach on the grass, hadn’t moved even though death was racing right at her.
Blood roared in his ears, his heart in his throat. He’d had no choice but to take down the men coming at them. But Dubois’ car was fucking armored and then some. Nothing Heath did was even slowing him.
He watched in horror, totally helpless as the bastard sped at her.
A split second later, a deafening boom split the air. The shockwave knocked him off his feet, punched the air from his lungs as the Audi exploded in a ball of fire, launching off the ground.
And as he watched, Chloe flew backward and hit the ground on her side.
Stunned, Heath threw his rifle aside and shot to his feet, tearing over the damp grass toward her. “Chloe!” He screamed it, terror and anguish streaking through him.
Fuck, fuck, she’d been way too close to the blast, and she wasn’t moving.
His lungs heaved, his thighs burning as he sprinted for her, praying. Please be alive. Please, God, I need you to be alive.
Behind her at the foot of the slope, the Audi was a twisted mass of blackened steel, completely engulfed in flames. The stench of burning metal filled his nose, the heat scorching him as he approached Chloe.
He skidded to his knees at her side, raking his gaze over her as he took her face in his hands. “Chloe. Chloe, sweetheart, can you hear me? If you can hear me, open your eyes and look at me.” Her carotid pulse was strong. She was breathing. But she wasn’t responding.
He checked her neck and spine, looked for signs of internal bleeding, then ripped his phone from his pocket and called Trinity. She was the closest one to them. “We need a medevac chopper at the estate,” he ordered her. “Dubois is dead, but Chloe was hit in the blast wave.” His voice turned ragged. “She’s unresponsive.”
****
Clipped voices. Strange, unintelligible syllables.
Cold. Pain.
A constant, distant thudding in her ears. A rhythmic pulsing. Then hands touching her.
Agony forked through her skull. She screamed but it was swallowed by the heavy weight pressing her down, down, into the blackness. She instinctively fought against the blackness, afraid it might drown her. But the dark undertow was too strong. It sucked her under, swallowing her in its crushing depths.
Pain began to register. Sharp twinges radiating through her head and along her spine, pulling her up from the darkness.
“Chloe? Can you hear me?”
A low, quiet voice. Familiar, yet far away. And the pain was getting worse, making her want to curl into herself and sink back into the blackness.
“Hey. Firecracker, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered. She tried to open them, only to slam them shut when a blinding white pain stabbed through her skull.
Warm fingers curled around her hand. “Squeeze if you can hear me.”
Summoning her strength, she squeezed.
A sigh of relief gusted against her forehead. “Thank God.”
She licked her dry lips. “Heath?” she whispered, then wished she hadn’t, the spike of pain threatening to split her skull open.
“Yes. I’m here,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Don’t try to talk. You’re in the hospital. You’re hurt, but you’re going to be okay.”
Battling through the pain, she forced her eyes open. He was leaning over her, a big, blurry shadow in the darkened room. Trying to see him made her dizzy. Her mind was fuzzy, confused. She squinted, blinked to see him better and her vision cleared enough for her to see his big, relieved smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispered back, wincing.
“You’ve got a grade three concussion and some internal bruising, but no fractures.”
Dubois. She’d been inside the blast radius when she’d detonated the bomb. “Is he dead?” she managed.
“Yes. You got him.”
She sagged into the bed, a torrent of emotions slamming into her. Fleur had died because of him. And she and Heath almost had too.
A blinding rush of tears flooded her eyes. They leaked past her clenched eyelids, spilling from the corners of her eyes down her temples and into her hair.
Strong arms slid under her, warmth surrounding her as Heath’s lips spoke against her ear. “It’s all right. I’m right here, and you’re gonna be okay.”
More pain streaked through her left arm as she reached up to embrace him, her palms resting on his broad back. The tears kept coming no matter how hard she tried to stop, the sobs jerking her, hurting everything so bad she feared she might throw up.
Heath stayed like that, holding her without moving her. Soothing her and protecting her from more pain.
“I’m s-sorry,” she choked out.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. She’d almost gotten him killed today, too focused on killing Dubois. She didn’t deserve him. “N-no. S-sorry.”
“I know. But I’m still here. And I forgive you, but only because you’re still alive. I love tacos even though they fall apart, remember?”
Another time that might have made her smile a little. But she hadn’t taken his feelings or safety into consideration. Had never thought what seeing her die in front of him would do to someone like him.
Out of words and in too much pain to
talk anymore, she absorbed the comfort he gave and focused on regaining the control she prided herself on. When the tears finally stopped and the jerky hitches of her chest and shoulders stopped, exhaustion tugged at her.
Heath eased up enough to smooth a thumb across her damp cheek, his beautiful blue eyes brilliant even in the dimness. “What’s your pain at on a one-to-ten scale?”
No point in lying. She wanted to cut her own head off just to escape it. “Twenty.”
He winced. “Ouch. I’ll call the nurse. They gave you something in your line a while ago. For now, just close your eyes and lie still.”
She was only too happy to comply.
Medical staff came in. She grudgingly answered their questions in French, using as few words as possible, wishing they’d just shut the hell up and go away because her head was seriously going to explode.
Finally, she and Heath were alone in blessed quiet. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Sleep now.”
She let it take her, stealing her away from the pain. When she woke next the pain was better, her skull no longer threatening to split apart. She was tender all over, not surprising given what she’d survived. Heath fed her some broth and crackers. “There’s someone out in the hall waiting to see you,” he told her. “You up for a short visit?”
“Sure.”
He went to the door and an unfamiliar man walked in. Tall, graying hair, but built as solid as Heath, with piercing, silver eyes. “Hi, Chloe. I’m Alex Rycroft,” he said, stepping close to her bed.
“Oh, wow. Hi,” she blurted, automatically holding out her hand.
His lips twitched as he shook it, his grip warm and firm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good things?”
“Mostly.”
“I uh… Thanks for cleaning up the mess I made.”
“Messes,” he corrected.
Her face flushed hot. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”
He nodded, amusement lurking in those silver eyes. “Still working on this last one, but I wanted to come and thank you in person. Dubois has been on our radar for years and I was starting to think we’d never get him. So, thank you.”