Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  “He can move fast?” Dallas asked.

  “He can.” King got to his feet, pulled out his cell. “Gimme five minutes.”

  Mark and Dallas watched him amble on out of the conference room, then they looked at each other.

  “Doing OK?” Dallas said quietly. He knew Mark wasn’t, of course, and after having witnessed Olivia in a hostage situation, he knew damn good and well what the man was feeling. “What do you need?”

  “I need eyes on Francine.”

  Dallas nodded. “I know. Hang in there.”

  “I’m trying.”

  They sat in silence, watched the minutes tick by on the clock. Mark felt every single second, since every second that passed was one more second that Francine was in the hands of a monster. One more second that she was moving farther away from safety and love. Away from Mark.

  The only saving grace in this whole fucking disaster was that she was with a monster who wanted her, who’d waited for her, who’d sought her out. That meant that he wanted time with her – he wanted her. No way he was going to kill her, not as long as he truly believed that she loved him back, and beyond that, Mark wouldn’t permit himself to think what time with Henri Delacroix was going to look like. Anything that happened, they’d heal. All Mark cared about was Francine coming back to him, breathing, moving, talking. In one piece.

  He shut his eyes, called Francine to mind now. Not surprisingly, the first image that came to him was of her in his bed, but maybe surprisingly, it wasn’t a sexy, steamy memory.

  No, it was of Francine sleeping just a few hours ago, all curled up against him, her beautiful face relaxed and sweet. Francine safe, and calm, and protected. Francine in his arms, where nothing and nobody could hurt her. That was what Mark thought of, and he held on to that image of her now, clutched it tight like a talisman, promised himself that he’d make it reality for her again. Soon.

  King came back, and Mark bolted to his feet. “And?”

  King’s face was as ferocious as ever, but his eyes were compassionate. “It’ll take some time.”

  “Time?” Mark echoed. “Time, we don’t have, man!”

  “No choice.” King was professionally cool, and Mark fought down the urge to smack him. “My contact says he can get what we need, but not before tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”

  “Fuck.” Mark stared at the floor, wondering if he’d ever felt more helpless in the whole of his life. “I’m not good at waiting, Kingston.”

  “I get that, man. I do. But extracting sealed, confidential information about a protected witness? Come on, Mark. You know that ain’t the kind of info that’s just readily available to anyone who makes a phone call. Lots of hurdles to clear, lots of arms to twist. My friend can clear and twist, no problem… but he needs time.”

  “And so we wait?” Mark said, hating to even utter the words.

  “Yep. We wait.” King sighed. “And once he does find out where and who Mary-Anne Delacroix is now, it’ll take time for my friend to get to her, then time to talk to her. You’re looking at at least two days of sitting still before you can go anywhere or do anything.”

  “Two days, at least?” Mark said softly. “Fuck that.”

  “What choice do we have?” Dallas asked him. “You want to just get in your car and drive around aimlessly, ‘cause that’s about the only other viable option you got right now. You know that the blizzard has wiped out any tire tracks and any footprints, and that visibility is shit out there, so things like traffic cams are useless. Nobody’s out in this goddamn weather but us dumbasses, so forget about witnesses. Everyone in this room knows that Delacroix would have planned this down to the last detail, and they’ll have switched cars by now. That means that the vehicle that Olivia saw pull away from the safe house isn’t even a useful lead at this point.” He extended his hands, palms up, in a gesture of hopelessness. “What have we got to go on, Mark? Nothing, that’s what. King’s friend and Mary-Anne Delacroix are our best hopes – our only hopes, really – and you know that.”

  “Yeah.” Mark couldn’t argue with any of that, though he really, really wanted to. “I know all of that.”

  “So. Go home. Pack a bag. Be ready to go on thirty seconds’ notice. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Mark shook his head, hating every single thing about all of this. “Yeah, OK.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Francine gazed out the car window at the snow falling heavily, steadily, trying to look calm and loving. It was one hell of an effort, but Henri’s happy expression told her that she was managing just fine. So far, at least.

  Then again, she’d only been maintaining this charade for three hours. Anyone could do anything for three hours, in her humble opinion, and from here on in, it was just going to get harder. Maybe even impossible.

  She stared at the blizzard, cursing it heartily. Because of it, they’d actually passed a police car three blocks away from the safe house, speeding to the rescue, but they hadn’t been spotted. She’d only known the police were even there because of the blaring siren and flashing red lights. But she and Henri, in their beige sedan, had just drifted right on past. Totally invisible.

  Less than ten minutes later, he’d stopped, abandoned the sedan in a parking garage under a mall, and they’d switched to a white van. Then Henri had driven out of Denver, as calm and collected as you please, just taken her away from everything and everyone under the cover of pure, white snow. They turned north, and that was all Francine knew.

  It wasn’t much, but it was way more than anyone else knew. She was alone, without a cell phone or any kind of weapon, trapped in a moving vehicle with a dangerous, violent man. A man who said he was in love with her, a man who she had just convinced that she was in love with him too.

  Yeah. One hell of a charade to keep up.

  “Francine?”

  She jumped, swung her eyes to him. “Oui?”

  “You alright?”

  “Of course.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m with you at last, mon amour. I’ve never been better.”

  “We’ll have to stop driving soon,” he said. “The storm’s getting worse.”

  Her heart jumped at the thought of stopping at a motel. A phone, a front desk, a TV with information, other people, maybe even a bathroom with a window that she could wriggle through. The second she could get the fuck away from him without putting anyone else at risk, she was going to do it.

  Briefly, she flashed back to Emma. She wondered how badly he’d cut her, hoped fervently that she and the baby were OK. No way Francine was going to stand there and watch Henri hurt someone else. He’d kill anyone who he saw as a threat, she knew that for sure about him, so her job was to not put anyone else in danger. No, the danger stayed firmly fixed and focused on her.

  No more survivor’s guilt.

  “Where do you want to stop?” she asked. “A hotel?”

  “Non.” He grinned over at her, looking pleased with himself. “I planned our route, and I made note of every single free-standing building between here and where we’re going. Barns, storage centres, warehouses.”

  Her heart sank now as what he said hit her. First, that this was a well-organized escape, one that he’d undoubtedly set up to have endless contingency and back-up plans, all designed to handle things like blizzards and police searches that blocked roads. Second, they’d be staying far away from other people, far away from any and all means of communication. Third, she’d be all alone with him in isolated places, with nowhere to go, no means of leaving, and nobody to see or hear them.

  “Barns?” she said faintly. “Warehouses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will they have heat?” she asked, trying to sound like this was her biggest concern with the plan. “Electricity?”

  “Not all of them, but some will.” He glanced at the GPS on his cell phone. “In about thirty minutes, we’ll get to on
e kitchen equipment warehouse that I found. They lock it with just a key, so it’s easy enough to pick the lock. It has heat, chérie, so you won’t freeze to death.”

  A grateful smile spread across her face. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  “Mon plaisir,” he said with a growl, a double entendre that made her stomach clench, and not in a good way. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am,” Francine said softly. “I’m with you.”

  Henri reached across the seat now, touched her face. It took every single thing that she had, every ounce of strength that she possessed, to stay there, under his fingers. She shut her eyes, sighed, put her own hand on top of his.

  “I missed you,” she said, hoping that the tremor in her voice sounded like regret, not fear. “I waited for so long.”

  “I know,” he murmured. He took his hand back, focused on the road again. “But no more waiting, mon ange. We’re together now.”

  Francine smiled, turned her attention back to the world outside, her thoughts racing. She had twenty-five minutes to figure out what to say, and do, to keep him from trying to fuck her in some warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

  Think. Think. Oh, God. Think.

  **

  “King has news.”

  Dallas’ voice was angry in Mark’s ear, and he held the cell phone tighter. He prayed with every inch of his body that the news wasn’t that Mary-Anne was dead, or in a coma, or just impossible to find.

  “OK.” Mark dragged in air, thinking that that had been shockingly fast, even for a guy like King. A glance at his watch confirmed it: King had made the call to Canada less than an hour before. He wondered if the response time was a good thing, decided that Dallas’ tone in his ear suggested otherwise. “What is it?”

  “His friend found out why Francine had no heads-up about Delacroix’s release from prison.”

  It took a few seconds for Mark to understand what the hell Dallas was on about. He was so wrapped up in King’s friend finding Mary-Anne, then finding the cabin, that he’d completely forgotten that somewhere, somehow, someone had fucked up. Big time. Someone had failed to tell his girl that danger was coming her way, and as a result, Mark had failed to protect her.

  Thrilled to have a new target for his rage, Mark snapped, “Why didn’t she? Who dropped the ball?”

  “Denver PD.”

  Mark had always had the upmost respect for the local cops, but he didn’t care about that now. “Dickheads.”

  “Yeah, well, the Québec PD contacted them about two weeks ago, and told them about Delacroix’s release. Someone was supposed to drive out to Francine’s home and inform her in person, but somehow the job got mishandled. The cop who was meant to do it got called to a robbery-in-progress, and the task wasn’t reassigned. After a few days, it was somehow marked as completed, and shoved off the ‘to do’ pile.”

  “Goddamn it, Dallas.”

  “I know, man. Stuff slipping through the cracks drives me insane.”

  “Yeah.” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “So who do I have to go and kill?”

  “King’s already dealt with it.”

  “How? He killed someone at Denver PD?”

  “No. But he got on the phone to the Captain, reamed him out. It’ll be internally investigated.”

  “How’d King manage that? I thought the police and his special-ops group were enemies to the death.”

  “Nope. King and King’s Men have loads of contacts inside Denver PD, and as it turns out, he has the Captain’s private number on speed-dial. King’s Men work with local law enforcement all the damn time, apparently, though word of that never gets out.”

  “Jesus Christ. Where does the man not have contacts?”

  “Mars, I think.” Dallas paused. “And even that’s debatable.”

  “God.”

  “How you doing, Mark?” Dallas said abruptly, changing the subject.

  “Shitty, man, but I thought I’d brave the storm, and head over to the hospital. Visit Emma and the baby.”

  “Yeah, I’m here now.”

  “With Liv?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everyone OK?”

  “Emma and the baby are excellent. Olivia was pretty shaky, but she’s OK now, and I’m taking her home in a few minutes. You still dropping by? I know Dean wants to thank you in person.”

  “No need to thank me, but I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He looked out the window at the insane storm, reconsidered. “Maybe an hour.”

  **

  Emma opened her eyes, and smiled at the most touching, beautiful sight that she’d even seen.

  Dean was standing in front of the window in her hospital room, cradling their son against his strong chest. The baby was awake, she knew, since she heard small cooing sounds, and a tiny hand was waving around, just visible over the edge of the blanket that he was snugly wrapped in.

  “See that?” Dean was speaking quietly. “That’s called ‘snow’, kiddo, and in a few years, I’m gonna take you sliding on it. We’ll find the biggest, tallest, longest hill we can, and we’ll slide down it together super-fast, and we won’t tell Mommy what we’ve been up to.”

  “Mommy will know,” Emma said, her voice hoarse. “Mommies always know, don’t you know.”

  Dean’s head jerked up. “How you feeling, angel?”

  “Urgh. Sore.” She stretched a bit, winced at the pulling in her stomach, cleared her throat. “How many stitches?”

  “Three.” Dean walked over to her now, rocking the baby a bit as he did. “You were damn lucky.”

  “I know.” She shivered as she remembered the knife cutting in to her. “We both were.”

  “Yeah.” Dean looked down at their son again, his hard face softening instantly. “You want to hold him?”

  “Damn right I do,” she said, struggling to a sitting position. Dean reached out one strong hand, helped tug her up, so slow and careful. Then he slid the baby in to her waiting arms, stepped back to enjoy the sight of the woman that he loved holding their son.

  “You alright?” he asked. “Not weak or dizzy?”

  “Nope. I’m fine, really. Just thirsty.”

  Dean poured some water, handed it over. “Drink.”

  “Thanks.” She sipped the water, staring down at the bundle in her arms. “He’s OK? Even though he came a bit early?”

  “He’s OK. His lungs and internal organs are strong, and fully-formed. He’s perfect, really.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” She touched the tiny mouth, the tiny fingers. “God, he’s beautiful.”

  “Yep. Takes after you in the looks department, and thank Christ for that.”

  “Aw, you’re not so ugly, Dean.”

  He grinned. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said brightly, still gazing at their gorgeous son.

  “Oh, by the way, I just talked to Chris.”

  Emma glanced up. “Yeah?”

  “He and Jenny are trying to get back here, but they’re trapped at the airport because of the blizzard at this end.”

  “What?” She stared at him, astonished. “Why are they coming back?”

  Dean gestured at their son. “Uh. Why do you think? They’re worried to death, and they want to get their sights set on kiddo here, and make sure you’re OK.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And Beth? She’d better not be walking away from all the work she has to do back in Oregon, just to make sure I’m alright, because I am fine.”

  “Nope, she’s staying put. It took some pretty strong convincing on Jim’s part, but she listened, in the end.”

  “Thank God.” Emma sighed. “She needs to do this, and she needs to do it now. If she comes back here, she’ll stall. Maybe even undo all her progress.”

  “That’s what Jim said.”

&nbs
p; “Good man.”

  Just then, the baby gave an adorable sneeze, looked startled at the noise. Emma and Dean laughed, and the baby blinked lazily up at them.

  “Well, hey, there, little guy,” she said, stroking the baby’s cheek. “You’ve had a very exciting day, huh?”

  In response, the baby yawned, shut his eyes. Dean and Emma laughed again, so in love with this little person, they could hardly believe it.

  “I guess he didn’t find today nearly as exciting as we did,” Emma said.

  “Yeah, well. I could have done with a little less excitement, believe me.” Dean sat on the bed next to her, touched her dark curls. “You scared me to death, Emma.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her blue eyes were almost purple with memory. For as long as she lived, she’d never forget the look of fear and worry on Dean’s face as he stood in the doorway of the medical room. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

  “Don’t be,” he said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it.”

  “How’s Liv?” Emma asked quietly. “After seeing me get cut up like that?”

  Dean paused, not at all surprised that Emma would have figured out this part. She was a therapist, but she also an amazingly compassionate and smart woman – she’d have known immediately that Liv was going to be left reeling from the day’s events, and for more than one reason.

  “She’s shaken.” Dean exhaled. “Had some flashbacks. Held it together for a while, came here to see you and Junior… but she started to fall apart about ten minutes ago.”

  “Is Dallas here?”

  “Yeah. He’s got her, and he’s talking her down. I think he’ll be taking her home soon, and you’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Emma sighed. “He’s what she needs, but I wish Francine was here, too. She’d be able to reach Liv in a way that not many people can.”

  “I know.” Dean stroked the baby’s fine wisps of blond hair gently. “Liv’s scared to death for her. Thinks Francine may already be dead.”

  Shocked, Emma started. “Dead?”

  “Dallas and Mark totally disagree,” he rushed to say. “Makes no sense for that asshole to come all this way just to kill her right away. They think that he – he’ll want to be with her. They also think that she’s leading him on, making him think that she wants him too, just to win his trust.”