“Henri!” she gasped, trying to look lost and helpless; it wasn’t such a big stretch. “I was just trying to turn over… to get more comfortable.”
His second hand moved up her body, wrapped around her neck, encircling it totally. His grip tightened even more. “You were?”
“Yes!” She choked the word out, not faking her distress in the slightest. “Please Henri… please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to leave you.”
“Good.” His eyes blazed down at her, his hold still punishing. “Because if I think for one fucking second that you’re thinking about going anywhere, I’ll beat you until you’re unconscious, then I’ll tie you up and bring you to that clinic where you work. I’ll kill every single person who works there, along with every woman who’s in the waiting room, and I’ll make you watch. You hear me, chérie? I’ll kill them all, and you’ll have to see them die. You’ll have to know that it was all your fault.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she repeated. “I love you.”
That stopped him. He peered down at her, looking hard for the lie, shook her again. “You do?”
“I do.” She struggled for air, starting to panic, starting to black out. She fought to keep her hands at her sides, knowing that he’d just get angrier if she tried to pull his hands off her throat. “Please… please don’t hurt me.”
“Say it again,” he ordered, giving her another shake.
“I – I love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Henri…”
“Again.”
“I – I –” Darkness was approaching now, a curtain of night. “I –”
That was all she knew before the curtain drew over her, crushing her under its weight. Under its blackness.
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing that Francine knew was pain. Shooting, burning pain in her throat, neck, and back.
The second thing that she knew was the smell of coffee.
Café?
This familiar, comforting smell was so utterly at-odds with the first sensation, that she was shocked in to awareness. She forced her eyes open, and what she saw just confused her even more.
Henri was sitting on the floor right in front of her, holding a steaming cup of coffee. When he saw that she was awake, he set the coffee down and reached for her.
Unable to stop herself, she drew back with a small whimper. She wasn’t at all sure what had happened, but she knew that she was in pain because of him – he’d done something to her, and she was halfway grateful to have nothing more than fuzzy memories.
“Chérie.” He spoke softly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She froze.
He touched her face now, and she stayed still.
“Are you alright?” he said.
Francine nodded slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. He looked… contrite. Regretful. He looked genuinely remorseful, and that focused her once more, kicked her back in to survival mode.
Remorse was good. Remorse she could work with. Remorse she could exploit.
“Hurts,” she said, her voice raspy.
His eyes were worried. “Your throat?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry.” He stroked her neck, and she flinched. “I lost control.”
She tried to sit up, and he helped her.
“Why did you?” she asked.
Henri got to his knees in front of her, guilt spreading across his face. “I thought you were leaving me.”
“No,” she croaked. “Never.”
“Promise me?”
“I promise you.”
“I’m sorry, Francine. I never want to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”
Tears were in his eyes now, and she knew exactly what she was looking at. Twelve years of working with abuse victims had burned the cycle of violence deeply in to her brain, after all. He’d hurt her, and now he was sorry, and they were about to embark on the honeymoon phase – the time when he’d be teary, and sweet, and try to make it up to her. Most abusers came bearing gifts right about now, and she glanced down at the coffee, seeing it for what it was.
An offering. An apology.
She wanted to throw it in his face, scalding hot and awful, but she knew she couldn’t do that. No, she had to accept his fucking gift, accept it with a grateful smile.
Worse? She had to apologize in return. In his mind, of course, he’d lost control because of her, and the sooner she owned up to her part in his violence, the better and safer it was for her. She took a breath.
“It was my fault,” she said quietly. “I made you do it. You thought I was leaving you, and you thought that because I haven’t done enough to show you how I feel about you. I haven’t truly shown you that I love you. I’m sorry, mon cher.”
He smiled at her, his blue eyes very clear in the morning sun. “You love me?”
It took a lot for Francine to smile back, her own eyes warm and sweet. It was the hardest thing that she’d done yet, but she did it. She did it because she wanted to live, and the only way she was going to stay alive long enough for Mark to get to her, was to tell him what he needed to hear.
So she did it.
“I love you,” she told him, and he totally believed her. “ I love you so, so much. I’ll never give you any reason to doubt me again.”
Henri cupped her face, held her gaze. “Then I’ll never have any reason to hurt you again.”
Fear and revulsion kicked her in the stomach, but she kept her face impassive. He could so easily kill her, and the only power she had in this situation was to keep him happy and deluded. It was a power that she was going to wield with a vengeance; she was going to wield it like a goddamn sword. A sword that she was going to use to cut off his fucking head.
Eventually.
He pulled back now, handed her the coffee. “Drink, Francine, and eat something. We leave in thirty minutes.”
“OK,” she said, so docile and eager-to-please.
He stood up. “I had extra gas already stored in the van, but this morning, I also siphoned off several containers of gas from the delivery trucks, so we won’t even need to stop anywhere for a while. I figure we can drive all day and most of the night, and we’ll just stop and sleep in the back when we can’t carry on. I have a mattress back there.”
The hope that she’d been nurturing that they might stop at a gas station, where she might be able to signal for help, died inside of her. She’d hoped hard that their faces might be splashed all over the news, and if they were, the more people that they came in to contact with, the better. Somebody might spot her sitting in the van and recognize her, might recognize Henri buying food in a convenience store.
But he was keeping her away from people. He was limiting her human contact. He was isolating her, enclosing her in his own little world, with no way out.
No way out yet, she corrected herself, reminding herself to keep hoping. Not yet.
So she’d keep looking for an exit. And the second she saw a goddamn open door – even if it was just open one inch – she was barreling on through it.
She just hoped that she’d emerge on the other side of it still alive.
**
Mark sucked back his third black coffee of the morning, but it wasn’t going to do too much for him, he knew. He may have had no sleep whatsoever the night before, but his body was fully energized, tensed up, and ready to move. Caffeine wasn’t required, but it was a twenty-plus-year habit, so he was pounding it down like water.
When King and Dallas walked in to the conference room, Mark got to his feet. Without so much as a nod or a greeting, he grated out, “And?”
To his credit, King didn’t even blink. “He found Mary-Anne. Or whatever the hell her name is now.”
Mark almost fell backwards in relief, slumped back in to the chair instead. “Where is she now?”
&
nbsp; “Dunno.” King sat too. “He can’t tell me that, but he did say he’s on his way to the airport to catch a plane to her now. He’ll be there in about seven hours, and he’ll go straight to her home, ask her about the cabin.”
“Seven hours?”
“Yeah.”
“Dammit.”
“C’mon, Mark,” Dallas said. “We heard back way faster than we thought we would. As soon as we know where the cabin is, we’re on a plane, man. We’ll be there tonight, I bet. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Yeah,” Mark said morosely. “Yeah, I guess.”
Dallas and King exchanged looks, and Dallas cleared his throat. Mark looked up.
“Something we didn’t talk about yet,” Dallas said. “But we need to, OK?”
“OK.”
“I’m guessing you’ve noticed that we haven’t contacted the local cops, and we haven’t blasted that asshole’s face all over the internet, and the TV stations aren’t airing the story about Francine being kidnapped.”
“It hasn’t escaped my attention at all,” Mark said. “But I agree with doing things this way.”
“Yeah?” King said.
“Yeah.” Mark sipped his coffee. “A guy like this in a hostage situation? Or even feeling trapped just a little, tiny bit? Fucking nightmare, and the fastest way to get them both dead.”
“That’s what we thought,” Dallas said, mightily relieved they were all on the same page. “The plan is to see what King’s friend can come up with from the ex-wife. After he gets the cabin location, we see if we can handle the matter personally and quietly. If we can, then we will.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we get the local authorities involved.”
Mark hated that idea, hated it like poison. He didn’t trust anyone to go in to that cabin – wherever the hell it is – and get Francine back, except himself. No way he wanted a bunch of cops from Backwater, Nowheresville to go toe-to-toe with a man who’d almost killed his wife and daughter, and who had attacked Francine in her own home. Henri Delacroix was hardcore, and only someone like Mark was able to face him down.
He stared across the table at the two men sitting there, really took them in. OK, yeah… he’d trust Dallas and King with getting Francine back, too. They didn’t feel for her the way that he did, but they were men who did what had to be done, and no questions asked.
“I don’t want that.” Mark spoke quietly now. “I want it to be just us.”
Dark eyes gazed steadily back at him. Blue and gray, hard and intense.
“You sure, man?” Dallas said. “We handle it, whatever it is?”
“Yes.”
King nodded. He preferred to work this way, of course, finding it easier to get shit done. Having said that, though, it was always a good idea to at least have law enforcement involved when crossing state lines. Even if said enforcement was just standing back, and letting things unfold.
“I’m good with that,” King said gruffly. “But I think we need a police ride-along.”
Mark and Dallas stared at him.
“Yeah?” Mark said, surprised. “You know a local cop who’d want to do that?”
“Nope.” King shook his dark head. “My contacts are all pretty high-up, and they won’t step in to this in any way except in an official capacity. We need someone who’d be willing to flash a badge and pull a gun when we need it… but who can stand back at certain moments, too. You guys know anyone?”
“Maybe…” Mark said slowly, as one man came to mind now. “Maybe…”
“Who?” Dallas said.
“A guy I met at the hospital,” Mark said. “Came from child protection, moved in to violence against women and domestic stuff. Told me that he takes it really personally, and he struck me as the kind who’d do whatever he had to do to get a woman out of a jam.”
“Name?” King said.
“Uh.” Mark shut his eyes briefly. “Ian Neilson. I have his card at home, and he wrote his personal cell number on it, too.”
“Well, the soonest we’ll be going anywhere is in about ten hours,” Dallas said. “You got time. Go home, dig out the card, call Neilson. See if he’ll get on board. If he will, bring him here to meet us.”
Mark nodded, got to his feet. “If you hear anything from your friend –”
“You’re my first call, Mark,” King said gently. “I promise you.”
“Thanks, King.”
“Sure.”
They watched Mark leave the room, then sat again, looked at each other.
“Spill it,” Dallas said abruptly. “I know you’re dying to say something, Kingston.”
Yet again, King offered no reaction whatsoever to a seemingly out-of-the-blue growl.
“You know he’s gonna kill him if he gets a chance, right?” King said.
“I do.”
“You got a plan to deal with that if it happens?”
“Should I?” Dallas rejoined. “If Mark wants to kill the prick who’s doing God-only-knows-what to his girl, you think I should stand in his way?”
“I do.”
That gave Dallas pause. “Why?”
“Because Mark ain’t the kind who can live with taking a human life out of revenge. Oh, I know he can kill someone to defend himself or someone else, and I’d bet he’s done that more than once in his time on earth. But to kill a man because it’s personal? Not everyone can look themselves in the eye after doing that, and I’d bet everything that I own that once the fever broke, Mark would never be able to truly make peace with having done it. It’d wreck him, Dallas.”
Dallas froze, hating the whole idea of Mark’s strong, steady light just being snuffed out like that.
“He’s hardwired to preserve life, man, to fight like hell to save it,” King said. “Taking it, especially taking it out of rage? That ain’t him. He’s forgotten that for the moment, and I don’t blame him in the slightest, but you need to be there when the shit hits the fan. You need to remind him who he is.”
Dallas was silent, thinking this through. He’d killed Olivia’s stalker, just shot him smack between the eyes, and no regrets… but the fucker had had a knife to Olivia’s throat. Literally. Dallas had done what he’d done, and he was OK with it because it meant that he got to hold Olivia in his arms every night. But if he could have brought Greg Wallace in alive, and sent the man to jail forever, he’d had gone that way.
So yeah, Mark would kill to save a life. He’d kill when he had no other choice, and he’d be OK with that. But what if he had a choice, and he still took the shot?
King was right, he knew. It’d destroy Mark.
“I hear you,” Dallas said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man. Loud and clear.”
**
Early that evening, Ian Neilson shook hands all around, accepted a coffee, sat down. The tension in the room was sky-high, and he narrowed his black eyes, taking in everyone’s grim expressions.
“You sure about this, man?” King said without preamble, and Ian bit back a grin. The man’s reputation preceded him, big time, and so far, Matt Kingston was about as scowling and lethal-looking as Ian would have expected. “If you ain’t, say so now. No harm, no foul.”
“I’m sure,” Ian said. “I know what we’re doing.”
Dallas’ ears perked up. “Texas?”
“Born and bred in Dallas, though I’m more recently out of Houston,” Ian said. “And you’re clearly a fellow Dallas boy.”
Dallas grinned. “You picked up on that, huh?”
“Well, it was a no-brainer in a couple of ways.”
“Anyway,” King huffed, done with idle chit-chat. “The ex-wife says that the cabin’s in Vermont.”
Ian cocked his blond head, thinking. “Well, that makes sense. It’s right on the Quebec border, after all.”
“It’ll be hard to approach without being seen or heard?” Ian asked.
“Probably,” King replied. “So we’ll be on foot for a few miles.”
“OK.” Ian drank some coffee, made a mental note to pack his hiking boots. “What else?”
“We fly to Burlington at eight a.m.,” Dallas said. “Be at the airport at six.”
“No problem,” Ian said. “Weapons?”
“No,” King said. “Too complicated to fill in the paperwork at this end, and anyway, we’d need to check ‘em. Our stop-overs are way too short, and there’s no way the guns would get on to our connecting flights with us.”
“So we load up at that end?”
“Yeah. I have a guy who’ll get us sorted. Don’t worry about any of that.”
“Anything more I need to know?”
“From Burlington, we’ll need to drive, then walk. It’s going to be full-on tomorrow, man, so get some rest tonight.”
“Will do.” Ian stood up. “See y’all at the airport in the morning.”
Dallas and King nodded, but Mark stared out the conference room window, watching the sun set over the Rocky Mountains.
This was the second night that he’d watched the sun go down without Francine in his arms. The second night of the second day that she was all alone with a dangerous, twisted brute. The second night that she’d be lying next to that sick fucker in darkness, maybe hurt, definitely afraid. She was somewhere that Mark couldn’t get to her, somewhere that Mark couldn’t protect her.
He’d struggled to not think about what Henri Delacroix might be doing to her, fought hard against imagining endless nightmare scenarios. He was getting tired now, though, and he was starting to lose the battle. Despite his fatigue, the notion of sleep was laughable: Mark knew the second that he closed his eyes, he’d see Francine bloody and broken, crying and calling for him.
Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7) Page 18