The backpacks in question lay in a row at the far end of the lobby, right in the way of anyone trying to exit or enter the building. Fortunately this year they didn’t appear quite so full. She was disappointed to see a fourth pack. While lying in bed, stewing in her anger, she’d hoped there wouldn’t be enough to include them. But her mother prepared for everything.
Dad sipped his coffee from a fine china cup. Probably something borrowed from upstairs. “Right. Inside the packs is your clue to the location of the first task. Rules—you can’t knowingly hinder another team or change the location of clues or markers we’ve been allowed to put up, or your ass is out of the game. Road Blocks and Challenges work the same as always.”
“We know the rules, Dad,” Kevin groused. Heather was doing stretches, for Christ’s sake.
“All right, all right.” Her father waved his hand and leaned up against the wall. It was more out of self-preservation than fatigue. There had been a few race starts where the jockeying for position had resulted in one parent or the other being unceremoniously shoved out of the way. Her mother was already prepared with a camera for the initial jostling to get out the door first. “On your mark, get set, go!”
Three pairs of bodies shot forward. Michael and Kevin, her most competitive brothers, shoved each other as they grabbed bags. Their wives, Jennifer and Heather, were already out the doors. Jason and Amy left the fray by picking a bag to one side and slipping out the side entrance.
Bianca didn’t charge forward. At best, she came up to her brothers’ chests. She’d grown up being forcefully “moved” out of the way and was not about to wade into that. Clay took a few steps, then turned back for her.
“Come on, B.” He grabbed her hand and jerked her forward.
“Don’t pull me,” she snapped, yanking her hand out of his.
He glanced from her to the single bag left sitting on the floor. She could feel the testosterone coming off him in waves. It was as if he were an evil clone of her husband. He was always so easygoing. She forgot they could occasionally butt heads. And damn him for looking hot today. It wasn’t fair at all.
“Come on, you two, get a move on,” her dad called from the sidelines.
She glared at him, not above dishing her bad mood out on others. “Fine. We’re going.”
Clay fell into step beside her and tentatively took her hand in his. He grabbed the pack as they passed and slung it over his shoulder. A blue envelope stuck out of one pocket. She sighed and grabbed the offending object as her husband held the door open.
“What does it say?”
She glanced up and down the street lined with tiny, compact cars. Flowers hung in baskets from the wrought iron lampposts and the buildings were all a similar blue-gray stone. The very air was so different from that in Atlanta. It wasn’t as humid despite the river. The trees and abundance of flowers gave it a pleasant aroma she hadn’t expected.
She was in Paris.
She’d always wanted to come here. Have pastries and stroll by the river. Gawk at the Tower and lounge in front of the Louvre. There were so many things to see and do in Paris, and she was here.
The thought sent a little thrill down her spine and for a moment, the miasma lifted.
“B, the clue?”
Right. She was in Paris and she couldn’t enjoy it.
She thrust the clue at her husband. “Here, you open it.”
Clay fumbled and dropped the envelope. She suppressed a groan. If this was any sign of how things were going to go, she wanted on the first plane home. Let him do this stupid race as a team of one.
“This says we need to head to the municipal Ossuary. Hey, where are you going?”
She rolled her eyes. “The Métro station. Wherever we’re going, we need the subway.” They were the only people on the sidewalk. No doubt her siblings and their wives were already in the Métro trying to outwit each other.
He jogged a few steps to catch up with her. Unlike her brothers, he didn’t loom over her. At five-and-a-half-feet tall, he was just right for her. Tall enough she felt dainty next to him and short enough they avoided any awkwardness she’d experienced with other men. “B, you sure you want to do this? We can go back. Nothing says we have to do this.”
Of course they had to. If they dropped out now they’d have to listen to her siblings recount how that one year in Paris they quit. No, they already picked on her enough about her diminutive height and inability to excel at sports or video games.
“We’re doing the race.”
“Okay, okay. So here’s the map. Do you know what the municipal Ossuary is?”
“Not a clue, but I would bet my brothers do.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because every year we do these stupid races, so we know what’s coming up. My brothers all study the major sights so they don’t have to wonder what a clue means.”
“Ah-ha!” Clay paused and dug in his pocket.
“What are you doing? Don’t stop now.” They were already behind. She didn’t doubt they’d lose, but she’d prefer not to be days behind everyone else.
He pulled out his phone and waved it at her. “Our friend Google will help us out.”
She stared at the screen with grudging respect. Damn him and his addiction to gadgets. He’d splurged on a European SIM card and it seemed as though it was going to be totally worth it. “That’s kind of brilliant.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and smiled. “Let’s try to have some fun with this?”
She bit back the comment. This wasn’t going to go well, and she wouldn’t enjoy herself.
Clay whooped. “The catacombs! That’s one of the places on our list to go and see.”
One of your places to go.
“Great,” she muttered.
* * * * *
“One hundred and twenty.” Bianca’s legs shook and her stomach rolled. The tiny spiral staircase down into the catacombs made even her feel claustrophobic, and she was barely five foot.
The temperature had dropped considerably. But her mother had prepared them for that. Part of the backpack’s offering this year included light jackets. She was honestly surprised her mother had thought to bring jackets for them. During the vacations she had abstained from the race she hadn’t been given any of the swag. It made her wonder if there had been something on hand for her if she chose to join, or if this year was special because of Clay.
For herself, she couldn’t care less. Sure, the things they got for the race were neat, but her happiness was worth more than a jacket. For Clay’s sake, she was glad he could be included. Now if only it didn’t have to extend to her.
“Keep going, B. One foot in front of the other.” Her husband’s positive encouragement was sandpaper on an open wound. Every word grated.
She glared over her shoulder and bounced off the wall. “I don’t need your coaching.”
He held up his hands while his lips screwed up, smothering a laugh. “Sorry, just trying to be helpful.”
“Oh thank goodness, one hundred and thirty.” She staggered forward into the first chamber of the catacombs. The lack of sun, the scent of earth and general oppressive sensation made it feel as if they were a mile under the streets of Paris. She hadn’t actually thought through what the municipal Ossuary was when they pinned it on the list of neat things to see, but as she descended the spiral staircase she realized she’d paid someone to go gawk at bones.
Human bones.
She stepped to the side, not ready to enter the actual catacombs. Her husband hovered, clearly torn between concern for her and wanting to charge forward. Maybe she should have convinced her sister-in-law Amy to sit this one out with her and the guys could have raced together. Then she wouldn’t be about to go mingle with some Frenchmen who had lived a hundred years ago or more.
“There’s supposed to be someone down here with the clue.” Clay examined the first sheet of paper from the blue envelope.
“Clay, I don’t know if I can do this.” She
put a hand to her stomach. Being sick down here was a bad idea.
He examined her over the paper. “There’s no going back up. There’s no elevator and the staircases are one way.”
No shit.
They’d been warned of that before paying. “Can’t you be a little sympathetic here?”
His mouth thinned to a white line. “I’m trying to remember who’s supposed to be in charge.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. He wanted to have this conversation? Now? With dead things a few feet away?
She stood up straight, her chin jutting out, and pinned her husband with The Look. “You know what? Me too. When I was in charge, we weren’t doing this stupid race.”
Clay dropped his gaze to the floor. She hated this argument. How one measly contest had destroyed a lovely vacation and her loving husband was transforming into someone she didn’t know. People passed, some glancing their way, most ignoring them.
Instead of indulging in an open-top bus tour, she was supposed to run through a crypt. She shuddered as the chill of the catacombs continued to leech away all her warmth.
“Come on, let’s find this stupid clue.” She wrapped the jacket tighter around her, shoved her hands under her arms and merged into the trickle of people. Maybe it would be as if they were on the set of her favorite Indiana Jones movie. There was a chance it wouldn’t be so bad.
Water dripped down the smooth stone walls and distant voices made an eerie background melody. Most of the other visitors around them had handheld wands that provided an audio tour, relating historical facts or trivia about the catacombs. She hadn’t wanted to splurge for them since she couldn’t take the time to enjoy the history.
They descended lower by way of ramps carved from the earth with vaulted ceilings supported by smooth columns of stone. Skeletons did not in fact line the walls, and eventually the niggling creepies went away and she found herself swept up by the amazing sculptures of castles and tiny people.
After they’d gone for what felt like ages with little more than oppressive rock walls all around them and the weight of Paris resting above, they passed through a rectangular doorway and her stomach plummeted.
Bones.
They lined the walls, stacked up to nearly the top of her head on either side. Her stomach clenched and she tasted bile. This wasn’t like watching Indiana Jones at all. There wasn’t any artfully draped gauze or fancy lighting. This was truly the last resting place of some poor souls.
Hands wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing and pulling her back against Clay’s chest. She gripped his wrists and shuddered.
“This is gross,” she muttered.
At least they were spared the scent of decay. Anything that could rot had long since deteriorated. It was a small non-comfort.
“Come on, B, we can do this. Together.”
He gently pushed her forward one step at a time. If she’d had her way, they could be strolling the Avenue des Champs-Élysées or touring the Louvre. Why couldn’t Clay have kept his trap shut? This was all his damn fault.
“Hey look, there’s the clue!”
Clay’s voice echoed in the crypt. People turned to peer at him, but his gaze was fastened on where a blue envelope sat out of reach atop a pile of bones. She shrank back against his chest.
“How the hell are you supposed to get that?” She eyed the rows of femurs that created a wall clear up to the top of her head. How were they held in place? What were they holding back?
“I don’t know. Let’s ask someone.” He turned and surveyed the room. A man meandering around in a blue coat seemed to have caught his eye. “Pardon?”
The gentleman smiled and turned toward Clay.
“Parlez-vous anglais?”
“Yes,” the gentleman replied in heavily accented English.
Clay gestured at the blue envelope. “We need to get that. Can you help us?”
“Ah, you are the last team, yes?” He approached the wall and reached for something hidden in the shadows behind a small ledge.
“Yes sir.” Clay grinned at the man and her, but she shared none of his excitement.
The gentleman lifted a metal arm with a set of clamps on the end and used it to pluck the envelope from atop the bones without so much as disturbing a single shard. He offered it to her, but she backed up. That paper had touched bones. Human bones.
“Merci beaucoup.” Clay snagged the envelope and ripped it open. She watched his eyes widen.
“What does it say?”
He licked his lips and darted a glance at her.
“Clay,” she snapped.
“You aren’t going to like this.”
Chapter Two
Clay’s feet squicked inside his tennis shoes. For all of a second he felt guilty for tracking mud and God only knew what else into the apartment, but someone had thoughtfully laid out newspaper and cardboard. Other, equally filthy shoes were lined up, as well as a few articles of clothing too soiled to wear any farther. He toed his shoes off and left them in the foyer. Bianca slammed the door shut and didn’t bother with removing her sneakers. She stomped down the hall to the tune of her family’s laughter and ignored their calls.
Today had not gone well.
That was an understatement.
It had been a wreck.
“There you are!”
“Hey, thought you guys would never make it in.”
“About time you showed up.”
The teasing jibes kept coming as Bianca passed the living room and stormed to their suite.
She was beyond angry.
Angry was a fire ant army out to take a pound of flesh.
Bianca was beyond that. Furious, enraged, those words fit her better, and he didn’t think he had it in him to care anymore. He’d changed from the sub he’d been three years ago who had no limits. He had them now, and being used as an emotional punching bag all day was a yard too far.
Clay paced slowly into the fray. The scent of stale water and excrement clung to his clothing. The sense of accomplishment from having completed the day’s challenges was dampened by the knowledge the rest of her family had finished in half the time and probably with a lot more cooperation from their spouses.
Kevin glanced up from the TV where the brothers were currently engaged in what appeared to be the latest multiplayer shooter game. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Unlike his wife, their razing didn’t bother him. Who were they to him? Her family. Not his.
“Seriously, what took you guys so long?” Michael didn’t divert his attention from the action. He even managed to snag a handful of popcorn and shove it in his mouth without breaking stride.
A random assortment of snack foods littered the coffee table—cheese, crackers, chips, some cookies and even a bottle of wine. The empty plates attested to there being even more to offer at one time. There was enough there to feed several people. Despite being exhausted, he itched to pack some of the food away.
Jason’s voice broke his concentration. “We missed you guys at dinner. Everything okay?” Unlike his brothers, Jason had paused the game and turned toward him. Michael and Kevin grumbled but took the opportunity to shovel yet more food in their mouths.
“Yeah, took us longer than you guys. Where are the girls?” He glanced at the kitchen, but still no one.
“They went out shopping or to a show or something,” Michael replied and restarted the game.
The game ramped up and the three brothers began a flurry of attacking something. He’d never understood the appeal of video games, but he hadn’t been exposed to them until he was in high school, and by then other things had taken on more importance. Like finding an after-school job so he could have shoes without holes and jeans that fit.
He shuddered as a chill crept down his spine from the clinging, cold clothing and shook off the nervous tic as well. He’d left those days behind. “How did you guys get into the catacombs so fast? We waited almost two hours.”
Kevin snorted. “Oh fuck waiting.”<
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“We don’t wait, man. We offer the first people in line fifty bucks and skip the wait.” Michael glanced at him. “You didn’t seriously wait, did you?”
He grimaced. “Yeah, yeah we did.”
“Sucks to be you.” Michael laughed and focused on the game.
“Hey, do you want to join in? We probably have a spare controller around here somewhere,” Jason offered.
“No thanks. I’m going to clean up. Tromping through those sewers was gross.”
He left the living room to a chorus of laughter, maybe directed at him or the game, he didn’t care. Bianca had known her brothers would bribe and do whatever it took to win. That was their way and she hadn’t told him. He’d waited in line for two fucking hours while she gave him the silent treatment. They could have been strategizing, discussing how they wanted to play, learning the rules. But no. He had no way of playing with a full deck if she didn’t confide in him.
They were supposed to be a team.
A fucking team.
He pushed the door to the suite open and slammed it behind him. If she could slam doors, so could he.
Bianca jumped but did not turn around from where she stood at the foot of the bed. This was not the way things were supposed to be between them. Sure, B called the shots and he was comfortable in his role as her husband and submissive. He did not play the role of a carpet to be walked upon.
He ignored the instinct to kneel at the door, to wait for Bianca to present the collar and slip his necklace off. His knees tried to buckle, but he locked them in place. Instead he began removing his jacket and peeling off his shirt.
“I didn’t give you permission to undress,” Bianca snapped. Waspish behavior was unlike her. Even when she gave him pain she laughed and smiled.
“I don’t want your permission.” His voice was cold, foreign to his own ears. He wadded up his shirt and tossed it through the bathroom door where it plopped onto the tile.
Bianca turned to face him. She’d stripped down to her navy boy short panties and matching camisole. The set was old, relatively speaking, but one of his favorites. The material had a silky sheen to it, and the lace was soft to the touch, not rough. Her firm breasts filled out the top and her nipples were visible through the fabric. Goose bumps rose on her flesh, and her damp, shoulder-length hair stuck to her face and hung in clumps.
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