She strode forward at a clip before Harrison or I could grab her. She went straight up to the car and rapped on the passenger window, and because her fingers were gloved, they made a disturbing thumping sound, you know, sort of like you’d expect it to sound if someone was knocking on the inside of a casket. I shivered.
“Get out!” Viv cried. “Get out here and face me like a man, you miserable troll.”
Abruptly, all the doors to the car popped open and several bulky men, who looked like they broke fingers and more substantial body parts for a living, stepped out. Eep!
The driver moved stiffly to the only door that remained closed. With great patience, he waited for Viv to move aside before he opened the door. She took a reluctant step back and I knew it was because she didn’t want to appear intimidated.
She didn’t have to. I’m sure my bug-eyed glance at the scary group was doing a fine job of it for her. I tried to look nonchalant and failed miserably as I mentally scanned the different ways that they could do us in. Would they shoot us? Cut us up like fish bait? We were near a cemetery—maybe they were planning to bury us alive. A small whimper escaped my lips.
“Steady, Ginger,” Harry whispered. It was as if he knew exactly where my dark thoughts had taken me.
The bespoke pant leg of a suit and a very stylish designer men’s shoe appeared out of the car followed by another leg and the rest of the suit, which cost probably more than we made in a month at the hat shop, and in case you don’t know, custom hats are very expensive and we do quite well.
“Mrs. Graham,” Emile St. James said to Viv. He didn’t bother to acknowledge Harry or me. “You are as lovely as your husband described.”
“You have William?” Viv asked.
She stepped forward but two of the henchmen stepped in front of her. Their resemblance to the stone wall guarding the tombs behind us was uncanny.
“Is he all right?” Viv asked. “Tell me where he is. Tell me!”
Viv was losing her temper. Usually that was me, so it was interesting to step back and witness it. She looked quite glorious with her blond hair flying, her brows arched over her bright blue eyes, her nostrils flaring and her hands tightening into fists.
Emile St. James seemed to think so, too. He looked Viv over in a way that made my skin crawl. It was smarmy and seedy, and if we didn’t need him for information, I would have punched him in the mouth.
“Funny,” he said. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Viv said.
“No matter,” St. James said. “I’ll happily take the painting instead.”
“You think I have the painting?” Viv asked. “Why would I?”
“Because your devoted husband gave it to you,” he said. He reached out a hand to touch one of Viv’s long curls, the one that was hanging just over her right breast.
“Hey!” I cried.
“Oy!” Harrison yelled.
Emile St. James ignored us and picked up the curl, running it between his fingers as if admiring the soft, silky texture. Viv jerked her head in the other direction, yanking the curl away from him. I saw her wince and knew that he had held on tight just to hurt her. I wanted to slug him right in his weasely little face or his soft man parts, whatever I could reach first.
I took a step forward to stand at Viv’s side and one of his goons grabbed me. His big meat hooks wrapped around my chest and he lifted me off the ground.
“Hey!” I protested and kicked my legs at his shins as hard as I could. When he grunted, I was pleased that my clunky boots had nice thick heels.
Harrison spun toward us and punched the man right in the side of the head. He went slack and dropped me and I stumbled into Harrison’s arms. The comfort was short-lived as another of St. James’s thugs grabbed Harrison and plowed a fist into his side, forcing the air out of him with an oomph.
Viv cried out and helped me steady him. Harrison shook his head and launched himself at the man, and then next thing I knew, they were exchanging blows. They were equally matched, but Harrison was clearly the better fighter, dodging blows and hitting the man with solid punches, until another man grabbed Harry from behind, trapping his arms behind his back and letting his assailant hammer at him with punches to the gut and a right hook to his jaw.
“Harry!” I cried. I went to jump forward but one of the men grabbed my arm.
“Stop it!” Viv demanded.
“Tell me where the painting is!” St. James demanded. His face turned red and he looked a bit demented.
“I don’t know!” she yelled. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I knew?”
“Then you will die,” St. James said.
“And when Will comes looking for his wife, and she is dead, then you really won’t be able to catch him. Great plan,” I said. My voice was scathing in its contempt as I tugged and yanked, trying to get free of the thug who held me. “Harm us and Viv will disappear, leaving you with no way to find Will. Harm Viv, and Will has no reason to come back here. Will is the only one who knows who has the painting. Do you really want to kill your only chance of finding it?”
Viv looked at St. James and tipped up her chin as if to say that everything I said, which was a big bluff by the way, was true.
St. James stared at her for a long while, then he flicked his wrist and the man holding Harrison let him go as did the man I was twisting against. I stumbled into Harry and his arms came around me as blood poured from a gash over his eye. Rage pumped through me, and it was all I could do not to wrap my fingers around St. James’s throat and squeeze with all my might.
Frosty air was sawing in and out of my lungs, burning my throat. I didn’t give in to the urge to attack the vile man in front of me. Instead, I hugged Harry close, relieved that he was all right and that St. James looked like he was reconsidering having us killed.
Instead, he turned a half-lidded gaze in Viv’s direction and said, “This isn’t over.”
And just like that, he and his entourage of jerkwads left us standing in the street and, in Harrison’s case, bleeding.
Chapter 18
Suzette greeted us at the door with a gasp.
“What happened?” she cried. “Were you attacked?”
She looked past us out into the dark night as if the shadows were waiting to take another swipe at us.
“Long story,” I said.
Suzette pulled us into the drawing room. It was free of other guests, thank goodness. The fire was crackling and a decanter was sitting on a tray with glasses. I wondered if it would be considered bad form to drink right out of the bottle.
The cab ride home had been tense, as Harrison bled, Viv and I shook, and the cab driver cast us surreptitious glances as if he feared we were about to rob him, or worse.
Viv and I led Harrison to the couch while Suzette disappeared to get some first aid supplies. Viv reached for the decanter as I unfastened Harrison’s jacket. He looked at me and gave me a half smile as if to reassure me, but all it did was make me want to cry.
“Thanks for what you did tonight,” I said, low so only he could hear me. “You know, for looking out for me.”
He reached up and cupped my cheek. The look in his eyes was steadfast and true and stole what little breath I had left in my lungs.
“Always,” he said.
“A hot washcloth, ointment and bandages,” Suzette said as she came dashing back into the room. “Did I forget anything? Oh, how about a pain reliever?”
She dropped the items into my lap and dashed back out of the room.
“I think we’ve got her all in a fizz,” Viv said. Then she downed a shot of single malt scotch in one gulp.
“I’ll take one of those,” Harrison said.
“Me, too,” I said.
We clinked glasses and tossed it back. It was like inhaling a fireball. I blew out a
breath but the fire inside didn’t go out, it just slowly unfurled to my extremities, leaving a pleasing warmth and making my post-traumatic shakes subside.
I set to work on Harrison’s gash. All in all, he’d gotten pretty lucky that St. James’s posse of evil hadn’t broken his nose or worse.
He flinched the first time I applied a little pressure, trying to clean out the wound, but he settled down once Viv handed him another shot before she started pacing around the room. She was clearly still agitated but had stopped drinking, opting to do laps around the furniture instead. Smart girl.
“Don’t get shnockered on me now,” I said to Harrison. “I don’t think I can heft you up all those flights of stairs.”
My face was just an inch from his and I felt his gaze on my lips. His smile was crooked and he said, “Oh, I could make it up those stairs on my own, no matter how much I drank, with proper motivation.”
It did not take a mind reader to know what he considered proper motivation. I felt my face get warm.
“Behave,” I whispered, although to be truthful, I didn’t really want him to. Tonight had been terrifying, and being distracted by him and this thing between us helped calm me down and get me centered again.
“Here you go.” Suzette came back bearing a glass of water and a couple of Nurofen tablets.
Nurofen is the French equivalent to ibuprofen, and Harrison tossed them back, using the scotch instead of the water. I took the water from Suzette and swapped it for the scotch in Harrison’s hand. He looked longingly after the little glass of amber liquid but drank the water. I felt for him—being an adult is a bit of a drag sometimes.
Suzette sat down in one of the armchairs and poured herself a glass from the decanter. She sipped it like a lady while Viv continued to pace around the room and I rubbed ointment onto Harry’s cut. I held up the small adhesive bandage but he shook his head.
“We have to find Will,” Viv said. She sounded distraught. I really couldn’t blame her, especially with someone like St. James looking for him.
“We will,” Harrison said. He sounded so certain of it that I almost believed him, which I’m sure was his intent.
“Please, what happened?” Suzette asked.
We told her about our day, each of us filling in with bits and pieces until the entire story was told.
Suzette glanced at each of us in turn and then finished her drink in one swallow. “Mon Dieu, you were lucky to not have been killed.”
We were all silent for a moment, absorbing the truth of her words. What would it have been like to have been slain on the streets of Paris? The thought made me tremble.
Harrison put his hand on my back. The warmth seeped in through my clothes. It patted down the fear that still sparked inside me, extinguishing it completely. I turned and gave him a closed-lipped smile of gratitude.
“The painting is obviously the key,” I said. My voice was gruff and I cleared my throat. “If we can figure out who took the painting, then we can find Will.”
“Clearly, it isn’t the shop owner, Reyer,” Harrison said. “He was too angry at the loss of the painting and he didn’t strike me as being smart enough to figure out how to get it.”
“And it’s not St. James,” I added. “If he had Will or the painting, he wouldn’t have come after us.”
“Who does that leave then?” Viv asked.
“What about the family who originally bequeathed the painting to the museum?” Suzette asked. “Would they want it back?”
“Or the woman who bought it from Reyer and took it to O’Toole’s,” I said. “What was her name, Colette Deneau?”
“That’s who we’ll talk to first thing in the morning,” Harrison said. “And if she doesn’t have any answers for us, then we’ll talk to the family of the woman who left the painting to the museum. Do we know her name?”
“Yes,” Viv said. “Will mentioned it when he showed us the painting. It was a lady named Estelle Brouillard and she left the painting to the Musée de l’Or.”
“Do you think we should talk to someone at the museum as well?” I asked. My thinking being that we should not leave any leads unfollowed.
“Let’s start with Ms. Deneau and work from there,” Harrison said. “First thing in the morning.”
I nodded.
“I’m coming with you,” Viv said. “As Will’s wife, I might be able to convince her to tell you more than she would on her own.”
Harrison shook his head. “St. James is going to be watching you. You need to remain at the school, where we know you’re safe and where he will be occupied keeping an eye on you.”
“But—” Viv started to protest.
“He’s right,” Suzette interrupted. “And not only that, but if your husband does try to make contact, he will likely look for you at the school.”
“Plus, your students need you,” I added. “It’s not like Mr. Martin can just find another milliner.”
Viv glanced between us. Then she heaved a sigh and said, “I hate this.”
“I know,” I said. I stood up and hugged her. “It will be impossible for us to move about the city undetected if you’re with us, so even though I know this is hard, it really is for the best.”
Viv nodded. “Still hate it.”
Harrison rose from his seat with a wince and a cringe and hugged us both. “We’ll get this sorted. Don’t worry.”
Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, but I believed him.
* * *
Viv left the house with Lucas the next morning while Harry and I strategized over breakfast. This was the first morning I made it downstairs when the other tenants were about and I realized Suzette really did have a full house.
The former hospitality professional in me was quite impressed with her operation. She likely made a tidy living renting out apartments in the heart of Paris. Mostly, it was foreigners doing quick vacation rentals and I heard several different languages buzz in my ear as I sipped my coffee.
“I’m having no luck turning up an address for Colette Deneau,” Harry said.
“Back to Boutique Reyer?” I asked. “You know he is just going to be thrilled to see us.”
“Can’t be helped,” Harrison said. “He is the only one besides the people at O’Toole Insurance who dealt with Colette Deneau, and of the two I think he is the more likely to help us.”
“Aren’t you an optimist? I wonder what overpriced doodad he is going to coerce us into buying today?” I asked. I reached into my purse where the peacock pin was still in its bag and put it on the table.
Harry grinned at me. “It really is the ugliest broach I’ve seen. What made you choose it?”
“I . . . er . . . uh,” I stammered. He caught me off guard with that one.
“What an interesting broach,” Suzette said. She arrived at our table with a coffeepot. She glanced at it and then at Harry. “It’s the same color as your eyes.”
She held up the pot but we both shook our heads. With a smile, she left us to flit to the next table. When I looked at Harry, he was grinning at me.
I could feel a hot red rash creep up my neck to my face. Damn pale skin. I probably looked like I was on fire. Still, I tried to bluff.
I held up the pin and squinted at it and then at Harry, skirting eye contact by keeping my gaze moving.
“Huh, fancy that,” I said. “She’s right.”
His grin broadened. I didn’t fool him one little bit.
“Is that why you chose it?” he asked. His voice was a deep rough rasp in his sexy British accent. Yes, even after all these months, it still made me dizzy.
“Maybe,” I said. “Or perhaps I just like the color green, or peacocks, yeah, come to think of it, I’m really fond of those screechy birds.”
He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and drained it. When he put the cup down, he stared me straight in
the eye. His look was anticipatory, as if he was waiting for something.
“All right, fine,” I said. The steady stare forced the truth out of me like a crowbar wrenching open a locked door.
“It did remind me of your eyes. There, satisfied?”
The look he gave me scorched. “Not. Even. Close.”
Oh, my!
* * *
The cold air felt good on my overheated skin. Because time was of the essence, we hired a cab to take us to Reyer’s shop. Sitting next to Harry in the cab made me entirely too aware of his heat, his scent, his solid build. We had spent more time together in the past thirty-six hours than we had in weeks. It made it very hard to friend zone him, much as I tried.
“All right, Ginger?” he asked.
“Good, I’m good,” I lied.
The cab pulled up to the curb with a sharp stop, and I saw Harry grimace as he was slammed back into the seat.
“Still hurts, huh?” I asked.
“I’m just a little stiff from sleeping on the couch,” he said.
I shook my head at him. I had seen him changing his shirt that morning, another thing that made the friend thing virtually impossible as I’m pretty sure friends didn’t gawk at friends when they were half dressed, and I saw the bruising on his side and his ribs. The punishment he had taken last night had been severe and yet here he was, back to helping Viv and me find William. In all my life I don’t think I’d ever met a man as purely good as Harry. Again, I was swamped by my feelings for him.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I said.
He paid the cabbie and held the door open for me. “Takes one to know one.”
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I asked.
He gave me a half smile. “Today it is.”
As we approached Reyer’s shop, I noticed that it looked dark. That couldn’t be good. I really didn’t want to have to cool our heels, waiting for him to open.
Harrison tugged the door handle. It was unlocked and opened easily. He looked puzzled and gestured for me to wait while he went in. Honestly, it’s like he didn’t know me at all. I trotted in behind him, ignoring the frown he sent my way.
Assault and Beret Page 14