Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  They both exited their vehicles, meeting in the middle of the gravel drive. The familiar adrenaline rush heightened Simon’s senses. Teodor would love to kill him and take over his business. Literally, cutting out the middleman. Chances were, however, he wouldn’t. Simon arranged the best arms deals and had the lowest failure rate, and the majority of his arrangements worked to perfection for all sides. Besides, if he made an attempt on Simon’s life, Teodor would be dead within seconds by a bullet to the brain delivered by the sniper located in the attic of the farmhouse.

  “Nothing says trust like an armored vehicle.” Simon tapped Teodor’s arm as they shook hands.

  “Too true.” Teodor knocked on the Kevlar vest Simon wore under his jacket. “Where’s Luc?”

  “He has something brewing in the States. I have possession of all of the artifacts, so there should be no problems.” A situation Simon hated. “Do you have your appraiser with you?”

  “Yeah. He’s good, but I’d prefer the appraiser Luc used a few months ago. Alex.”

  Alex? “Never met him.”

  Teodor threw his head back and laughed. “Not a him, a hot young thing with a keen eye for detecting forgeries.” He raised his eyebrows to indicate just how lush.

  Son of a bitch. All this time he’d been focused on some bloke, and Alex was in his arms, literally. “Short and elfin?”

  “Yeah, Alex Lemoine, a sweet French confection. Imagine a woman who can determine authenticity on sight during the day and snuggle into bed with you at night. The perfect companion. Smart as hell, too. She greeted me in Ukrainian and spoke to some of the American dealers in fluent English. Every deal she handled for Luc went off perfectly, according to my contacts.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “No idea. Her first mistake was trusting Luc. He’d convinced her the work was connected to the cultural office of Warsaw.”

  Everyone in the game profited from using gullible people. Simon, however, didn’t think Alex was the type to be taken in, which explained how she ended up in Oxford and not rotting away at the bottom of a garbage dump.

  Simon smiled for Teodor’s sake. “Sounds like a gold mine. I never knew her name, but I remember hearing about her.”

  “Perhaps she learned too much. I hope he didn’t kill her. It would be a waste of a good asset.” Teodor shrugged, turned to his car, and waved the occupants out.

  Two men emerged, one in a business suit and the other in jeans and a sweatshirt. “Simon, you’ve met Jarek. He’ll help transfer your purchase.”

  The more casual man’s face bore the signs of a man standing in close proximity to a mortar attack. Pock marks, streaks of scarring, and the partial loss of his ear provided him with a sinister appearance, the result of tampering with explosives without proper training. Jarek nodded his greeting and then turned away to speak on his phone.

  Teodor shifted his attention to the guy in the suit. “Leonard is my newest appraiser. Stole him away from the Hermitage.”

  Too bad the guy didn’t realize that his new lucrative paycheck would result in a shortened life span. Sometimes they lasted only a few weeks. Luckily, Alex had street-smarts and was a master of disguise. He temporarily forgave her for stealing his credit card. To survive in his fucked-up world, sometimes people needed to lie, steal, or murder.

  Simon texted his contact and within five minutes, two helicopters approached and landed in adjoining fields. An Arpía Black Hawk, probably purchased by Teodor from a crooked Argentinian general, contained several green boxes full of an arms cache.

  Simon’s team used a Mi-17, stolen from Syria. It contained millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts from Afghanistan, smuggled out by Luc’s connections.

  Teodor and Simon stood as sentries watching the transfer of goods.

  Thirty minutes later, the helicopters took off.

  The arms, now safely flying over the French countryside, would be tagged and sent on to Afghanistan to supply rebel forces. Regrettably for them, the Afghan National Army would be waiting to confiscate the shipment.

  Simon smiled. Nicola would be happy to hear everything went according to plan. After losing her brother to a bullet fired by Taliban forces years ago, she’d committed herself to shifting the flow of guns to the people who would have made her brother safe. She needed to be careful, however, not to lose her soul trying to right all the wrongs of the past.

  …

  Renting a bike and cycling across the island from the ferry terminal, past tall dune grass and sand dunes spilling along the back roads leading to her house, Alex felt the terror of the past few days dissipate. Her father had the resources to protect the family. They’d all be safe with the added protection she’d demand they put in place. She needed to explain to them how deep the danger ran through each of their lives because of Alex’s bad choices. And she wanted to be close to them.

  She wanted to go home.

  After another half hour pedaling, the house came into view. It hadn’t changed in eight years, a noble eight-bedroom refuge on the edge of the sea. Large windows opened up to a perfect view of Nantucket Sound. Memories flooded her, like the summer her father refused to buy her a Jet Ski because she’d failed math class. She’d refused to eat until he’d relented. What a spoiled little girl she’d been. She’d never appreciated her birthright until she’d abandoned it to start over with nothing.

  She turned onto a path two houses before hers, leading to the beach. It would be easier to arrive in the back, the place where everyone always congregated. Each house in the area faced the water across a huge section of private beachfront. The residents granted neighbors the use of their sections to stroll through on the way to Edgartown. Reciprocity among the wealthy, as long as the common tourists stayed away.

  Alex tucked the bike into a row of bushes. It would be perfectly safe. Their section of the island was deserted at this time of year as most of the neighbors remained on the mainland until the temperature tipped over eighty-five degrees. She pulled off her sneakers and dug her toes into the sand. No sand in the world felt as good to her. She strolled along the edge of the water, carrying her bag and sneakers, until the squeal of children in the distance caught her attention.

  The heavy emotions she’d worn for the past few days lifted into a mild euphoria. Her family was here and in sight. A little girl and boy played by the edge of the water. Anna had given birth to a daughter a few years back and a son more recently. Alex could be seeing them for the first time. Too far away to get a clear look, she picked up her pace.

  “Alex.” The voice, low, sophisticated, and deadly, came from behind her.

  Luc.

  Pain and panic ripped through her chest. She almost ran toward her house, but intuition told her to freeze where she was. Glancing over her shoulder, she nearly collapsed at the sight of the man who had transformed from her beloved to her mortal enemy.

  Luc strolled down the beach wearing a white blazer and navy pants, an outfit more appropriate for Saint-Tropez than the Vineyard. His hands were tucked in his pockets as though he had not a care in the world. A stranger might interpret his appearance as carefree and confident. Alex knew better. His handsome face and winsome smile hid his true intent. To kill her. Had she really been in love with him once?

  “Alex. Quelle coïncidence que nous sommes ici ensemble. But perhaps I should be speaking English to you. Impressive for an American to convince everyone around her that she was French. Me included. Alex Lemoine, interesting name, more beautiful perhaps than Alexandra Northrop, but not as prestigious as the missing heiress to the Oak fortune.”

  Lemoine. The name had made sense eight years before. Her favorite artist in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, Jacques-Antoine-Marie Lemoine, provided her with a cover for her simple life working for the auction houses and living in a flat by Saint-Germain. When Luc, a handsome and mysterious art broker, had offered Alex extra income for a few short assignments, the naive girl jumped at the opportunity. She’d escaped a controlling father onl
y to become trapped by an even more controlling lover.

  His arm reached around her shoulders, and he pulled her close. If only she had Henry’s gun right now, she could end this faster than the speed of sound. She did, however, have the knife and a close proximity to her target.

  He switched back to French. “I’m disappointed in you. Running away, hiding your identity. You’ll be punished. Or perhaps we should punish one of your newly discovered relations instead.”

  She refused to speak. What was the point? Action would help her more. She dropped her sneakers and bag in the sand.

  Reaching for the knife with as much stealth as she could muster, she turned toward him. The handle warmed in her grip, the blade pointed toward her target. She thrust it at his heart. She moved fast enough to hit his rib, but without enough force to penetrate the beating organ that only pretended to love her.

  “Bitch.” Luc grabbed for the knife. Alex waved it in front of him, making a dangerous target for a hand to grasp.

  Tightening her grip, she took another swing, but he was prepared and threw his hand into her face to push her away. The impact knocked her back and sent a shot of pain through her nose. Her eyes stung and began to water, obstructing her vision.

  Focus on the goal. Protect the family.

  She stepped toward him again, swinging her arm without pause, creating a better chance at hitting him and preventing him from grabbing it. He moved like a dancer near a limbo stick. He was also bleeding through his shirt.

  Oh my God, he was too fast and too strong.

  She thrust toward his face, but Luc caught her wrist. Before he had time to gloat, she grabbed the knife with her other hand and tried to stab his neck.

  “Enough.” He pulled the arm in his grasp back hard. The force caused her to lose her balance.

  This time, he held both of her wrists, kicked out her legs from under her, and fell on top of her. The body weight crushed down on her and pinned her on the sand. She continued to struggle, but one of his hands freed and pulled her hair until she released the knife. He tossed it toward the water. Searing pain burned her scalp. Tears fell across her cheeks.

  His mouth covered hers to muffle any cry for help. She tried to bite him, but he went on the offense and took hold of her upper lip with his teeth until she stopped moving her head. Her heart beat rapidly against his chest. Luc’s fierce presence muddled her brain, preventing her from thinking of a way out of her predicament.

  She was out of breath and exhausted. He lifted his head up, and Alex saw in his eyes the flaming rage of a man who’d just fought for his life.

  Despite his heavy breathing, he spoke with a chilling control that would offer no quarter to the woman under him. “Remember this, Alexandra Northrop, I will kill each and every member of your family if you ever try to hurt me again. Do you understand?”

  Her nod was impeded by his hand over her windpipe.

  Luc permitted her to sit up while he retrieved her weapon. He then buttoned his jacket to cover the blood leeching through his shirt.

  The children farther down the beach had stopped and stared at them. Two women who may have been her sisters hustled the children into the house.

  Soon, the beach was empty except for a security guard dressed in black walking toward them. Did he work for her family? They’d never had much security when she was younger. Perhaps Anna received her warning, and her father increased their presence. Thank God she had help on the way. If he could occupy Luc’s attention, she could get to the house and warn her family.

  Luc pulled her to her feet, placed his arm around her and squeezed. The pressure hurt her ribs, but she didn’t make a noise. They both limped away from the shore and toward a row of tall dune grass that blocked the view to the house. The security guard followed. She didn’t dare make an escape attempt. Yet.

  The man, older with graying temples and wisdom in his eyes, was enormous compared to Luc. A hero worthy of taking down her enemy. He approached with his hand resting on a revolver hooked to his belt. “This beach is private. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Alex licked her dry lips and tasted blood. The guard had to notice, because his eyes narrowed on Luc and then flicked back toward her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “We’re leaving,” Luc replied, but Alex dug her heels firmly into the sand and braced herself. “Let’s not make a scene, chérie,” Luc added.

  Take a chance with her family or go with Luc where he could torture her and still place her family at risk? She pulled away from Luc to get to the guard, but he tightened his hold on her.

  “I need to see my father, Peter Northrop.” She tried to break free of Luc’s grip, but he held firm, his blood now seeping through his blazer and dripping onto her arm.

  The guard reached for his weapon.

  Alex saw the red light on the side of the man’s head only a moment before his body recoiled and blood oozed from a hole that had shattered his skull. A dull roaring in her ears blocked all sound. Her eyes had taken over all of her senses, and the gruesome image etched itself into her mind as a permanent nightmare. The guard’s expression remained stoic; his mouth hung open like he wanted to speak, despite his death. Alex’s mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out.

  Luc watched the man fall to the ground, shook his head, and then turned to Alex. “I’ve been trying to kill you for months. I’m very tempted to leave your body here with that ugly carcass, but I find the idea of interacting with the Northrops of Boston too intriguing. You’ve screwed me for the last time.”

  Her legs gave way. She dropped next to the man who had come to rescue her. Another fatality because of her. Maybe if she struggled, Luc would kill her and leave her family alone.

  He yanked her up. “Disobedience is never acceptable. The next one down is that little boy with the blond hair. My men have a perfect shot through the side window into a family room.”

  Anna’s son. It must be. The realization that Luc stood in close proximity to her family with an armed assassin ready to kill on command crumbled her defenses and crushed her will to fight.

  “No. I’ll do anything. Please leave them alone.”

  Luc clasped her arm and pulled her toward the street, forcing her to walk away from her home for the second time in her life, this time in bare feet and under armed guard.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The trees in North Carolina had the audacity to bloom green, pink, and white, despite the fact that Henry’s world had crumpled to pieces. Just to spite him, warm breezes flowed among a cluster of modern office buildings. Henry had headed to Charlotte after Simon informed him of Gabe’s unusual purchase of a large television set at a Walmart. Then the rental car company had contacted him after locating the Mustang in a garage within ten miles of that same Walmart. Three days combing this small Southern city, and he’d learned nothing. Searching for her in Oxford had been one thing, but trying to find her in an entirely different country was like finding a granule of sand in a silo of grain.

  His mobile rang during his walk back to the hotel room after another useless day exploring hotels, stores, museums, the railroad terminal, and the bus depot.

  Simon.

  “Any new information? Because no one remembers her in this entire city.” Henry tried to sound more upbeat than he was, but why bother? Simon had already figured out he harbored strong feelings for Gabe when Henry had willingly parted with Lady Elizabeth and the future of the women’s shelter to find her.

  “Actually, I did.” Simon’s voice reflected Henry’s serious mood. “Alex is female. Luc Perrault’s ex-girlfriend. From what my source tells me, she’s a native of France, although fluent in English and Ukrainian. She’s also an experienced art appraiser.”

  Alex is Gabe? The news energized him. It made perfect sense. If she saw Luc at the auction, she’d run away as quickly as possible to avoid the man who had beaten the hell out of her and threatened to kill her.

  Henry could have helped her, and he should have t
old her about his background. Perhaps she would have trusted him to protect her. On the other hand, his training hadn’t provided him with the means to decipher the identity of the most important person in his life. What an idiot. He should have added two plus two and reached four. Instead, he ended up with a small fraction of a personality and nothing of substance.

  “What’s her surname?” Hopefully, it would shed light on her location.

  “Lemoine, but I think it’s an alias.”

  “Alex or Lemoine?”

  “No idea.”

  “No idea?” Henry’s voice lowered, and he squeezed the phone tighter.

  “My source only knew her briefly through Luc. And don’t get your hopes up too high with this information. She has more personalities than the cast of Monty Python.”

  “I can’t stay here any longer. As far I know, she took the first train or bus out of here or hitchhiked with a rock band to Seattle.”

  “Let me see if I can confirm her surname with a few art contacts in Paris. If we don’t have it by morning, you might as well fly home. Talk to you soon.” He hung up, leaving Henry with only a crumb of new information. Enough to make him hungry for more.

  The idea of leaving Gabe in the States bothered him. That blasted hole in his heart had opened wider and deeper. It would never be filled until he saw her again. If he saw her again.

  During his walk back to the hotel, he analyzed everything she’d said to him and everything he’d subsequently learned about her. Control freak father, fleeing the United States for Europe, amazing ability in art, fluent in many languages, abusive boyfriend, hiding out in England. He was missing something important, he just didn’t know what.

  Once in his hotel room, he wrote “Alex Lemoine” on a piece of paper from the desk. He then wrote “Gabrielle West” and “Belinda.” He sketched her acorn tattoo and “L.P.”

  Glancing over at the pile of luggage, he tried to think of where she would go. She didn’t have much with her, except a few hundred dollars and the euros and pounds in her wallet, but she’d probably acquired more from her television transaction. Her suitcase remained by his bed, waiting for her to claim the contents. He’d already searched it over and over again, looking for secret compartments, a scrap of paper in a pair of jeans. Anything. Nothing. She’d abandoned some old dirty clothes on the floor of the Atlanta hotel room, her ingenious way of slipping past everyone at the auction.