Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  Luc seemed uninterested in Roman and Simon’s relationship, except where it made him money. “We should meet before you both fly back to the UK. I may have some interesting business developments to share.”

  Roman nodded toward Luc and then clasped Simon’s arm in a gesture of friendship. “We look forward to it.”

  Several more people arrived. Simon watched Alex greet them, most likely in their native languages. She winced a few times and shifted her stance, but otherwise held herself together. Luc and Roman also watched the front door.

  “I see you met my wife Alex,” Luc said to Roman.

  “Beautiful. Fluent in Russian. You’ve done well for yourself.” Roman’s love for beautiful women never caused too much harm. He preferred women who were willing and available, although he often began his flirtations before a woman’s prior relationship ended.

  “She’s a gem.” Luc’s face showed more of a scowl than admiration until he turned his attention to the large marble staircase. Simon’s eyes followed.

  Dressed to kill in a black low-cut cocktail dress that flared out from midcalf, Nicola sauntered right into Luc’s arms. He kissed her as though staking a claim. Ballsy move in front of the new wife. It also told Simon how disposable the women were.

  “I think you both know Nicola.”

  Roman nodded and greeted her with a kiss on the back of the hand.

  Simon glared. “We know each other intimately.”

  Luc slipped his hand up toward Nicola’s breast. “Ah. Yes. You were together for a year or two. I remember. Should I separate you at dinner?”

  “Don’t bother.” She waved her hand breezily. “It will make the meal much more interesting for all involved if we get to rehash his infidelities over chilled melon and prosciutto.” Nicola glowered at Simon. She always looked fantastic glowering.

  “Very well. Shall we head in?” Luc linked arms with Nicola and called over to Alex’s guard. “Help my wife into the dining room, Pascal.”

  A major slight in the presence of a roomful of people, but Alex seemed content to remain aloof. Simon, on the other hand, preferred a beautiful escort on the walk to the dinner table. He drifted back to the door, maneuvered himself between Alex and Pascal, and assisted her to the dining room. Pascal followed them like an ass tethered to a horse.

  “Nice evening,” Simon commented in Gaelic, a language learned from his mother’s Scottish relations. He walked with a slow pace so she could limp along beside him.

  She nodded. “Pleasant.”

  “How do you like living in Paris?”

  “Crowded and loud.”

  “Not a city girl?”

  “No. But don’t worry, Luc promised to place me in a small plot of my own real soon. I’m not greedy, though, I intend to share it with him.” A shimmer in her eyes materialized as she spoke.

  “Very considerate of you. Any place in particular?”

  She sighed, her eyes drifting away to perhaps a memory. “I imagine living in a rural town, near an ancient castle, perhaps with a horn blower to close the small square on a rainy night.”

  “I know a town exactly like that.” Simon grinned at her.

  She lifted her head and pushed back her shoulders as though preparing to take on the burdens of the world. “Mine exists only in my dreams.”

  “Dreams are funny things. Just when your life turns into a nightmare, you wake up and realize the best is yet to come.” He squeezed her arm and made a silent vow that he’d get her out of this mess. The sadness in her eyes ripped at his conscience. After all, he’d sent her directly into Luc’s clutches.

  Simon’s own dream, the woman dressed in black, escorted an enemy to dinner. He hoped to pull Nicola away from this hellish existence as well as Alex, but Nic possessed a stubborn streak of infinite duration.

  Luc seated Alex to his left. A lush redhead flanked him on the right side. He focused solely on the redhead. His wife focused solely on the dinner.

  Simon sat between a French model wannabe and Nicola. Roman sat on her other side.

  During the fourth course, consisting of cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce, Roman dominated Nicola’s attention. His hand slid below the table. Despite the glowing admiration she beamed toward Roman, Simon recognized that she was reaching her limit by the tension in her neck.

  He turned away from Martina something-or-other and placed his hand on Nicola’s shoulder, stopping her conversation with Roman. “Roman, my friend, don’t go setting your sights on Nicola. She’ll be pretty well used up after her stay with Luc. If you want, I’ll set you up with someone who will appreciate you.”

  The blaze erupting from Nicola’s eyes toward him became warm and friendly as Roman’s hand shifted back to his lap. The tension in her neck relaxed, and her shoulders softened under Simon’s touch.

  “Blonde or brunette?” Roman asked.

  “Blonde. All the way, if you know what I mean.”

  They both laughed, and Nic grinned as though she appreciated a good joke that demoralized women.

  “Are you heading to Zurich next week?” Roman asked.

  “I was thinking about it. I need to discuss my present requirements with Luc before I make any final decisions. If I go, I’ll bring Belinda and her friend. We can double-date.”

  “I like how you think.” Roman raised his wineglass to him and then turned away from Nicola to focus on his other dinner companion, the wife of a major donor to the Musée d’Orsay. Regrettably for the museum, her husband’s tax-deductible donations included more reproductions than originals.

  Nicola angled her head toward Simon and frowned. “You can unhand me now.”

  “I could.” He rubbed his fingers across the base of her hairline. “I’m wondering what it takes to please a woman like you.”

  “Money, gifts. In fact, Luc gave me a present this morning. Something you never did.”

  “Jewels?”

  Nicola grinned while trying to shift his hand off her. “Better. A painting. Some lady on a horse. He told me I could store it here indefinitely.”

  Good. The painting showed up earlier than he’d planned.

  “He’s generous. It makes sense to abandon all we’ve been through and run to his side.” His fingers continued to massage her.

  She sighed as he brushed one of his fingertips over the edge of her ear, a sound he wished he heard in his bed at night.

  Turning her game on, Nicola changed her sigh to a sneer. “You and I had nothing.”

  “Didn’t we?” Simon’s hand dropped away from her skin. He tucked the lingering heat in his fist. “I seem to remember making love on the plane to Fiji and riding bareback for hours on the beach.”

  Their conversation drew a few stares from their neighbors, but Luc remained intent on making the redhead his conquest for the night and missed their bantering.

  “We never went horseback riding together.” Shaking her head, she lifted her fork and stabbed a shrimp.

  “I never said we did.”

  “Pig.” Nicola spoke louder than proper, and most guests now looked in their direction.

  Simon smirked at the audience. “You miss me, admit it.”

  Luc turned away from the redhead toward Simon and Nicola.

  “Are you all right?” he called across the table.

  “Fine.” Nicola flashed a smile toward Luc and waved off his question. “If you’ll all excuse me, I need some fresh air.”

  She pushed out of her chair to stand, but Simon placed a hand on her shoulder again, keeping her seated.

  “Don’t bother, I was just leaving.” He rose and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, Nic.”

  He walked to Luc at the head of the table and shook his hand.

  “Thanks for dinner. We’ll talk in a few days.” Then he lowered his face and spoke in a hushed tone only Luc and Alex could hear. “If you have the wife out, leave the bitch in the bedroom. She annoys me.”

  …

  Henry had moved all of his and Simon’s things t
o a hotel closer to Alex. The place offered room service and clean sheets, a vast improvement from Simon’s hole-in-the-wall existence.

  Waiting for Simon to return from dinner took patience and a quick walk past Luc’s house to make sure everything appeared secure. Returning to the room, Henry paced, pretended to read, and watched television until Simon arrived at ten.

  “You’re early.” He tried to sound cool and detached, but Simon had always read Henry’s emotions as though they were broadcast through a megaphone.

  Simon pulled off his jacket and threw it on the dresser. “I accomplished my goals.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s putting weight on her leg, so it can’t be too bad. I’m trying to pull her hospital records to see the extent of the damage.”

  “Did you speak with her?”

  “Only briefly. I walked with her into the dining room. Luc was too busy escorting his new mistress.”

  “What?” Luc had to be an arrogant sod to treat women with such disrespect.

  “It’s obvious Alex isn’t there for love. She’s not even there for the sex. I think the mistress is staying in Luc’s bedroom.”

  Simon’s comments triggered an unexpected release of tension in Henry. The existence of Luc’s mistress could protect Alex from Luc’s abusive sexual proclivities. Yet he still couldn’t understand why she went along without a fight. “He beats the hell out of her and treats her with disdain. Why would she marry him?”

  “Blackmail.”

  Simon made sense. Luc probably aimed for a share of the Northrop fortune, exactly the son-in-law Mr. Northrop tried to protect his daughters from. Alex, on the other hand, cared only about her family. Her love for them was evident in the brightening of her facial expression when she spoke about them.

  “You’re right,” he said. “She’s sacrificing herself for her family. The security guard was killed by an assassin, maybe in front of Alex. A duffel bag containing her possessions was found at the scene. And what about her niece? I showed you the report earlier. The hit-and-run occurred outside of her house. No one’s caught the suspect. Alex won’t make a move for fear Luc will do more than merely hospitalize her kin.”

  “She’s pretty tough. She’ll be fine until my contact figures out a way to sneak her out.”

  Henry nodded, but remembered what she’d said to him in Edinburgh. It won’t be over until one of them was dead. The muscles in his legs, shoulders, and neck tightened, and his heartbeat deepened into a heavy pounding. Her plan didn’t involve escape.

  “No. She won’t leave. As long as Luc is alive, her family’s at risk. Why didn’t I see this before?” He found it difficult to speak the words with his throat constricting.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “She’ll protect her family no matter the cost. She’s going to kill Luc or die trying.” Henry jumped up. The tension moved to his chest. “I have to stop her.” Grabbing a gun from the dresser, he headed toward the door.

  Simon called after him. “You’ll be the cause of her death if you show up guns blazing. Think. You never reacted like this in the service.”

  Henry paused. The reason for his actions struck him in the gut like a lead bullet wrapped in lace. “I’ve never had so much at stake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When the last guest departed, Alex lumbered toward her room with Pascal close on her heels. “Can you hold my crutches a minute?”

  He obliged her by pushing her into the oncoming stairs. Her wrist hit one stair and the cast slammed hard into another. The pain shot throughout her body and caused her eyes to tear up. She stayed in the awkward position, inhaling and exhaling until the stabbing ache receded. Pascal stood over her grinning like a schoolyard bully.

  Her gown had ripped in the fall. It didn’t matter, though. She didn’t intend to wear it again. She forced herself into a sitting position and caught her breath. The marble chilled her through the thin material and sent an arctic shiver through her limbs. If Luc thought she was tormenting Pascal, he’d hurt one of her sisters or the children again. She needed to hold herself together until they were safe.

  With a burst of adrenaline, she struggled to stand. The crutches remained a few feet away on the floor. Lifting the dress past her calves to prevent herself from tripping again, she climbed step by step. The pain in her leg made for a slower climb, but it also prodded her forward, a warning of things to come if she didn’t buck up and fight.

  Luc had left the table with some redheaded tramp named Matilde. The girl was looking for a shortcut to wealth and would find that shortcuts typically led to dead ends. But she might provide Alex a few extra hours to figure out a way to finish this game tonight.

  Limping toward her room, she maintained a certain distance from Pascal. He didn’t seem worried about her trying to escape. Instead, he mumbled apologies into his phone for his long absence from whatever desperate female he’d convinced to date him.

  She entered her bedroom and shut the door, leaving Pascal on the other side. The lock clicked into place. Luc had arranged to keep her in, but not him out. Dragging herself over to the bed, she leaned against the headboard and elevated her leg with a pillow. After a few minutes, she shifted her foot. As much as the position helped the swelling, her leg felt as though fire ants were swarming under the cast. She kicked the pillow aside with her other leg and let her broken leg rest flat.

  They’d left her with nothing in the room to use as a weapon. No lamps, statues, fireplace tools. They’d even taken her crutches. Only two Queen Anne chairs remained by the window. The heavy brocade curtains over the windows wouldn’t help her, either. She had nothing.

  She wouldn’t rely on anyone else. Were Simon and Nicola allies or enemies to her or each other? She didn’t know who to trust anymore. The dining room had quaked from their open hostility. After Simon had left, Luc knelt at Nicola’s side and caressed her shoulders to ease her fiery emotions. She’d left dinner early, while Luc had escorted the redhead to someplace comfortable to discuss “opportunities.”

  For the moment, Nicola and Alex shared a common imprisonment. Luc would never allow Nicola to walk away from him, even while he was interviewing someone else for her job. They had to stay put and wait. Hopefully, Nicola would be free after Alex figured out an escape from this nightmare existence.

  The handle to the door turned. Luc walked in. His blazer was gone and his shirt untucked. He looked like a man who’d just finished screwing a redhead. He shut the door behind him and wandered slowly to the bed.

  “Alex, darling, you look tired.” She hated when he called her darling. He’d called her darling before raping her the first time, and the word now burned her ears.

  “Exhausted.” Every tired muscle alerted, ready to fight.

  “Feel free to fall asleep. I’ve decided to consummate our marriage tonight. Your body is all I need.” He spoke as though molesting her was a bore, but a necessity.

  Icy fear spread through her veins. She shifted to the opposite side of the bed. Rejection would infuriate him, but she couldn’t convince herself to cooperate with his demands.

  “Don’t play hard to get. I’ve already had my share of dominating someone against her will tonight, and I’m not in the mood to call Pascal in to hold you down.”

  The thought of Pascal seeing her so vulnerable soured her stomach and stopped her retreat.

  “That’s my girl.” He stretched over the bed and pulled her toward him. “You’re mine, Alex, until your death. Never forget that.”

  She scanned the room again, in case a magical weapon appeared since Luc had entered. No such luck. He had the upper hand.

  He brushed her hair back. “I miss your long hair. If you live long enough, you’ll have to grow it out for me.”

  Kissing her shoulder, he slowly unzipped her gown. Alex shivered at his touch. His fingers felt like a scorpion crawling on her skin, waiting for the right moment to sting. The gown loosened; a strap slipped off one of her should
ers. Her body began to tremble. How do you fight a man who strips down your defenses, both physically and emotionally?

  “You’re so beautiful. The perfect complement to my art collection.” He kissed behind her ear and grasped a bunch of her hair to expose her neck. “If you behave, we could do amazing things together in the art world.”

  She tried to back away. His hand had twisted her hair through fisted fingers.

  The grip on her hair tightened, and he wrenched her head back. “What the fuck is this?”

  The stabbing pain he caused stole her breath. “What?”

  He yanked her hair again and threw her back onto the bed. “You altered my mark.” His face reddened to crimson, and his lips curled.

  The tattoo. She’d forgotten about her layover in Washington, DC. “I didn’t know we’d be getting back together. I guess we can change it back.” She struggled to keep her voice from quavering.

  “Change it back? Who the hell is ER?” He spit out the words.

  He’d kill her for having another man’s initials on her, even if it was only the man’s title and not his name, so she reached into her memory for a woman. “Eleanor Roosevelt. She’s my role model.”

  “You lie.” He slapped her face.

  She threw up her hands to press on the stinging. Her stomach twisted with fear. “The Queen of England?” The words came out between sobs.

  “Wrong.” He slapped her again; her ear ached as though a hammer had struck it. Tears formed in her eyes, and she struggled to get away. She wasn’t ready to die. He pushed her off the bed by kicking her cast. Loud screams came from her mouth, but no one arrived to help her. Landing hard on the floor, she ignored all the pain and shuffled toward the fireplace. Not even a damn log available to launch at him.

  Through her tears, she focused on the Queen Anne chairs. Twins, made of a hard oak. She couldn’t break them into pieces in her condition, but maybe she could break his head with one.

  Before she reached them, Luc arrived at her side and kicked her in the stomach, his shoes slicing through the thin material and scraping her skin. The wind knocked out of her, she gasped for air and coughed, barely breathing.