Alarm washed over her. “You told him?”
“I thought having a destination would look better than running away.”
“Sorry, you’re right. Not understanding the language makes me tense.” She supposed the stranger was harmless.
“Not being in charge makes you tense,” he teased.
“That, too.”
“I didn’t tell him our names or show him our identification.”
“Yeah, but he can describe us and our destination.” The edginess at the back of her stomach wouldn’t go away.
“How’d you grow up in Louisiana without learning at least some Cajun French?” Ford picked up the pace.
“I thought business courses would be more useful.” Rhonda had studied French, Spanish and German with no thought of a career, while Devin had wanted her own business. They had never competed with one another, not over school or men. Devin hadn’t coveted any man Rhonda had dated. Until Ford. And she wouldn’t take advantage of Rhonda’s death by pursuing Ford now—no matter how many sparks sizzled between them. “A lot of good economics and business courses are doing me now.”
“All knowledge comes in handy. My brother, Max, is an inventor. In a pinch he can make perfume or a bomb. He’s earned a fortune from his inventions, but you’d never know it by the way he lives.”
“You don’t approve?” Her legs ached, and talking helped keep her mind off muscles throbbing from unaccustomed use. At home, she jogged daily, but biking used different muscles. Her rear might never recover.
“Living on a plantation suits Max. He works in the lab out back and leaves the farming to employees so he can spend time with his family. For fun he races speedboats on the world circuit.”
“And your older brother, Craig?”
“He started an import-export business that spans the globe.”
She turned to look at him. “Is something wrong with that?”
“Ever since Craig lost his wife in a drowning accident, he’s withdrawn from the world. He still runs his business but not with the fervor he once had. He won’t look at another woman, never mind go out. He barely speaks to anyone, including the family.”
“I’m sorry. What do your parents think?”
“They worry about Craig, approve of Max and me. Although they don’t understand why I’m so driven in business, they’ll back me as long as I’m happy.”
“What do your parents do?” she asked.
“Mother spends a lot of time hosting charity events. Red enjoys his retirement and keeps busy playing golf. Both do their own thing while trying to keep up with their granddaughter, Skye.”
His parents sounded ideal. Her parents had shown their love through the strictness of discipline, afraid if they coddled her too much, she would grow up spoiled. How would she have turned out if her parents had given her more freedom? If she hadn’t had to fight them for everything she’d wanted for herself? “Your family sounds wonderful.”
“They are. I love them.” His simple words echoed in the night air.
And she liked the way he so easily admitted his love. Ford wasn’t a man to hide his feelings. Nor was he embarrassed by them.
If only she could be like that. She told herself she’d tracked down too many cheating husbands to believe in happy ever after. But it was more than that.
“What about your parents?” he asked.
“My folks were so strict they sucked the joy out of life.” So strict that following rules had become a substitute of taking chances with her heart. She’d never been able to be herself with a man.
“What do you mean?”
“I learned early on that if I wanted to please my parents, I had to pretend to be what I’m not.”
“You were a tomboy?”
“And I loved sports.”
“They wanted you to be their little princess?”
“Yeah,” he got her. “And I wanted my own business.”
“And they wanted a son-in-law and grandchildren?’
“I wasn’t the best daughter,” she grinned. “I fought them every step of the way.”
“But I’ll bet they are proud of you.”
“I doubt it. But if they are, they would never say so.” And the thought caused her pain that she shoved down deep.
Soon the road narrowed, dark pines closed around them and the sweet scent of resin mingled with wildflowers and grasses. The road edged a gurgling brook for a while in the moonlight, and she’d have thought their journey romantic if she weren’t so tired, thirsty and worried about the Black Rose’s pursuit.
As if risking their lives wasn’t enough, she was finding it harder and harder to control her infatuation with Ford. She couldn’t forget his strong arms gently cradling her in the truck. Smelling enticingly of cedar, he’d felt so good, she’d ached to burrow under his shirt and run her palms over his skin.
But it was conversation with him that made her realize how much she enjoyed his company. He had a way of talking without criticizing, a way of bringing up his point of view without making her feel as if she had to defend her own views that made talking to him so easy.
Shifting on the hard seat, she tried to ignore his physical closeness. “You and Max were identical twins, yet your parents encouraged you to follow your own interests. Mine wanted me to be like Rhonda, head cheerleader, homecoming queen, Miss Popularity.” He turned his head sharply, and she wished she could see his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with what Rhonda chose, it just wasn’t the life I wanted. My goals are different from my parents’ hopes for me, so no matter what I accomplish, I’ll always be a failure in their eyes.”
His resonant voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “That’s not fair to you.”
No kidding. She spoke past the tightness in her throat. “In some ways, my parents’ attitude has made me tough. I know how to choose what I want, how to say no. I’m not afraid to try new things. And I’ve failed often enough to know it won’t kill me.”
He remained silent for several minutes, then spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear him above the noise of the wheels. “Rhonda thought she was a failure when she miscarried.”
“She thought if she couldn’t give you a child, she’d lose your love.” Devin coasted to give her legs a rest.
“I told her she was all the family I needed, but she insisted on going to a fertility clinic. That’s when Norton Industries bought shares in the Kine clinic, and I became a member of the board of directors. Rhonda never complained about the painful fertility shots. When the test-tube baby was finally implanted, she was so happy I thought maybe the pain and heartache had been worth it. When the miscarriage almost killed her, I forbid her to try again. I didn’t want her risking her health. I didn’t want to lose her.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what I could have done differently.” She guessed he’d agonized for a long time over the past, but hadn’t imagined him so torn by guilt. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Children were vital to Rhonda.”
“Sometimes I think she wanted them more to please me than for herself.”
His insight surprised her. Had her cousin wanted to be a cheerleader and homecoming queen, or had she pursued those goals to please parents, teachers and friends? Perhaps she hadn’t known Rhonda as well as she’d thought.
“I failed to convince her she was enough to keep me happy.” His words turned harsh, bitter. “I blame myself for her death.”
“Why?” Despite the warmth generated by the long bike ride, a shiver rippled down Devin’s spine. She studied his granite expression, but shadows hid the distress she knew he must be feeling.
“The day she died, we’d taken a helicopter up the mountain to ski on the glaciers. We’d been on the slope only ten minutes, and I’d skied a bit ahead. When another chopper flew overhead, I paid little attention, thinking it carrie
d more skiers. And then—” He stopped speaking.
Rhonda had died months ago, but time hadn’t lessened his mourning. The endless, dark road in the cold, empty countryside and her physical discomfort magnified her grief. “Tell me the rest.”
“I pulled up to wait for Rhonda and saw several puffs of snow burst above her. Gunshots from the helicopter started the avalanche.”
Devin sighed, wishing she didn’t need to hear the rest of the story. But there were gaps in the police reports and stories in the press. Any new information might help them identify the assassin. “I couldn’t trace a name from the helicopter’s rental agreement. The assassin paid cash for the flight. The pilot disappeared. He must have used a fake name, because my contacts couldn’t find anything on him.”
“If I hadn’t survived, everyone would have assumed the avalanche was a freak accident.”
His countenance didn’t change, but his voice lowered. Only her growing sensitivity allowed her to recognize the agony he was feeling.
“A recent warming trend had loosened the snow,” he continued. “After the gunshots, the mountain shook. Rhonda fell and tumbled. A wall of snow broke off the mountain’s face and slid, the roar of falling snow louder than thunder. She screamed my name. I tried to reach her, but snow swept me away, and I landed in a protected pocket. But she was buried beneath twenty feet of snow.”
Tears burned her eyes, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I’d stayed next to her, I might have saved her.”
“You’d have died together,” she insisted. “You’re feeling guilty because you survived and she didn’t.”
His voice turned icy cold. “How do you know what I feel?”
“I loved her, too.” He remained silent, and she coasted to a stop. “Are you okay?”
He halted, too. “I’ve been better.”
She wished for the right words to comfort him. “The grief never goes away completely, at least for me it hasn’t. I don’t care what psychologists say. Getting even, revenge, justice—whatever you call it—will repay my debt and help ease the grief.”
“I loved her.” His words slipped out slowly, as if against his will. “She was the perfect wife. I should have known better than to propose to Lindsay Betancourt, but I didn’t want to run away from the world like Craig has. Although no one could replace Rhonda, I thought I could settle.”
A subdued shudder rippled through her. He’d spoken with such matter-of-fact calm, but she heard the truth in his words. Rhonda had been sweet, loving, kind. Perfect. Any disloyal thoughts she’d had of taking her cousin’s place in Ford’s heart died.
“I miss her, still,” he said. “Scotch didn’t help. Neither did working longer hours. Or other women. By marrying Lindsay, I hoped to regain at least part of what I’d lost, but the part of me that wanted to be a husband died with Rhonda. How could I have been so stupid?”
“You were hurting and vulnerable.” She identified with his sorrow, the gut-wrenching burning inside at the thought of Rhonda’s needless death. If she could never repay Rhonda the debt she owed, at least she could find her killer.
“I don’t know anything about marriage,” she said, “but I suspect each couple is different. You can’t expect another woman to be Rhonda. And if she tried, for your sake, she’d be someone she isn’t.”
Moonlight glinted on his grim lips as he started to pedal again. “Even if I did that with Lindsay, you still didn’t have the right to kidnap me.”
She rode slowly to keep pace. “Are you sorry you came?”
“I’m tired, sweaty and thirsty. This seat is getting harder by the second. Ask me later.”
Leaving the pine forest behind, they found dawn brightening the sky. Sunlight broke through the mist-wrapped, blue-velveted mountains ahead, ending the intimacy they’d shared in the darkness.
She pointed toward church spires, tall towers, vineyards and a sparkling lake. “That must be Neuchatel. We’re almost there.”
Less than a half hour later, they proceeded through an ancient gate onto a wide avenue bustling with honking cars, the clop of horses’ hooves and Swiss businessmen rustling their morning papers. Walking their bikes under dappled arches, they passed sandstone buildings. Queen Anne’s lace, lavender bells and pink alpenrose spilled out of flower boxes, their scent sweetening the morning air.
They agreed on an open cafe and crossed a charming square dotted with tiny blue forget-me-nots, and purple pansies no bigger than a two-franc coin. After parking the bikes outside, they entered the cafe, greeted by the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. At the enticing scent, Devin’s mouth watered in anticipation. “I’m starved. Order for me, please.” She headed to the rest room.
On the way out, she gasped at the sight of herself in a mirror. Dirt streaked from her temple to her chin. Her hair was windblown and tangled. She grimaced. After washing her hands and face, she tamed her hair into a French braid.
She returned to their table to find Ford gone. Where was he? Her appetite diminished in a wave of concern. He’d left without an explanation.
She was just about to search for him, when he strolled through the cafe’s front door as if he owned the place. His dark hair was slick, his black lashes spiked with water droplets. A dark shadow of a beard showed off his arrogant chin and the hard sculpted planes of his cheeks. He looked more handsome than he had a right to after spending the night on a bike. He’d obviously taken time to wash. But the men’s room wasn’t outside.
“Where did you go?”
Ford floated a napkin onto his lap. “I borrowed a phone and made some calls.”
“Gustave was at the bank this early?”
“He has a reputation for being at his desk before dawn.”
She leaned forward, anxious to hear. Gustave’s information was critical in their search for the Black Rose. Following the banking trail and searching for sellers of black roses were the only clues they had. “So, what did he find out for us?”
Ford spread his hands, palms up. “Not as much as I’d like.”
Her hopes plummeted. Had they come all this way to go home in defeat?
“Gustave was abrupt and sounded terrified,” Ford continued. “He said the money entered the bank and both times was transferred to London the same day. He claimed he didn’t know the name on the account.” Devin drummed her fingers on the table. Those funds had been wired from Dr. Henschel’s account in the United States to Bern, where Rhonda had been murdered, in two payments—one a week before her death, the second a day after. Following the money trail had not only become crucial to finding Rhonda’s killer, but vital for them to stay alive. “Perhaps someone else at the bank—”
Ford shook his head. “No one else has access to what we need.”
The Black Rose had closed down every lead. Grendal was dead. The banker wouldn’t talk. They were at an impasse. The chance of finding Rhonda’s killer seemed more remote than ever. Ford appeared to take the bad news in stride, yet, by the telltale muscle flickering in his jaw, she knew better. He wanted the assassin as badly as she did.
“I don’t want to raise your hopes,” he said, “but I phoned my partner. Martin and I discussed ways to trace the bank wire in England.”
She frowned, not at all pleased he’d called the States. His partner might be his best friend, but that didn’t mean Martin couldn’t accidentally let their whereabouts slip to the wrong person. Norton Industries’ phones could be tapped.
“What do you mean, you discussed ways to trace the transaction?”
“Norton Industries has friends in the British government with access to the information we need. In addition, I spoke to my secretary, Anne Baines—”
“That wasn’t smart.”
“It saved time. Sometimes risks have to be t
aken. Anne is a crackerjack researcher and has the resources to follow up on your suggestion about sellers of black roses. I asked her to look into where we could purchase black roses. Since we tossed the phones and are on the run so it’s a little difficult for anyone to call us back.”
“You’ve just widened the circle of people who know where we are. If one of them slips, the Black Rose could pick up our trail again.”
Ford ignored her scolding. “I trust my partner, and I trust Anne. You brought me along to help. You wanted me to use my contacts. That’s what I’m doing.”
She was probably being paranoid, but when he’d told her he’d made a call, her neck had started itching. Perhaps the sensation was just caused by dried sweat on her neck from the long bike ride. She settled for scratching, but she wanted a bath and she needed sleep. Complaining wouldn’t erase the calls he’d made. If he’d somehow alerted the Black Rose to their whereabouts, she couldn’t do much about it now.
But their partnership wouldn’t work if he made decisions without consulting her. “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. But next time, before you call anyone, could we discuss it first?”
“Sure,” he replied easily enough, but she could tell he thought she was overreacting.
Maybe she was. Her eyelids felt so heavy she could barely keep them open. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep. “You think we could find a hotel room?”
“Come on.” Ford stood, tossing bills onto the table. “We’ll order room service at the hotel.”
He found them a second-story room with adjoining doors that opened to a wraparound balcony overlooking the street. After breakfast, Devin showered and crawled into a plump bed, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
SHATTERING GLASS awakened her, sending her thoughts whirling and her body rolling. Shards burst into the room, splattered across the floor, landing on the sheets and carpet.
A man plunged through her window. Her heart shot into her throat. She rolled to the far side of the bed, onto the floor, and grabbed the gun from her purse.
Born in Danger Page 8