To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense)

by Lynne King

  His words failed to register as she stared back at the feverish hue of his skin. Beads of sweat lined his forehead and she resisted the urge to reach out and touch the clamminess. The climate changing from freezing wind to pleasant warmth and the loss of blood was a dangerous combination.

  “Chantelle, you’ll have to go on alone and get help. There must be a farm somewhere around here, these goats have an owner. Find a phone and contact 254-7862. It’s in Limoges so you will need to go through the operator. Ask for Pascal and speak to no other. Tell him the Falcon is down and where to find me. I’ll be all right here until he comes.”

  “The Falcon. What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s simply a code name,” he snapped, clearly frustrated by her questions.

  “It will take hours and I might not even be able to reach him. You’ll bleed to death.” Her voice was panicky, teeth biting into her lower lip as she stared back at him.

  “Trust me.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not about to leave you, not with the taste of that kiss still on my lips and the promise of more.” His mocking smile broadened.

  “I don’t want to be responsible for your death, so help will be the first person I find,” she hissed back at him, angry her feelings were so transparent.

  He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down so her face was in line with his. “Listen carefully. Don’t say I’ve been shot or we’ve parachuted out of a plane. We’re a couple of hiking tourists and I’ve had an accident. If you must, get us taken to the nearest village with a hotel and then find a phone.”

  “David, you’re hurting me.” Her eyes widened with fear and shock as his fingers bit violently into her wrist.

  Immediately, he released her. “I’m sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I just don’t want you to do anything foolish.”

  “Like they’re going to believe I’m a blasted tourist. We hardly look the part…”

  “Chantelle,” he cut in sharply. “If they call in the authorities, we’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do and I don’t think they’ll believe us. Trust me. We could both end up suffering a worse fate than being thrown in a French jail.”

  “We? It’s you who has the explaining to do, not me! I’m merely the victim, caught up in your treacherous double dealings, whatever they are. If you end up in prison, that’s your problem, not mine. I simply want to go home.” She felt so confused, wanting to be angry and hate him, while fearful for his life. “David, I can’t cope with this. You need help urgently.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t expect you to understand this, not after all I’ve put you through, but if you go to the French authorities, by the time they check it out with England, a different story would emerge. The one who arranged your abduction and tried to have us both killed will be the one doing the talking and we’ll be extradited and conveniently made to disappear before you even see a lawyer.”

  “You’re just trying to frighten me. What would be the point of them killing me? I don’t know anything.”

  “You know me, which is already too much. Why do you think they abducted you? It was to get to me. For the first time, I allowed myself to care for someone and that person was the perfect tool to use against me. I did warn you, Chantelle, and now you know why I tried to keep my distance.”

  “So this is my fault? Nothing to do with the work you do, which is what exactly?”

  “Work nobody else wants to dirty their hands with. Now, can we continue this conversation later?” He leaned over and opened his knapsack. Searching inside, he removed a T-shirt and a flask containing water. He held both up to her. Greedily, she drank from the flask and then passed it back to him to take a few mouthfuls. He then returned it to her, muttering she would need it more than him.

  Removing the flying jacket, her torn denim shirt fell away and she slipped on the baggy T-shirt, tucking it into her jeans. David had closed his eyes by this time and she leaned over him to place the jacket around his shoulders.

  Weakly, his arm came up, pushing it back to her.

  “I’m not the one with a fever, so don’t argue and David…” She waited until his eyes narrowly opened. “Forget it.” She shook her head, confused by her actions, yet she couldn’t stop her lips from coming down and fleetingly touching his.

  A weak smile formed. “254-7862, remember.”

  “Yes and ask for Pascal.” Chantelle turned away and didn’t look back as she continued the descent to reach the road they had viewed from above.

  Although it was nearing the end of October, the climate in the central part of France was still very warm, especially on this cloudless day. The valley she was in, shielded by hills that gave way to mountains, made the heat stifling.

  After being on the road for over twenty minutes with the sun beating down on her back and perspiration seeping from every pore, Chantelle’s pace began to slacken, her head pounding. She had tried rationing the water, taking a couple of sips every ten minutes, but the flask felt almost empty and still there was no sign of life anywhere except the odd rabbit that darted across her path.

  Despair took hold. The road seemingly came from nowhere and went nowhere, just endless burning hot tarmac disappearing over the horizon. The vision of David lying up in the rocks bleeding to death never left her. His survival as well as her own rested solely on her getting help. It was the only thing that kept her going. Afraid she would become disorientated since the terrain looked the same in every direction, Chantelle was careful to mark her route by building a pile of small rocks every twenty paces.

  When she first sighted it, Chantelle rubbed her eyes, fearing she might be seeing a mirage, but it continued coming toward her. Tears of relief began streaming down her face. The open-backed truck slowed as it approached, Chantelle standing in the middle of the road waving her arms frantically meant it had little choice.

  Several men stood up in the rear of the truck and looked toward her. She could make out two relatively young men and an older one, all wearing vests, denim overalls and cotton caps, their arms and faces bronzed by the sun. The truck came to a standstill and Chantelle found renewed strength as she pulled open the driver’s door and fell into a fast dialogue of French, surprising herself as much as them.

  Explaining how her boyfriend had fallen from some rocks and cut his leg open badly was met with suspiciously raised eyebrows as the men glanced at one another and then in the direction she pointed.

  “Please, I need help to carry him down. It’s only a short way to the road. I couldn’t, but four strong men could carry him easily.” She pleaded with her eyes, hoping her French was good enough for them to understand.

  They shook their heads, glancing up at the hillside and then back at her. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing rock-climbing attire and the bruising on her cheek and jaw was also attracting their attention. “We’ll take you into a village not far from here and get some help,” the driver finally said in thick French.

  “No, there’s not time. He’s bleeding badly. He’ll die. We must get him down now.” Her voice was bordering on hysteria and she wasn’t even sure now if they understood her.

  The four men began to argue. Chantelle felt the younger two were keen to help, but the older ones were tired and didn’t fancy trekking up the hillside. Desperately, she reached out and gripped the driver’s arm, her voice pleading, eyes brimming with tears. She knew how pathetic she sounded, but couldn’t help it. She was willing to do anything at that precise moment.

  Finally, the driver, who introduced himself as Andre, let out a deep sigh. He shrugged his shoulders and motioned with a nod of his head for her to climb in his truck. She could have thrown her arms around him and kissed him with gratitude, but managed to control herself. She smiled and he smiled back, still shaking his head, but this time in puzzlement.

  The truck soon reached the pile of rocks Chantelle had left, leaving little time for further questioning. When one was asked, Chantelle sipped much needed water from the flask they’
d offered her and pretended not to hear or understand. She pointed up the hillside, but indecision still clouded their faces, so she started the ascent with the hope they would follow.

  It was particularly hard for Chantelle as she was already exhausted, but she pushed herself forward, relieved to hear she wasn’t alone. It didn’t take long to reach David and the sight of his head slumped forward to rest on his chest caused her to sink to her knees in front of him, her hands gripping his face to lift it.

  Immediately, his eyes shot open. Chantelle started to remove her hands, but his came up and gripped her wrists, holding them in place. The blue intensity of his eyes as they met hers spoke more than words could. He released her wrists and looked over at the four men who now stood regarding him and his bloodied leg.

  A water flask was handed over while Andre knelt down and tried to make a closer inspection of David’s leg. Immediately, David placed his hand on his thigh, covering the torn cotton where the bullet had ripped through his trouser leg. He told them in fluent French that a stone had ripped through the muscle and he couldn’t walk.

  The two men who were the fittest and had youth on their side bent down on either side of David, placed his arms around their broad shoulders and brought him upright, his weight evenly distributed between them. The grimace fixed on David’s face revealed his pain, though he made no sound as they slowly made their way back down the way they had come.

  The shoulder strap of David’s knapsack dug into Chantelle’s skin, making her wonder what the hell he had in this bag, especially at his insistence that she carry it and no other. Trailing behind, her thoughts were now on what to do once they were driven into a town. They could find a hospital and end up having the doctors inform the local police that they were treating a man with a gunshot wound. The alternative was risk having David die while she tried getting in touch with his friend.

  Her head throbbed badly now and the responsibility of making the right decision didn’t help. She thought of David’s warning about placing them in even more danger by having the police question what two English nationals with no I.D. were doing in a mountainous area. He had told her to trust him and at the moment, that was all she could do.

  They arrived back at the truck and David was hoisted up into the back and propped up against the cab. His two helpers slumped down on some empty sacks stacked in a corner, cigarettes hanging from their mouths as they closed their eyes, revealing their exhaustion. Andre explained that the nearest hospital was in Tulle, which was quite some distance away.

  “Chantelle.”

  She looked up into the truck to see David motioning frantically for her to come to him. Climbing in, she went over and crouched down. He took hold of her chin and positioned her face so he could whisper into her ear.

  “I don’t want to be taken to a hospital.” Despite the onset of a fever, his voice sounded strong and in control. “Get us to the nearest village and into a hotel and then contact that number. Give me my bag and then tell the driver to come over. I need to speak with him.”

  Chantelle started to protest, but David threw her a warning glare and in the end she called for Andre to come over and dropped the knapsack into David’s hands. She watched as David spoke with the driver in whispered French. All Chantelle could understand was that a deal of some sort was being made.

  At first, Andre shook his head, throwing his arms up as if he wanted nothing to do with what David was saying. The other older French man had come to join him and was also shaking his head, until David reached into his knapsack and held up a stack of French money. All four men were now gathered around David and jovial smiles and handshakes followed as the notes were evenly distributed.

  Chantelle caught a glimpse of a leather-patterned wallet from which the notes were taken and immediately remembered where she had seen it: removed from the body of a dead man. Disgust rose in her throat as she turned away.

  When the truck was started up, Chantelle requested she travel in the back with David. When she was sure the other two men were asleep, she turned to David, certain that they couldn’t speak English in any case.

  “So what kind of shady deal did you fix up this time?”

  “We’re to be taken into a village not far from here that has a small hotel. The driver knows the proprietor well, so he’ll fix us up with a room and access to a phone.”

  “How perfect for you. That is, if you don’t drop dead in the meantime waiting for your friend to turn up. One thing for sure, I won’t be stuck in some hotel room with you.”

  “No?” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to continue.

  “I have my own phone call to make, first to make sure my mother is okay and then to rescue me from this hell you have thrown me into.”

  “You’re wrong. You ring your mother and tell her to go somewhere safe and then you stick by my side until I say it’s time for us to part company.”

  “Go to hell!”

  She tried to move away, but his arms locked around her waist like a vice, his voice hissing threateningly in her ear, “We left four men dead, one of them killed by you.”

  She threw him a look filled with the torment he’d made her remember and immediately, he took a sharp intake of breath as if desperate to retract his words. “I’m so sorry, Chantelle, but I’ve got to make you realize what danger we are both still in. Those men back there are part of a terrorist faction which has contacts everywhere. Not to mention that our own country will be convinced we are a couple of renegades who killed our terrorist friends to get a better deal for ourselves.”

  “My mother knows the truth,” she threw back at him. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  “You risk your mother’s life the moment you speak her name.”

  “Bastard, I hate you.”

  His hand went behind her head and brought her face into his chest, muffling her cries, his fingers buried deep in her hair.

  Chantelle must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, she was being roughly shaken and dragged off David, who was also having trouble coming around.

  “Here, he must put these on to cover up the leg.”

  Chantelle groggily took hold of the very large dungarees which could only belong to Andre since he had by far the broadest waistline. The truck had come to a standstill by the side of the road and in the distance, sloping down a hillside, were rooftops adorned by towers and turrets with a river seemingly running right through the picturesque village.

  “Vite, vite.” Andre’s voice echoed in her ear, his arms gesturing toward David and the dungarees in her hands.

  The two young men came to her assistance by lifting David off the floor of the truck, his arms once again around their shoulders as she took off his shoes and struggled to get the dungarees over his trousers. She wasn’t sure how much they knew, so she resisted the idea of trying to remove them. David’s eyes were like slits set in a ghostly mask and his dried lips didn’t utter a sound.

  The dungarees helped disguise David’s injury, but he looked awful and wasn’t strong enough to stand, let alone walk into a hotel. Chantelle hoped Andre was a man of his word and he and the proprietor were the very best of friends as he had claimed. The truck started up again once Andre was satisfied the dungarees revealed nothing of what lay beneath.

  Late flowering geraniums adorned the honey colored hotel. The building itself looked as if it dated back to medieval years. Andre disappeared inside for what seemed ages before he finally came out and motioned for the two men to get David out of the truck. Chantelle jumped down and Andre immediately pulled her to one side as he explained what he had told the proprietor.

  Supposedly, they had gone off the road in a rocky ravine several kilometers from here last night. David was just suffering from heat and exhaustion, having trekked all night to find help in the wrong direction while she stayed in the car. They needed to rest up for a day or two while they sorted out their car problem and he had been insistent that no doctor was required. Andre shook his head at that par
t as if it disturbed him greatly; simply looking at David was enough to understand his concern.

  Inside, David was laid on the bed. Chantelle thanked the men and insisted they had done enough and she would undress him herself. Once the door closed behind them, she slumped heavily down on the edge of the bed.

  The room she found herself in was modern and airy, nothing like its medieval exterior. Dragging herself up, she went over to the phone. She looked over at David, who laid motionless, beads of perspiration still lining his forehead.

  “Pascal, call him, the Falcon is down.” His voice was a weak whisper, trailing off as his eyelids sank shut again.

  Chantelle bit into her lower lip. Finally, she spoke with the operator and got the district code for Limoges. Dialing the number, she silently prayed Pascal would answer. If not, she was going to have to get David to a hospital. After what seemed like an eternity with her teeth almost drawing blood, a strong Marseille accent sounded on the other end.

  “Is Pascal there please?” She’d decided to ask in English rather than risk getting the translation wrong.

  “Oui, tis I. Who is calling?”

  “My name is Chantelle> I was told to tell you the Falcon is down.”

  “I do not know what you talk about. Who do you say you are?”

  “Please, help us. He’s been shot and has lost a lot of blood and is slipping into a fever. He will die unless he gets help.”

  “Calm down. Tell me where you are and I will get you help.”

  Chantelle relayed the name of the village and the hotel.

  “Good, help will be with you soon. In the meantime, you stay in your room. Do not leave.”

  “But how long will it take?”

  “I don’t know. Several hours at least.”

  “He can’t wait that long.”

  “Where has he been shot?”

  “In the thigh.”

  “Then he will live.” The phone went dead, leaving Chantelle to stare back at it in horror.

  “Chantelle.”

  Hearing her name snapped her out of it. Going over to David, she tried to sound confident. “Help is supposedly on its way, so I better try and keep you alive until then.”