“A little. But I can sit here and watch you.”
“Slave driver.”
His tone said he understood her true meaning. They’d shared many moonstruck gazes over the past twenty-four hours.
Being together made this overwhelming chore more bearable. With paint flung all over the walls and floor, gouges in the walls, and the broken window, the insurance adjuster had suggested bringing in a contractor to redo the entire room. The crew couldn’t come until Monday, but clearing away the debris was a step toward healing.
Better still, they’d pushed everything to the sides and Michael had set up one of the display easels from the gallery. This morning he’d bought a mid-sized canvas and some basic brushes and paints. The white rectangle shone like an invitation.
Amy loved what the persistent, unbreakable act said about him.
Aunt Bay tapped at the door frame. “I’m going over to Safia’s. I’ll be back when Emilie’s car leaves.”
“Chicken.”
Michael’s aunt shot him a mock glare. “Cluck, cluck. I suspect the drama level will be high today. This way, I won’t say something I’d regret.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re known to speak your mind, but I’ve never heard you regret it.”
“Let’s not put that to the test.”
Amy pushed to her feet and stretched her legs. “She’s not here yet, is she?”
Aunt Bay shook her head. “I’ll see you later.”
“You’re not taking those fresh cookies, are you?” Michael added one last scrap of canvas to his bag and tied it shut.
“Only some.”
Michael made a show of checking his watch. “Break time. Come on, Amy. The cookies are calling.”
They followed Aunt Bay down the stairs. Michael’s arm around Amy’s waist pulled her close. “Coffee and cookies on the couch. Might lead to kissing.”
This was real. The love in his tone, the current between them. The belonging. Suddenly December seemed too far away.
Amy leaned into his hold. “Kisses you can have. But that’s all until our wedding.”
Michael stopped on the bottom stair and turned to face her. “Amy, I take the Bible seriously. I’ll never let things go too far before we’re married. Even if it means a lot of cold showers.”
She kissed the tip of his nose. “My mother taught me the consequences by example. Gilles was horrified. But he loved me enough to wait.”
“But you lived together.”
“So do we.”
“In a one-bedroom apartment.”
“With a couch. You can ask — um — Nathin. He and Gilles were very close.” Amy winked. “That’s why we had such a short engagement. Now, where are those cookies?” She headed for the kitchen.
She hadn’t finished her coffee when Emilie arrived. Nestled in the circle of Michael’s arm, Amy watched the car approach. “She must be beyond mad. I’ve never seen her drive slowly like that.”
Michael sighed. “She took Gilles’ death hard. I’ve tried to be a surrogate brother, but I think I created a monster. I never meant to hurt her.”
Today’s guard intercepted the girl before she reached the house. Amy and Michael shared a look. Neither moved until the doorbell rang.
Michael bypassed the code and took Amy’s hand before opening the door. “Let’s be gently clear about this from the beginning.”
He exchanged a few words with the guard and stepped back to let Emilie in.
The girl hadn’t just changed her hair colour this time. She’d done a complete makeover. Amy blinked a few times and tried not to stare. Light brown hair in a subdued style, enough like Gilles’ that it might be her natural shade. Minimal makeup, understated clothing and jewellery… was that a cross on her necklace?
As soon as the door closed behind her, Emilie’s eyes welled. And targeted Michael. “I can change. Be whatever you want. You like plain women? I can be plain. Dull. At least until we’re alone.” Her voice dropped to a throaty purr on the final word. She held out pleading hands. “I can give you way more than she can.”
Practice makes perfect. Amy barely caught the words before they burst out. Her cheeks warmed.
Pity washed Michael’s face. He shook his head gently. “Emilie… never sell yourself out — not for anyone. You’re worth so much more than that. I’m sorry it hurts you, but Amy and I belong together. I never meant to give you any other impression.”
Emilie wilted against the door, hands behind her back, head drooping. Her shoulders shook, and she indulged in a few loud, gulping sobs.
Amy twisted to look at Michael, and she mouthed what do we do?
He shook his head.
With a lung-shuddering sigh, Emilie seemed to pull herself together. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. Sniffing, she faced them. “It’s because of your poor paintings, Michael. You’re not thinking clearly. Let me see what that awful person did to you.”
Michael led the way upstairs. Emilie tugged Amy’s arm and pulled her back a step. Eyes glittering, she hissed, “This isn’t over. You’re gone. Today. Michael is mine.”
And Amy’d been worried about Michael’s stability? “Em, it was only a dream. He’s not even your type.” She freed herself from Emilie’s grip and sped after Michael. Surely the girl wouldn’t try to get rid of her by staging a fall on the stairs?
Breathing hard, Amy reached Michael’s side and took his hand.
He turned, a gentle frown wrinkling his forehead. “You okay?”
“She’s not. As soon as she’s gone, we need to call Luc. I’d do it now, but who knows what she’d do if I left you alone?”
His eyes widened. “Spare me.”
Together, they stepped into the wreckage of the studio. The blank canvas spoke hope to Amy. Out of destruction would come fresh beauty.
Emilie followed them in. The room looked much better after their efforts, but to someone who hadn’t seen the worst, it was clearly a shock. Hands to her mouth, Emilie stared around at the piles and garbage bags. She mumbled something that sounded like a French curse.
She picked her way to the window and peered through the plastic. “Someone’s out there!”
Amy kept her eyes on Emilie while Michael hurried to look. “Nobody’s there.”
“He was moving fast. Under the trees. From the water.” Whimpering, Emilie clutched at Michael’s arm. “What if it’s him — the one who did this? Coming back to finish the job?”
“Emilie, calm down. I didn’t see anything.”
“He’s there! Your guard has a gun, right? Please, make him check!” Her voice shook. She let go of Michael and sank to the floor, resting her head against the wall.
Amy caught Michael’s puzzled look and shrugged.
He pulled out the security device Del had given them, and pushed some buttons. “Hi, it’s Michael. Our guest thinks she saw someone running in the back. From the water toward the house. Could you check it? Thanks.”
He ended the call and punched another code before slipping the device back into his pocket and crouching beside Emilie. “He’s going to look, okay? And he’ll phone me back. Take some deep breaths. Do you want me to get you some water?”
“No! Stay — both of you. And call Aunt Bay to come in here with us. It’s safer if we’re together. What if he gets into the house?”
“Aunt Bay’s at the neighbours’. But we’re safe here. You’ll see.”
Michael came back to Amy’s side. He leaned close, his breath warm on her ear. “Something’s definitely wrong with her.”
Emilie thumbs moved over her phone, then she rested it on her leg. Amy muttered to Michael, “That better not be a social media update saying she’s in danger.”
“More likely a panic text to a friend, who’ll spend the next ten minutes worried sick.”
The way Emilie stared at her phone made Amy think Michael’s guess was right. “I hope she didn’t text Luc. He might believe her.”
Michael went back to the window. “This is blurry, but I can see the gua
rd. There’s nobody else moving around.”
Emilie’s phone blared a heavy metal ring tone. She reached for it in slow motion and held it while the song played.
Walking back to Amy, Michael made a gagging face.
She grinned. “Emile? Are you going to answer?”
The girl looked up. Suddenly pale, she touched the screen. “Hello? No, I’m not all right. I’m still scared. They don’t believe I saw anything, and that guard’s wandering around but he’s not really looking, and what if the guy’s really there and he comes into the house?”
Michael’s pocket buzzed. He answered the security device. “Nothing? Thanks for checking it out.”
Emilie was still prattling on the phone.
Michael spoke over her words. “Emilie.”
She flinched. And paused, mouth open.
“The guard says there’s nobody out there.”
Instead of responding, she spoke into the phone. “I only came out here to help Michael, but he doesn’t see, and I don’t know what else to say, and where are you—”
“Enough.” The voice, harsh and clipped, came from behind them.
Amy was already in motion when Michael pulled her to the side. Away from the doorway.
The intruder was dressed in black, with a black stocking over his head. Black gloves. Black gun, targeting Amy and Michael. His free hand flicked at Emilie. “Put that away now. You played your part well. Where is the old woman?”
“At a neighbour’s house.”
“We’ll move quickly, then. Collect their phones for me.”
White-faced, Emilie climbed to her feet. Approaching Michael first, she held out her hand. “I’m sorry. It has to be this way. You’ll thank me, later.”
“Emilie—”
“Silence.” The command was more frightening for its low tone.
Michael passed over his cell. “Or what, Ross?”
Emilie started at the mention of his name. Then her chin firmed. “The other one, too. The one you used for the guard.”
Michael took his time complying. When the device left his hand, he seemed to deflate.
Too-bright eyes drilled Amy. “Now you. This is all your fault.”
“You know I don’t always have my phone on me. Remember the time it took two days for me to see your text?”
“You got it right away. You were just playing with me.”
Ross spoke. “It’s in her back pocket. I saw it when I arrived.”
Sighing, Amy surrendered her cell. Would they notice the less-bulky outline of her security device in her front pocket? If not, how could she send an alert? God, help?
Ross held out a plastic bag for the phones. When Emilie dropped them in, he said, “Yours, too.”
“What? Why?”
“You don’t know what kind of spy-ware Amy may have planted on your phone. Get a new one.”
Amy squealed a protest, but Emilie tossed her phone into the bag without another word. The girl stalked back to Amy. “You should have obeyed the warnings I sent.”
Michael’s arms came around Amy and held her tight, as if he feared Emilie would take her by force. “You sent the warnings?”
Ross snorted. “Surely you didn’t think anything so clumsy came from me?”
Emilie stiffened. “It was your idea!”
“To frighten her. Not to scare her out of reach. Luckily for us both, she’s too besotted with her painter to leave.”
“You’re taking her away now. You promised.”
“I will.” His voice took on a pensive tone. “The beheaded doll. I wish I could make that prophetic, but they’d never believe it of you.”
“Believe what?”
“You, my feisty little infidel, are going to kill them both. Beheading is military. Instead, you will shoot them, overcome by grief at their engagement. Then, in remorse, you will shoot yourself.”
Emilie threw herself at Michael. His arms holding Amy didn’t move. “Michael, let him take Amy away. He won’t really shoot her. He’ll make her Muslim and find her a good home. Away from here.”
Amy’s throat closed. She knew what happened to women abducted by Muslim extremists.
Michael held her tighter. “Why hide behind a woman, Ross? It’s not the military way. Have you gone soft, living here?”
Ross spat a string of foreign sound. “I surrender my personal satisfaction for the greater good. My work brings others into the fight.”
Amy twisted her neck to stare at Michael. “What are you doing?”
“What would Del want us to do?” Meaning layered his tone.
She forced her mind to concentrate on the puzzle. Del… wanted evidence. Had installed cameras and microphones in the house. Amy gulped. “Be careful.”
Michael lifted his chin at Ross. “Have you even seen battle? You can trash paintings, manipulate young women. Sabotage airplanes—”
Emilie gasped. “You didn’t—”
Michael pushed on. “You’re always in the shadows, Ross. Aren’t you good enough to fight with the big boys?”
Another snarled curse. “Do you think I like polluting myself in the cesspool of North America?”
“It beats being shot at. Dying. Plus I’m sure you enjoy the amenities.”
A barrage of foreign words seared the air. “Infidel dog! You should take days to die. But I am a good son. A good servant of Allah. I will obey my father.”
“You serve out of fear. You’ll never be enough to satisfy either of them.”
Emilie whimpered. “Michael, did he really kill Gilles? I thought she was lying about the crash being sabotage.”
“I’m sorry.” Michael’s voice held infinite regret. “If I’d known you’d been talking to him—”
“Enough.” Again the military tone. “Emilie. You will shoot them.”
She was crying now, shaking so badly while she clung to Michael that Amy could feel it on his other side. “I — I don’t have a gun.”
“I do.” He produced a second one, small, compact, efficient-looking.
Emilie fell to the floor, sobbing. “No! I didn’t—”
“Stand!”
She bounced to her feet. Positioned herself between Michael and the gun. “It won’t work if you shoot us this way.”
“True. Perhaps Amy found the two of you together, and fired the shot in jealous rage. Then, of course, killing herself.”
Amy slid from Michael’s arms and ducked behind him. With his torso blocking Ross’ view, she wrenched the security device from her pocket and engaged the emergency call signal. How could help arrive in time?
“Step out from behind them. Now.”
Amy locked her arms around Michael’s waist and rested her forehead against his back. She’d rather be between him and the gun, but not when it meant being in front of Emilie. What might the girl do?
Michael spoke again. “So you kill us. My paintings don’t move that much money for you, and losing a second child will destroy Luc. Don’t you need his dealerships either?”
“Renaud has another daughter. Grandchildren. And a wife.”
“Have you not seen him lately? The man is crumbling. One push and he topples. How many laundry schemes do you have in place?”
“More than you know. Emilie. You will step aside. Now.”
“You promised I’d be with Michael!”
“You will be. In death. Move.”
Emilie screamed at him.
Michael lunged as if to catch her. “Emilie, you don’t have to be in front. But we have to stay together.” Had she tried to rush at Ross?
Amy squeezed Michael’s ribs. “We can move together.”
He stepped forward, guiding Emilie.
Amy followed, still holding onto him.
“Stop!”
“Shoot us like this and you’ve lost your cover story.” Michael kept them moving. Faster.
Something crashed through the plastic over the window. Crackles, bangs and the sound of shots filled the room.
Michael sho
ok free of Amy’s grip before the object thudded into the debris. He dodged Emilie and charged at Ross. “Amy. Emilie. Down!”
Forget down. Amy ran after him.
Ross hit the floor, cursing. Amy fell on Michael, and felt Emilie land on top of her.
A new voice shouted, “Put that fire out. Then get these civilians out of here.”
Amy lifted her head. The room swarmed with men. Two smothered flames with their jackets. Another helped Emilie stand, then reached for Amy. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, but she stayed upright. Seconds later, Michael pulled her into his arms and she was drowning in his kiss.
He drew back and stared at her. “Are you okay?” One hand stroked from her temple to her jaw.
Amy nodded. If she spoke, she’d be crying. Instead, she held him as tightly as she could. The trembling started anyway.
Michael spoke against her hair. “I knew something wasn’t right, so I pinged Del when I spoke to the guard. Took them long enough to act.”
The guard was there, too. With a grim hold on a manacled Ross. Someone had pulled off the stocking mask, and their attacker’s face burned with hatred.
Del stood in the doorway, surveying the room. “Michael, Amy, Emilie, come with me. Woody, keep a leash on our warrior.”
“You got it, boss. A very short one.” He sounded like he hoped there’d be a reason to use force.
One arm around Amy, Michael urged her toward the door. He stopped and turned back. “Emilie? It’s over. Come on.”
She burst into tears and ran to him. “I didn’t mean any of this to happen! He said he’d help me — not do this!”
Michael nodded. “We’ll go downstairs, and we’ll talk about it, okay?”
Emilie spun and marched straight to Ross. “You’re an embarrassment to true Muslims. You, you… terrorist.” She spat in his face and stalked away.
His face twisted in hate, and a torrent of invective flowed from his lips. The spittle slid down his cheek into his beard. The guard made no move to wipe it off.
Amy followed Emilie, quickly before she gave in to her own desire to retaliate. Kicking a restrained man where it hurt would put her on his level. Where she did not want to be.
Michael’s hand holding hers made a warm spot. The rest of her body felt like ice.
Without Proof Page 25