by Deanna Chase
Jon-Luc wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror with his hand. He’d left this morning before he had a chance to shave, and his face was feeling a bit itchy. As he ran the razor up his throat, he mapped out the rest of his evening. He’d phone room service and have something sent up while he made his calls to the States.
Both calls were to the east coast, so the time difference was perfect; they were six hours behind France. He grabbed a wash cloth and wiped the rest of the shaving cream off his face and neck, then tossed it along with the damp towel over the shower rod. Naked, he made his way over to the bureau. He slipped on a pair of boxer briefs before stepping into a pair of jeans. He dialed room service, then fastened his pants while he listened to the phone ring.
While waiting for his sandwich to arrive, he called his friend from WITSEC. He searched the database while Jon-Luc was on the phone, but found no one by the name of Michael D’Arcy in the system. He promised to check a couple of other avenues and get back to Jon-Luc tomorrow.
Next he called a good friend of his, Jake Spaulding.
He’d met Jake years ago through Frank Thibodaux. Frank had known many gifted people around the world. Jake had a big ranch in Texas that had been in the family for over a hundred years. On the side, he did a little paranormal investigating. He was what people referred to as psychic; he had the gift of sight.
But as far as Jon-Luc was concerned, his real talent was what he could do with a computer. The guy was fearless, and knew no bounds. He could get in and out of any system without leaving a trace.
The phone rang four times. “Jake, how the hell are you?”
“Luc. Shit man, long time no hear. What've you been up to?”
“Oh, you know, this and that. What about you?”
“Well, right now I’m out in the stalls sponging down one of my mares with cool water. She’s about to drop a foal any day and she’s miserable, poor thing. The fact is it’s hotter than blazes out here. She implores me with those big brown eyes, as if begging me to just take the damn thing already. I wish I could, but I’ve got to let nature take its course. Just a second.”
Jake pulled the phone away and yelled, “Jorge, would you mind taking over for me in here? I’ve got to take this call in my office.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jake.”
“Thanks.” Jon-Luc heard footsteps, then a chair screeching before Jake was back on the line. “Sorry about that. So, how are you holding up, buddy? I haven’t talked to you since Frank’s funeral. It’s got to be tough, man.”
“I’m hanging in there, thanks. Actually, I’m in Paris right now. I just had to get away for awhile.”
“Good for you. Never been there myself. Don’t go anywhere I don’t speak the language.”
“Smart man. I’ve got a friend over here I thought I’d visit, met him back at Quantico. I think I’ve mentioned him. Claude?”
“Oh, yeah. How is Claude these days?”
“He’s got a really nasty case, a serial killer. I’m helping him with it.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Jake said.
“Only if I help him catch this guy.”
“You forget, I know you. If anyone can, it's you. Is your gift helping?”
“Actually, something weird has been happening. I’m starting to see through the killer's eyes. It’s not like a vision or a dream. When it starts, I’m blind. I only see what he sees.”
“Shit man, don’t you be driving any cars while this is going on. You could kill yourself and take a few with ya.”
“Hadn’t thought of it in that context, but you’re right. I’ll be careful. Do you know anybody who's gone through this? Or, better yet, a way I can stop it?” Jon-Luc said hopefully.
“Nope, not that I’ve heard. But I’ve got to say there must be a reason you’re going through it. The universe is trying to tell you something and it’s making damn sure you listen.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Have you gotten any clues to help identify the killer?” Jake asked.
“The victims know him.”
“That’s something,” Jake commented.
“Not enough.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. That little tidbit of information would take a regular detective a long time to find out, but because of your gift, you have cut the work in half. Be thankful for that at least.”
“I hate to ask, but can you see if you can get anything?”
“No problem. Give me a second.” Jake took a deep breath and Jon-Luc listened to dead air for a few minutes. “This killer is close to you. That comes in loud and clear. He’s close to Luc.”
“As in he’s staying in the same hotel? He’s stalking me? What?”
“Sorry, buddy, but that’s all I’m getting.”
“Great,” Jon-Luc said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hey, you know how it works as well as I do. We can’t pick and choose what the universe decides to share with us.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry." Jon-Luc ran a hand through his wet hair. "Just frustrated, I guess. See, there’s this woman—”
“Whoa, you’ve met a woman? Great, fantastic, it’s about time.”
“No, it’s not like that. Well, maybe it is. It’s just, I'm worried she may be a target of this killer,” Jon-Luc finally spit out.
“Ah, now I get it. So you’re emotionally invested in getting this creep so it’s clogging up your brainwaves. It may be making it harder for you to read the visions than normal, because you’re pushing it, so to speak.”
“You could be right. It doesn’t help that this psycho is taking me with him when he kills. It’s as if I’m the one doing the deed myself.”
Jake let out a breath. “Man, that’s got to fuck with your head.”
“To say the least.”
“Buddy, I wish I could do something. If Frank were here, he’d probably have the answer.”
“Yeah, he would.” Jon-Luc stared at the ceiling.
“Have you seen him? I mean, since he passed?”
“No, and believe me I’ve tried. I wish I could talk to him. What the hell good is this gift if I can’t see the one person I actually want to?”
“I hear ya. I’ve tried to talk to my wife, Natalie, since she passed five years ago, and nothing, nada, zip.”
“I think it’s some kind of big cosmic joke being played on us,” Jon-Luc said, irritated.
“Or, it’s for our own good, a way for us to move on. If we could spend time with our loved ones who have passed, we would rely on seeing them and never grieve properly.”
“I hate it when you get all philosophical on my ass.”
Jake laughed. “Yeah, I know. You also hate it when I’m right.”
“Ha. If you say so. Anyway, I called to see if you could help me. We have a suspect with no background and I figured if anyone can come up with something, it’s you.”
“Sure, buddy, I’ll give it a try. What have you got?”
“The name is Michael D’Arcy, age 22, from the States.”
“Not much to go on. It’s probably going to take some time, especially if I’m going to be delivering a foal within the next twenty-four hours, which I predict.”
“Then it’s going to happen. No worries, but the sooner you can get the info back to me the better. Like I said, I've got a vested interest in this one.”
“You got it. Take care of yourself over there. Maybe when you get back to the States we can plan to get together. Mercy has been missing you.”
“Right, like a horse could miss a human.”
“Trust me, she misses you. I didn’t say she had good taste.”
“Fuck you very much." Jon-Luc chuckled. "Look, thanks. I really appreciate you taking the time to do this, I know you're busy. I’ll be looking forward to your call."
After he hung up the phone, Jon-Luc had an uneasy feeling. The killer was close. Wonder what the hell that meant? Then someone knocked on the door.
; 18
Jon-Luc opened the door to room service. The waiter came in and set up his dinner before he left. Jon-Luc sat at the table, and flicked on the TV for entertainment. The news was on and he watched the female anchor tell about the latest grisly murder by the Seine Slasher. He ate his roast beef sandwich absently, his attention drawn to the story to see how much information had leaked to the press. As he munched on a fry, he wondered if the killer was watching the same show.
The killer is close.
Jon-Luc abandoned his half-eaten sandwich and grabbed his jacket. Before he left the room, he phoned the front desk to hail him a cab. By the time he’d gotten down to the lobby, the doorman was holding the taxi for him. He tipped the guy before he jumped in.
The lights of the city disappeared and darkness enveloped him. Only the stars kept him company as the car sliced through the night on its way to Chateau Beauchamp.
He had to see Angie.
He hoped she would still be awake. It was half-past ten and he had no idea of the hours she kept. When he reached the front door, Mamie let him in and escorted him to the ballroom. The door was ajar.
Angie was in another world. Her head bent forward as she guided the edge of a dress through the sewing machine. The only sound in the room was the tap-tap-tap of the machine. She was alone. Jon-Luc enjoyed watching her; he was loath to interrupt, but he had this innate need to get closer.
He closed the distance between them, then just when he was upon her, her head jerked his way and she jumped. The machine stopped. A shriek escaped, then she put her hand to her chest.
“You scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry. I should have giving you fair warning."
“Uh, yeah. That would have been nice.” She slid sideways in her chair and faced him. “What brings you out here? Do you have news?”
“Sorry, no. I just wanted to see you." Jon-Luc glanced around, then back at Angie. "Want to take a walk?”
She stared at him for a second and he thought she would refuse. “Sure, I could use a break.” She glanced at her watch. “Jeez, I had no idea it was so late.” She stood and stretched, her long body reminding him of a cat as her arms reached for the sky. She rolled her shoulders, then her head. When she'd finished, she looked at him expectantly.
He stared at her, momentarily lost in her eyes.
She broke the silence. “Lead the way.”
“How about we take a walk around the grounds?”
“Works for me.”
They followed a path that wound through rows of flowers; the garden was lit with lanterns every ten feet or so.
“How are you holding up?” Jon-Luc asked.
“Barely. The show is too close. I could use another week. We’ve hired help, but it’s just not enough with everything that’s going on. I’m having a hard time focusing.”
“I bet.”
“We need to hire another girl to take Claira’s place. But everyone’s scared. No one wants to come to Paris. I’ve already fitted all the pieces to Claira's measurements. Which means I may need to start over with her replacement. That is, of course, if we can find one.”
They found themselves at the gazebo. Angie sat on one of the benches and Jon-Luc sat next to her.
“Wow, that sounded cold." She bowed her head.
Jon-Luc placed his hand over hers in her lap. “No, I understand. You’re under a great deal of pressure right now. It doesn’t help that people are dying around you, or that your life might be in danger as well.”
She gazed up at him. “Thanks for understanding. Yes, I’m terrified of course, and the only way to keep my mind off it is to work. I can’t think about myself. I must stay focused for Madame’s sake. I can’t let her down. This show is way too important.”
“I don’t give a damn about the show, I care about you.” He felt her stiffen. “Wait, that came out wrong.”
“Why should you care about the show? It’s not your livelihood. You’ll solve this case and be off to the next. But this is my life.” She held his gaze with steely determination.
“Is it? Is this really what you want to do with your life?”
“Designing is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So to answer your question, yes, it’s what I want to do with my life.”
“No, I mean, I would have thought you would want to start your own line. I don’t see you as the type of person who'd be satisfied working for someone else.” He raised his brows and waited for her response.
Her body relaxed and she grinned sheepishly. “You’re right, of course. That’s where I want to be ultimately, but Madame has given me a fantastic opportunity. In this show we're going to feature some of my designs. I’m learning so much more than in school, or from Emmanuelle Stone.”
“Who is Emmanuelle Stone?”
“Just another line I worked for. It doesn’t matter now.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Have you seen Michael today?”
“Whoa, you could give a girl whiplash changing subjects so fast.”
Jon-Luc laughed.
“He’s busy like the rest of us, so he’s in and out,” Angie said.
“Tell me about him.”
“What’s to tell? He’s a nice guy, painfully shy. He’s eager to please. Always asking if there’s anything he can do for you. Madame relies on him big time. He runs all her errands, makes her appointments, anything she needs.”
A chill suddenly rent the air. Jon-Luc moved his gaze from Angie’s face to just above her shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. They were not alone. Five women stood side by side, holding hands.
The dead models.
Three he’d seen in real life, the other two he recognized from the crime scene photos. Blood oozed from their open wounds. A sixth figure stood to the side, not joined with the others. Jon-Luc recognized her as Melody Waterston. Blood dripped from the gashes on her wrists. Tears dropped slowly down her cheeks.
The fact she stood separately was a clue. He knew it, but what? Was she killed by the same person? Were the others killed because of their involvement in her death?
The moment the thought ran through his mind, Melody's head nodded once. So that was it. They were on the right track. But why were they here now, was there something more? This time Lexine nodded once. Tell me! The thought screamed through his head.
The apparitions turned around and started to walk away. Jon Luc jumped up to follow.
“What is it?” Angie’s voice broke the spell.
Jon-Luc glanced down at her, then back. They were gone. He swore under his breath.
She frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”
“Is Michael here?” he asked.
“I think so, he was here at dinner. He usually hangs out in his room.”
“Would you take me there?”
“Sure.” She got up and led him back to the house.
They went in through a side door that led to the kitchen.
“He lives in the main house?” That disturbed Jon-Luc on so many levels. If this guy was the killer, then all the security in the world wouldn’t work because he obviously had a key.
“He lives in the servant’s wing. Why?”
“Well, the driver lives above the garage and you were in the guest house. I guess I thought he lived . . .I don’t know, elsewhere.”
Angie gave him a curious look. “It’s a big house.”
She stopped in front of a closed door. “Here it is. What are you going to do?”
“I just want to talk to him.” Jon-Luc knocked on the door and waited. There was no sound from inside, so he knocked louder. When no one answered, he tried the door. It was locked.
“Is there another way out of this room?” He asked.
“There’s a window, but we’re on the third floor.” She looked at him like he’d sprouted horns.
“Do you have a master key?”
“There’s one in the kitchen on a peg board, why?”
“I just want to have a look around.
See if maybe he packed his stuff and left.”
“I don’t think Michael would do that without telling Lissette.”
“Might as well see for ourselves. Do you mind getting the key for me?”
“I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”
“Do you think Michael is the killer?” Jon-Luc challenged.
“No, of course not,” she replied with confidence.
“Then let me investigate, so I can at least clear his name. Then we can focus our energies elsewhere.”
Angie pursed her lips and thought a moment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ll be right back.” She ran off down the hall.
Jon-Luc knocked again loudly, then put his ear against the door to make sure no one stirred inside. The guy could be a deep sleeper. He was eager to talk to Michael; there were so many questions that needed to be answered.
When Angie got back, she was out of breath. Without saying a word, she handed him the key. Jon-Luc opened the door and looked around. The room was empty, the bed made. His accommodations were not as grand as Angie’s. Functional was the word that came to mind; a bed, dresser, nightstand, a lamp. No photographs anywhere, in fact, nothing at all that would reflect his personality.
Jon-Luc opened drawers and searched the contents. The clothes were nicely folded, nothing seemed amiss. He ran his hands along the bottom of each drawer to make sure nothing was taped there. He opened the closet and found the same. If this guy was running, he didn’t take enough for anyone to notice.
He checked under the bed, then between the mattress and box springs. Next he moved to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet held the usual toiletries: shaving cream, aftershave, toothbrush and toothpaste. He lifted the back off the toilet tank. Nothing there either. Disappointed, he turned to see Angie watching him.
“That's a bit invasive, wouldn’t you say?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“No stone unturned,” he said as he passed her on his way back into the room.
Angie put her hands on her hips. “Something tells me you’ve already decided Michael is guilty of something.”