Portrait of a Girl

by Luanna Stewart

  A stiff breeze and the need to visit les toilettes roused her from her pity party. Just in time to watch a tall, balding man stroll past the garden gate and enter the hotel. Something about him raised the hair on the back of her neck, and she glanced around the enclosed garden. She could leave by the gate, but go where? The garden itself had nowhere to hide.

  She was being silly. There was nothing to suggest the bald man was interested in her. He was probably meeting his mistress for a little predinner canoodling.

  She was halfway to the hotel door when the tall man appeared in the opening, accompanied by the clerk, helpfully pointing her out.

  He approached while reaching inside his sport coat. She flinched, bracing herself to be shot. When he pulled out a wallet and showed ID, she laughed at her own silliness. Expecting a villain around every corner was ridiculous.

  “Mlle. James, I am Inspector Pierre Laroux, of the National Police. Please come with me to make an identification.”

  “Ah, I don’t think so. I’ll wait for Tony Simons and he can take me.” Had they found Jeffers? Could this nightmare finally be over?

  Laroux shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid that will not be possible, if, as we suspect, the body we have found is that of Agent Simons.”

  Heather fell onto the nearest bench, blood roaring in her ears, wine churning in her stomach. Lunging toward a bush, she threw up, gagging and heaving until she no longer had the strength to remain upright.

  Tony? Dead? No, it couldn’t be. He was too smart, too experienced, too important.

  She huddled on the grass, tears streaming down her face, hoping she’d wake up and discover she’d fallen asleep on the bench, lulled by the sun and the wind whispering through the trees.

  “I am sorry to be the bearer of such tidings. We should go now.”

  Heather shook her head. “I can’t. One of the local officers can make the—I can’t.” She sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. This couldn’t be happening. Tony would come into the garden any second, with his loose swagger and cute smile. Any second. He had to.

  “I have to insist, Mlle. James.” He grabbed her arm in an iron grip and pulled her to her feet.

  “Let go of me! What the heck are you doing?” Her protests fell on deaf ears. He dragged her toward the wall. She grabbed on to the branch of a tree, dug in her heels, but the man just pulled harder.

  Unfortunately they didn’t enter the hotel where she could have screamed for help, but went through the gate and immediately into a waiting car. Laroux sat in the back with her, his hand like a manacle around her wrist. She grabbed for the handle, and he pinned both hands. Her flailing legs were trapped under his powerful thigh. In short, he sat on her. She stopped struggling and tried to get air into her lungs. She needed to think, and her brain needed oxygen in order to function. There was a way out of this mess, and she’d find it. She was smart, resourceful. She took a deep breath and concentrated on what was happening. She had to stay alert. Her chance to escape could come at any second.

  Any second now.

  An even bigger guy, who barely fit in the front seat, drove like he was in a rally, taking corners so quickly the car went up on two wheels.

  Small houses with well-kept gardens flashed by. It wasn’t long before they’d left the town behind and were speeding through the countryside. She should have enjoyed watching the scenery. Except she was buried under a large man who’d forgotten his deodorant that morning. And she was scared to death. Convinced that Laroux had nothing to do with the police, and was no doubt taking her somewhere convenient to be killed, she started to shake.

  Why would he want to kill her? Did he have something to do with the missing picture? Was he another former associate of her dad’s?

  Gee, Daddy Dearest really knew how to pick them.

  After a few minutes of silence, she’d had enough.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t know who you are, or what you’re thinking, but you can’t just kidnap me and think you’ll get away with it. The local police—”

  The backhanded blow smacked her cheek with such force her head hit the side window and she saw stars. She’d always thought that was a figure of speech. But she really did see stars, hundreds of them, dancing before her eyes. And they continued their show even when she closed her eyes.

  Now one of her hands was free, at least. If only she could see straight.

  Laroux and the driver conversed in rapid French and she was unable to pick out any words. Except merde. There was lots of merde being discussed.

  Giddy, she swallowed a giggle. No doubt the result of her head injury. She touched the spot that had made contact with the window and winced, not surprised to find a good-size lump. She’d have a doozy of a headache soon, if she lived that long.

  Right, her life was in danger. There had to be something she could do. But being wedged into a corner of the backseat and held so tightly her hand had gone numb left her few options.

  Well, no options, if she was honest with herself.

  But maybe this meant they weren’t taking her to identify Tony’s body. Her stomach gurgled ominously. It would serve Laroux right if she puked all over his pants, the bastard.

  Bâtard was another word the two men were using with great frequency.

  She clung to the hope that Tony lived and would search for her when he discovered her missing. Whenever that was. Heck, he was a master at not communicating, and she had no idea where he was, or when he’d planned on returning to the hotel. Surely by suppertime. Any time within the next few hours. Plenty of time for something nasty to happen.

  No, I won’t give up. I’ll stay alive until he comes for me.

  Villages and lone dwellings flashed by, merging into one colorful panorama. The headache she’d predicted arrived with alarming force, and she kept her eyes closed against the pain. The slowing of the car woke her from a half slumber as they entered the narrow streets of a large town filled with cars and pedestrians.

  Now was her chance.

  She tensed, but a sharp tug on her arm and a hissed “don’t even think of it” had her settling into the corner again. Damn the bastard for reading her mind.

  Once on the outskirts of the town, the car sped into a forest. The setting sun disappeared behind the barren trees, plunging them into twilight.

  A sign reading Montigot flashed by, and she committed the name to memory, in case it became necessary to give her rescuer directions. Like, if he called on her nonexistent cell phone.

  The car slowed radically and pulled onto a dirt track. They traveled a few minutes and were out in the open again, in front of an impressive château with most of its windows boarded up.

  The car stopped, and the fake inspector dragged her from the car and up the worn, uneven steps. No one else appeared, no one to appeal to for help, although she suspected it would have been a waste of breath.

  “Hey, you’re hurting me,” she cried, pulling ineffectually against his grip. Dang, the earth had better stop moving soon.

  That jerk gave me a concussion.

  Laroux didn’t answer but merely propelled her down a long hall to a stout door. One equipped with a wooden bar reminiscent of pictures she’d seen of dungeons.

  She was pushed inside and landed in a heap, having tripped over a low, sagging cot, the only piece of furniture in the room. There was also a carafe of water on the dusty stone floor and a bucket in the corner. She mentally cringed at the thought of having to use such a crude commode. And then living in the same room with it.

  The sound of Laroux’s receding footsteps told her she was alone. Not even birdsong penetrated the tall windows, covered with heavy shutters fastened tightly with screws.

  A brief search of her accommodation uncovered no handy weapon or secret door. Lack of a light switch meant it was going to get very dark, very soon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tony tore up the stairs to the top floor of the hotel and pounded on Heather’s door. The idiot at the front desk had been un
able to tell him anything useful. Just that a large man had come to visit the mademoiselle earlier, and he hadn’t seen them leave.

  Goddammit, he should have insisted they leave an officer on guard during the day.

  When the door remained stubbornly shut, Tony backed up a pace, took aim, and launched his foot at the door, hitting the wood just above the knob. A satisfying crack echoed through the empty hall, and the door swung open. Tony knew at a glance the room was empty. But Heather’s purse sat on the bed.

  Cursing like a sailor, he descended the stairs three at a time and emerged into the lobby just as Gaston arrived.

  “Mon dieu, what is this? She has gone?”

  Tony swore under his breath. “I’m sure she’s just gone for a walk and forgotten the time.” Which didn’t make sense. She had no money and didn’t know the town, and it was dark.

  He’d told her to stay put. Damn stubborn woman.

  Gaston raised his eyebrows in the Gallic gesture that meant “who the hell do you think you’re kidding,” turned to the clerk, and had a rapid conversation. Too rapid, and too local for Tony to keep up. Every other word was lost in a guttural shrug, but he made out that Gaston was getting a description of the large man.

  Gaston slapped the clerk on his back, making him take a step to keep his balance, and turned to Tony.

  “So, this is not such good news. I think the man was Pierre Laroux, a former associate of Jeffers.” He paused. “Forgive me, my English is not so good. He is un fou, crazy?”

  The clerk piped up. “A maniac.”

  Both Tony and Gaston shot the clerk an evil look, and the little man busied himself moving papers from one pile to the next.

  Gaston cleared his throat. “To continue, I thought this Laroux had gone to the devil, sent there by Jeffers when they parted ways. He has not been seen in these parts for many years. It seems he lives, and I am now concerned for the health of your young lady.”

  Tony couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his body. Heather in the clutches of a maniac. A former associate of Jeffers. Did that mean her father had known the guy, too? Had she met Laroux before? Had she gone willingly?

  No. I don’t believe she had anything to do with her father’s crimes, or with these other men.

  “Where do we find this Laroux?” He headed for the door, needing to be in motion, needing to start the search. Needing to find Heather.

  Gaston trotted behind him. “Come, we will take my auto. There are a few people we can visit. I will get on the radio. Not to worry, she has been gone only a few hours.”

  Tony climbed into the passenger seat. He’d much prefer being behind the wheel, in control of at least one thing. But he recognized the intelligence of letting Gaston drive. The Frenchman knew the area, the roads and the small, hidden lanes. Particularly since nighttime in the French countryside was darker than dark. Even so, Tony found himself pressing his right foot to the floor, urging the small car faster.

  Gaston busied himself with his radio, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. And his worries. Damn, if she’d gone willingly with Laroux, there had to have been an important reason, some excuse that would make going with Laroux more attractive than waiting at the hotel. Pulling his cell from his jacket pocket, he called the hotel.

  “Tony Simons here. Tell me again what that guy told you.”

  A few minutes later Tony disconnected and waited for Gaston to finish his call.

  “Nothing new. The front desk clerk is sticking to his story that Laroux identified himself as being from the Police Nationale and went into the garden, where Heather had been drinking wine. No one saw either of them leave the hotel. Dammit, where is she?”

  Gaston flickered him a glance, his face softening with emotion. “She is more than a witness, n’est-ce pas? I see how it is. We will hurry.”

  He stomped on the gas pedal, giving Tony some idea of the car’s power. These little French cars might be small, but the engineers had hidden some cojones under the hood.

  Tony didn’t dispute his relationship with Heather, their key witness. But from now on that’s all she’d be. He had to maintain a professional distance. Forget for the time being that he was probably falling in love.

  An hour later they were back at the hotel, having found no clues as to Heather’s whereabouts. The Abbaye struck midnight as they parked the car, and neither man moved.

  “So what do we do now?” Tony rubbed his eyes, hoping he had enough Excedrin in his bag to kill this headache. He would move into Heather’s room, in case she returned overnight, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Based on what Gaston had said, Laroux didn’t leave jobs half done. So if he had plans to make use of Heather in some way…

  His heart skipped a beat. He’d believe she was alive until proven wrong.

  “We get some sleep, mon ami. The word is out. If anything turns up I will contact you.”

  “Thanks. We start again at dawn, right?”

  “Bien sûr, of course. Even before. I will collect you at five.”

  Tony shut the door quietly, in case anyone was watching. He didn’t want to give away his comings and goings. He used his passkey to enter the darkened lobby, and trudged up the stairs. The door had been repaired, somewhat, and he was able to flick the lock. It was a flimsy thing, and wouldn’t keep a toddler out, but it was better than nothing.

  He lay on the bed fully clothed on the off chance he got a call. He used the hotel phone to call the hospital to check on Chas and was relieved to hear he was resting comfortably. Next he called Sam, his first chance to update him. Needless to say, Sam was not pleased. Losing the prime suspect along with the star witness was not a way to get a promotion out of the field. Tony spent several minutes chastising himself for almost letting his feelings interfere with an investigation. If he was going to rescue Heather, he had to think like a trained agent, not a besotted fool.

  Then he pulled a copy of the case file out of his bag and read every word, praying he’d missed something earlier, something that would give him a clue to get his ass out of the wringer. This new player on the scene had screwed up their investigation.

  The buzzing of his cell phone woke him from a dream in which he was lost in a repeating reflection. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. He almost fell out of the narrow bed.

  “Simons,” he mumbled, then paused to clear his throat.

  “Bonjour, mon ami. Gaston Facet here. I just received some news. I will be at your hotel in three minutes.” The line went dead.

  Tony hopped off the bed and ran down the stairs. Lack of sleep ground at the backs of his eyelids. His watch glowed the time—almost four o’clock. He paced in front of the hotel, counting the seconds.

  Chapter Twenty

  An odd, repetitive sound woke Heather from a chilled sleep and kept her awake. That, and her pounding head. A faint line of light showed along the edge of the shutters. Had she really slept all night? She eased off the cot, every muscle accusing her of choosing a hard, lumpy bed. That fuzzy feeling in her head and mouth suggested the water had been drugged. She huddled inside her large coat and felt guilty she hadn’t returned it to the nice chambermaid. She’d be sure to thank the woman when she saw her again.

  If she saw her again.

  A few laps of the room had the blood flowing, enough to stop her teeth from chattering. The strange chopping sound that had ended her troubled dream came from outside, not far from the building.

  Damn these shutters.

  A small knot in the wood caught her eye, one edge jagged enough to snag her coat. If only she had a tool, even a nail file would be of some help.

  Another search of the room came up with nothing. The cot was bolted to the floor, and the bucket had no handle. Her own clothes were no help. If she’d worn a belt, the buckle could have been of some use. After a couple months working at the bakery her clothes were snug, and she had no need of a belt.

  She fingered the zipper pull of her jeans, and wondered if she was crazy to be thi
nking of taking her pants off. With her luck, a horde of sex-starved lunatics would burst through the door the instant her pants cleared her feet.

  She dithered for another minute, but couldn’t ignore this chance to find out what was going on. Maybe if she could get to the window, she could break the glass and scream bloody murder.

  Working quickly, she pulled off her jeans and used the metal tab of the zipper to pick at the knot. She was about to give up when a sliver of wood fell to the floor, giving her better leverage. With renewed determination, she picked and gouged, chipping away at the wood bit by bit, scraping the skin off her knuckles. Finally the last piece fell out. She pulled her pants back on and placed her eye to the small hole. At first all she could see was the sky and a few trees, but standing on tiptoe as high as she could, she managed to bring the ground level into view.

  Her heart thudded to a stop.

  It was very clear now what the strange noise signified. The rhythmic plunge and toss of a shovel digging a large hole. A hole approximately five feet long and two feet wide. And she suspected it would end up six feet deep. Given that the man doing the work was only up to his knees, she figured it would be a few hours before his work was done.

  She frantically scanned the area, looking for some way to save herself. For she had no doubt that hole would be her final resting place.

  No other houses, no power lines, no roads, no cars. No sound but a few birds twittering in the early morning sunlight. And that incessant plunge and toss.

  Against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the man at work. She found her breathing slowing to keep time with his motion. Breath in, scoop. Breath out, toss.

  She shifted slightly on her toes, looking to the man’s right, and saw another mound of dirt. This one clearly a fresh grave, complete with occupant. Bile rose in her throat, and her knees became jelly.

  It couldn’t be Tony. She wouldn’t let it be Tony. He had to rescue her, and he needed to be alive to do that.

  She staggered to the cot and settled on the edge. Assuming Tony was alive, and she had to believe that, then he’d return to the hotel, discover her missing, and start a search. She was a valuable witness, if nothing else. So her job was to stay alive until the search led him to her.