Portrait of a Girl

by Luanna Stewart

  Wherever she was. She didn’t even know how long they’d traveled, having left her watch at the hotel. It was the next morning, though, so she’d been gone for at least eight hours. That should be plenty of time for the police to institute a nationwide search. She hurried to the window, hoping to see a mass of police cars pull in, the cavalry to the rescue.

  Instead, she saw that the grave had been dug a foot deeper.

  Another man strode into view and lit a cigarette. He said something to the digger, who shrugged, muttered, and continued digging. The smoker looked around and then glanced at the château.

  Nicholas.

  She thought he’d been murdered by Jeffers when he’d suggested Nicholas and Maxim no longer existed. So if Nicholas was here, did that mean Jeffers wasn’t in charge? If Jeffers wasn’t in charge, why was she kidnapped?

  Nothing made sense. Very little had since her father died.

  Her stomach gurgled, clamoring for food. The water carafe was empty, and it didn’t look like there would be room service.

  The pastries Tony had brought over yesterday were some of the best she’d ever eaten. Flaky and warm, one with a smooth almond filling, and the other crisp with a cinnamon sugar coating. Sitting in the garden, enjoying the cool, fragrant air. If she were a normal person, not a thief’s daughter, they could have been in that garden for another reason. A personal reason. After breakfast they would stroll around town, hand in hand, laughing, joking, kissing. They would hurry back to the hotel to make love in the small bed, and nothing would exist outside the four walls of her tiny room.

  Laughter from outside wiped away the fantasy and drew her gaze back to the hole in the shutter. Nicholas was grinding out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe, and the other man pointed at her window. She ducked, but there was no way they could have seen her peeking out. Her next look showed only the one man, in the hole up to his hips, digging at a steady pace.

  Heather forced her brain to function. There had to be some way out of this mess. Maybe if she could talk to whoever was in charge, she could reason with him. Explain that he’d made a mistake, confused her with someone else.

  The sound of approaching footsteps sucked every molecule of moisture from her mouth. She tensed, waiting for whatever came through the door.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bar on the other side of the door scraped, the sound echoing in the oppressive quiet, and the door eased open. Heather swallowed, wanting to know who was on the other side and dreading it at the same time.

  Nicholas stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “What are you doing here? Did Laroux send you?” Heather clutched her coat together at the collar and willed her heart to slow down. The pounding in her ears made it hard to hear and to concentrate.

  “I want to help you. I need to atone for my actions earlier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At the graveyard. I realize you were very scared and—”

  “You shot at me?” Crap on a stick. She gave him the once-over but saw no evidence of a weapon, unless it was hidden under his jacket, which it probably was. He was a criminal; of course he had a gun.

  “Yes, I shot, but only as a warning.”

  “What if you missed?” She stepped closer, anger fueling her bravery.

  “I did miss, on purpose. I am an excellent marksman.”

  “But what if you missed on your missing, you idiot?” She whacked his arm. “You cut Tony’s cheek, you know.”

  “I am very sorry anyone got hurt.”

  Heather strode to the window, slapped the shutter, and returned to Nicholas, poking him in the chest. “How can you help me now? There are armed men all over the—”

  “I have been to this place before. I know a way out, where we will not see the armed men. Come, we must be quick.”

  “Wait a minute, buddy. How do I know I can trust you? Is this Laroux guy a friend of Jeffers? And why are you hanging around?”

  “There is no love lost between Jeffers and Laroux. They were friends at one time, but something went amiss. I know not what. Jeffers has tried to rid himself of Laroux at least two times.”

  “And you’re here because…?”

  “I look for Jeffers, perhaps Laroux knows where he is hiding.” He pressed his ear to the door. “We risk being found.”

  Why was he offering to help her? He must want something. If her experiences of the last few days had taught her anything, it was that bad guys didn’t do favors. “Is Maxim with you?”

  His suddenly ashen skin and wet eyes were all the answer she needed.

  Dang, Jeffers had been speaking the partial truth.

  What was that saying—the enemy of my enemy is my friend?

  She wrapped her arms around Nicholas’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I know you were good friends—”

  His shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. “We had plans to buy a small house together, after this one last job for that bastard.” He shrugged from her embrace and strode to the window. His face mottled with anger, he spun and slashed his hand through the air. “I want him to pay, with everything he has, and with his life.”

  Heather took a step back, glad that Nicholas was there to help her. She was done with men being angry, greedy, and suspicious. Especially the suspicious part. That really pissed her off. She was fed up with not being believed.

  Nicholas crossed to the door, opened it a few inches, then motioned for Heather to follow. They crept down the hall toward the back of the building. A small door, resembling that of a closet, opened with a shove to reveal a set of stairs leading down.

  “Come,” he whispered. “These old servants’ stairs are never used.” He preceded her and motioned for her to close the door. The dim light from small windows high on the wall made it difficult to see, and she crept down the stairs, grit and centuries-old dust scraping under her feet. She trailed her hand along the wall’s cool stones, hoping like heck she didn’t encounter anything slimy. Or furry. After passing the second landing, the air cooled and smelled of damp earth.

  “Nicholas,” she hissed in a loud whisper, “where are we going?”

  “The cellars. We’re almost there.”

  Heather shivered, thinking of the cellars in pictures of medieval castles, dark, moldy rooms housing spiders and rats.

  They came at last to a door, heavily studded, and with an old-fashioned latch. Nicholas eased the latch up and pulled on the large iron ring. The door creaked and groaned, and Heather was certain everyone within a five-mile radius had heard the noise. She followed Nicholas, practically on his heels, and wasn’t surprised he didn’t ask her to close the door behind her. His pace picked up, like he was afraid they’d made too much noise and he didn’t want to hang around to find out. She didn’t argue.

  The cellar was one massive room, separated by arches that held up the floor above. Dusty wine barrels lined the walls, and crates of empty bottles stood in piles.

  The dirt floor muffled their steps, as did the sound of running water. They ducked through a final portal and were beside a fast-running stream.

  “Cripes, what do we do now?” Heather really, really didn’t want to turn around and search for another way out. The noise of their escape must have penetrated the floors and walls. She imagined a mob of angry, torch-bearing men crashing down the stairs in hot pursuit, calling for their blood.

  “Can you swim?” Nicholas slipped off his shoes and held them in his hand as he stepped into the water. His grimace led her to believe the water was not a pleasant temperature.

  “You have got to be kidding. Was this your plan all along?”

  “Barrels of grapes were delivered this way, many years ago. Floated down from the vineyards farther up the mountain. You just need to keep your head above water—the current will do the rest.”

  She hesitated. She hated getting wet and had flunked out of every swim class. Besides, it was freaking winter—the water would be cold.

  “Mademoiselle, th
ere is no other way. Please, we need to leave now.”

  Distant shouts and the pounding of feet overhead were all it took. Heather didn’t waste time by removing her shoes. She let her heavy coat fall to the floor, plunged in, and pushed off from shore.

  The air was sucked from her lungs as the freezing water soaked into her clothes. She seriously considered taking her chances with Laroux and his gang.

  Nicholas grabbed her arm to keep her from floating too far into the middle of the stream.

  “We need to keep under the bank until we’re clear of the château, just in case someone is looking. And keep your head as low as you can.”

  Seconds later they were out from under the massive stone arch and in bright sunlight. The stream wasn’t deep, and Heather felt the scrape of rocks on her stomach and thighs. But there was enough water to keep her afloat, and the current moved them along at a good clip. Willows and shrubs overhung the water, shielding them from view. They could be seen only by someone standing on the riverbank.

  Barely daring to breathe, Heather kept her ears tuned for sounds of pursuit. Several minutes later they were around a bend, the château no longer in sight. She didn’t feel the cold—she’d gone numb.

  “Nicholas, can we get out now?” Her teeth chattered, and she had difficulty making her limbs do as she commanded.

  “There is a road crossing up ahead. Once we are past that we will be safe.”

  His lips were blue and he spoke with a clenched jaw. They were becoming Popsicles together.

  “Did you say this stream comes from the mountains?”

  He grinned. “Yes, from a glacier.”

  She groaned. No wonder she was frozen. She really hated swimming.

  Nicholas grabbed at the reeds and brought their forward motion to a stop.

  “What—”

  His hand clamped over her mouth, and he shook his head. Then pointed to the bridge just visible through the trees. Several men, most carrying large guns, stood at the railing, scanning the river.

  Nicholas moved slowly and brought his mouth to her ear. “They figured it out, I’m afraid. But we cannot stay in the water much longer, not without risking our health.”

  Her muscles cramped, and shivers moved her entire body. “I have no health.” She took a drink of ice water. “There’s no way in hell I’m going back to that château. Do you see all those guns?” They clung together in the water, wedged against a tree root.

  He grinned again and gave her a squeeze. “We will give it a few more minutes. By then I’ll have come up with an ingenious plan.”

  Heather muffled her laughter in his shoulder and hung on. If he didn’t come up with a plan, then she would. She had to find Tony and warn him there was someone other than Jeffers involved.

  After what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes, loud voices and the roar of engines floated across the water. Heather relaxed her hold, and she and Nicholas peered through the trees. The men were getting in cars and driving off, some of them back toward the château, and some in the opposite direction.

  “Can we move now?” She eased away from him, missing the small amount of body heat she’d been able to steal.

  “Let’s give it another minute. Once we’re clear of the bridge, keep an eye out for a footpath on our right.”

  “What if those men hadn’t left? What was your plan?”

  He shrugged in the classic Gallic way. “I hadn’t quite thought of one yet.”

  He pushed off, keeping close to the bank, grabbing at weeds to slow their pace. They stopped again under the bridge and listened. Nothing but birdsong, and flies buzzing over the water.

  “Okay, let us go.” This time when he pushed off, he also swam with his free arm. Heather kicked with her feet and they were quickly away from the bridge. She huffed out a sigh, praying the path would appear soon. She’d never been this cold, even in Portland. She doubted she’d ever feel warm again.

  Nicholas nudged her and pointed to a small gap in the trees. They angled across to the opposite bank.

  With aching, frozen muscles she scrambled from the water and lay on the matted leaves, staring up through the trees to the blue sky. Somewhere in the world people were complaining about being too hot.

  She hated those people.

  Nicholas flopped down next to her, his breathing interrupted with violent shudders. “We need to keep moving, to generate heat. But do not imagine they have stopped their search. The longer we stay here—”

  “I know, just let me finish draining.” She sat up and took off one shoe at a time, pouring about a cup of water out of each one. “What happened to your shoes?”

  He wiggled his toes, clad only in cotton socks, and sighed. “They were my favorite pair, too. Handmade in Italy. I let them float away. I needed both hands.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair if we manage to get out of this alive.” She unwound the scarf from her neck and wrung it out, thankful it was wool. Even damp it would provide some warmth.

  He sat up and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll hold you to that. And we will get out of this, not to worry. Now, this path leads to Chemardin, which is a very small village, well off the main road. I doubt Laroux’s men will think of looking there. I have a cousin who will help us.”

  He stood and pulled Heather to her feet. She wobbled for a second before straightening her clothes, and her spine. “Let’s go then. I’m cold and I’m hungry. Any bears in these woods had better watch out.”

  She headed down the path, Nicholas’s soft laughter following along. Things were looking up. She could almost taste the delicious peasant food waiting for them in the village. And there’d be a phone. She’d call Tony before she ate—well, while she ate. He’d know exactly what to do.

  Heck, there might be the French equivalent of a town bobby who could guard her until Tony arrived.

  A few hundred yards down the path, the first blister formed on her heel. She ignored it, thinking the village couldn’t be much farther. But then a blister formed on her other heel and she was forced to slow down.

  “Are we nearly there?” She leaned against a tree and eased her foot from the shoe. She scanned the path ahead and decided she would go shoeless for a while.

  “We should be there this afternoon,” he said

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been expecting to arrive around every corner. How far away is this place?”

  He shrugged. “You have this saying, non? It is what it is?”

  “There must be a closer town or village. We just need to find a phone. I’ll call Tony and—”

  “And we will be sitting ducks while we wait for him. We have no idea if the person who lets us use his phone is in the pay of Laroux. There are loyalties that supplant the law, and I am not taking any chances.”

  She took a deep breath. He was right. She’d been an idiot to assume Jeffers was the only bad guy.

  She pushed away from the tree. “Okay, let’s get moving. I don’t want to be wandering around in the woods after dark.”

  He smiled. “You are a brave woman, Mlle. James. I am honored to be of assistance to you.”

  She grabbed his hand, pulling him into step with her. “We’re helping each other, Nicholas. That’s what friends are for.”

  Before he could look away, she saw his lips tremble and his eyes fill with tears. She gave his hand a squeeze, hoping he would find happiness again.

  The shadows were lengthening when they crested a hill and saw the village nestled in the valley below. Heather limped a bit faster, eager for the journey to be over—and for a comfortable chair. She didn’t care if she never saw a picturesque vineyard again, ever. She’d stopped seeing them after a while, keeping her eyes on the path to avoid stepping on a sharp stone, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.

  At least her clothes had dried. She’d stopped shivering, but the air cooled with the setting sun.

  Nicholas was only a few paces behind her, and she heard his gusty sigh. She turned a
nd grinned. “I hope this is the place.”

  He pointed at one of the houses, creamy white with a red-tiled roof. “That is where Emile Bernier lives. His car is there, so we are in luck.”

  He stepped past her and quickened his pace. She trotted to keep up, and barely had time to admire the quaint village. They bypassed the central square, taking an alley that led to the back of Emile’s house. Nicholas stopped just outside the gated garden and blew a series of sharp whistles. At her questioning glance, he shrugged.

  “When we were boys, we had to warn each other of approaching parents or other threats.”

  The door of the house opened, and a barrel-chested man stood in the opening. When he saw Nicholas he gave a whoop and flew out of the house, rushing across the sleeping garden. He grabbed Nicholas in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet.

  “Mon dieu, es-tu tombé du ciel? Je n’ai pas entendu d’auto.”

  An auto? Oh man, if they’d had a car, they could be in Paris by now.

  Emile turned to her and held out his hand. “Bienvenue à Chemardin.” His brows drew into a frown as he took in their appearance—coatless and water-stained.

  Nicholas forestalled any further questions and spoke in English. “May we go in the house? I will explain, but we need to rest and get warm.”

  Emile’s brows rose clear to his hairline. He must have been wondering why Nicholas had shown up looking like he’d been coughed up by a cat. And now he was speaking in English, of all things.

  Emile looked up and down the alley, then ushered them into the house, closing and locking the door. He pulled out a chair for her, then bustled around the kitchen, producing a feast fit for visiting royalty.

  “Eat, eat,” he said, pouring three tumblers of deep red wine from a carafe. He sat in the remaining chair, content to wait for his explanation.

  After a couple helpings from each dish, Heather was about to burst. The bread, stew, salad, pâté, and pickles had been topped off with a large bowl of clafouti, the sweet cherries bursting against her tongue. She wiped her mouth on a thick linen napkin and slumped in her chair.