Portrait of a Girl

by Luanna Stewart

  The old woman shrugged. “I assume Saint Thomas, it is closest.” She left the house, muttering under her breath, and Heather watched her scurry across the alley. She entered the house directly opposite, and Heather wondered how much she’d seen over the last few days.

  Nicholas punched in the phone number so hard Heather feared for the instrument’s safety. “Allo, I am calling about a patient, Madame Sanxay. She arrived today. Yes, I will wait.”

  Heather continued to stroke Magritte’s back, and wondered how she could get her hands on the phone without being seen. Surely if she dialed zero she’d get someone who could send for help.

  “Oui,” Nicholas said, pacing the small room, being careful to avoid stepping in the largest smear of blood next to the sink. “Oui, ah, not so bad then. Merci.” He pressed the off button and dropped the phone to the floor. One stomp with his foot ended all Heather’s plans to make a call.

  “A broken nose and two cracked ribs.” His face reddened and his hands clenched into fists. “I will make the bâtard pay with the last drop of his blood.”

  Magritte seemed to have fallen into a trance, so Heather spoke in a lowered voice. “How could an old, sick man inflict such damage?”

  Nicholas spat onto the floor. “He doesn’t like to soil his hands, so he makes good use of his walking stick.”

  “Oh—God.” The picture that formed in her head made her stomach lurch.

  “That is how my poor Maxim was killed.” He glanced around the room, grabbed an old black purse from a hook by the door, and pulled Magritte from her arms. “We will go to the hospital.”

  Heather opened her mouth to object when the front and back doors opened simultaneously, the house filling with armed men. Nicholas made a dash for the stairs but was pounced on and wrestled to the ground.

  Magritte dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

  “Heather, are you okay?”

  Tony filled her line of vision, and the urge to fall into his arms and let him take care of her made her knees weaken. Then she met his gaze, and the hardened cop looked back. Not the sexy man who’d made her toes curl.

  She took a step backward. “I’m fine. Let me help Magritte.” She hurried to the woman’s side, feeling Tony watching her every move.

  She gave the other woman a gentle shake. “Hey, can you hear me?”

  “What has happened?” Magritte whispered.

  “The police have arrived.”

  Magritte’s eyes opened and she struggled to sit up. “Merde. I must—”

  “No, there is nothing you can do.” Heather helped her to her feet and guided her to the threadbare sofa in the living room. “They have Nicholas. I’ll tell Tony about your boy. I’m sure he can help us find him.”

  “Non, non, I cannot risk it.”

  “What do you mean? They can put out an all points bulletin, or something.”

  Magritte shook her head. “You do not understand. Jeffers is a hunted man. I do not know how he will react if confronted by these police.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt his own son. Would he?”

  Magritte shrugged. “He has not hesitated to dispose of family members in the past.”

  Heather covered her mouth with her hand and was awfully glad the house was filled with the good guys. She’d rather take her chances with them than with a man who disposed of people. Like he’d disposed of Maxim.

  Tony crouched down in front of them and handed a glass of water to Magritte. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice hard.

  Magritte took the glass but didn’t drink. She also didn’t answer Tony. Was she pretending she couldn’t understand English again?

  He turned to Heather, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with questions for you.”

  “How did you know we were here early?”

  “A local officer found the grandmother and notified us. So we decided it might be better to wait here overnight. A good thing, too, since we all thought you were spending the night in the woods.”

  He strode back to the huddle surrounding Nicholas, putting her on the back burner. So, okay, Nicholas was more important to his investigation, but it still chapped her butt to be ignored, without allowing her a chance to explain. Cripes, it wasn’t her fault Nick the Jerk couldn’t stick to a plan.

  She leaned closer to Magritte. “Why are you pretending you don’t speak English?”

  “People say things if they think you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, sure, like you and your brother shutting me out.”

  “I am sorry for this. Nicholas told me not to trust you.”

  “That’s nice, coming from him. What do you want to do now?”

  “I need to get away.”

  “Where would you go?”

  Magritte hesitated for a second, then spoke, keeping her voice low. “I think I know where Jeffers took my son.”

  “Okay, I’ll get Tony—” Maybe if she could give him a solid clue, it would make up for all the times she’d messed up.

  “Non, I go alone. I will get the boy, then police can do what they want with Jeffers.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous? You know what Jeffers is capable of.” She motioned toward the kitchen and the lingering evidence of the beating. A police photographer was taking pictures of a blood spatter on the cupboard.

  Magritte nodded. “Yes, I know the kind of monster he is. That is why I have to go, now, before it is too late.” She grabbed Heather’s wrist. “You will come, too.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Heck, she should have paid closer attention when reading the thriller novels she devoured as a teenager. Surely one of the characters had gotten out of a similar situation.

  “Help me to the toilet. It is just there, under the stairs. The window is quite large.”

  Heather’s heart rate moved into Mach speed.

  She shook her head. “No, I can’t help you. The police—” She broke off as a sharp pointy thing pressed into her back. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You think I would come after that demon without a weapon?”

  “You’ll just walk out of here after stabbing me?”

  “I will try, that is the main thing.”

  “What if I scream for help now?” Heather cut her gaze to Tony, but he wasn’t looking at her. Dammit, she had to do something, not just sit here and get skewered.

  “I will stab you either way. You may not die, but it will hurt.”

  “And if I help you get away, you’ll let me stay here?”

  Magritte shrugged. “We will see.”

  Cripes, she was about to break the law. Aiding and abetting the escape of a suspect must be a felony. She could go to jail for this. Had French jails improved since the days of the Bastille?

  What would Tony think? She stared at him, hard, sending out waves of staring energy. She needed him to look her way. She needed him to know that she was leaving against her will. Hell, she just needed him. She let her gaze linger on him for a second longer, admiring his strong and handsome face. Hands on hips, he looked the epitome of a law enforcement officer.

  But he turned his back and started talking to one of the other officers.

  Hell’s bells. She rubbed her sweaty hands on her legs and tried to think of way to delay the inevitable.

  She felt a prick on her back, and a trickle of blood. She flinched. “Okay, okay, give me a second.” Heather took a deep breath and got to her feet. She waited for an outcry, but no one seemed to notice. Magritte stood next to her, and together they moved toward the hall. Still, no one spoke to them.

  They’d just reached the door to the bathroom when one of the gendarmes thumped down the stairs.

  “Help—” Heather gasped, her voice stolen by the pain that exploded in her back. The bitch had stabbed her again.

  Magritte mumbled something in French, and the officer nodded before joining his cohorts in the kitchen.

  “What the hell?” Heather had a hard time catching her breath.
>
  “A friend of my cousin. He understands what needs to be done.”

  Magritte prodded her with the knife, forcing her into the bathroom.

  Heather snagged a towel from the rack next to the sink and pressed it to her back. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but it hurt like hell. Her heart pounded, and sweat trickled between her breasts. She had to get out of here. She grabbed a canister of bath salts from the shelf, flipped off the top, and threw the contents into Magritte’s face. Unfortunately, the other woman was standing in front of the door, so Heather unlatched the window and jumped through. She landed hard, knocking what little breath she had out of her lungs. She paused for a second, to orient herself and figure out which way to run.

  It was a second too long.

  Magritte landed on top of her, redolent with the scent of lavender.

  “Get off of me, you cow!” Heather swung her fist, but failed to connect.

  The knife glistened in the dim light as it pressed into Heather’s throat.

  “Okay, okay, I give up. Just be careful with that thing. It looks sharp.”

  “It is sharp. I use it to skin the rabbits.”

  She struggled to her feet, briefly considering making another run for it, but Magritte grabbed her arm. They waded through the clipped rosebushes and climbed over a short brick wall.

  Magritte put her mouth to Heather’s ear. “You will be quiet and I will not slit your throat.”

  She actually grinned and winked, like escaping from the cops with a hostage was something she did every day.

  Heck, after living with Jeffers, maybe it was. She was certainly good at it.

  Heather hustled to the car, eager to stay as far away from the pointy end of the knife as she could. She jumped into the passenger seat and slumped low. Magritte gunned the engine and took off, squealing her tires at the first turn.

  “So much for sneaking away.” Heather grasped the armrest and shut her eyes. Cripes, it seemed everyone drove like a maniac. Maniac being the operative word.

  “Zut, everyone drives like this. They do not notice.” Magritte shifted into a higher gear and stepped on the gas. The little car leaped forward. If there was a speed limit, it was ignored.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tony paced the small living room. Heather was gone. He pushed into the bathroom again, saw the open window and the drops of blood. A cold shiver traveled up his back. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. From the moment he’d been assigned to this case, it had been up to him to keep her safe. Ostensibly so she could lead him to evidence to use against Jeffers, but keeping her from harm nonetheless.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for this feisty, stubborn, strong woman who made the best cookies.

  Gaston found him mentally kicking himself in the living room.

  “We are done here, mon ami. I will take Nicholas to the station and start proceedings.”

  “Yeah, great. I—”

  His phone buzzed and he held up his hand, not recognizing the incoming number. It was an overseas sequence. His heart quickened.

  “Simons.”

  “Tony, it’s Heather. I don’t have long—”

  “Where in God’s name are you?” He took a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. No sense letting his emotions cloud his judgment. He’d wait until this aggravating woman was standing in front of him, and then he’d show some emotion. He’d show so much emotion her head would spin. For now, he silently thanked whatever gods looked out for headstrong women.

  “Be quiet and listen. I’m with Magritte. She forced me to run away with her. She needs to get her son away from Jeffers.”

  Tony covered the phone’s mic with his thumb. “Trace this call.”

  Gaston nodded and got on his own phone.

  “That’s what the police are for. Where are you?”

  “Um…not sure. In a car, traveling at light speed.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Please be okay, please be careful, please don’t get hurt, please don’t be—no, he wouldn’t even think the words.

  He raised an eyebrow at Gaston, but the other man shook his head.

  Damn.

  “Well, she has a big sharp knife, so I’d say I’m not okay.” Heather mumbled something to the other woman, then came back on the line. “Magritte is really scared for her son’s safety so I’d suggest—”

  His world shrank to the phone in his hand, his only connection to the most important person in the universe. “Don’t try to be a hero, sweetheart. Can you tell me the last road sign you saw?”

  “No, Magritte…” The phone had been moved away from her mouth, and there was a fumbling noise. “I’m sure it’s okay. We can trust—” The phone went dead.

  “Heather?”

  Silence.

  Tony ended the call and used every curse word he’d ever heard.

  “I am sorry, we had no luck.” Gaston slipped his phone into his pocket. “I have my men working on it still. We will try to use the phone satellite navigation, maybe get an idea of the direction anyway.”

  Tony couldn’t wait for modern technology. He strode into the kitchen, grabbed Nicholas by the collar, and plucked him from the chair.

  “Listen, you asshole, I’m done obeying the rules. Your sister has my—Heather, and I want to know where they’re going.”

  “How should I know?” Nicholas smirked.

  Tony twisted the collar in his hands. The other man’s face got red. “One last chance, then I ask these other gentlemen to leave me alone with you for a few minutes. Tell me where I should look for Jeffers.”

  Nicholas gasped for air. “Okay, I tell you. Please—”

  He released the collar. “Where are they?”

  “The only place is his childhood home, in Saint-Jean-de-Vaux. That’s where I was going to look for him.” His tight jaw and squinted eyes left Tony with no doubt what Nicholas would have done to the old man if he’d been given the chance.

  Tony turned to Gaston. “Do you know this place?”

  “Mais oui, but it has been abandoned for many decades. If he is there he is truly desperate, and uncomfortable, je pense.”

  Tony’s blood chilled and he moved toward the door. “We need to hurry. This bastard’s sister has a knife.”

  Gaston issued orders to his men and followed Tony out the door. They were soon in the police cruiser, the siren blaring its two-note song.

  Since he had nothing better to do, he pressed the button to return the last call. Still dead. Hell, it had been worth a shot.

  “Given their head start, when will they get there?”

  Gaston pursed his lips. “Hm…depending on their speed, of course, any minute now.”

  “Goddammit.”

  Once they cleared the edge of town, the car surged forward.

  “What about calling in a helicopter?”

  “Non, the closest one is thirty minutes away. Besides, I do not think we want to worry the sister or M. Jeffers any more than necessary.”

  Tony hated to admit the other man was right. There was no telling how close to the edge Jeffers was feeling. With Heather’s life at risk, it would be best to arrive as quietly as possible.

  As if reading his mind, Gaston said, “I will turn the siren off when we are close, have no fear. We will find your amour.”

  His love. Yes. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Getting to know her over the last few weeks had been exhilarating and frustrating and fun.

  He’d come to believe she had no knowledge of her father’s career choice. She didn’t act like someone hiding guilty secrets, but like someone who wasn’t sure whom to trust. And she was too bohemian to be a spoiled princess who felt entitled to family wealth.

  More like an average woman who took a bit longer than usual to find her place in the world. But now that she’d found it, she seemed content.

  Which is what he’d been looking for: a woman who was content with her life. Not like his previous girlfriends, who s
eemed more turned on by his job than by him. If anything, Heather didn’t like that he was in a dangerous profession.

  Gaston switched off the siren. “About five minutes, my friend.”

  Tony checked his weapon and hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to use it. Once he got Heather to safety, he’d figure out how to keep her in his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Heather couldn’t decide if she wanted to get to the old homestead or not. She knew she was just delaying the inevitable, whatever that was, but she still would rather time slowed down a bit. Give Tony a chance to catch up.

  “We are almost there,” Magritte said. “I think maybe I should stop some distance from the house and we continue on foot.”

  “I’ll wait in the car for you.”

  “Non, it is better that you come with me. You will distract the bâtard while I get my son.”

  “Gee, you’re throwing me to the wolves, eh?”

  Magritte frowned. “There are no wolves in France.”

  “Never mind. Let’s get this over with.” She stepped out of the car and was instantly aware of their isolation. They hadn’t passed another house for miles. The silence was broken only by a few birds chirping in the fields.

  In her mental pictures of the French countryside, it never looked like this. Acres and acres of empty fields. Didn’t they grow grapes everywhere in France?

  “Where are the grapes?” she puffed, and jogged a few steps to stay in front of Magritte, who seemed to be training for a race-walking marathon.

  “They plant the sunflowers.”

  “Sunflowers? All over here?” She waved her arm to encompass the area clear to the horizon.

  “Oui, for the oil, you understand?”

  “Oh, of course.”

  Talk ceased then. Magritte seemed preoccupied, no doubt with the coming battle. And Heather couldn’t talk and walk at the same time. Really, as soon as she got home, she was joining a gym. And taking self-defense classes.

  They topped a slight rise and Magritte pointed. “There, that is the house.”

  “Dang, it’s practically falling down.”