Zero Dark Chocolate (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 5)

by Linsey Lanier

  At last the woman’s voice broke the silence. “I am the stupid one.”

  “You?”

  “This was all my idea. I was angry at my uncle. All I wanted was my job back. I thought I had to do something drastic to get his attention.”

  That was right. Her uncle was Chef Emile. “Well, I think you must have pulled that off.”

  She made a disgusted sound with her lips. “He probably does not even know I am gone.”

  “He knows. My wife would have made sure he knows. She’s taking a class from him at Le Gastronomique Divine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that. That is why I targeted you.”

  “Oh.” That made sense.

  “I got your wife’s name from my ex-fiancé. I followed her to your hotel room. I arranged for you to be kidnapped.”

  “By the tall man with the dark blond hair.”

  “Yes. His name is Jean-Claude. And the other one is Grigori. He is Russian. They never told me their last names but I knew they were criminals. I just did not know how bad they were. Why did I think I could trust people like that?” She began to cry.

  “Oh, don’t do that. Your nose will run and you can’t wipe it. My wife does that sometimes when she has her hands full of batter. I have to get a tissue and wipe it for her.”

  That only made her bawl louder. “You have a wife who loves you. I have destroyed all that. What have I done? What have I done?”

  Dave didn’t know what to say. He should despise this woman but she seemed so pitiful. And now he was about to go to the afterlife with her.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, but we might as well make the best of our last hours.”

  Finally she started to get hold of herself. She twisted her neck and tried to wipe her cheeks on her shoulder. Then she went for her nose but it wouldn’t reach. He’d warned her.

  With a sigh she gave up trying to dry herself. “What we should do with our last hours is try to find a way out of here.”

  Good point. “Not much I can do if I can’t move. Can you get up? Maybe you can go get help?”

  She stirred around, wiggled this way and that, then shook her head. “No. My feet are tied together. I cannot crawl through a dark cave this way.”

  “Guess not.” Dave was quiet another moment.

  He tried to think. There was something at the edge of his brain if he could just remember it. But the drugs had addled his head.

  He was sure he’d lost a few IQ points.

  Then he looked down at himself again and saw a digital clock go on—right over his chest. What did it say?

  Thirty-five, zero zero?

  Did that mean thirty-five minutes? It must be. Now it said thirty-four fifty-nine. Now thirty-four fifty-eight.

  Adrenaline spiked through his body and suddenly he was wide awake and alert. Don’t move, he reminded himself. If he did, they wouldn’t have thirty-five seconds.

  His mind raced. He thought back to what one of the men had said back in that room. Two detectives from America. Mr. Parker and Steele were out there somewhere. If only he could contact them somehow. Then he remembered the phone conversation with Joanie.

  “My cell phone.”

  “What about it?”

  “If we had it, I think I might be able to get help.”

  She made that puffing sound again. “You cannot get a signal in here.”

  “I might. It’s got a booster on it. I programmed it myself.”

  “You’re a geek?”

  “Of sorts.”

  She shuffled around, squirmed and turned, trying to feel her pockets. Her eyes went wide. “I think I do have it. I think they left it in my pocket.”

  “Can you get it out?”

  “Maybe. I will try.” Again she twisted and turned, putting her body in such a pretzely awkward position Dave was sure she must be a yoga master.

  At last something clattered onto the bony floor.

  “Is that it?”

  Looking exhausted she twisted her head, nodded. “Yes.”

  Dave dared to strain his neck and saw the light of the display glowing. “They put the battery back. It still has power.”

  Odette squinted at the phone. “The indicator says it is not much. Now what?” she asked.

  “Can you reach it?”

  She scowled at him. “So what if I can?”

  Right. Pretty hard to dial a phone with your hands behind your back. “Wait. I’ve got an idea. What if you pushed it over here so I could see it and I told you where to put your fingers?”

  She looked at him like that was the craziest idea she’d ever heard.

  “You have a better idea?”

  That made her mad. She rolled her eyes again. “Very well. I will try it.” She scooted her butt over and gave the phone a nudge. It moved a little. “This is going to be difficult.”

  “Just try,” Dave said, hoping to sound encouraging.

  She gave the phone another nudge with her thigh and it moved a little more. She dragged her body over to it, gave it another push.

  “That’s it. You’re doing great.”

  “I am going to break it.”

  “No, you’re not. It’s pretty sturdy.” At least, he hoped it was.

  Her breath grew heavy as she pushed and shoved, inching along. She might be thin but cooking and eating pastries all day hadn’t done anything for her condition. Dave was used to working with hardier women.

  “I cannot do it.” She stopped, her shoulders heaving.

  The air in here was kind of thin. That didn’t help. “It’s okay. Just take a little rest. You’re doing fine.”

  She twisted her neck around. “The numbers on your chest are going down.”

  Right. “Okay. Then make it a short rest.”

  She shook her head. “No time for that.” And grunting and groaning, she forced herself to go the rest of the way. “Can you see it?”

  “Yeah.” The face of the phone was about five inches away from Dave’s face.

  “I will try to get into a position to dial it.” She pivoted around and her foot landed in a puddle. “Merdi,” she snapped.

  But she kept going.

  At last the phone was behind her and her long fingers hovered over it. Her fingernails were painted red but they were short. That was good. Maybe there was a chance for this to work.

  “Hurry up. Tell me what to do.”

  Oh, he’d like to tell her what to do. But he had to keep his head. They both did.

  “Okay,” he said. “Swipe the screen.”

  Shakily she extended her forefinger. Groping in the empty air, she swiped. And hit nothing.

  “Down farther.”

  She grunted, bent backward a little more and swiped again. Her finger skimmed the surface of a skull.

  She shuddered. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Just the floor. You missed. Try again. To the left.”

  Making a growling noise, she readjusted herself, flexed her fingers and swiped again. This time she brushed across the phone’s surface. The icons appeared.

  “You did it. Great.”

  She let out a heavy breath.

  So far so good. Dave squinted at the screen. Two bars. That was good.

  Let’s make this simple, he thought. All they needed to do was send a message. He’d had Mr. Parker’s number set up in his phone ever since the day he married Joanie. He tried not to think about that or he’d fall to pieces.

  “You just need to go to Contacts,” he told the woman. “The orange button.”

  “And how do I do that? I cannot see the orange button.”

  Man, she was grouchy. “Okay. Just move your finger around in the air and I’ll tell you when to press down.”

  She moved her hand. “This way?”

  “No, now you’re off the screen. Back to the left.”

  She was over it now. “Here?”

  “Down a little. To the right.”

  She was just over it now.


  “That’s it right there. Press.”

  She hit the wrong icon. His playlist started and the sound of La Vida Loca echoed in the cave.

  “Turn it off.”

  “How?”

  “Press again. Right where you are.”

  She did and the music stopped, leaving them with nothing but the sound of their own desperate breathing.

  They had to do this. They had to get help. Dave inhaled trying to keep calm. “Try it again.”

  “This is impossible.”

  “You were almost there. Just try. A little lower this time.”

  With another grunt she moved her hand. By some miracle this time her fingertip touched the right spot. The phone jingled and his contact list appeared. Mr. Parker’s name was at the top. Silver Fox, the name everyone at the office knew him by.

  “You got it! You’re in my contacts.”

  “Now just scroll, right?” She swiped the screen again.

  “No. You didn’t need to do that. It was right there.”

  She’d managed to dial a number. It was his cleaners.

  “Fresh and Tidy,” said a recorded message. “Sorry to miss you. We’re closed now our normal operating hours are…”

  “End the call. Up and to the right.”

  This time she hit it spot on. The cave went silent.

  “This isn’t working,” she said. “I cannot do it.” There was a quiver in her voice. Then she began to cry.

  He wanted to comfort her but he didn’t have the energy. She’d been right. This was too hard for her. Too hard for both of them.

  He stared down at his cell frustration overwhelming him. It was right there. Right within his reach. Wait a minute. Everyone always said his nose was a little oversized, though Joanie told him it made him look distinguished. Maybe it would finally come in handy now.

  “Can you do one more thing?”

  “What?”

  “Push the phone close to my face.”

  “Why? Are you going to eat it?”

  “No. I think I can dial it.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder scowling her skepticism, but at last she nodded. “Very well. I will try.”

  She wiggled her butt again and pushed with her fingers, shoving the phone close to his face. He could smell the odor of recent cooking on her as well as her three-day old perfume. She was just as miserable as he was. Especially now.

  “That’s enough,” he said.

  The phone was exactly in the right spot. All he had to do was bend a little.

  Would the movement set off his vest? He wasn’t sure. But even if he blew them up it was better than lying here waiting for the thing to go off. He dipped his head, touched his nose to the screen and swiped.

  Once more his contacts appeared on the screen. The Silver Fox just within reach. Just where he wanted to be.

  He dipped his head and pressed his nose to the number.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Adjusting her mirror Miranda held her breath as she watched Yanick sit down on the other end of the iron bench.

  Fanuzzi’s blue bandana fluttered as she turned to face him.

  He tossed his long dirty blond hair over his shoulder with an arrogant flip, and the same sinister French accent she’d heard on the phone fluttered through her earpiece.

  “You came.”

  Fanuzzi’s Brooklyn accent. “Of course, I came.”

  “How did you come?”

  “By bus.”

  Squinting past her suspiciously, he looked like he didn’t quite believe her. “And you have what I asked for.”

  “Of course, I do. Right in here.” She nodded to the suitcase, her voice betraying irritation.

  Careful, girl. Don’t rile him. But Yanick seemed perfectly self possessed. Didn’t even blink at the flowery design.

  “Roll it over to me. Slowly.”

  Miranda heard the wheels move as Fanuzzi obeyed the command.

  Yanick took the handle, turned the thing on its side, pulled the zipper open a bit. His thin lips lifted in a haughty smile of triumph. “So this is the Amando family fortune.”

  Fanuzzi didn’t reply.

  “I assume it is all of it.”

  “Of course, it is.”

  “Very well. It has been nice doing business with you.” He started to rise.

  “Not so fast.”

  He sat back down. “Is something wrong?” What a smug asshole he was.

  “Where’s Dave?” Fanuzzi hissed under her breath. “Where’s my husband? And Odette?”

  He smiled even more smugly.

  “You promised me.”

  Yanick got back on his feet, dusted off his slacks. “What is the American expression? Promises are made to be broken?”

  She knew it. She just knew it.

  “You arrogant French sonofabitch!” Fanuzzi lunged for him, tried to grab onto his T-shirt.

  No! Not part of the plan.

  Yanick stepped back, gave her a condescending sneer and took off, the suitcase slung over his shoulder.

  “No! Come back!” Fanuzzi scrambled up and went after him.

  Miranda stuffed her compact into her pocket and shot off after the lying creep.

  “Someone take care of her,” she heard Haubert bark through her earpiece as she zipped past her friend.

  Miranda was glad of that order. She couldn’t stop to help her. But she risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the female agent running up to her and pulling her away. Beyond the women, Haubert and Parker were coming around the corner.

  No time to wait for them.

  She spun around, got a fix on the flowery blue suitcase and bolted for it. Yanick was heading for the far corner of the street.

  She heard Haubert barking more orders in French to his men in her ear.

  The two male agents disguised as tourists emerged from the corner café and began working their way down the street toward him. The arresting officers. They were within two steps of Yanick when the agent on the left reached behind his back for his gun.

  Yanick saw the move, was quicker. He pulled out a long nosed pistol and shot both agents where they stood.

  Miranda froze in her tracks. Her heart nearly stopped.

  The agents fell to the ground. Pedestrians started screaming at the top of their lungs and running every which way. Police from security appeared and started running down the walkways.

  Total chaos. That only made the crowd panic more.

  All they needed now.

  Just as Yanick reached the far corner, a black BMW flew around it, squealed to a stop. Yanick flung open the back door, jumped inside and it took off.

  The charcoal Renault pulled up alongside her. “Get in.” It was the vehicle parked at the drop point, one of the male agents behind the wheel.

  Without a moment’s hesitation Miranda yanked open the passenger door and flung herself inside.

  “Go!” she shouted to the driver.

  And without a word, he floored the accelerator.

  ###

  Parker’s gut hardened to concrete as he watched the scene play out before him.

  The agents portraying tourist roles at the café were supposed to have taken Yanick. But Yanick had guessed the tactic seconds before they could execute. Now those agents were dead or badly injured.

  And Yanick was getting away.

  Miranda was right. Becker was gone. Odette was gone. And now Chef Emile’s fortune was gone, as well. Parker felt like a fool.

  “Miranda,” he shouted watching her climb into the Renault. Of course she wouldn’t waste time waiting for him.

  He’d trained her better.

  But he pressed on, running like a madman after a car he couldn’t catch up with on foot. Coming to his senses he slowed his pace.

  A medical worker came up behind him. “Where?” Asking about the fallen agents.

  “Over there.” He pointed down the street. “Near the café.”

  He turned back and blinked at the chaos behind him. Haubert h
ad gone for the Citroen. But it was taking forever for him to get back here.

  He should go after him.

  Just as he started toward the corner, his cell rang. He jerked it out of his pocket, glanced at the number.

  Dear God.

  He answered it. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Parker?”

  He nearly staggered at the familiar sound of the northeastern accent. “Dave? Is that you?”

  “Yes. You’ve got to help me. I’ve got to talk fast. My battery’s nearly gone.”

  Dear God, he thought again. Dave was alive. Either that or he’d been hit by a bullet himself and was hallucinating.

  No, the voice in his ear was real.

  “Where are you?”

  The connection was poor and Dave was in a panic, rattling off information just as fast as Parker could take it in. His mind whirled with the details. And as he listened a plan formed in his mind. He knew exactly where to go.

  Haubert’s car pulled up alongside the curb. His former student read the shock on his face. “What is it?”

  “I’ve heard from Dave Becker.”

  Haubert sucked in a breath. “Dieu Merci. He is alive?”

  “Yes. But he’s in trouble.” Quickly Parker explained the situation and his plan.

  Haubert took only a second to recalibrate the new information. “Take Fayette with you. I will go after Yanick.”

  “Thank you, Rene,” Parker said as the driver got out of the car and Haubert moved over. “And if you can…”

  The director leaned toward the window. “Yes? Anything.”

  “Make sure Miranda is safe.”

  “I will do my best.” And he took off, tires squealing.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Miranda held onto the dash as the agent at the wheel of the Renault barreled through the Paris side streets after the black BMW.

  “We’ve got to get that bastard,” she said through gritted teeth. “We’ve got to.”

  “Yes.” He swung the car around a sharp curve.

  The man beside her was Turmel, the big guy who’d found the ping on the cell tower that led them to the abandoned building last night. She imagined he wasn’t feeling too good about that today, though what happened last night wasn’t his fault at all.