Henri, sensing what was going to happen, shouted and began running. Sara watched in horror as one of the men pulled out a gun and shot Henri in the back. His body jerked before he fell face-first into the dirt. The sound of the shot caused her to jerk as well, her arms wrapping around her waist.
Simon, eyes wide, threw his hands up in protest, but with a loud crack of another weapon fell backward, blood running from his chest. Air rushed from Sara’s lungs as her chest heaved at the sight.
Yann, standing in the middle of the drive, said nothing, but his gaze moved to where she stood just inside the doorway. He held her gaze until another shot rang out, and his eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground.
Fear, fatigue, hunger, and now the sight of three murders in front of her was more than Sara could take. Darkness descended as the ground rose up to meet her, and she dropped into a dead faint.
8
Sara’s eyes blinked open, confusion marring her awareness. Sunlight was streaming through a tall window, illuminating the room. Sitting up quickly, she felt a rush of dizziness and threw her hand out to steady herself. Her fingers scrunched into soft material nearby, and she reopened her eyes to see that she was sitting on a bed.
The room was whitewashed with a plain wooden dresser against one wall, a rocking chair in another corner, and the bed she was sitting on covered in a light yellow bedspread. The floor was bare wood with no rug.
Next to the bed, she spied a tray on a small table filled with a bunch of grapes, cubes of cheese, slices of papaya, and a thick slab of bread smothered with butter. A bottle of water was sitting on the tray as well.
Not caring where the food came from, she immediately dug in. The cool water ran down her throat, washing away the dryness. The grapes were plump and juicy, and not seeing any utensils, she grabbed the papaya with her fingers, and soon, they were sticky with juice. The cheese was soft and creamy, and the bread was fresh.
After several minutes of doing nothing but stuffing food into her mouth, she drank the rest of the water before standing from the bed. Testing her strength, she was glad to see that her legs were steady underneath her and she no longer felt faint. Fear still clawed at her, but she could not imagine if the man wanted her dead he would have had someone carry her in after she fainted, put her in a bedroom, and given her food and water.
There were three doors in the room, and upon exploring, she discovered one opened to a small closet and one led to a small bathroom. It contained a white pedestal sink, toilet, and tiny white bathtub. Quickly using the toilet, she washed her hands, then grabbed a cloth, soaked it in cool water, and scrubbed her face.
Her purse was nowhere to be seen, but a wooden tray sat on the back of the toilet containing soap and a toothbrush as well as a comb and brush. She brushed her long hair, braided it, and wrapped a hair tie she had stuffed into her pocket that morning around the end.
There was no window in the bathroom, but she walked back through the bedroom and peeked out of the window, almost expecting to see bars. There were none; but then, if she did escape, she had no idea where to go.
She searched the room to see if there was an object that could be used as a weapon, but the room was bare except for the essentials. The closet did not even contain hangers. Puffing out air from her lungs, she wondered what she was expected to do.
Uncertain if the door leading outside would be unlocked, she tried it, and much to her surprise, the door swung open. A man was sitting in the hall, casually dressed with a rifle slung over his shoulder. She squeaked in surprise, and he looked up sharply. He took to his feet and waved his hand down the hall, indicating that she should precede him.
She hesitated, but with no other recourse, she nodded and acquiesced. She walked past several other closed doors and at the end of the hall came to a stairway leading down. It was obviously not the main staircase in the foyer that she had seen earlier, and she wondered if she had been taken to another building.
Coming to the bottom, she entered the room off the kitchen that she had passed through when she first arrived at the villa. Not knowing which way she was expected to go, the guard came up behind her and swept his arm out toward the right.
She stumbled, remembering that the last time she had walked through this area, she was accompanied by Henri, Simon, and Yann. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she threw her shoulders back and continued forward with more bravado on her face than she felt on the inside.
Once in the foyer, the guard waved her toward the office door. His knuckles rapped sharply on the polished wood, and receiving permission to enter, he threw open the door. He jerked his head to indicate she should enter, and having no other choice, she stepped through the doorway.
The villa was a continued surprise as the room she now entered was covered in thick rugs, dark paneled walls, heavy ornate furniture, a leather sofa, matching leather chair, and a fireplace on one end. One wall was comprised of built-in bookshelves filled with volumes and a heavy wooden desk in front of it.
The man who had ordered the deaths of her kidnappers and had taken the jewelry was sitting in a red leather chair behind the desk. Her feet stuttered to a halt, and she stood awkwardly, not knowing what was expected of her, trying to still the heavy breaths leaving her lungs.
“Sara, I hope you are feeling better.”
He spoke to her in English, and she was glad to not have to continue the pretense of not understanding what he was saying when he spoke French. His voice was deep and smooth, and his gaze was just as penetrating as before. “Yes, thank you.” Licking her lips, she added, “I appreciate the food and water.”
His only response was to nod, but his gaze stayed fastened to her. She had no idea what was expected of her, so she remained quiet, not moving.
“It appears that you present me with quite the conundrum,” he said. “The foolishness of my former employees in bringing you here has now placed me with a decision to make.”
Feeling a desperate need to say something, she was not above begging. “I have no idea where I am.” Seeing his brows lower in confusion, she rushed to explain, “They put me in a boat, and then we got out and drove for a while. We ended up at an airstrip where I had to sit on the floor of the plane. I couldn’t see out the windows, so I have no idea where I am. I’m no risk to you. I’m no one.”
For a long moment, he continued sitting behind his desk in silence. Suddenly, noise could be heard in the foyer outside the closed office door. She discerned the sound of running footsteps coming closer just before a female voice called out, “Mes bébés, revenez ici! Ne dérangez pas votre père.”
Her eyes darted from the door back to the man, and she watched as his lips curved into a wide smile. He pushed himself to a standing position and said, “It appears that my children are back from their shopping trip. My wife was reminding them not to disturb me.”
Continuing to stand awkwardly in the middle of his office, she forced a stiff smile onto her face, uncertainty filling her. One thought slammed into her mind, and that was if his children were present, surely, he would not kill her.
He walked briskly to the door, threw it open, and with his arms spread wide, called out, “Pierre. Nicholas. Viens Papa!”
Sara watched as two young dark-haired boys flew into his arms, both speaking rapidly, telling their father about their day. The sound of heels clicking on the tile caused her gaze to look behind the boys where she saw a beautiful, immaculately dressed, elaborately coiffed dark-haired woman staring back at her.
The woman narrowed her gaze on Sara then lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow as she turned to her husband. “René? Qui est la femme?”
He walked over and placed a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Her name is Sara, and she is our guest…for now.”
“English?”
“American. And yes, she speaks English.”
One of the little boys looked up at Sara and pointed to his chest with his thumb. “My name is Pierre. I learn English.”
The younger boy
, not to be outdone by his brother, looked up and said, “Me! Nicholas!”
If ever someone had fallen down a rabbit hole, Sara was certain that it was her. Not long ago, on this very spot, the boy’s father ordered the execution of three of his men. Oh, God, I hope that got cleaned up before the kids got here! Considering the boys did not seem horrified or scarred, she could only assume the bodies had been taken away and the blood cleaned off the gravel path. Feeling lightheaded again, she jolted when the youngest boy grabbed her hand and gave her a shake.
“Me! Nicholas!”
Smiling softly, she squatted so that she was on his level and said, “Nice to meet you, Nicholas. I’m Sara.”
The older boy squished next to his brother with a shove and again poked his chest with his thumb. “My name is Pierre. I seven years old.”
“Hello, Pierre.” Her lips curved slightly at the sight of the little boys vying for her attention. So innocent in the middle of this bizarre situation.
Standing, she looked toward the man and woman, not understanding the speculative gaze in his eyes. The woman continued to stare at her, neither smiling nor glaring. Once more, she had no idea what was expected of her, so she remained quiet as the two boys continued to chatter, switching back and forth between French and English.
“Sara, may I present my wife, Louisa. As you may have heard earlier, my name is René.”
She licked her dry lips, then smiled, nodding slightly.
René turned to Louisa and said, “Sara will be our guest at dinner. I would like the boys to practice their English with someone who is a native speaker.”
Startled at his pronouncement, she noted that Louisa merely inclined her head and then called to her sons to get ready for dinner. “Pierre. Nicholas. Venez vous préparer pour le diner.”
Sara watched as the two boys rushed up the main staircase in front of their mother, Louisa walking slower, her heels clicking on the wooden stairs. Shifting her gaze to René, she waited to see what he declared next. He swept his hand out toward his office again, and she moved in front of him, entering the room. He closed the door behind them, offered her a seat in front of his massive desk, then circled around and settled back in the red leather chair.
“I was wondering what to do with you. I had not decided if you would live or die. But seeing you greet my sons, you were very polite and very kind. I am not an unreasonable man, and I like to reward those who please me.”
Her hands clasped together, squeezing tightly as they rested in her lap. She still had no idea what he planned on doing with her, but it appeared that he was not going to kill her...at least, not yet. She tried to swallow but found her throat to be dry, her mouth like cotton. She thought perhaps she should smile at him to stay in his good graces, but her face felt tight, and she was afraid it was more of a grimace than a smile.
It did not seem to matter as he continued. “You will stay with us as long as you continue to please me.”
Her heart stuttered at those words, not having any idea what pleasing him would entail. Visions of being treated like a slave flew through her mind, and her breath left her lungs in a rush.
If he noticed her distress, he did not comment, instead saying, “My children have a private teacher, and their lessons are obviously in French. The teacher also knows Spanish, which I want my children to learn as well. English is not his native language nor is he proficient in it. You will stay with us and teach my children English.”
Her voice, more like a croak instead of words, asked, “Stay?”
René leaned forward, placing his forearms on the dark wood of his desk, and his dark, unsmiling eyes bore straight into her. “You must understand that you cannot leave. Regardless of whether you know where you are, you are a risk.” Leaning back in his chair, the leather squeaking with his movement, he lifted his hands slightly. “As a member of my staff, you will be well treated, have a place to stay, food and drink, and a small salary.” Smiling, he asked, “What more could you want?”
“My freedom.” The words rushed out before she had a chance to consider his response to her outburst.
“It will take you time to become accustomed, but do not push me on this, Sara. You’re now a member of this household, and you will not be leaving.” He waved his hand dismissively, indicating that their conversation was over. “The room you were taken to when you became ill will be your room. I realize you do not have any clothes or personal items. I will have one of the servants bring you some things so that you’ll have something to wear to dinner tonight.”
The door to his office opened, and she wondered if he had silently signaled for one of his guards to come to escort her back to her room. Standing on shaky legs, she knew that to stay and argue would be pointless. In fact, it could be deadly. As she forced her legs to move, she walked back through the staff dining room to the stairs leading above, a quote from a poet she had to read in college coming back to her: “He who fights and runs away, they live to fight another day.”
As she stepped into her room, she knew that she was not a coward but playing it smart. There was no way she was going to stay here indefinitely. She would escape...she just had no idea how.
Sitting on the side of her bed, she startled at the knock on her door. A young woman walked in, two cloth bags in her hands. The woman smiled shyly, patted her chest, and said, “Marie.”
Nodding in return, she said, “Sara.” Looking at what Marie placed on the bed, she saw that it was the clothing René promised. As Marie left the room, Sara called out, “Thank you,” receiving another shy smile in return.
With no other choice at the moment, she took the clothes and toiletries into the bathroom. Running the water in the bathtub, she luxuriated in washing away the dirt and sweat of the day. The tub was only big enough for her to sit in with her knees drawn, but she did not care. She scrubbed her hair with the soap, rinsing it after she let the bathwater out. Drying off, she slipped on the clean underwear and put her bra back on before buttoning the blouse and pulling on the flowing skirt.
She looked down at her sandals, which had been clean and white when she started her day at the resort. After everything she had been through, they were dirty and dusty. Using another cloth, she scrubbed them as best she could, then slid them back onto her feet. Combing her wet hair, she braided it again. The toiletries included lotion, which she rubbed on her face, arms, and legs.
Walking back into the bedroom, she opened the door and peeked down the hall, seeing no guard this time. Terrified of doing the wrong thing and displeasing René, she walked hesitantly down the stairs. At the bottom, there was more hustle and bustle than previously. The kitchen staff was moving around, and as Marie came through, she looked up and smiled.
Marie waved for her to follow, and she did, more at ease with the young woman than she had been with the guard carrying the weapon. Marie led her through the tile foyer to the living room, where it appeared the family had gathered.
Louisa was wearing a different outfit but was just as elegant as before. René had changed his shirt, and the boys were in long pants instead of shorts. Feeling vastly underdressed but much cleaner than she had been, she hesitated at the doorway.
Pierre and Nicholas ran to her, both grabbing her hands and talking all at once. Their enthusiasm made it difficult to pretend she did not understand French, but Pierre talked haltingly in English, and she responded to him.
René escorted Louisa across the hall to the formal dining room. Two other men and another woman were already in the room, standing as they waited. One was so similar in appearance to René that she was not surprised when he introduced his brother, Jean. The brother bowed low over her hand, placing his lips against her knuckles, giving a little squeeze. As he stood, his lips quirked as his gaze raked over her, snagging on her breasts.
The other woman was also similar in dress and appearance to Louisa, although she barely disguised her animosity toward Sara. Introduced to Jean’s wife, Martinique, she barely nodded before the woman w
hirled around, giving her back to Sara, and strutted toward her chair, sitting across from Louisa.
The other man introduced to her was Milo, the boys’ teacher. Smaller in stature, he was dressed plainly in clean khaki pants and a white shirt. He smiled widely, his face eager, pumping her hand in greeting. “It will give me pleasure to learn more English with you.”
Milo escorted her to the table, where she sat between him and Pierre. René was at one end, Louisa at the other. Jean and Martinique sat across from them, Nicholas near his mother. As the servants brought in dinner, Martinique spoke only in French, making her disdain for sharing their dinner table with a lowly peasant obvious with her glares toward Sara.
Keeping her face perfectly blank, Sara merely smiled, nodded occasionally, and forced herself to focus on the food being served. Still hungry from her day’s escapades, she was determined to eat her fill.
9
As they neared Maripasoula, François slowed and turned onto a rough dirt road. Blake knew they needed to stay off the main roads, but before he had a chance to ask François what his plan was, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen and saw it was Josh. “Talk to me.”
“The last known location of her phone was slightly southwest of Maripasoula. All indications are that it was at the compound residence of René Boutillier, just as you suspected. So, good work on the anticipation. The bad news is her phone is no longer active.”
“Fuck. So, all we really know is that her phone was taken there before it was deactivated.”
“I’ve got another piece of good news, though,” Josh said. “Before her phone was deactivated, she sent a text. It was sent out to her last contact, one of the women that was with her as a translator. The text was, ‘Help’. My guess is that it was sent in a hurry, perhaps just to let anyone know that she was still alive.”
His heart leaped at that news. “Pull up everything you can get from the satellite on his place. François is meeting someone so that we can get a boat, saying the roads here will be too dangerous trying to get out. I’ll be in contact.”
Blake (Lighthouse Security Investigations Book 5) Page 7