by Lyn Horner
Then he evidently noticed how she shivered. Stepping close, he curved his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. Accepting his offered warmth, she sighed gratefully and closed her eyes for a moment.
“I will never forget the beautiful places you showed me today,” he murmured. “I hope you will allow me to show you my homeland one day.” He kissed her brow, making her throw him a startled glance while a new, different kind of shiver raced down her spine. “Now, you are freezing. Let us go down.”
Speechless, she could only nod. Once on the ground, she found her tongue, suggesting they get something to eat then take the metro back to her place. Leon agreed. By the time they walked into her apartment, Delilah was exhausted. Her feet ached after the hours of sightseeing.
She flopped down on the couch, unzipped her boots and tugged them off. Sighing in relief, she said, “I imagine your daughter wonders how you are doing so far from home. Would you like to call her?”
“I can’t. I don’t have a phone in my home,” he said, removing his jacket and draping it over a barstool by the island.
“Does she have a cell phone?” she asked, wondering how he communicated with anyone.
He grimaced. “Yes, but the reception is not good where we live.” Rubbing his chin, he said, “If I need to reach Josie, she told me to call and leave a message at the airport where she keeps her helicopter. Her friend there will see that she gets it, but I think such a call will be expensive.”
“The cost is unimportant.” Delilah plucked her cell phone from her handbag, tapped in the security code and went through the steps for an international call. Then she handed him the device. “You’re connected. Go ahead and call.”
Leon slowly entered the numbers, brow furrowed. Seconds later, his frown lifted. “Hello, this is Leon Tseda, Josie’s father. I wish to give you a message for her.”
Delilah went into the kitchen and drew a glass of water, trying to allow him a bit of privacy. Not that there was much to overhear. He delivered a short message for his daughter, saying he was alright and had contacted her, Delilah. After listening to a reply, he thanked whoever he spoke to and disconnected.
Joining her in the kitchen, he smiled and returned her phone. “Thank you. Josie will be glad to know her old father is well.”
“You’re not all that old,” she said, openly studying him, liking his strong, mature copper features. How would be look with his hair freed from its braids? The thought came out of nowhere, surprising her.
One side of his mouth quirked up, and he shook his head. “I am far from young. I have seen fifty-two winters.”
Not surprised by his age, she gave a sultry smile. “You are also far from ancient. I noticed you kept up with me just fine today, even when I quickened our pace.”
He grinned, a rarity she had observed. “I told you I walk a lot at home. And it’s true, I’m not a feeble grandfather, yet.” He reached out to trace a finger down her cheek and jaw, giving her a start, making her pulse leap. “What of you, beautiful Delilah? How many years have passed for you?”
Unused to a man asking her age, she hesitated but decided not to be offended. He’d called her beautiful, after all. “I will turn forty-four in May. So, you see I am no spring chicken either.”
A quiet laugh emerged from his throat. “No, you are a fire-eyed woman hawk flying across the sky.”
Catching her breath, she pressed a hand to her midriff, conscious of a stirring in her body that she hadn’t felt in years, not since Malcolm Flewellen ended their affair, breaking her heart. Tongue darting out to wet her dry lips, she said, “I-I am tired. I’m going to bed.”
Leon sighed, nodded and stepped back. She slipped past him, saying, “Good night,” as she rushed up the hall to her room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, legs trembling. What was happening to her? Was she honestly starting to feel something for the strange man who had invaded her life? The question ran through her head while she prepared for bed and as she lay awake, replaying the day’s events. One thing was clear: she must make up her mind whether she would go to America with Leon or not.
* * *
The next morning, Delilah intended to put some pertinent questions to Leon, hoping his answers would convince her he was trustworthy. However, she was just sipping her first welcome cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was Esme calling, upset because Monsieur Villard had stormed into the office, demanding to see Delilah. He refused to leave until he spoke with her.
“Tell him to be patient. I will get there as soon as possible,” Delilah told the girl in French. Irritated by Villard’s behavior, she explained the situation to Leon. “You are welcome to come with me if you wish, but you will have to wait while I deal with this . . . client.” She gritted her teeth, wanting to call Villard a nasty name, but she restrained herself.
Leon shrugged. “I will stay here and maybe go for a walk,” he said. “I would only be in the way at your office.”
“Très bien. I hope this business won’t take all morning. After I return, I have a few questions for you.” She gave him a stern look. “It’s time for me to make a decision.”
Saying nothing, he nodded in agreement.
Delilah walked into her office twenty minutes later to find Villard pacing a path in her carpet. The second he saw her, he unleashed a tirade, arguing with the report she had prepared for him. Cutting him off, she reminded him he’d come to her because of her sterling reputation for predicting good and bad investments and market trends. He knew that perfectly well from her years in his employ at the bank.
In no mood to listen when he tried to argue again, she waved him to silence, saying everything in her report was accurate. The high-risk/high-yield investment fund in which he wanted to invest was doomed to failure, but if he chose not to take her advice, that was up to him. Although still unhappy with her conclusions, Villard calmed down, bowing to her judgment. She took time to point out some alternative funds he might consider investing in, saying they didn’t promise such lofty returns as the risky fund he’d been enamored with, but they were rock-solid. His money would be safe.
* * *
Leon strolled along the Seine, watching boats and passing Parisians, stopping for a few moments to watch an artist who sat painting the scene. This Paris was a fascinating place, but he preferred the peace and quiet of his homeland. Would Delilah find it pleasing? He didn’t hold much hope for that. She was used to the hustle and bustle of a great city, to the luxuries she enjoyed here. She made him think of a delicate orchid he’d once seen in an Albuquerque flower shop. Like the flower, he feared she would wither and die in his isolated, often harsh high desert canyon, if she were to stay there.
Startled by the direction of his thoughts, he examined his feelings for the woman. She was beautiful and alluring; being near her made his heart beat faster and his body yearn to hold her close and kiss her. But she was not for him; they were too different. Why would a woman like her be interested in him?
Suddenly lonely, he turned and walked back to the condo. Perhaps he would watch television again and try to figure out what the French announcers were saying from their expressions. Or he could take a nap until Delilah returned.
Entering the lobby, he saw three men standing by the desk, talking to Armand in French. He heard the shortest one speak Delilah’s name. Instantly alarmed, he spotted the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under another’s coat. Hellhounds! They had to be. He must warn Delilah.
He quietly slipped back outside and hurried up the street. It required three tries before he managed to hail a cab. The driver did not speak much English, but Leon showed him a slip of paper with Delilah’s business address written on it, the same tactic he’d used when he boarded the airport shuttle the other day. The taxi driver nodded, jabbered something in French and aimed his vehicle into the stream of traffic. Leon motioned for him to go faster. He had to get to Delilah before the Hellhounds did.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leon thrust
open the door to Delilah’s outer office and charged in. He tossed Esme a quick greeting as he strode to the inner door. She replied but didn’t try to stop him when he once again entered Delilah’s private office unannounced. He found her standing at a small open closet tucked in beside the wet bar in the corner.
“We must leave. Now,” he said the moment she turned to look at him. “The Hellhounds have come. They were at your condo asking for you.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know it was them?”
“I know because at least one had a gun. Come, we must go. They might be on their way here right now.”
She made a choked sound, grabbed her coat from the closet and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. Snatching her handbag off her desk, she rushed over to him, breathing fast. Leon gripped her elbow and turned toward the door he’d left partway open. At that moment, a man’s voice sounded from the outer office. He spoke in French. Leon didn’t understand the words but caught his threatening tone.
Esme screamed and Delilah cried out, clutching Leon’s arm. Then her inner door was shoved open, banging against the wall. Three men barged in. Determined to protect Delilah, Leon circled his arm around her, slipping his other hand into his jacket pocket at the same time.
The shortest of the three, who had asked for Delilah at her condo, was apparently the leader. An ugly lantern-jawed tough, he reached under his coat and pulled out an automatic. Pointing it at Leon, he growled something in French.
“I do not understand your words,” Leon said mildly, “but I have no gun if that is what worries you.”
“Oh yes? Then show what you do have,” the man ordered in thickly accented English, indicating the hand Leon had stuffed in his pocket.
He nodded and obeyed. Extending his fisted hand, he uncurled his fingers to reveal a small pile of fine, dark powder lying on his palm. “This is only a calming medicine I sometimes use.”
Laughing, the Frenchman sneered, “You need calming now, eh, old man?” He waved his weapon at Delilah, causing her to gasp. “Release the woman. She is to come with us.”
Delilah trembled in fear. Would Leon meekly hand her over to the vile trio? Intending to resist, she tried to draw away from him, but his arm tightened like an iron band around her waist, holding her close. Seeing him bend his head, she thought he meant to inhale the calming powder but, instead, he blew it into the men’s faces.
The three inhaled sharply, choked, coughed and screwed their eyes shut. “What the hell?” The leader demanded in a strangled voice. Trying to blink the dust from his eyes, obviously unable to see, he waved his gun back and forth.
Delilah shrieked, certain he was about to shoot both Leon and her. But he didn’t get the chance. Clutching her arm, Leon hurried her past the blinded men and out the open door. She spotted Esme crouched on the floor behind her desk. Resisting Leon’s tug on her arm, she shouted, “Don’t cower there like a frightened rabbit, Esme. Come! We must escape!”
White with fear, the trembling girl rose and followed them. As the elevator doors opened, Delilah heard the three villains stumbling from her office, shouting furiously. Heart hammering, she dashed into the elevator with her companions and sagged in relief against the wall when the doors closed. Esme huddled in a corner, crying and shaking.
Leon laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Calm down and look at me,” he said, drawing her tearful gaze. “When we reach ground floor, Delilah and I must run. But you should go to the security desk and ask the guard to call the police. Will you do that?”
“Oui, M-Monsieur,” the girl stammered, swiping tears from her cheeks. “But what if those terrible men follow you?” Esme glanced anxiously at Delilah. “Can you protect Madame Moreau?”
“We must leave the city for a while, but do not worry. I will keep her safe.”
Wondering if he was capable of doing so, Delilah gave Esme a quick hug when they stepped off the elevator and watched her run toward the guard’s desk. Then Leon grasped her arm and they dashed from the building. After running a short distance along the sidewalk, he halted outside a coffee bar she occasionally visited.
With a glance over his shoulder, he said, “I don’t see them. Let’s go in here and wait.” Nudging her through the entrance, he looked around then pointed to a walled corner beside the shop’s front window.
Taking position next to him in the shadowed space, Delilah hugged her shaking body, stomach churning in distress. To divert her frightening thoughts, she asked, “What was the powder you blew at those vile men?”
“It is called Datura,” he replied without taking his gaze from the window. “My people make it from a plant we have long used as medicine and for spirit journeys. I always carry some in my pocket. A small amount is calming, as I told them, but too much can confuse a person and make them act crazy. It can even kill.”
Too bad the stuff didn’t kill the devils who tried to abduct me, she thought vengefully. “How long will the effects last on those three?”
“Not long. Each of them only inhaled a little of the powder. They won’t see well for a while and they might feel sick, but I don’t think that will stop them from coming after you.” He no more than spoke when the villains staggered into sight outside the coffee bar. Leon pushed Delilah behind him into the deep shadows and flattened himself against the wall. After a moment, he darted a swift glance through the window.
“They are gone.”
“I want to go home,” she said, stepping out of the corner, still shaking. She longed to soak in a hot bath and drink a glass or two of wine to settle her nerves.
“No, we cannot. The Hounds will return there, looking for you,” he said quietly.
She sighed in disappointment. “I suppose you are right. Perhaps we should go straight to the airport,” she suggested, also keeping her voice down. They were already attracting attention from several people. She did not wish to be overheard.
“They probably have someone watching for you there.”
“We could try Orly. It isn’t as large as Charles de Gaulle Airport but it has flights to America.”
Leon considered for a moment before shaking his head again. “It’s too risky. We must go someplace the Hounds will not expect you to go.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “And where is such a place?”
He drew a wadded up yellow paper from the coat pocket opposite where he had carried the Datura powder. She recognized the paper as the one he had shown her when he first showed up at her office, with the name and address of the cheap hotel his daughter had booked for him.
“No! I am not going to that, that dump,” Delilah whispered as he straightened the paper. “There are some fine hotels in Paris, and I don’t mind paying for our rooms.”
He cocked one dark brow. “And what if the Hounds check those hotels?”
She looked away. Why hadn’t she considered that? She was not very good at this running and hiding business.
He tapped the piece of crinkled paper. “If this hotel is in such a bad part of town as you say, it’s the last place the Hounds would think to look for you. We will be safe there for tonight at least.”
He was right. Shoulders drooping, she nodded and drew her cell phone from her bag. “I will have Germain pick us up.”
“No.” Leon caught her wrist, stopping her from making the call. “If the Hounds find out he is your driver, they will force him to reveal where he took us. It’s best if he doesn’t know. Is there a bus we can take?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, realizing he was right again. “There is a metro station not far from here. We should be able to make connections to the hotel, or near enough to walk there.”
Leon agreed, and they hurried to the metro entrance at Esplanade de La Défense, keeping a sharp watch for the three Hellhounds. Fortunately, they saw no sign of them. Once seated at the back of a half empty train car, where they could talk in privacy, Delilah said, “We may be safe for now, but what of tomorrow? If we don’t dare go to an airport, I me
an.”
He clasped his hands loosely in his lap, frowning in thought. “Perhaps we can escape to another city where we can get on a plane to America. What do you think?”
She nodded. “There are direct flights from Nice in the south of France to New York City, and there is a high-speed train to Nice. We can take the metro to the Gare de Lyon in central Paris and catch the TGV there. Um, that’s the bullet train. I will check the schedule on my phone.”
Leon considered her suggestion for a moment, brow furrowed, then laid a hand over hers as she was about to sign onto the internet. “The Hounds could also be watching the train station,” he said.
“Mon Dieu! How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know, but I fear they are many. They have shown themselves in the States, in Ireland and now in France. I think it wise to avoid anywhere they might wait to catch you.”
Deflated, she slouched down and stared out the train window into the dark tunnel.
“Perhaps we should rent a car and drive to the city you named,” Leon proposed.
“It is a long, difficult drive to Nice.” Still, she straightened, thinking. “But I suppose we could to do it, and there is no need to rent a car. I own one.”
He cut her a startled glance. “Why did you not say so before? Let us get your car in the morning and leave.” He gave her a sharp look. “Where do you keep it?”
“In the underground garage at my apartment building.”
“Damn, I was afraid of something like that. We should not go back there. The Hellhounds might still be watching the place.” Frowning, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and fingered the whiskers sprouting above his upper lip, the only place he appeared to grow facial hair.
Delilah touched his arm. “Um, there is a back way into the building. It’s mainly for deliveries, but we can enter there. It opens onto an alley.”
He straightened. “Would we need to walk through the lobby to get to the garage?”
She shook her head. “No. There are back stairs.”