by Lyn Horner
“The Hounds could be watching that entrance too,” he said, frowning again.
“True, but we must return there anyway to collect your bag and so I can pack a few things. We will both need our passports, don’t forget.”
Sighing, he nodded. “You are right, we will have to risk it.”
“Very well.” With the decision made, Delilah relaxed somewhat.
After transferring twice to different trains and walking a few blocks, they arrived at the hotel. The brick façade did not look too bad, although the neighborhood was as rundown and seedy as she had expected.
When Leon escorted her into the small, shabby lobby, she almost balked but forced her legs to move as he clasped her elbow and marched her over to the desk. The obese concierge wore a dark blue uniform with frayed cuffs and tarnished brass buttons. He looked them over, rudely staring at Leon’s braids and buckskin jacket.
“Puis-je vous aider?” he asked in a sullen tone.
Leon glanced at Delilah. “What did he say?”
“He asked if he can be of service.”
“Mmm. Tell him my name and that I have a reservation.”
Giving him a skeptical look, she followed his instructions. The concierge reacted as she expected, frowning and saying Leon had arrived two days late. His reservation was no longer good. The man added that he didn’t think there was a room available. Then he stroked his greasy mustache and winked at Delilah.
She took the hint. Eyeing him in disgust, she pulled a fistful of francs from her wallet and slapped the money down on the desk. “Now do you have a room?” she demanded in her native tongue.
“Mais oui, Madame,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk, scooping up the money.
Struggling to remain civil, she requested a second room for herself. When the odious man snidely informed her that there were no other rooms open, she lost her temper. Facing Leon, she raged, “This pig says there is only one room available. Whether he is speaking the truth or trying to worm more money out of me, I don’t know. Either way, I refuse to stay here.” She started for the exit, but he cut her off, taking hold of her arms.
“We have nowhere else to go,” he said, bending close, face only inches from hers.
“I would rather walk the streets than stay in this dump,” she hissed, trying to shake off his hands.
“Don’t be a fool,” he barked. “You can stand it here for one night. Tomorrow we will get your car and leave.”
Fuming, she wrenched free. “Fine, but you had better hope there are two beds. I am not sleeping in the same one as you.” Ignoring his vexed expression, she stomped back to the desk and demanded a key from the despicable concierge, who grinned, obviously amused by their argument.
Not speaking, they rode up in the rickety elevator, jolting to a stop on the third floor. Their assigned room was at the end of a dimly lighted corridor. Leon unlocked and opened the door. Following him in, Delilah halted to take in the accommodations. Her gaze immediately lighted on the one, barely full-size bed with a mattress that sagged in the middle. Crossing her arms, she glared at Leon.
“Well, what do you intend to do about that?” She pointed at the bed.
He shrugged one shoulder. “You can have it. I will sleep on the floor.”
“Mais non! You must be joking. The carpet looks as ancient as the elevator. You might catch some terrible germs from it, and you’d surely not be comfortable.”
“I have slept on hard ground many times. I’ll survive a night on the floor.”
Seeing he was implacable, Delilah argued no further. After all, he was the one who had insisted they stay here. It was only right he should suffer the consequences. Wasn’t it?
They went to eat at a nearby café. The interior hadn’t been painted in years, the tables and chairs wobbled, but the food was surprisingly good. Lingering over coffee and slices of warm apple tart, they talked not about the urgent situation that had brought them to this shabby little eatery, but about themselves.
Delilah spoke of her early years, growing up in the Bordeaux wine region of France, where her parents had owned a small but award-winning winery. “My father was killed in a forklift accident at the winery when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Leon said.
Nodding, she sipped her coffee then continued. “Losing him nearly killed my mother. She had no heart for the winery. She sold it and we moved to Paris, where I finished my schooling. After that, I worked in the banking sector before opening my own business.”
“Is your mother still alive?”
She bent her head. “No, she passed several years ago. She suffered with cancer for a long time. It was a blessing when she went.” Looking up, she asked, “What of your parents? Are they still with you?”
“No. They died long ago.” Toying with one of his long braids, he said, “I had two older brothers, but they are gone too. They drank from the time I was a young boy, and it ruined their livers.”
“Quelle tragique! How tragic! You are fortunate that you gave up drinking for your wife.”
“Yes, Yolanda saved my life.” Abruptly dropping the subject, he said, “Come, we should return to the hotel before nightfall.” With that, he pushed back his chair, rose and put on his coat.
“I agree,” she said, doing the same. “Although I detest that place, I do not wish to be caught out in this neighborhood after dark.”
“Oh, so you changed your mind. You would not rather walk the streets than spend a night in the same room with me?” he said dryly as they walked out
She rolled her eyes. “That depends on how you behave in the room, Monsieur.”
He laughed. “I will do my best not to offend you, I give you my word.”
His word proved good. Allowing her first access to the antiquated bathroom, he sat on a chair by the room’s small window and politely looked away when she emerged after showering. Thankful for his courtesy, she dropped the towel she’d wrapped around herself and dove into bed wearing only her underclothes. She dragged the covers up to her throat.
“Are you decent?” Leon asked.
“Yes. The bathroom is yours.”
“Thank you. I will be quick. Turn off the bedside lamp. That way you won’t see anything you don’t want to see when I come out.”
She did as he said, but when he emerged from the bathroom minutes later, she couldn’t resist opening her eyes. He had switched off the light before opening the door, yet she discerned his shadowy form in the dim glow of street lamps filtering through the thin window curtains. She caught her breath, seeing the soft glint of bare skin across his broad shoulders and how slim-hipped he was stripped of everything but white briefs that stood out in the darkness.
Slamming her eyes shut, she feigned sleep, breathing as evenly as possible while he rolled himself in an extra blanket and reclined on the floor nearby, with a bed pillow his only cushion. She listened to him shift around, trying to get comfortable, and felt a bit guilty for being unwilling to share the bed, although two people on the lumpy, sagging mattress would be extremely miserable. Unless they cuddled together in the middle.
The thought flooded her with warmth, caused purely by embarrassment, she told herself. Conscious of Leon lying so close by on floor, hearing him snore a short while later, she took a long time to fall sleep.
* * *
Sara Flewellen lurched back and forth across her room, feeling as if bugs were crawling all over her. She frantically pulled at her hair and raked her nails down her arms, leaving raw, bloody tracks. Wailing in pain, she pleaded with her nurse for the umpteenth time to ask Master Balor to let her have some medicine.
The scowling, heavyset matron finally called the master. After what seemed like forever, Balor walked in. Sara rushed over to him. Clutching his sleeve, she begged, “Please, Master, I need my medicine. I can’t stand this.”
“You can have all you want after you tell me where Lara is. Not before,” he said without pity, prying her hands off him.
; She stumbled back several steps. “I-I can’t tell . . . I-I don’t see her,” she stammered, sticking to the lie she’d fed him before. She mustn’t tell him! He might kill her twin. But the pain was eating her up.
“Then no medicine for you.” Turning on his heel, Balor opened the door, ready to leave.
“No! Wait!” she cried, giving in. “I see her, I see her!”
He faced her. “Where is she?”
“Getting off the plane with him, with Conn. She’s so tired after hopping from one plane to another, and it’s so hot!””
“Where?” Balor seized her arms. “Where, damn you!”
Sara knew generally where Lara had flown to, but not exactly. Desperate for relief from the torture of drug withdrawal, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to see.
“There’s a sign with a funny word. It’s spelled N-a-i-r-o-b-i.”
“Nair . . . Nairobi! That’s in Africa, Kenya if I’m not mistaken. Excellent, my dear.” Master hugged Sara for a second. Then he made a nasty noise and shoved her away. “You stink! Matron, you need to clean her up again.”
“Yes, Master, I will,” the woman said. “But she’ll make a mess of herself again.”
Sara hated her.
Master turned away then stopped. “And give her a shot before she gets blood poisoning from scratching herself. She’s no good to me dead.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Leon woke early, stiff and sore. Regardless of what he’d told Delilah, he was too old for sleeping on a hard floor. His joints creaked when he climbed to his feet. Delilah still slept, turned toward him on her side, dark lashes fanned out across her cheeks and lips parted in a half smile. She looked like a young girl dreaming of her first beau.
Letting her sleep a little longer, he used the bathroom then dressed quietly. However, when he bent to pull on his boots, his lower back muscles cramped, wrenching a grunt from his throat.
Delilah moaned and rolled onto her back. Opening her eyes, she blinked a few times then turned her head to look at him. “Is it morning already?” she mumbled, brushing strands of short raven hair away from her face.
“Yes.” Grimacing, Leon rubbed the kinks from his back. “I apologize for waking you, but we must leave soon.”
“You are in pain from sleeping on the floor,” she said, hoarse with sleep. Sitting up, she unconsciously let the covers slide down to her waist, drawing his gaze to her breasts. Shielded only by a lacy skin-colored bra, they were not overly full but would fill his hands perfectly. He stared at them hungrily.
She made a choked sound and yanked the covers up to her throat. Looking up, he watched her cheeks turn fiery red as her gaze skittered away from his. He cleared his suddenly tight throat.
“I will be fine once I loosen up.” Grabbing his jacket off the only chair, he added, “I will wait downstairs while you get ready.”
“Oui, th-thank you,” she said, still refusing to meet his gaze. “I shall hurry.”
True to her word, Delilah joined him in the lobby a few minutes later. He turned in their room key to the groggy looking desk clerk, who smelled strongly of alcohol, and they left the hotel, headed for the metro station.
They rode the subway to a stop not far from her condo. Approaching the rear of the building, Leon ordered Delilah to stay back while he checked the entrance for any watchers. Seeing no one, he motioned her forward. Once inside, they mounted the stairs to the fourth floor. They were both slightly out of breath by the time they walked into her condo, and vastly relieved when they found the place empty of intruders.
“Make yourself comfortable. I will be as quick as possible.” With that, she shut herself in her bedroom. A moment later, Leon heard water running and realized she was taking a shower. Muttering about foolish women who would rather be clean than safe, he sighed, removed his coat and went to get his duffle bag from the guest room. He might as well shave away his sprouting mustache and wash up while he waited.
* * *
Delilah hurriedly showered, not bothering to wash her hair. She dried off, dressed in a casual shirt and pants and switched out her stylish purse for a spacious shoulder bag that might come in handy. Packing a few clothes and necessities into a small rolling suitcase, she left the case lying open on her bed while she unscrewed the finial atop one of the corner posts of her antique four-poster. Setting the ornament aside, she reached into the specially hollowed out post with her thumb and forefinger and withdrew a small bluish metal tube. Inside it was the sacred scroll she had sworn to protect, with her life if necessary. She didn’t dare leave it behind.
Quickly screwing the finial back in place, she hid the tube among her packed clothes, zipped the suitcase and grabbed the maroon jacket she’d worn yesterday. When she walked back out to the living room pulling the case behind her, she found Leon stationed at the window, staring at morning boat traffic on the river. He stood with legs braced and arms crossed. Once again, she noticed his broad shoulders, tapered waist and slim hips. For a man in his fifties, he was in very good shape.
He heard her and pivoted. His obsidian gaze traveled over her from head to toe and back up. Smiling, he said, “You look refreshed. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, but do you want some breakfast first?”
“No.” He shook his head, causing his braids to swing gently back and forth. “We can stop somewhere later. Right now, we need to get out of here before the Hounds come sniffing around.” As he spoke, he jammed on his coat, retrieved his duffle bag from the couch and strode to the door.
“Of course. I am sorry for the delay.” Slipping on her jacket, she took a hasty last look around, followed him out and locked the door behind them. They hurried back down the way they had come and continued to the underground garage. Leon held his hand up, telling her to wait while he walked back and forth, scanning the open area.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said, rejoining her. “Let’s go.” He kept looking around as she led him to her sleek red Peugeot RCZ. He stopped to stare at the auto.
“This is your car?” he asked in obvious astonishment.
“Oui. Isn’t she a beauty?” She smiled proudly at the low-slung coupé. Dealing with dry facts and figures all week as she did, the racy little sports car provided her with weekend escapes that she treasured.
Leon scowled. “A beauty that stands out like a sore thumb.”
Insulted, Delilah glared at him. “Well, it is the only auto I own,” she huffed. “Take it or leave it.” She unlocked the car doors and stood back, nose in the air.
He sliced her a disgusted look but loaded their bags into the car’s crowded back compartment without another word. Delilah buckled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, loving how it purred, while the insolent man settled in beside her. She backed out of her parking slot and drove to the ramp leading up to the exit.
She was edging out, watching for an opening in traffic when a car stopped outside the building’s main entrance. A woman stepped out next to the curb. Dressed all in black, with a cloche hat concealing her hair, she was tall and sinister looking. She glanced their way and froze, staring straight at Delilah. Abruptly, she jumped back into her car and pointed at them, speaking to her male driver.
“It’s the Hounds! Get out of here,” Leon shouted.
Delilah didn’t need to be told twice. Stepping on the gas pedal, she shot into the street, forcing a taxi driver to stomp on his brakes. She ignored his shaking fist. Zipping in and out of lanes, she gained ground on the heavier vehicle chasing them, but not enough to lose the driver. Moving to the far right, she came to a corner and skidded around it, tires screeching.
“Be careful!” Leon yelled. “Don’t kill us.”
“Trust me. I know how to drive. You keep an eye on them behind us.”
He twisted in his seat to watch for their followers while she raced through a labyrinth of streets, cornering on two wheels at times, dodging cars, motorcyclists and pedestrians. If not for the precision machine she drove and her quick reflexes,
they would have crashed a dozen times over and possibly killed someone. As it was, she did have some near misses and caused a fender bender or two, but she couldn’t worry about such matters. All her energy went into outrunning the Hellhounds.
Finally, Leon said, “I don’t see their car. I think you lost them.”
“Are you sure?” She wasn’t ready to relax.
He stared out the back window a few moments longer then faced front. “They are gone. You did it.” Gazing at her, he said, “You are amazing.”
She gave a shaky laugh, trembling inside now that the danger had passed. “Thank you, but you must credit this little girl.” She patted the RCZ’s dashboard.
“I do, but without you at her wheel, we would not have escaped.”
Basking in his praise, Delilah turned toward the southbound highway out of Paris.
* * *
“You had her almost in your clutches and let her get away? Imbecile!” Balor raged into the phone in his mechanical voice.
“I’m sorry, Master Balor,” Marisa Gunther replied. “She was driving a fancy sports car. It was too fast. We couldn’t –”
“Save your excuses. I want Delilah Moreau. Find her!”
“We will. I have men watching all the Paris airports and railway stations with trains running out of the city.”
“That’s not good enough,” Baylor snapped. “You said she has a fast car. Check auto routes, too, and find out where she and the man she’s with might catch a plane out of France.” He paused. “I happen to know there is a flight from Nice to New York City. Pay particular attention to that.”
“Yes, of course. I will get on it immediately, Master.”
“See that you do. And if I were you, Marisa, I would not let the Moreau woman slip through your fingers again. That would be most unwise of you.” Not waiting for a reply, he hung up, certain she had understood the threat.
* * *
Delilah found it slow going on the A6 route south, running into one traffic jam after another. Leon periodically turned to look for any sign of pursuit. He reported seeing none, but he was obviously apprehensive.