Loving the Enemy (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 0)

by Charmaine Pauls

She looked up quickly, expectation in her gaze. “Of course. Shoot.”

  “I dropped my cellphone in the river where I was fishing. Do you think you can take a photo of me outside,” he pointed over his shoulder, “here by the fountain?”

  “What, with this?” She picked up her mobile and held it in the air.

  He smiled again. “I’ll owe you.”

  “Sure.” The till pinged. “That’ll be fifty bucks.”

  He handed her a bill and cocked his head toward the door. “Shall we?”

  She wobbled from behind the counter on her high heels and out of the store in front of him. “Where? Here?” She stopped in a shady spot.

  The light was bad for a photo, but he didn’t give a damn, so he posed, leaning on the fountain with his ankles crossed. “Snap away.”

  She insisted on taking five shots before they went back to her shop.

  “You want me to email it to you?” she said.

  “The thing is, I won’t have internet access for a while, and I was hoping to mail this off to my mom today. Can you be a honey and print it for me?”

  “Yeah, I guess, but it won’t be good quality. I don’t have photo paper.”

  “It’s the idea that matters, right?”

  “Right.” She was already connecting her phone to the laptop.

  Jacob leaned over the counter, covering her hand. “Wait.” She looked like she was going to swoon. “I can’t let you do my dirty work now, can I?”

  “What?” She batted her eyelashes.

  He released her hand and came around the counter. “You’re busy. I know my way around computers. Let me get this.”

  “Oh, it’s not necessary,” she stuttered. “I don’t mind.” But she did move up.

  “I do. It’s not very gentlemanly.” He opened the software application icon, made a few quick manipulations, and sent the first of the five photos to the printer. “Do you have scissors?”

  “I can do that,” she said, too eager, grabbing the sheet from the printer with one hand as she opened a drawer with the other and pulled out a pair of scissors.

  “That’ll be kind. Getting the damn thing in the frame straight will be a challenge for me.”

  She smiled from ear to ear as she removed the backing from the frame.

  “Say…” Jacob touched her hair. Her chest rose as she inhaled soundlessly. “Do you mind if I quickly check my emails?”

  “Go ahead.” She moved to the end of the counter. “Take my chair.”

  “Thank you.”

  He did exactly that. While she fitted the paper picture in the frame, he logged onto the site his hacker had given him.

  “Oh, there’s a long email from my mom. Do you mind if I print it? It’ll take too long to read.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He printed the pages he needed, logged out of the site, and wiped the browser history. After that he deleted his photos from the software program and the hard drive, as well as from her phone. You never knew who came around, asking questions. And you never knew how far an image could travel in cyber space.

  “All done.” She held the frame up for his approval.

  “Perfect.” He grabbed her around the waist and pecked her on the cheek.

  She flushed bright red as she handed him his parcel.

  “I’ll tell my mom you say hi.” He winked, and left her standing there, gaping at him.

  Outside, he studied the printout. It was a list of the registration numbers of the vehicles that had traveled on the road near his and Lily’s campsite on the day she had taken flight, courtesy of a government satellite on which his hacker had piggybacked. It was a shot in the dark, but it was all he had. For the first time he considered that Lily wasn’t heading to Paris, but somewhere else.

  Back in Hazyview, he pickpocketed a tourist, since he was running low on cash. He bought a mobile phone, but still couldn’t find a prepaid card. He considered taking a contract, but it would leave too much of a tangible trace. He went to the tourist office where they had computers and a Wi-Fi connection. After paying for a time slot, he settled behind one of the desktops and studied the printout.

  The average human could cover four miles in one hour on foot. He started by looking up a map of the area and drawing a four-mile radius around the campsite. Then he zoomed in on the roads within that radius. He made a list of the route names, which he compared to the printout. In the hour after Lily’s disappearance, twelve cars and five trucks had passed on the roads he had listed. He accessed a special software package via a secure feed, and typed in the registration number of each truck. With the exception of one, they had all travelled south. Next, he used a virus his hacker had planted to access the satellite records. He typed the specific geographical location, date, and time of day into the search field. This allowed him to pull up and zoom in on the still photos of each of the five trucks. He didn’t bother to enlarge the single passenger images. He flipped through them fast, until he came to one with two passengers. Truck drivers often had co-drivers, so he didn’t get his hope up yet. His finger only started trembling when he saw the long hair, the small face, and a tiny hand covering a mouth he knew very well.

  Jacob glanced around and enlarged the photo, refining the pixels until he got a clear image. It was his Lily. She was looking from the window, biting her nail, a small frown on her pretty forehead.

  He logged out, wiped his cyber trail and closed the application. Looked like he was going to Mozambique.

  He traced the truck to a gas station in Maputo. The waitress, Mavis, was eager to tell him that Lily had left with the Red Cross pilot. Mavis wasn’t a big fan of the Algerian. It wasn’t hard to track the pilot. The man denied having flown Lily into Algiers, only until his nose and fingers were broken. After that, he told Jacob that Lily had slipped through their fingers in Marseille.

  The first thing he did, was to get his hacker to pull up images of the trains that had left from Marseille for all destinations from the date the Algerian fucker had her delivered to his cousin. It took a long time, but finally an image of Lily came up. She had gotten off in Avignon. From there, she was harder to find. The good news about that, was that Sky Communications would have a hard time locating her, too. But Jacob had access to information nobody else had. He knew that Lily was traveling as Mary Franklin.

  For two weeks nothing on the false name showed up. He put out a large amount of money for information, and sent a photo and description to his worldwide network of informants. About to become despondent, he got lucky. A search engine alert picked up the name in the French Catholic baptism register. According to the record, Mary Franklin had been baptized in the Notre Dame de Saint Michel the week before. Next he pulled up information on anything new or newsworthy in that area, and found a newspaper article about the church robberies. Setting off for Normandy, he hoped to God it was his Lily. He had to make sure he got to her before anybody else did.

  Chapter Ten

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  Caring for graves wasn’t as bad as Lily imagined. There was something therapeutic about pulling weeds, raking and watering flowers. The graveyard exuded a serene beauty. In this part of the country, there was always a breeze that brought clouds from the sea. Patches of shadow constantly played over the graveyard like a baby’s mobile. It had a pleasant, calming effect. The new leaves on a giant cherry tree in the corner glowed green in the rays that fell over the stone cathedral. Father Brice called that fan of sunbeams angelic light.

  Paul Moreau’s maize pastures, which bordered the church grounds, stood tall and green, their rough leaves making a rustling noise in the soft wind. Lily could stand in that field under the tree for hours, listening to the sound. Sometimes she studied the names on the graves, and imagined the lives those people had lived. The summer was warm, but never too hot. Lily enjoyed resting her back against the wall of the church when it had baked in the sun, feeling the heat scorch her skin even as the air that blew in from the sea made her toes feel cold. When she was bent over the g
raves, she could feel the heat trapped in the granite rise from the rock to warm her face as she smiled upon the dead.

  Besides working in the garden, Lily was also responsible for cleaning the church. In the beginning, it was hard. Not used to working, she grew tired quickly. It also didn’t help that she didn’t know how to clean a toilet. But Father Brice was a patient teacher, and after a couple of weeks in her new routine, Lily had grown stronger and more resilient.

  For as much as he was kind, Father Brice was a recluse by nature who only performed the social duties that were an obligation. Their secluded lifestyle suited her. She had long since learned that she was Father Brice’s private charity case. She was not employed by the church, or by the municipality. The money Father Brice gave her in exchange for her tasks came from his own pocket. She accepted it gratefully, without either of them mentioning it. It also meant he paid her in cash, which kept her trail clean.

  She was sitting against the wall, her legs stretched out in the sun after the day’s work, when Father Brice strolled past with a basket.

  “Oh,” he stopped next to her, “hello, Mary.”

  It still surprised her every time he called her by that name.

  “I was just going to pick some cherries,” he said. “Care to join me?”

  “No thanks.”

  “All right. But don’t expect any of my cherry pie.”

  She squinted up at him with a smile. “Like the chicken and the grain?”

  “What chicken and grain?”

  “You know, the story about the chicken who planted a grain of wheat, and none of the other animals wanted to help him, and in the end, he didn’t share the bread he made from the flour with anyone.”

  He clicked his tongue. “You amuse me with your stories.”

  “And you amuse me with your attitude. Didn’t Jesus share his bread and fish?”

  His laugh was hearty. “He also taught the fishermen how to catch the fish, instead of simply providing it.”

  She pushed herself to her feet. “Give me that basket.”

  They walked to the tree together.

  “I have a communion and a baptism on Sunday. I’d like to bake a few pies, for the tea afterward.”

  Father Brice performed every religious ceremony from baptisms to funerals in the district.

  “How come you’re the only priest for miles?”

  “It costs too much money to have one for each chapel and church these days.”

  “Is that why all the smaller ones are without priests?”

  “Yes. I am based here, at the biggest cathedral, but I take care of the religious needs of the region.” His eyes rested on her. “So tell me, Mary, you have visited all of these smaller churches?”

  “I have.”

  “Mm. Are you a very religious woman, or is your interest born from touristic interest?”

  “I’m not religious.”

  “I see.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You know, all of these churches, they have been robbed.”

  Lily didn’t falter in her step. “Oh, have they?”

  “Seems as if the thieve spared only us.” He gave her a bright smile. “You must be a good luck charm, sent by God.”

  This time Lily stopped. She stared at the old man’s back as he paused under the tree. “More a curse, than a charm.”

  He turned in a circle, scanning the branches above. “It all depends on how you look at it. When I look at you, I don’t see a curse, Mary.” He lowered his head and smiled at her. “And I should know. I’m a man of God, after all, an expert in the field of good and bad.”

  Lily walked to him slowly. If that was his way of offering her absolution, she’d take it with both hands. She handed him back the basket, and pulled herself up onto a branch.

  “Thank you,” she said, softly.

  He pointed at somewhere above her head. “They’re ripe up there.”

  She looked up at the high branch and groaned. Every absolution came with some form of payment, she supposed.

  Lily stepped into the kitchen wearing a blue sundress. It was one Jacob had bought for her in Ermelo, just before she had run. As soon as she could afford it, she was replacing all her clothes. She didn’t need the hurtful reminders.

  She popped her earphones in and switched on her iPod, something she had splashed out on. The music soothed her like manual labor did. She chose an upbeat song and turned the volume all the way up.

  Her hair was wet from her shower, and her feet bare. There was a simple, but great pleasure in feeling clean. She enjoyed nothing more than washing her hair and body after a long day’s work, letting the warm water ease the soreness from her muscles. Work was good. She was glad she had the opportunity to experience it. If she had stayed in her dad’s house, she would have never needed to work, to earn her own money. She wouldn’t have learned to survive, or how to feel strong.

  The window was open, letting in the smell of the jasmine vine and lavender with the gentle wind. Lily felt content. The ache for Jacob was always there, but she had made peace with the pain that would always be part of her. This was about as happy as she was going to get in this new life of hers.

  She opened the door of the fridge and scanned the content. While her gardening skills had increased marginally, cooking was still her weak point. Lily settled on a pork chop that was simple enough to fry. As she turned to carry the meat to the stove, her front door fell into the house with a bang.

  For a second she froze in shock as a man with black combat gear blocked out the light. He stood in the frame, his arms standing wide from his sides, his legs spread, watching her through the slits of his eyes.

  She dropped the meat on the table, jerked the headphones from her ears, and backed up to the stove. In that moment, she realized her fatal mistake. She hadn’t stocked up on weapons. Her hand flitted to the side, feeling for the drawer with the knives, while the man the size of a tree trunk took his first step into her house. He had a gun strapped to his hip and a rifle hanging over his shoulder, but he didn’t reach for either as he advanced on her. Lily swallowed back her scream. She prayed that Father Brice wouldn’t hear anything, that he wouldn’t come looking, or he was as dead as she was. Her hand shook as she grabbed hold of the drawer knob, and instead of opening it, she pulled it straight off its hinges. It fell to the floor with a crash. The man laughed softly. Lily took her eyes off him for a second to survey the contents of the drawer at her feet. She bent down and grabbed the vegetable knife. It was smaller than the meat knife, but sharper. Before she could straighten, a sharp pain assaulted her scalp.

  The man had gripped her hair and was pulling her up by it. While she reached for his arm with one hand, her nails scratching but doing no damage through the fabric, she stabbed at him with the other. The only thing she sliced, was air. The giant kept her at arm’s length, all the while laughing. Her efforts were futile. She stopped struggling.

  “That’s it,” he said, “giving up already. What a weak little thing you are. Weak, but pretty. I’m going to have myself some fun.”

  Lily took deep, fast breaths, trying to think through her fear. Deception was her best weapon. Let him think she was weak–a harmless little girl.

  He grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the knife. She whimpered in pain, and jumped to the side to avoid the sharp point of the blade driving into her foot.

  Her attacker cocked his head and pressed his nose against her temple. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Wanna play, little girl?”

  She shuddered.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Don’t worry, I like it when you fight back.” Without letting go, he lowered the rifle from his shoulder and leaned it against the counter. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her forward, slamming her stomach into the table. The blow knocked the wind out of her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He bent her down until the wood grazed her cheek. She tried to claw at him, searching for him behind her back. With a chuckle he grasped her wrists and pinned them dow
n on the table. She kicked at his shins with her bare feet, but only felt the leather of his boots that were laced over his pants.

  “That’s it,” he hissed against her ear. “Fight me. That makes me hard.”

  “W–what do you want?”

  “You’ll know in a minute.”

  He let go of her wrists, keeping her down with one hand curled around her neck. Lily shuddered at the clanging sound of his buckle. Oh God, he was going to rape her, or beat her, or both, and then kill her. Her eyes darted around, looking for a weapon. The only thing within reach was the plate with the pork chop. While the man was unfastening his pants with one hand and pinning her neck down with the other, he left her arms free. This was her only chance. Her only weapons were her attacker’s underestimation and a pork chop. If it weren’t a life-and-death situation, it would have been hilarious. Hysterical laughter escaped before she could prevent it.

  He grabbed a fistful of hair and banged her head on the table. “What’s so fucking funny?”

  Her hand reached for the meat, her fingers cutting into the cold, wet flesh around the T-shaped bone.

  “This is.” She lifted her arm and brought down the sharp point of the bone as hard as she could onto the hand keeping her prisoner.

  He cried out with a curse. When his grip slackened, she stabbed again. With her other hand, she slammed the plate down on the table. It broke into pieces. She snatched up a shard and aimed blindly for his neck or face behind her back, putting all of her strength into the blow. This time, the sound he made was chilling. He let go. Lily twisted under him so she faced him. Blood trickled from a wound in his neck and on the back of his hand. She jabbed at him again with the shard, but he ducked and she missed.

  Lily fought like an animal. The man wrenched the meat and broken piece of plate from her hands, throwing them to the floor. She tried to slip past him, but he took hold of her arms, lifted her off her feet and flung her through the air. Lily’s back connected with the table, the air knocked from her lungs. Her legs dangled off the edge. She pulled up her knees and kicked, aiming for his crotch, but the man sidestepped her assault with ease, knocking the rifle behind him down to the floor.