She frowned. “He’d like to think he has.”
“A lover’s spat, then?” He patted her shoulders in a fatherly way. “It will pass.”
“Not this time. He’s…” Her lower lip trembled.
“What?”
“He’s told me to go.”
His nostrils flared, but then he gathered her into his arms. “Oh, dear. That is terribly shortsighted of him.”
She battled her desire to drive her knee into his nuts. “He’s just such an ass!”
“Men like McCrea have an air of mystery that gets the best of even the smartest, most otherwise levelheaded women.” Kral smiled, a meager grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “What do you wish to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t stay here. I’m not wanted.” She emphasized her last word, drew it out to mock herself. Tears welled in her eyes again, and she looked at her feet. “I need to get back to Marseille. He gave me his car keys and told me to leave. I just want to get away from him.”
She lifted an arm up, toward the covered walkway where she knew McCrea would be standing watch. Kral’s eyes followed where she pointed, as they’d planned. McCrea was now supposed to give him a signal, a thumbs-up or something to let him know that it was OK to let her leave, that he’d cut her brakes and she wouldn’t get out of town alive. He hadn’t, of course. He’d refused. But she planned to make it look as though he had.
From the length of time Kral stared at the walkway, shaking his head once, and then nodding slowly as a new, sick smile creased his face, she guessed that McCrea had succeeded in communicating his intentions. She hoped it was enough, and Kral would let her leave.
“Oh, my dear,” Kral murmured sympathetically, turning back to her. “I would ask you to stay here, but I’m afraid that McCrea will remain here, as well. It would only be awkward and painful for you to linger. Could I at least interest you in a drink before you leave?”
“I think that’s exactly what I need right now. Just one, though, because I have to drive.”
“Of course.” Kral wiggled a finger toward a servant, who dashed forward to take Evangeline’s suitcase. She suffered Kral’s hand on her elbow as he guided her to a shaded seat near the pool.
“To new friends,” he toasted when a fresh tray of champagne flutes had been brought out.
“New friends,” Evangeline concurred with a smile before sipping the bubbly liquid. Poisoned? Maybe. It tasted fine, delicious even. She’d heave it up as soon as she could. For now, drinking with him was her best shot of proving that McCrea hadn’t alerted her to danger. For their plan to work, it was vital that his standing with Kral not be damaged.
She finished her champagne and stood. “I really must be going. Thank you for everything.”
Kral smiled. “Say nothing more. It has been my pleasure. I wish you a safe journey.”
She nodded quickly before she walked away, her heart pounding in her chest. Her luggage was already in the trunk of McCrea’s convertible. As the engine roared to life, she glanced up to the corner room where she knew McCrea would be watching. He was there in the window, luminous in the sun. His face betrayed no emotion, but his fists were tight.
Evangeline caught his eye and held it for a long moment. Her nose tickled like she was about to cry. She looked away.
She needed her eyes to be clear. The road ahead was long and twisted. She gripped the steering wheel and guided the roadster out of the compound gate and into the town.
Up ahead was a curve to the right. Normally, she’d touch the brakes to slow the car.
But she had a role to play. She forcefully downshifted to first gear to slow the car as much as possible. The engine grated, complaining about the inelegant effort. Even in the lowest gear, the car gathered speed at a frightening rate. But she wouldn’t tap the brakes.
Her heart struck a quick beat as she guided the car around a tight left turn that opened into a large sunny square.
Where four school-age girls played hopscotch.
She rapped the horn in a staccato pulse to get their attention. They looked up, smiling at first but then drop-jawed in shock. Evangeline repeated the horn’s warning. Just as she thought she’d have to brake, all four girls leaped to safety.
One hand blaring the horn, Evangeline braced herself for the next turn, this one a ninety-degree angle to the right.
The nimble car made it with a squeal of tires.
Adrenaline sharpened her senses. This was, after all, exactly what she’d been taught to do. CIA trainees spent a great deal of time learning driving maneuvers such as these, for eventualities just like this. Here, as she had learned in training, she used the narrow lanes to her advantage, bouncing the light car off crumbling walls in an effort to slow it down. The road sloped too steeply for the car to lose momentum entirely, though. She’d have to run into a building to do that, and she couldn’t risk ramming an occupied dwelling, not with so many civilians about. Her missing body would raise too many questions, anyway, if she didn’t throw the car off a cliff. She needed to leave no room for doubt.
Up ahead was another corner. Horn shrieking, she yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left. The convertible careened as commanded, but its back end skidded out from under her, straight toward a tall yellow building. Forced to speed up or crash the car too early, she depressed the accelerator. The burst of gas sent power to the rear-wheel drive, pushing the car through the rest of the turn.
Plaster grated off the wall as she flew by.
A straight stretch through the center of town loomed ahead. With nothing to slow her progress, Evangeline raced down the cobbled road, gaining speed.
Just one more turn before the long narrow bridge that covered the deep ravine.
That final turn came quickly. Too quickly. She wrenched the steering wheel to the right, but she pulled too hard. The car was going too fast, and she couldn’t control it any longer. Its rounded nose pointed toward the ravine, not the bridge. If she kept going, she’d shoot straight into the river. She needed to hit the bridge to break her fall.
She corrected hard to the left.
The quick change of direction set her on a path that would shoot her over the narrow bridge, but at a bad angle. Unless she did something right now, the car would bust right through the crumbling stone wall that lined the bridge deck.
Exactly what she’d been hoping for.
In the final seconds before the modern car rammed into ancient stone, she gathered her body into a crouch and leaped out of the driver’s seat.
An explosion resounded through the valley like a thousand shotgun blasts, popping McCrea’s ears. Vomit rocketed up his throat and into his mouth. He fought his body and swallowed the disgusting stuff back down. He couldn’t be seen to be surprised by any of this. Whatever had happened to Evangeline, whether she’d made it out alive or not, he owed her his best.
He wasn’t a religious man, but right then, he mouthed a quick request to his Maker. He prayed for one thing: that Evangeline be alive.
But the black smoke swirling up from the direction of the gorge gave him doubts.
A cold sweat springing in the pits of his arms, he sprinted out of the compound and joined villagers and Kral’s houseguests as the entire population of the town ran toward the direction of the wreck. As he ran through the twisted alleys and narrow streets that would have been Evangeline’s path out of town, he saw deep, violent gouges in the stone buildings.
It was the sort of damage that a car would have made as it careened out of control down the steep road. There were no black skid marks that would have indicated emergency braking.
Which meant she’d done her job, and kept her foot off the brake to give the appearance that they’d been cut. Pride and admiration mixed with unbearable worry, and he began to run.
As he got closer to the bridge, the oily smoke that billowed thickly into the sky coated his nose. Flames crackled sharply over the low rumble of voices. He knew enough Czech to translate. “She was out of control,” �
�must have been thrown out,” and “probably drowned,” the gathered villagers murmured.
McCrea shoved his way through the small mob. There, where the road became a bridge that crossed a river far below, an inferno engulfed his Porsche. Its blunt front end poked through the bridge wall. Its front wheels dangled precipitously over the edge. He strained forward, but didn’t see her in the car.
She’d jumped out. She had said she would, had assured him that it’d be easy for her. She told him that she had hung outside the window of his hotel room to film his meeting with Ménellier, and that she’d hopped through a tree to escape a surveillance car before she met with him at Miel. Her Farm training, which was more extensive than that which he’d gotten with SOCA, had prepared her for such physical feats.
Not only could she do it, but she wanted to, and he couldn’t stop her. Now, he could only hope that she’d vaulted clear and hidden before the crowd had gathered. She was strong, smart, and quick, and the car was a convertible. She should be safely ensconced in someone’s vegetable cart by now. Wasn’t she? He stepped forward to make sure that her body wasn’t trapped in the seat.
A sharp crack sounded from underneath the car. People around him screamed. He rushed forward, but arms flailed around him, catching him and pulling him back. The ground rumbled as chunks of stone and mortar fell two hundred feet down to the river, smacking the water’s surface and echoing through the narrow canyon.
The small car tipped forward slowly, obdurately, like the lazy yawn of a great and powerful beast, until it hit a point of no return.
It began to slide.
Encased by a web of panicked bodies, he could do nothing but watch the car plunge over the edge. It whistled through the air and hit the river. A ripping crash boomed through the ravine like unholy thunder, followed by a single extended hiss of extinguished flames.
He wanted to scream her name, wanted to search every alley until he found her, but he remembered her strength and her determination. She was alive. She had to be.
And even if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t let her down. Not in life. Not in death. She believed in him, and he wouldn’t prove her wrong now. He’d finish their mission, come hell or high water.
He let a coolness slide over his body like a lead coffin. Expressionless, he turned his back to the wreckage and dusted his palms lightly on his pants.
Kral stood behind the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back in consideration. When he caught McCrea’s eye, he tilted his head in question.
McCrea nodded back firmly, briefly, taking responsibility for the crash.
Kral smiled and beckoned with his index finger.
Evangeline had sprung out of the car, landing hard on the rocky roadside and rolling away to hide beneath shrubbery. She grasped the thick stalk of an ancient rosemary bush as the convertible launched onto the bridge deck and crashed through the stone rail. There it hung.
No. It had to go over!
But already she heard screams. Coming closer. She had to get into the town and hide. Had to pray that it would look as though her body had been catapulted from the car and into the dark ravine upon impact.
She scrambled onto her knees, a bit scraped and bruised, but thankful that she’d thought to put on jeans before heading out; otherwise she’d be much more injured now. Her left elbow screamed when she bent it, and her left hip felt out of joint, but she could move. She had to move.
So move she did, first to the shelter of the nearest building, a pale pink two-story house. She flattened herself against the warm rough wall. Footsteps pounded down the hill. A crowd would gather soon, and she had to get out of sight. She limped her way to the back of the house, her leg pain a dim wail underneath stillpumping adrenaline. Behind the house she found a tight alley, dark, cool, and riddled down its center with what looked disconcertingly like sewage or table scraps. But its rancid contents made her think that it wasn’t often used, and no one was coming.
She’d be screwed if someone did.
A series of back doors opened up to the alley, but these houses would soon empty of whoever inhabited them as everyone in town rubbernecked at the scene of the crash.
She hobbled up the alley, dragging her bad leg as quietly as she could. Poking her head into each doorway before moving past added a second or two to her journey. Kitchens, mostly. All empty. The closely packed houses weren’t identical but rather had been built individually and over time to a common plan. Kitchens opened up to the alley. Garages didn’t exist. She hoped she could find what she was looking for without heading all the way back into town, but she was prepared to do it if she had to.
Her leg began to throb. Her elbow vibrated along with it. Her left knee felt wet. Bloody. She didn’t bother glancing down but kept her head up, listening for voices or footsteps, checking for escape routes should one become necessary.
A little boy skipped into the alley in front of her.
She ducked behind an open door. Waited. Didn’t hear a thing. Stuck her head out. The kid was gone, hopefully not to get help for the bloody stranger walking through the town’s sewer. She couldn’t bet on it. She had to hurry, despite how much her body begged her to sit the hell down and attend to its pains.
She half-sprinted the remaining distance of the long lane. To her left she glimpsed the town’s main street, the one she’d coursed on her rampage to the bridge. People streamed down it, their attention wholly on the destruction she’d left behind, its flames popping and crackling by the ravine. She turned right, and then took a quick left up another dark alley and was out of view of the foot traffic. Her injured hip swollen and hot, she heaved herself one more block up, and there, she saw it.
The cart loaded with wool, waiting patiently for someone to drive it into Arles for the Saturday market. Tomorrow. They’d tow it down tonight, according to what Kral had said at dinner, and set up early for the market in the morning. There, she’d hop out—hobble out, more likely—and meet Mason. Together, they’d remotely monitor the estate, and when Kral and McCrea left for the warehouse in Arles, they’d track them. Kral would be arrested in the heart of his secret weapons cache, red-handed.
Lovely plan. Several steps lay between its fruition and her current position, however, the first of which was the hopefully surmountable task of getting her battered body into the cart.
She unlatched the waist-high tailgate, and with a searing shimmy that required her to use all of her aching joints, rolled aboard. Her whole left side throbbed now. She closed the latch with a soft thud and dug herself a hole to hide in amid the soft fiber goods. A bit of airy wool roving stemmed the blood seeping through the denim. The wound on her knee didn’t look serious, just a nasty scrape that needed to be cleaned out. While painful, her injuries could wait for medical attention. She wouldn’t die here.
Not unless someone found her. She snuggled deeper into the cart and tried not to think about the sleepless night she had ahead of her.
That evening, McCrea and Kral dined alone in Kral’s cigar-scented, wood-paneled office. Kral wanted to discuss business, and the sort of business they had together couldn’t be spoken of in front of the men playing cards in the courtyard.
“I didn’t ask you to annihilate her—only kill her. Pills or poison would have been easier routes to take. Even a gunshot would have been less dramatic than what you chose, no? I think one of the villagers had a heart attack from the spectacle of it all.” Kral tucked a forkful of duck confit into his mouth and said, thickly, “You are more like your brother than you’ve let on.”
“She betrayed me. She deserved what she got.” McCrea wasn’t eating much, but then, he never did. “It’s cleaner if it looks like an accident.”
“Indeed. You have learned your lesson well!” Kral sang, to some tune McCrea didn’t recognize. The man was terribly happy tonight, and drinking heavily. “Though you learned it a bit too late for our dear departed Evangeline. To Evangeline!”
McCrea raised his glass of Château Lafite Rothschild. Their goblets
met with a clash that was too loud for the small space.
Kral giggled. “She had no idea, you know. I met her as she was leaving. The idiot was clueless. Had you not signaled to me to let her go, I doubtless would have had her shot when she tried to drive off.”
McCrea hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. How would he feel if he had murdered his lover because she was a traitor? “It’s a good thing you didn’t. We would have missed a hell of a show.”
“Indeed, indeed! Tell me, do you think she was catapulted out, or did she go down with the ship? Was she comatose and burning alive when you got there?”
Bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t answer.
Kral cocked his head. “What has your cat’s eyes narrowing in displeasure? Was it something I said? Don’t tell me you regret her death.”
Something close to honesty should suffice. He cleared his throat. “She was a bloody spy, and now she’s dead. I have no further interest in her.”
Kral’s voice dropped. “I suppose I understand. I felt the same way about my dear Eliska. Oh, Eliska! I live for her now, you know? How I regret letting her die, letting her blood be spilled for my gain. It is the tragedy which defines my life. Now you, too, have spilled a woman’s blood to advance your own agenda. We are too much alike, you and I, and grow more so each day.”
McCrea sipped the expensive wine, which tasted thick and rich, like blood on his tongue. He didn’t know how much more of this constant psychological compartmentalization he could take, but if he faltered, everything he and Evangeline had done in the name of toppling Kral’s empire would be wasted. It was an outcome that he couldn’t bear to consider. Not with the prices that had already been paid. For the second time that day, McCrea prayed. This time, he prayed for himself, for the strength and courage to continue. For Evangeline, he knew he would fight. He knew what side he was on. Now, he knew where he belonged.
So he said, without a trace of doubt about where his loyalty rested, “We are truly brothers.”
“Welcome to my family.” Kral smiled, his teeth glazing in a grin that look like it might be honestly glad. “Tonight, we drink to fraternity.”
An Affair of Vengeance Page 21