“I swear you’ll be a dead man if you hurt her.” François hissed, his own blood freezing in his veins.
“It’s up to you to save her. Put the box back in the car and close the trunk, all the way this time,” Adriaan barked. “Stop wasting my time.
Trapped, François cursed. Without taking his eyes off the knife pressed against Cheryl’s neck, he obeyed. As he raised his gaze to scowl his contempt at the skunk holding his beloved Cheryl, he saw the bush behind her move. François remained stiff, waiting, hoping the police or Bernard would finally appear.
Karl stepped out of the bush, holding a machine gun.
“Merde.” François’ hope for help evaporated and he stared at the firearm in Karl’s hand. Another thief and murderer.
“Wow, where did you get that?” Adriaan smiled and tilted his chin toward the machine gun. “Perfect timing, buddy. I’ll share with you. Help me get rid of these two and get out of here.”
Karl slowly moved from behind Adriaan and Cheryl. “I’ll take care of them both. Adriaan, get the car started,” he ordered.
Adriaan threw Cheryl to the ground and ran to the car while Karl’s arm shifted direction. As soon as Adriaan slid inside the car, Karl shot the back tires and the car slumped down.
“Count François, get the box. I’ll break open the trunk.” He sent a salvo at the trunk lock.
Without hesitation François picked up the box for the third time and handed it to Cheryl. “Run to the house under cover of the forest.”
“Your eye?” Cheryl growled, staring at his swollen eyelid.
“Go. Please. Save the statue.” These were the right words to get her moving. He picked up the gun he’d dropped earlier and heaved a deep breath at the unexpected help.
“Who are youl?” Puzzled, François stared at the German.
“Interpol,” Karl announced. “We need to stop him and his accomplice.”
“She’s dead or seriously wounded.” François focused on Cheryl’s flight to the forest and muttered a prayer for her safety.
“I’m talking about their Malaysian friend,” Karl threw over his shoulder as he dashed toward the car.
“Malaysian? Where is he?” François followed.
“Get down,” Karl ordered before he released another round into the front left tire.
No response came from the car but Adriaan plunged down, out of sight, maybe trapped between the car seat and the dash board. Karl ran from the cover of one tree to another. A shot rang out. He stumbled, still clutching his machine gun against his chest. François ducked to the ground. The gunshot hadn’t come from Adriaan’s car.
Someone was hiding, watching them. The Malaysian or Danielle who might have recovered?
Raising his head, François glanced at Karl. Blood soaked into the leg of Karl’s pants. François crawled toward him as fast as he could.
“Go back there. Get Adriaan. He’s still in the car,” Karl ordered. A grimace of pain twisted his face but he dragged himself behind a tree. “I’ll cover you.”
François’ throat constricted at the thought of Cheryl still running toward the chateau. Was she safe, or trapped—again—by a killer?
~*~
About to enter the second tunnel, Cheryl froze in her tracks. She’d been lucky enough to negotiate the first tunnel without problems but now gunshots and the rapid rat-a-tat of a machine gun had exploded.
Was François hurt? She couldn’t abandon him at this critical moment, yet she couldn’t go back with the statue. Hidden behind a bush, she rapidly surveyed her surroundings. There were a lot of bushes at the entrance of the tunnel. She crawled to the third one, the thickest one, deposited her box and covered it with broken branches and dead leaves.
Still crouching she returned to the entrance of the tunnel she’d just exited. Now quite familiar with its curves and potholes she ran back along its length. As she reached the end, she skittered to a stop. An arm crooked across her face, she shielded her eyes from the sun to assess the area then dropped to her hands and knees and crawled toward the chapel. She saw Karl’s head peaking from behind a tree as he released a burst of machine gun fire.
He was shooting in her direction. Why?
Scowling, she stiffened and carefully scanned the wood. A gunshot exploded ahead of her, to the left and a man flattened against a tree. As he turned his head to scout the area, she clamped a hand on her mouth to stifle a shriek of shock.
The Malaysian? Here, in the Loire Valley? How was he connected to Adriaan and Danielle?
Cheryl patted her back pocket to find her gun and pulled it out. If she missed her shot, there was no doubt he’d kill her. She had to get closer to him. Holding her breath, her gaze flicking from her prey to the ground, she crawled. Slowly, silently. The man fired again. Karl rolled on the ground, moaning. There was no time to waste. Cheryl got on her knees, aimed at the Malaysian’s back and pressed the trigger.
A whoosh answered.
Her breath caught in her throat. She flattened on the ground, waiting for the return shot that would kill her. Her blood thumped in her ears.
Nothing.
After a few minutes, she raised her head and peered at the tree that hid the Malaysian a moment ago. No one was there.
Carefully, she advanced and stopped to listen, her hearing sensitized and heightened by the imminence of danger. As she approached, she spotted the foreign man sprawled on the ground, bleeding from a wound in the chest. She waited, afraid he might jump at her. He didn’t move. She grasped a stone and threw it near him. He still didn’t move. Using the cover of the trees, she ran closer. His gun lay on the ground, a couple of feet from him. She stepped forward and kicked it out of his reach. But the man was definitely unconscious. Had she killed him?
Oh my God. I killed another person. Oh my God. Again. He was the enemy and yet she couldn’t imagine killing a human being. He killed Doc. He tried twice and finally killed Doc. She wouldn’t feel remorse.
At the sound of a moan, she remembered Karl and ran toward him.
He was bleeding heavily. She reached for her cell phone and called Bernard’s number. “Call the police. We need help.”
“It’s on its way. Should be there any minute.”
“Tell them to hurry, please. I have two men badly wounded here in the forest.”
Lord, would Karl be alive by then? And François? Where was François?
~*~
Crawling on his belly through the undergrowth, François scurried to the right, away from the forest and circled around the chapel to reach Adriaan’s car. He progressed slowly but managed to stay out of sight. The car sloped backward, both rear tires inflated. François approached the passenger side and cursed.
The door was opened, Adriaan gone.
François scanned the iris field beyond the chapel. How could he find the man though the tall plants? Behind him, the guns’ explosion had stopped resonating. A deadly silence followed.
Was Karl still alive?
As François turned toward the spot where he’d left Karl, he noticed movement in the irises. He aimed and fired.
A scream pierced the air. Adriaan’s arms flailed and he fell. Rendered cautious by Adriaan’s previous recovery, François released another shot before he approached. Adriaan lay on the ground, moaning. Blood gushed from his right side. François picked up the gun that slid out of Adriaan’s weakened fingers and pointed it at him while punching the police’s number on his cell phone.
At that precise moment, the sirens shrieked. Police cars and ambulances stopped close by the chapel. François shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood rooted in place, his mind blank but his gun still aimed at Adriaan. Suddenly, the area swarmed with policemen, the FBI agent and Chuck among them.
Chuck Minho? His Chinese student from England with the police and FBI? Were all his students hiding their real identities?
François waved at him. “Interpol too?”
“No,” Chuck answered with his most British accent and a bright smil
e. His first smile since he’d set foot in the Vallée de la Loire. “Scotland Yard.”
Disgusted, François scowled. Merde. Had all the police from around the world decided to hold a gathering at his chateau?
A second police car stopped and Roberto came along with the Chief of the French Police.
“Who are you? Italian secret police?” François asked, unable to remember the Italian counterpart of the FBI agency.
“No, Signor. I’m your student, coming from Milano.”
“I know that. But what are you doing with the French police?”
“He’s earning his grandfather’s pardon,” the Chief of Police explained. “Umberto Cantari Senior was the Sicilian godfather of a powerful mafia family. He loves valuable art pieces and organized the robbery of the second statue, the one stolen in Amsterdam. Roberto had returned it and volunteered to help us find your statue if we don’t arrest the old man who is eighty-eight.”
“I see. Bad guy turned good.”
Two paramedics transferred Danielle first and then Adriaan to the ambulances while a policeman supervised them, his gun never wavering from the wounded criminals.
“I was never a bad guy, Signor,” Roberto protested. “One of the bad guys is in the ambulance. He offered me a deal to work with him. I pretended to cooperate after I notified Interpol.”
“Double agent.” Stunned, François shook his head. He’d never hire students again. Except Cheryl. He’d keep her here with him.
He wanted her at his side forever but at the moment he was glad and relieved she was at the chateau safe and sound, hiding the statue.
“Where is Ms. Stewart?” the FBI agent asked, after the policemen carried Adriaan to an ambulance that’d just arrived.
“She’s at the chateau, thank God.”
“No, she’s not. Your butler called and urged us to rush to your area because Ms. Stewart told him she was in the forest with two gravely wounded men.”
“Oh, mon Dieu. In the forest? With…two…men?” Suddenly, François remembered the explosion of gunshots just before the police arrived. His gut twisted and the bile rose to his mouth. “Is she wounded? Hurt?”
“We don’t know.”
Without waiting for more details, François took off.
The Chief of the Police shouted, “Monsieur le Comte, wait. Don’t interfere with the crime scene.”
The FBI followed, echoing behind him. “Sir, wait. You may get hurt.”
His gun still in his hand, François ran faster than he ever did when he competed annually in the Cote d’Azur Marathon, except that this time, he didn’t concentrate on his steps but kept looking ahead. “Cheryl, chérie… Cheryl, chérie,” he intermittently repeated as he entered the forest without slowing down.
A moment later, he saw her and froze in his tracks. She stood straight, her gun pointed at the Malaysian man lying on the ground, bleeding. “François, call the police. They must be close by. I heard the sirens. We also need an ambulance for Karl.”
“Are…you…hurt?” He tried to take her in his arms.
She pushed him away. “Careful, I have a gun in my hand. And so do you.” She chuckled. “No need to kill each other by accident.”
“So, you’re…fine?” He had trouble believing she was unharmed, laughing.
“Yes. Perfect shape.”
“I’ve been so worried about you. So scared.” He closed his eyes and exhaled his relief. “Mon Dieu, do you realize how much I love you.”
“I love you too, François.”
“My darling—”
“Cut the crap and give me water,” the Malaysian barked. François focused on the man lying at their feet, wondering if he should finish him before the criminal recovered enough to hurt them.
“Are you well, Monsieur le Comte?” Surrounded by policemen, the Chief of Police appeared between the trees, huffing and puffing.
How typical of the officer to worry about the titled person first.
“Mademoiselle Stewart is well too. But we need an ambulance for this criminal.”
“We will take care of him,” the Chief gestured to the paramedics carrying a stretcher.
“No. First take care of Karl.” Cheryl spun to look at the tree where she’d abandoned a bleeding Karl.
Karl was gone.
“We already took him to the ambulance.”
“Now you two need to explain what happened this morning.” The FBI agent stepped close to them. “Why did you shoot our suspects and ruin our plans to find the statue?”
“We ruined your plans to find the statue?” Her fists clenched on her hips, Cheryl glared at the FBI agent.
“Ms. Stewart, I can see you like to play detective but in doing so you ended up with three gravely injured men and a dead woman.”
“And you risked Monsieur le Comte’s life. All that for nothing,” the Chief of Police said with a disgruntled shake of his head and turned to leave. “I’ll catch up with Roberto and my policemen. They already retrieved the body of Mademoiselle Comain.”
Cheryl shrugged and turned toward François. He caught the impatient glint in her eyes. “How about if one of you explains why my chateau has turned into a rendezvous of secret police?”
The FBI agent sighed with exasperation. “Count François, everyone assumed the statue is hidden somewhere on your estate. It was natural to expect the bad guys who coveted it to converge on your chateau. Interpol and Scotland Yard sent their undercover agents, Karl and Chuck who were also art experts, as your students.”
“And Roberto.”
“I already explained that Roberto made a deal with us to save his grandfather from jail.”
“I thought the grandfather was a respected bank trustee.” François grimaced. To think he went through the trouble of gathering background information on each of his new students before hiring them.
“He still is. But Interpol seriously suspected him of organizing the holdup of the statue to be delivered to the Amsterdam Museum. In a way, by hiring summer students, you made it easier for everybody to gather here. Except for the Malaysian as you call him. He goes by the name Lee Vo or Lan Veer, depending on the situation. He had no excuse to be officially admitted into your chateau. So he remained hidden.”
It sounded so simple. Cheryl felt dizzy. Too easy. “Did Adriaan organize all this?” He didn’t hit her as the kind of brain who could organize careful plans and dispatch his cronies to accomplish the dirty work. “Who was the mastermind who sent Adriaan, Danielle and the Malaysian? What would they do with the statue? It’s too big to hide.”
The FBI agent considered her from under scowling eyebrows. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want you precipitating everything without results.”
She smiled slyly. “We caught the Malaysian who killed Professor Howard. And we found the statue. That’s enough results for me.”
His eyes rounding, the FBI agent closed the space between them. Annoyed by his garlic-smelling breath, Cheryl stepped back.
“You found the statue? Where?” His inquisitive gaze surveyed the ground of the forest around them.
“Hidden. Not too far from here.”
“I’ll be damned.” He rubbed his chin, then his nose, then his jaws. “Well, I wonder if I should call the police to protect you while you move it or let you do it quietly.”
“Are there still dangerous people around here?” François asked, his sarcastic tone betraying his annoyance.
The FBI kept stroking his chin. “We still have to question Adriaan and the Malaysian. There are too many questions unanswered. Hold on a minute. I’ll be back.”
A moment later he returned with two policemen. “They will escort you. At the chateau, you will find Bernard with the two bodyguards Charles and Luc. I found a message from Luc telling me that your sister and Juan-Pablo are here.”
“Merde. She always comes at the wrong time. Now I have to worry about her too.”
“Let Juan-Pablo worry about your sister. You, take care of Ms. Stewart.”
> “I won’t make you repeat it.” François wrapped his arm around Cheryl’s waist. They walked away, two policemen following close-by.
Cheryl purposely accelerated her steps toward the tunnel and paused as she drew level with the bush hiding the box. Wrapping both arms around François, she leaned into him and playfully kissed him on the lips. The two policemen cleared their throats and discretely admired the far away scenery. “Darling,” she said with a loud voice. “I love you so much.” She trailed her lips to his ears and whispered, “Are we using the tunnel? With them?”
“No. It needs to remain secret. We go through the forest,” he whispered back.
Adrenaline pumping, she crouched on the ground, eagerly fluttered the dead leaves and branches away, and extracted the box from its hiding place. “Let’s go.”
François took the box from her hands and called the policemen who glanced at Cheryl and then stared at him with a wishful look. They stomped through the trees for half an hour and reached the kitchen door. François unlocked it. As they all entered Bernard and the two bodyguards greeted them with happy cheers.
“You have it, Monsieur le Comte.” Bernard folded his hands reverently. “Is it as beautiful as the painting?”
“Gorgeous, Bernard. Magnifique.”
Cheryl wasn’t listening to their exchange. Through the bay window she saw someone far away. She came closer to the window and peered out. Nothing. Was it her overactive imagination?
“I will make coffee for everyone,” Bernard announced. “And I will call Mademoiselle Marilène and Don Juan-Pablo.” Bernard had always been respectful of titles.
“Serve it in the library for mademoiselle Cheryl and me. I will keep the statue there, until the police move it to the bank.”
Cheryl smiled. They badly needed a private moment after all the commotion of the morning. The policemen settled with the bodyguards around the kitchen table while François tugged at her hand.
As soon as they entered his office, François deposited the box on his desk and pulled Cheryl into his arms for a long passionate kiss.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 96