Against the Wall

by Lyn Stone

  "This mission could be deadly if you don't know what you're doing, Solange. Tell me now if you aren't sure, and I'll get you out of here."

  Jack's hand on her arm gripped with increased intensity. Solange realized he was afraid for her. Really afraid, to the point where he might abandon the mission if she seemed reluctant.

  "I know what to do," she assured him, putting more conviction into her answer than she truly felt.

  In a surprising move, he put his arms around her and held her close. "I wish to God I had left you where you were. You're not cut out for this."

  She pushed against his chest until she could look him straight in the eye. "Don't underestimate me, Mercier."

  He smiled down at her, still holding her in his arms. "My mistake." Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

  Solange felt it to her soul.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Books by Lyn Stone

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Beauty and the Badge #952

  Live-In Lover #1055

  A Royal Murder #1172

  In Harm's Way # 1193

  §Down to the Wire #1281

  §Against the Wall #1295

  § Special Ops

  Harlequin Historicals

  The Wicked Truth #358

  The Arrangement #389

  The Wilder Wedding #413

  The Knight's Bride #445

  Bride of Trouville #467

  One Christmas Night #487 "Ian's Gift"

  My Lady's Choice #511

  The Highland Wife #551

  The Quest #588

  Marrying Mischief #601

  Gifts of the Season #631 "Christmas Charade"

  The Scot #643

  Harlequin Books

  The Wedding Chase "Word of a Gentleman"

  * * *

  LYN STONE

  loves creating pictures with words. Paints, too. Her love affair with writing and art began in the third grade, when she won a school-wide prize for her colorful poster for Book Week. She spent the prize money on books, one of which was Little Women.

  She rewrote the ending so that Jo marries her childhood sweetheart. That's because Lyn had a childhood sweetheart herself and wanted to marry him when she grew up. She did. And now she is living her "happily ever after" in north Alabama with the same guy. She and Allen have traveled the world, have two children, four grandchildren and experienced some wild adventures along the way.

  Whether writing romantic historicals or contemporary fiction, Lyn insists on including elements of humor, mystery and danger. Perhaps because that other book she purchased all those years ago was a Nancy Drew.

  This book is dedicated to

  retired Special Agent Frank Hudson, Dorothy and Jim.

  We miss you guys!

  Prologue

  "I don't see how we're gonna be much help to Jack fifteen clicks away," Joe Corda said. He immediately lowered his voice when he heard the echo bounce off the old masonry walls. "That's lethal stuff he'll be dealing with. Not like bullets. One hit and he's dead. If he were going in alone, I wouldn't worry so much, but he'll have that doctor along. And the kid."

  "He'll need tickets and they're it. I'd have gotten us closer, but we'd stick out like M&Ms on a sushi plate anywhere else around here," Holly Amberson argued. "As it is, the locals won't even blink at us. They're used to weirdos renting this place. Artistes!" she hissed with a flourish of her ringers.

  He looked around as he put down two of the suitcases. "This dump looks like something out of a really bad French novel."

  "Oh, yeah, like you've read so many of those," she muttered. "But I will admit a Bela Lugosi butler wouldn't be out of place."

  He leveled her with a look. "We are the help, remember?"

  "Not you, slick." She smirked. "You are the gigolo. Man, I do hate that shirt. Which pimp's closet did you raid anyway?"

  Just outside, Martine Duquesne Corda was busy issuing imperious instructions to her bodyguard, Eric Vinland, and chauffeur, Will Griffin. Holly laughed. "Martine's really getting into her role. You let her boss you around like that?"

  "Sure." Joe shrugged, hands on his hips, preoccupied with taking in the rustic, old-world charm of the faded mansion in France's Lorraine region. "She does have an image to maintain. How do you like her disguise? She'll be just that beautiful when she does reach sixty, I bet."

  In an abrupt change of topic, Holly commented, "Where the heck are the outlets in this barn? I need a place to hook up." She hefted the case containing assorted gadgets and her laptop and set it on a scarred marble-topped table near the door.

  They both moved aside as the others entered. She waited until Will had closed the door. "All the rooms been swept?"

  "Clean," Eric assured her. "We're good to go." He turned to Martine, clicked his heels and bowed, looking more like a muscle-bound kid on spring break than the bodyguard he was supposed to be. "Our reclusive Madame D'Amato may proceed with her work uninhibited." He peered over his wire-rimmed glasses and winked at Joe. "As well as her play, of course." Caught off guard, Martine laughed and blushed.

  Holly pointed to the mound of luggage now piled near their feet. "You guys cut the bull and set up the global positioning system. Let's check Jack's location. We need to know exactly when to expect him."

  Will, quintessential agent, the quiet man, finally spoke. "His ETA's eleven-thirty, give or take five. He'll be here."

  "Verify." Holly was running this end of the mission. Joe reached for the case with the GPS instruments. His duties consisted of whatever Holly ordered him to do. And also protecting his wife, not an official member of the Sextant team but a contract language specialist who was central to their cover. Holly, Will, Eric and he were masquerading as her entourage. Clay Senate was maintaining Stateside control while the boss, Mercier, had assumed the lead.

  The Sextant team consisted of agents recruited from various government organizations expressly for the purpose of preventing terrorist activities around the globe. This suspected bio-terror threat was the first of its kind for Sextant.

  Identify, Infiltrate, Analyze and Eliminate. That first part, they had all had a hand in. The second and most difficult order of business was about to go down within the next few hours if all went as planned. The primary agent was about to insert.

  Joe looked up at the peeling paint on the fancy plaster ceiling and—seriously lapsed Catholic that he was— uttered a devout prayer that they would all survive. He was known for his hunches, and he had a really bad feeling about this.

  Chapter 1

  Jack Mercier entered the hospital wing of Baumettes Prison with the barrel of a submachine gun resting at the base of his spine. While he loved humanity—in fact, had devoted his life to the protection of it—he had decided since coming to this place a week ago that he was not that crazy about people. Especially Claude Bujold, his least favorite guard.

  Maybe he was rationalizing the fact that he wanted to kill the man, but he didn't think so. Claude considered beatings a form of entertainment, the more helpless the victim, the greater the rush. Misuse of power really pushed Jack's buttons.

  Jack was supposed to be awaiting arraignment, accused of conspiring to ship illegal weapons into France. Bogus charges, of course, faked to get him into this place.

  He had escaped most of the vicious ha
rassment by bribing Claude. The promise of money from Jack's attorney had gotten Jack the promise of medical attention today.

  Jack waited until they entered the small ward, empty now except for one patient and the doctor attending him at the far end of the room. Today was the day.

  The white-clad doctor who was bending over the patient stood and turned. Jack stopped in his tracks. Wrong doctor. Most definitely, wrong doctor.

  Should he postpone? Too late. With everything else in place, it was now or never.

  Claude prodded him down the aisle between the rows of beds. "Hey, Doc, this piece of filth has been complaining of chest pain. Would you—"

  Jack whirled, grasped both of Claude's wrists and pinched the nerves that controlled his fingers. He rammed the top of his head beneath Claude's chin and heard a satisfying crack.

  The machine gun fell, hitting the floor a split second after Jack's knee connected with Claude's groin.

  The guard crumpled with a cry. Jack delivered a blow to the side of the head that would keep Claude unconscious for a while. Unfortunately, the bastard had to be left alive.

  The doctor rushed him but he heard that coming. He waited, caught her upraised arm and easily removed the syringe, her impromptu weapon.

  "Where is Dr. Micheaux?" he demanded.

  She sputtered as she struggled to break free. Her small fists bounced off him, inflicting no pain. She was not very strong, he noted.

  What the hell was this delicate little flower doing in a prison hospital? And what had happened to the doctor he had expected to find in here?

  Now he would either have to incapacitate her like the guard, or take her along. Either way, she might be blamed for aiding the escape. Besides, he had to have a doctor along. She'd just have to do.

  "Be still or I'll have to kill you," he snapped.

  All motion ceased. Her wide blue gaze, full of fear and anger, settled on his. Every muscle in her body was alert and tensed for further action if he presented her a chance. Bold little thing.

  "I admire bravery but not stupidity. Nod if you comprehend." He spoke to her in French, assuming that she was.

  Her chin remained raised, her glare defiant. But Jack could see she understood. She was pretty, he noticed. Blond, sky-blue eyes, skin untouched by the sun. This one didn't spend her off days on the Riviera, that was for sure. Too busy saving lives, he guessed. He'd bet she worked here for nothing in her spare time. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  "Prepare your patient to leave the prison. Is he ambulatory?"

  "No," she said emphatically. "You are not taking him anywhere."

  Jack inclined his head toward the exit that led to the alley where a truck was waiting. "We are all leaving through that door in less than five minutes." He glared at her. He had no time for her spitfire attitude, so he added, "Dead or alive. Your choice, lady."

  For a long moment she studied his eyes, then looked back at the bed where her patient lay sleeping. "You won't hurt him?"

  "No. Or you, either. Not if you behave and do exactly as I tell you."

  She exhaled the pent-up breath she was holding and nodded once, no doubt cursing the abominable lack of security in French prisons. This one was even more short-handed than usual today thanks to Will Griffin.

  Jack released her and reached down to pick up Claude's weapon. "Get to it, then, while I take care of the garbage. Do as I say and neither of you will be harmed. My word."

  He ignored her scoff. In seconds he had bound the unconscious Claude's hands and feet and gagged him with a roll of gauze.

  Jack regretted having to take the doctor along, but he really had no choice. Since the boy was drugged, someone would have to verify how he'd been rescued. Besides that, he obviously needed medical attention, and the kid's father would hardly appreciate Jack's getting the boy out of prison if the little fellow died in the process.

  "You have the boy ready?" Jack demanded as he approached the sickbed where the prisoner lay.

  "Yes. Why are you doing this?" she demanded.

  Jack ignored the question. "Take as much of his medication as you have with you. Hand me your bag."

  "I am not coming," she informed him.

  "Poor choice." He started raising the machine gun. She gasped.

  "Change your mind?" Jack asked. Again she nodded, her eyes clenched in resignation.

  "Then help him up. He's small enough you should be able to manage. Is he really that hurt or just sedated?"

  "Of course he is hurt. His injuries are numerous and he is on morphine."

  As she spoke, she raised the boy to a sitting position, eased his legs off the bed and tried to encourage him to stand up. She managed, but only just. The kid was pretty much out of it. He was very slightly built, almost delicate. Though he was seventeen, René Chad seemed younger. His sallow complexion and adolescent fuzz of a mustache only enhanced his look of vulnerability.

  "Brace your shoulder beneath his and pull his arm around your neck," Jack told her, grasping the boy beneath his other arm as they shuffled him to the door. "We have only a short way to go."

  "This door is kept locked," she told him.

  "Not today," Jack replied as he reached for the handle and shoved the door open. "Go ahead of me. And if you run, I will shoot."

  She did as ordered and they were soon in the alley. No windows graced the inner walls that faced them between the wings. A heavy chain-link gate topped with concertina wire barred the only way out. "Hurry. Let's get him inside the vehicle."

  The truck provided, a megaton monstrosity used for delivering supplies, would easily roll them to freedom. Several blocks away, a vintage sedan waited, souped up and ready to transport them to their eventual destination.

  He placed the machine gun across his lap, cranked the starter, floored the accelerator and gunned it, ramming straight through the chain-link barrier.

  The alarm was immediate and deafening. He sped away from it, taking side streets until he approached the wooded area of the park.

  He pulled up behind the car Griffin had left him and slammed on the brake. In minutes he had loaded both patient and doctor into the gray Saab and they were off.

  "Jail break accomplished," he said to himself, ticking off tasks to be completed. It was an old habit. He turned to the doctor who looked pale as a bleached sheet. "Are you doing all right?"

  She shot him a look of disbelief that he would ask such a ridiculous question. "I have been abducted at gunpoint. No, I am not well at all." She swallowed hard, almost gulped. "Do you mean to...kill me?" she added, still defiant.

  Her bravery, useless as it was, touched something in Jack. She was so totally defenseless and yet she refused to cower. A kitten backed against a wall, facing a bulldog, ready to claw for all she was worth if attacked. He felt faintly ashamed of himself. "Did I hurt you when I disarmed you?"

  She flexed her wrist. Faint red marks discolored the pale ivory of her flesh where he had grasped it to relieve her of the syringe. She tucked that hand beneath the other and began rubbing the wrist slowly, absently. "No, but you did not answer my question."

  "I have no plans at present to harm you at all if you cooperate. You've not asked me once to release you since we escaped. Why is that?"

  Her gaze left him as she glanced into the back seat. "There is René. He needs continued care and I doubt you intend to give it. What do you plan to do with him?"

  "Take him home to his father," Jack told her. "What happened to Dr. Micheaux?"

  "I am Dr. Micheaux," she replied with a haughty look. "Solange Micheaux."

  Damn. The daughter of the other doctor. He remembered a mention of her in Micheaux's dossier, but nothing about her working at Baumettes. "Where is your father today?"

  She refused to answer.

  "He was supposed to be there and had promised to help," Jack said, hoping that might gain him a little cooperation.

  "You lie! My father would never assist in such a thing."

  "This is mor
e than a run-of-the-mill escape, Doctor. Now where is your father?"

  Her frown deepened, and she remained silent for a minute before answering. "In Paris."

  "Why wasn't he at the prison today?"

  She sighed. "He is in Broussais Hospital. He was injured in an accident yesterday morning."

  Either the team had not heard anything about this development or hadn't been able to get word of it to him in his cell. "What happened?" Jack asked. "And are you certain it was an accident?"

  He heard her swift intake of breath. "He...he was hit by an automobile as he crossed the street. You...you are saying it was not an accident?"

  "No. It probably was," Jack said, but he was far from sure of the answer. "How badly was he hurt?"

  She glanced out the window and continued to rub her hands together. "Broken femur, a concussion, bruises. He will recover." Then she faced Jack, her eyes imploring. "Let me go to him. We can take René there, as well. You could leave us at the emergency entrance and be well away in no time. I promise—"

  "Save your breath," he said, interrupting her. "That's not going to happen. I have to get René to his father no later than tomorrow. Do you know where he lives? Has the boy told you?"

  "You do not even know where you are to go?"

  Jack almost laughed. "Of course I know. I need to know if you know already. If René has said anything at all to you about his home or his family."

  She sighed, then looked out the window at the passing scenery. "No. René has not been living with his father. The boy has rooms near the Sorbonne where he attends classes," she muttered, as if to herself.

  Jack nodded. "Art student. Has he talked about his family? His father in particular?"

  "Not to me and Father did not mention his discussing anything of that nature." Her interest in the passing landscape ended abruptly as she turned that electrifying blue gaze on him again. "Why all of these questions?"

  "I'll tell you later. What of you, Dr. Micheaux? Will you tell me about yourself?"

  "Why should I?"

  "Because I ask."

  She scoffed. "You already know my name and who my father is. Even that is too much."