Chapter Thirteen

The elevator doors opened, Niko punched the button to close them again, keeping the button depressed with his finger. “We’re not leaving this elevator until we have two things straight between us. Giselle is a liar. Our brief affair is over. Has been for a month.”

“Giselle’s the liar? Or are you? Which one, because I don’t know either one of you well enough to know.”

“You know me. In your heart, you know me.” He took her hand, laying her palm over his heart. “Look at me.” His dark eyes bore into hers. “Cherie, you know me. You know my heart.” She stared into his eyes, the warmth of his chest heating her palm; the feel of his heartbeat, strong and true. Yes, she did know him, and that fact unsettled her.

“The second thing? You said there were two.” She hated that her voice sounded breathy and husky.

Evidently he noticed because his eyes darkened before his head dipped for another kiss. “You won’t leave me again, cherie.” His lips touched hers as he whispered the words.

Still heady from her display of feminine power earlier, she reared her head back. “Oh? Is that a command or a request?”

Niko removed his finger from the button, and the elevator doors opened. He grabbed her arm and hurried her out into the parking garage. “For now, it’s a command. Hurry, Aly.” He broke into a run.

“Slow down! I can’t run in these shoes. What’s wrong with you?”

He punched the button on his key fob and, after opening the car door, shoved her into his Carrera. He hurried around to the driver’s side and settled into his seat.

She tugged on the hem of her short dress. “You practically tossed me into the car. What’s the all-fired rush? Have you gone mad?” She glared at Niko as he buckled his seat belt, his bruised jaw set in determination. “Well?”

He produced a photo from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto her lap. “Maybe that will impress upon you the danger you’re in.”

“What is it?” She fingered the photo, surprised at the image of her and Niko. Chills ran up her spine. “This is us.”

“Yes.” He started the car and swung it out of the tight parking space.

“It’s a picture of us in this very garage.” She stared at it some more and understood why he hustled her to his car. He feared they were being watched. “How did you get it?”

Niko eased the car out into traffic. “I took it off the goon who chased us up Boulevard Saint Michel yesterday.”

“Who would take a picture of us? Someone from The Red Hand? Right? How else would that man have it? Do you think he took it?”

“No. I suspect someone else.” He shifted the car’s gearshift and changed lanes.

Her gaze swept to him. Niko looked at her, pain in his eyes. “You suspect a coworker, don’t you? How else would the photographer know we’d be in the garage at that particular time? Or where you had your car parked. I’m guessing you have an assigned parking space. Right?”

Niko glanced in his rearview mirror. “You’re a smart woman, Aly. You see right to the heart of things.”

“Is that how the terrorists always knew where we were? That we’d be shopping in that area? That we’d be at Shakespeare and Company? Who in your unit knew where we were going?”

He braked for a light and turned his dark eyes on her. “No one. I never called that information in.”

“Do you think there’s a tracking thingy on your car?”

“Tracking thingy?” His eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“This isn’t funny, Niko. Someone knows our every movement. How?”

The light changed and traffic started moving. “You’re right. It’s not funny. Just to be sure, I had the car swept for tracking systems and bugs. Nothing. It’s clean.”

She shifted in her seat, mentally challenged by the questions before them. “Who did the checking? Someone you can trust?”

He looked out the side window for a beat. “I checked it myself.” His statement was in clipped, angry notes.

Realization hit her. He suspects everyone in his unit, and it pains him. On impulse she took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find out who it is. Whoever it is, that has no bearing on you or how well you do your job.”

A long sigh escaped his lungs. “Aly…”

“It’ll be okay.” She squeezed his hand again.

“Flip the photo over.”

She read their names and brief descriptions noted on the back. “‘Blonde female—one point six meters. Black-haired male—one point eight three meters. Five feet eleven and a half inches.’ Gee, good thing I had my hair dyed today.”

“I like the color and style, by the way.” He reached over and gently tugged a strand, a movement she realized was, for him, a sign of teasing and affection.

“I thought men preferred blondes to redheads.”

“The color of your hair doesn’t change who you are, cherie. It’s you I’m attracted to. You, the person.”

She glanced at him briefly before staring out her side window. Something about the possible depths of his passion made her feel uncomfortable. These feelings couldn’t go anywhere. Just her luck to meet a man who made her feel like a woman—valuable, interesting, alluring—and he lived in another country. Everything about this fragile relationship, or whatever one called these things, was unfeasible. Her heart squeezed with a sense of sadness so deep, it took her breath away. Oh, girl, don’t even go there. I cannot love this man.

Alyson read the notes on the back of the photo again. “Odd that my height is listed only in metric measurement, while yours is in both metric and English.”

“Not really. It’s a running joke among some of my coworkers. In America I picked up the idea women like men who are six feet, or taller. I often say I’m ‘five feet eleven and a half.’” He shrugged. “My way of joking I have to try harder to get a woman because I’m not quite tall enough.” He maneuvered the car into a miniscule parking spot along the street.

So this arrogant man had a bit of an inferiority complex regarding his height. Interesting. “You’re still taller than most Frenchmen.”

He turned off the engine and set the brake. “Yeah, I know. It’s one of the silly notions we adopt regarding ourselves.” He turned to her and cupped her cheek with his warm hand. “Like the notion you have that you’re not appealing or desirable. We all wish we were more this or that, don’t you think?”

Alyson nodded, her eyes locked on his mesmerizing dark ones. He had a way of opening himself up, of sharing his thoughts. She never experienced this with a man before. “So, who knew you referred to your height this way?”

“That’s helped narrow my list of suspects. I won’t share them with you out of respect for the innocent ones, but I will say the names on the list bother me.”

“Because they’re people you trust. People who are close to you.” He was undoubtedly feeling the sting of betrayal. She knew what that emotion felt like. Her betrayal came from her ex-husband, a man she joined herself to in every way. Niko’s betrayal came from someone he worked with daily. Still, the pain had to be equally unforeseen and harsh.

Niko leaned across the seat and took her in his arms. “I meant what I said earlier.” He kissed her soft and gentle. His lips pliant, taking gentle sips of hers. “When you walked out of the safe house, I nearly went insane with worry…and emptiness.” He kissed her neck, and she shivered in response. “What will I do when you go back to America? How will I handle the emptiness then?”

She pulled away for, heaven help her, she was feeling the same emotions and wondering the same thing, wishing for more time with him. “We do need to be realistic.”

“I’m a very realistic person. I operate on facts and logic. Gut feelings, too. I’ve got a gut feeling about you. Have since the moment you set those blue eyes on me.” He kissed her again, opened the door and got out. She exhaled a long breath, waiting for him to come around and open her door. What am I going to do about him?

When she stepped onto the sidewalk near Marie-Clare’s shop, she turned to Niko, watching him close the car door behind her. “Did you ever find the answer to how we were found? If you didn’t call our location in and there’s no tracking device on your car, how?”

“Well, first of all, we didn’t have the car with us at Shakespeare and Company. We walked there, remember?” She nodded. “Even so, they knew you were at the bookstore. Yet you were able to go get your hair done and do some shopping today undetected.”

“Actually, Marie-Clare did the shopping. She picked out the dress and shoes while I had a massage and waxing.” She grimaced at the memory and pain of the European wax job. She had no clue women had their privates waxed; once again she’d been out of the feminine loop.

Niko wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked up the street. “That explains it then.” Twilight was slowly descending on the city like a veil of black lace. Paris, the city of lights, was getting ready to display her crown jewels to her children.

She gazed up at him. “Explains what?”

“The outfit. Your tastes run more to the conservative side.” He glanced down at her feet. “Although, I do love the shoes. Most excellent choice.” He flashed his disarming sexy as hell smile. “Back to our topic of discussion, how did you go undetected while at the salon? What didn’t you have with you?”

“My purse. I left it at Marie-Clare’s. I tucked my Visa and some money into my jeans pockets. Could my purse have a tracking devise in it? How would it have gotten in there?”

Niko opened the door to the shop. “Would you please go upstairs and get it while I talk to my people? I see they’re still here investigating the murder. Check on Marie-Clare, too. She’s frail, I fear.”

Alyson nodded, touched by his comment about the older woman. He could be cold at times, but more often he was warm and caring. Niko was already deep in conversation with Jean-Luc and a middle-aged man she recognized from the lobby of the Madison yesterday. The two men were busy relaying information to Niko, yet she could feel his eyes on her. Could one of those men be the one behind the photograph of her and Niko? The thought of being watched by some skulking lowlife gave her the creeps.

She headed for the faded red curtain separating the store section from the storage and lounge area for employees. Her feet froze when she saw the chalk outline of Josette’s body. A human being died here. The pool of blood soaked into the faded carpeting, leaving a large grotesque stain. She couldn’t make herself step over the outline of the body.

Then her eyes lifted and widened. Air held her lungs prisoner, refusing to let them work. A pin-stinging sensation attacked her arms and hands. Before her was a red handprint on the wall above the chalk outline. Was that Josette’s blood running down the wall? Gray spots floated into her vision field.

An arm of steel banded around her waist and pulled her back to a very firm chest. “Are you okay, cherie?” Niko’s lips were against her ear, feathering her hair. “Death comes to us all but is hardest on those left behind. Especially when the architect of death is demented and heartless.”

She turned into him, pressing her face against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. All of this happened because she left the safe house and came here. Poor, poor Josette.

Niko’s hand slowly rubbed her back. “You’re trembling, cherie. I’m sorry you had to see that. It is The Red Hand’s signature. Why don’t you go upstairs to Marie-Clare?”

“I can’t step across where she…where she…” Niko scooped her into his arms and carried her across the threshold into the back room. “The authorities will soon be done here. Then we’ll concentrate on returning things to normal for Marie-Clare.” He set her down on her feet and trailed a finger down her cheek. Their eyes locked on each other for a few heartbeats. “I’d shield you from all the evils of this world, if you’d let me.” He turned and walked back to his coworkers.

Alyson hurried up the steps and rapped on Marie-Clare’s back door, trying to shake the vision of Josette’s blood running down the wall and Niko’s remarks about shielding her. What a horrendous day. Just last week she proclaimed she didn’t want to celebrate any more birthdays. Now she was hiding from The Red Hand, hoping she’d live to see more. Life had a way of shifting priorities.

“Oui?” The woman’s voice sounded strained and scared.

“Marie-Clare, it’s Alyson.” The locks squeaked open, as did the door.

The older woman’s hand snaked out and pulled Alyson inside. “Quickly. We’ll be safe in here.” As diminutive as she was, she made quite a sight with a sword clasped in her hand, the tip touching the floor. “Come. I’m just having a soothing cup of tea. You will join me, oui?” The sword clanked as she dragged it across her wooden floors.

“Where did you get that sword?” Alyson sat on the settee next to Marie-Clare.

The older woman held it out and did a few quick flourishes with it. “Beautiful, isn’t it? My papa kept it under his bed during the second Great War. His papa used it in the first Great War, as if any war could be classified as being great. When the Germans came to occupy our city, our lady we love so much, our jewel of the Seine, Papa protected Maman and us three children. I was ten years old then. I remember how he kept it polished and sharp.”

Marie-Clare laid it down next to her feet and poured Alyson a cup of tea. “Now, tell me. Was it romantic when your young man rescued you?”

Alyson added sugar to the tea and stirred. “No, but it was memorable.”

“He kissed you, oui?” Marie-Clare’s eyes twinkled with romantic excitement, and Alyson was charmed. She was such a delightful older woman, so full of life and exuberance.

“Yes, he kissed me, and we fought as we always do.”

Marie-Clare raised her delicate cup to her lips and stilled. “Such passion. Think how it will be when you make love. Ah, mon amour! You will never be the same after that. A man like him will love fiercely, even when he’s being gentle.” She sipped and set her cup on the table. “If you could have seen Niko when I told him how that undercover policeman fondled you.” Her hand waved to the side. “He was livid! Livid, mind you. He charged over to that nasty man and punched the daylights out of him.”

Alyson straightened. “No! He didn’t!”

“Oh, but he did. He loves you, Alyson. Why, he practically admitted as much to me once he pummeled that brazen man to bits. That policeman will probably lose his badge if Niko has anything to do with it. What a wonderful man your young man is. He held me in his arms after he told me about Josette. So caring, so gentlesse.” She clucked her tongue. “I felt so secure in his arms. A woman would have a good life with a man such as Niko Reynard.” She raised her cup again, her eyes regarding Alyson before she sipped more tea. “The question is, can you bear it if the woman he loves and protects is not you?”

Could she? Niko kissing another woman, holding her close and whispering to her in that deep, sensual tone he used with Alyson were images that evoked raging jealousy—strong, kick-someone’s-ass jealousy. She turned to glance out the open French doors. When had she morphed from a docile female to a take-charge woman? When she met Niko Reynard, that’s when.

She had to admit the thought of his giving a foot massage to another woman pained her. His warm lips on someone else’s instep and ankle. She shifted in her seat as her body hummed with the memory of the desire he ignited in her. Could she handle it if he were igniting a fire in some other woman? Hell no. Leaving Paris, leaving him would be like tearing out her soul.

“Let’s not forget I’m an American. I’ll be returning to the States shortly. No matter how much I’m attracted to him, I have to keep that in mind. I’m only here for a short while.” Two tears moistened her cheeks.

“You’ve gotten over the difference in your ages then? What does a few years matter?”

“Yes. Yes, I have.” The age dilemma no longer mattered. Perhaps because she felt younger, more alive around Niko. The real problem looming in front of her was the airplane waiting to take her home in a few days. Home, where she’d never see him again.

Marie-Clare took her hand in her cool ones and squeezed them. “Will you be happy in America without the man you love? Listen to me. While life is short, it can be miserably long with the wrong person. When I was barely twenty, I was seeing a very nice, wealthy young man, and had been for a year or more.” She pursed her lips together for a second or two. “He bored me. One day I noticed a wildly dressed painter along the Seine. Oh, such colors he wore! I walked over to look at his paintings. We talked about the entire universe in the span of a few minutes. I walked away a woman in love.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I have relived the enchantment of that day over and over in my mind. Oh, the stars I saw in Pierre’s eyes, the magic of his soul and the goodness within his heart.

“My Pierre and I were poor at first. We struggled financially for a few years, but oh, the passion we had. I never regretted walking away from the wealthier man to be with the man who made my heart rich with love. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“Yes, but this is different. He has a career and family he loves here. I have the same in America. Besides, I don’t know for sure how he feels.”

“Alyson, open your eyes and your heart. Stop being afraid.”

She swiped at the tears on her face and shook her head. “It would never work. Listen, I have to take my purse downstairs to Niko. He suspects there might be a tracking device in it. If there is, then I am responsible for Josette’s death. I brought danger to your shop and to your home. I’m so sorry, Marie-Clare.”

“What is this nonsense you speak? Go, do what you must. Now, I think I will take a long bath, eat a piece of fruit and retire early for the night. I’ll keep the shop closed for a few days out of respect for Josette. She was such a good employee. More importantly, she was an old friend.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head.

“What happened to her was terrible, oui, but not your fault. Nor mine, either, for having her work in my shop. This we can say to the head, and the head understands, but the heart is an entirely different matter. I suspect we will both carry a tinge of guilt in our hearts for Josette’s death.”

“Yes.”

“We must put the blame where it belongs: on the shoulders of the terrorists. Bastards, every one. They have no conscience. None whatsoever.”

Alyson changed back into her jeans and blouse. Just to rattle Niko, she wore her red heels. Wearing high heels was almost becoming second nature, almost. She gathered her luggage and packages and gave her farewells to Marie-Clare.

By the time she stepped back into the shop, someone had cut out the blood-stained carpet, no doubt to take to a forensics lab. A piece of cloth was tacked over the bloody red hand.

Niko and Jean-Luc were at the sales counter, talking. Jean-Luc was making notes on his laptop, nodding as Niko spoke. At her approach, both men looked up. “Here’s my shoulder bag.” She extended it to Niko.

“Did you go through it?”

“No, I figured I wouldn’t know what I was looking for anyway. You’re the expert, not I.”

Niko opened the leather shoulder bag and emptied its contents. Slowly and methodically he inspected every item, pushing them aside to another pile.

Alyson went over the bag again to make sure all the little side pockets were emptied. “Oh, look. A seam has ripped. My dad bought this especially for this trip. He chose the color because it reminded him of his favorite yellow flower, buttercups. That’s been his nickname for me since I was a baby: Buttercup. He always buys good quality stuff. He’d be so upset if he knew.”

“Let me see it.” Niko gave a beckoning motion with his hand. He looked at the open seam in the leather. “It’s not a tear. It’s been cut. See how straight the edges of the threads are?” He used a pencil to probe into the opening and with a surgeon’s precision pulled out a small tracking device. “Hello!”

“Is that it?” Alyson peered at the dime-sized oval-shaped item with a small, almost invisible microphone.

Niko looked at Jean-Luc. “It’s one of ours. Who had access to Aly’s bag yesterday while she was being held for questioning? Giselle, right? Anyone else?”

“As far as I know, only her. She’s the one who locked it in your desk drawer. You’ll have to ask her if anyone else had access to the bag.”

Niko turned to the hand tools hanging on the wall behind them and snatched a hammer. With a few loud strikes, the plastic device was destroyed. “Jean-Luc, I want you to go to Giselle’s apartment on rue Galande. Question her. Use any means necessary to find out who put this tracking device in Aly’s bag. Understand? You may either interrogate her at her apartment or at the unit in our holding cell, just get the answers out of her. I want this ended so Aly has a measure of safety.”

A slow smile spread across Jean-Luc’s face, and dread spread through Alyson. Much as she disliked Giselle, she wouldn’t want to be in her place when this man, who looked like he lived in a gym, paid her a visit.

Jean-Luc closed his laptop. “Where will you be? You want me to find you or call?”

“Call. Aly and I have plans for this evening.” His gaze swept over her. “Plans I made late last night. They can’t be changed, nor will I allow them to be changed.”

Oh, Lord, now what?