Kat Attalla Special Edition (29 page)

He waited until she slept before leaving the room to speak with Chantal. He had no idea how to tell her about Stucky. They had been best friends and lovers.

Stucky introduced him to Chantal when he found himself in a tight jam. Back in the old days when he believed in his work with a passion far greater than he’d felt for any woman. What had happened to that idealistic young man who wanted to change the world?

Life had happened. Jack frowned as he thought about the last ten years. There had been no gray areas back then. He learned the lessons of life on an onyx and marble chess set in his father’s study. Everything was black and white, good or evil, and any piece could be sacrificed for the win.

Suddenly, the rules of the game changed. He could no longer tell the pawn from the king, and too many matches had ended in a stalemate. Time get out of the business and let the younger ones take over. New blood with fresh ideals.

He didn’t need the job, and Lord knows he wasn’t in this for the money. If he wanted to live the fast life, he could have stayed in
Boston
. His inheritance would easily support him in luxury the rest of his life. If he wanted to remain the irresponsible, spoiled, callous youth he’d been.

Chantal sat at her desk, flipping through a book. Something in her troubled expression told him that she already knew about Stucky. He stood behind the chair and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“So am I.” She grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I see the way you look at her. Be careful or that one will be the death of you.”

“It’s a job. I barely know her.”

She tilted her head back. “After two months? You know her better than most men know their wives. It is she who does not know you. Why you did not tell her the truth?”

“Because she’s safer if she’s afraid. I want to be damned sure she’ll testify.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

Most times he did. He lied and cheated and stole in the name of honor. He lived his life with Machiavellian certainty that the end justified the means. But when he thought about Lilly, he questioned the means. How honorable was the success of the mission if he destroyed her life in the process?

Chapter
Three

Lilly stretched her arms above her head and yawned. She peered out through half-open eyes at the darkened room. Heavy velvet drapes blocked most of the early morning sun. She pulled herself up and glanced at the rumpled covers on the brass bed. Jack had left.

She crossed the room and pushed back the curtains to peek out the second story window. The back alley streets they had taken the night before were too narrow for traffic, so only pedestrians passed on the sidewalk below. A produce vendor hawked his goods from a wooden cart. She thought to yell for help, but she didn’t want to alert anyone in the theater.

On the corner of the bed she found her clothes, washed and folded. She slipped out of the nightgown and dressed quickly. If the rest of the house residents still slept, she might be able to sneak away. She tiptoed down the hall like a cat burglar, watching for signs of life. As she made her way through the empty corridors she wondered why she bothered. She had no passport or money. Jack had confiscated both that first day.

Resigned temporarily to her situation, she strolled leisurely towards the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth out with gargling solution she found on the shelf. If Jack possessed one ounce of humanity, he would return a little of her money so that she could buy a few toiletries.

Get real
, she bitterly mocked herself. If he possessed one ounce of humanity, he wouldn’t have kidnapped her.

Searching for decent character traits in Mr. Murphy took too much effort on an empty stomach. In the past two days, she’d eaten only a cheese sandwich, and her hunger left her weak. The heavenly smell of fresh baked bread filled the halls, and she followed her nose to the kitchen where the maid had begun making breakfast.

Chantal sat at the dinette table, going over her receipts of the night before.

“Bonjour. Did you sleep well?” she asked politely.

Lilly bit back a caustic retort. The woman had done her a huge favor. “Yes, thank you.”

Chantal motioned for her to sit down. “Cafe au lait, or do you prefer the Turkish coffee?” Lilly made a distasteful face at the latter choice. “Deux cafe au lait,” Chantal instructed the maid.

“Where is Jack?”

“He went to make arrangements. But please, do not think to escape. He has Ramon watching the door.”

Ramon, the very large bouncer who made sure that the patrons didn’t get out of hand, was also a talented pianist as Lilly had heard the night before. She had no wish to wrangle with a man the size of a Kodiak bear, even if he played angelic music.

“I thought about leaving and then decided against it.” She tasted the rich brew and sent a grateful smile to the maid. “Merci.”

“You speak French?” Chantal asked.

“No. That is the extent of my vocabulary, unless you’d like me to swear.”

Chantal laughed. “Everyone seems to speak these words, no?”

In spite of herself, Lilly smiled. “Yes.” She took another sip of her coffee and sighed. “I needed that.”

“I can ask of you a favor, please?”

Lilly nodded, wondering what she could do for her hostess.

Chantal handed her an envelope filled with American money. “You keep this in case you need later. Jack will never accept from me.”

Shyly, she pushed the envelope back. “I don’t think I should either.”

“This is no time for pride. Until you are back in
America
, you are not safe, and Jack too. Already they kill my Stucky. He would want me to do this.”

Lilly closed her eyes sorrowfully. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about Chantal’s relationship with Jack and felt foolish. “All right.” She stuffed the envelope in the pocket of her shorts. She might need it herself.

“And Lilly. You listen to what Jack says to you. He will be sure no harm comes to you if you follow orders. He is good man even if the work he does is sometimes not so good.”

“What does he do?”

“You must ask him this.”

Their newfound rapport went only so far. Jack must have given her instructions before he left. “Okay. No questions about Mr. Murphy.”

Over breakfast, Chantal told Lilly the history of the theater. She listened with interest, thankful she hadn’t been told the night before. Her near brush with death and twelve hours of sleep changed the way she viewed many things. Last night, she would have felt outraged about being forced to stay. Today, she was happy to be alive. The terror that had ruled her actions the past two days receded to a nagging fear.

“I must go to the bank,” Chantal said. “There are books in the salon you can read.”

Once Chantal left the house, Lilly spent an hour with a few of the dancers, who tried to teach her the tricks of their trade. She discovered that stripping took more energy and fewer inhibitions than she possessed. Leaving them to their work, she retired to the parlor. The room reminded her of something from an old movie with the French Provençal furniture covered in lush velvets. Summer sunrises left faded streaks on the colorful hand-screened wallpaper that accented the west wall. Large ceiling fans cooled the air and added a touch of authenticity to the theater’s colorful and infamous past.

She walked around the room, viewing the unusual variety of books on the shelves. From classics to comedy, Chantal owned an extensive private library. Unable to resist the irony, she pulled down a copy of Twain’s
An Innocent Abroad
in English, and sank into the plush sofa to read.

* * * *

Jack watched Lilly from the doorway in amusement. “I heard you’ve got undiscovered talents. Would you do a little fan dance for me?”

She gave him a disinterested glance and returned her attention to her book. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

He laughed and crossed the length of the room with a cocky swagger. “I don’t know about that.” He sat down next to her and grinned. “What’s your passport worth to you?”

“Not all that much since you don’t plan to let me go.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Lilly,” he gently warned her.

She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. Would she be better off on her own? As a kid she’d hated the game of hide-and-seek, and these lethal players were way out of her league. The explosion yesterday proved that. However, if Mr. Santana had hired Jack to bring her back, then her ex-boss had double-crossed them both. Being with Jack might be as unhealthy as being without him.

“Is it possible to make a call?”

“No. But your family is doing fine.”

She dropped her book and gaped at him. “How did you know I wanted to call my family?”

“It’s a logical guess, but if you make an overseas call to your family, it can be traced. Not very smart when you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“Well excuse me. Being a fugitive is your line of expertise, not mine.”

He shrugged off her insult. “I hope your line of expertise includes cooking, because we have ourselves a job on a ship departing tonight. And you will be responsible for feeding ten very hungry men while their cook is laid up.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “And if I can’t cook?”

“They won’t be angry with me.” His dark eyes shone with laughter. “Is that all?”

“No. I told them you were my wife, so try to pretend that you like me.”

She knew how to cook. Pretending to like him might prove to be her undoing. “I suppose I could fake it.”

“Do you often ‘fake it’ with men?”

Lilly sprung from the sofa. “You’re a pig.”

He chuckled. “Chantal was right. You are a repressed little American.”

She grabbed the first thing her hand came in contact with. “Repress this.”

An embroidered pillow flew at his head. The force of the blow was too much

For the old stitching, and it burst open at the seam, sending a spray of goose down around the room. A blizzard of snowy white feathers floated to the floor.

“Now I’m really scared,” Jack spouted. He waved his hand at the flying feathers to send them in her direction. “What’s next? Are you going to try to take me out with a Nerf ball?”

Emotionally drained, she dropped to her knees and gave up. He had found her limit and pushed one step beyond. She’d been running too long. She was lonely, homesick and so tired. He could do or say whatever the hell he wanted, but she wouldn’t let him get to her again. She took the empty pillowcase and started to gather the feathers in handfuls, stuffing them back inside.

Jack slid off the couch and knelt down next to her. “You’ll never finish like that. Wait until they settle.”

“Leave me alone.”

* * * *

Lilly continued the futile task, working hard and getting nowhere. Jack let her work out her anger until her movements became less rigid. When she stood up to move around the sofa, he took hold of her wrist and pulled her to him.

Her foot gave out, and she stumbled. Instinctively, her arms locked around his neck. Her genuine gasp of shock forced him to bite back another laugh. She stared, her blue eyes wide and anxious. And so incredibly beautiful.

He held her waist until she caught her balance. Something akin to emotion constricted his chest. Dormant feelings stirred to life, waging war with the cool reserve he’d cloaked himself in. When he smiled, she tried to squirm out of his arms.

“I’m not the enemy, Lilly. I’m on your side.”

“Well, wrap me up in a green sheet and call me ‘Miss Liberty’. The man is on the side of apple pie and baseball.” She pushed down on the hands that held her. “Let me go.”

“When I’m finished. We have a rough few days ahead of us. I know you’re scared, but I need to know exactly what it is you’re afraid of.”

She stopped struggling and looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Is that a rhetorical question? Someone is trying to kill me.”

He nodded. “Who?”

She shook her head and allowed him to lower her into the feather-covered sofa. “I’m not sure.”

“But you have an idea, don’t you?”

“My boss?” she asked, casting him a desperate look, as if hoping he held answers for her.

“Edward Santana?”

She didn’t seem surprised that he knew the name. She nodded and then shrugged. “It could be.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

Her body tensed, and she glowered indignantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How much do you know about his business?”

She considered his question. “He’s an exporter. He exports food and medical supplies to Middle Eastern countries.”

“Is that all he exports?”

“That’s all he had me put on the shipping documents. That’s what I signed my name to.”