Black Ice (26 page)

“I think I prefer the watery grave,” she said, her voice husky. “I’d just as soon not give you the satisfaction of killing me yourself.”

“I’d still count it as my accomplishment. He’s at the bottom of the mine shaft. There’s water down there, so you might drown before you starved to death. Or you might hit your head as you went down, making it very merciful. But I don’t think you want anything to do with it. You’re not very fond of close, dark places, are you? I think you’d rather die out in the open, on your back, spread-eagled.”

Oh, Christ, he knew what she was going to do. She was going to dive for the mine shaft, anything to get away from Monique. She thought he was down there, and she was going after him, even if it killed her.

It was no choice, Chloe thought. Bastien was dead, dumped like so much garbage at the bottom of the old shaft. She could barely remember where that particular entrance led, she only knew it was steep and dangerous. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t believe
Bastien was dead until she saw him, and if she was going to die she wanted it to be with him. Stupid, romantic, ridiculous. He’d laugh at her if he was still alive. I’ll come to you by midnight, though hell should bar the way. Except it was past dawn, the day growing brighter and brighter, the snow melting around her, the mine shaft a suffocating tunnel of death.

She moved so fast Monique barely had time to draw her gun. She scrambled across the clearing, ready to dive headfirst, anything to get away from that scrawny, demented bitch and her two rapacious goons, when the explosive sound of gunfire shattered the stillness, and she heard a scream that wasn’t her own.

It didn’t matter. She made it as far as the broken barricade when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, whirling her around to face one of Monique’s goons. Dmitri, the one who killed Bastien.

Something inside her snapped. She went for him, kicking, scratching, biting, screaming, pounding at his huge, heavily muscled body. He brushed her hands away like he’d brush away a fly, putting his burly arms around her and holding her motionless against his sweaty body.

And then she realized that all was chaos in the clearing. A shouting noise, the hideously familiar sound of gunfire. The other man lay on the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead, his eyes staring sightlessly into the bright blue sky. And somewhere out of sight came the sounds of a struggle.

She twisted around, just enough to see Bastien on the ground, blood flowing from beneath him, and Monique’s thin body straddling him, her shaved head tipped back as she laughed. “I’m glad you’re not dead,
chére,
” she said. “I did so want to do the honors myself.” The gun in her hand was huge, enough to blow his head off, and Chloe shrieked, unable to stop herself.

Monique turned at the noise, a minuscule mistake, but enough. The volley of bullets tore through her, so that her body jerked in a spastic dance, and she squeezed the trigger in her hand.

The gun exploded in the snow, and Monique splayed out on the ground, twitching slightly. And then she went still, lying on top of Bastien’s still body.

And then, to Chloe’s horror, she began to move, to sit up, and she wanted to scream, until she realized that Bastien was simply shoving her blood-soaked body off him, onto the ground.

Dmitri released her, and she panicked, grabbing at his arm, certain he was about to shoot Bastien, but he simply swatted her away. “Are we done here, Madame?” he called out.

The woman who strolled out of the woods was as elegant as ever, her silver-blond hair beautifully coiffed, her makeup perfect. Wearing designer black, and the armed men with her were wearing black as well. So perfect for hiding the blood.

Chloe tried to move, to get to Bastien, but Madame
Lambert was ahead of her, holding out her elegant hand to him. He stood, wincing slightly, not even looking in Chloe’s direction.

“I take it Dmitri is one of yours?” he said in a calm voice.

“One of ours,” Madame said. “You should have come to us. The Committee could protect you. There was no need to go haring off like this. Haven’t we always worked well together? Even when you weren’t quite certain we were on the same side. The moment Jensen told me I put together a team to come after you. It was almost too late,” she said sternly.

Bastien’s smile was ghostly. “The Committee is never too late, Madame Lambert. And if Harry Thomason knew he would have let Chloe die. He never had much use for her.” He said her name, but he wouldn’t look at her. And there was nothing Chloe could do but stand there in the early-morning sunlight, with the smell of blood all around, poisoning the beautiful clearing.

“Harry Thomason has taken early retirement. His decisions have been a bit rash recently, and it was decided that he should work in merely an advisory capacity.”

“Should I ask who’s taken his place?” He might have been discussing the price of oranges. But oranges were hand grenades, weren’t they? Chloe wanted to laugh, but she was afraid she would sound hysterical,
and she didn’t want to do anything to draw attention to herself. Not when he was making such a concerted effort to ignore her.

Madame Lambert’s smile was cool and elegant. “Who do you think? We need you back, Bastien. The world needs you. You’re not fit for anything else, and you’re very, very good at this. I have no doubt you’d have managed Monique even without our help.”

“Do you?” His voice was expressionless, and Chloe was going to faint. She absolutely didn’t want to—the pain in her side was so overwhelming she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there. But if she fell over he’d have to look at her, and she couldn’t bear it. She had to let him go, since that was what he so clearly wanted, and if she had to make herself stand perfectly still so he could safely ignore her then she’d do so for the next twelve hours.

“I can promise you complete autonomy, Jean-Marc. I need your help on this one. Do you have a reason to stay?”

Still he didn’t look at her. He was bleeding, not badly, but she knew. She was probably in worse shape, and she was still standing, although with Dmitri’s grip she probably had no choice.

“No reason,” he said.

Madame nodded. “Then I suggest we get out of here. Dmitri can clean up the mess and join us later. You need to have that wound looked to.”

“Are you going to kill her?” He seemed no more than casually interested.

“Of course not. I told you, Thomason’s era is over. I don’t think she’ll discuss this with anyone—it would put your life in danger, and I know how you are with women. All you have to do is smile at them and they’ll defend you to the death.”

“Monique being a perfect example of that,” he murmured.

“If Miss Underwood causes trouble we can deal with it when it happens. Unless you’d rather tie up loose ends right now? It’s your call.”

He turned and looked at her, at last. She stood perfectly still, determined not to betray any weakness. She looked into his face, his eyes, and saw nothing. Just the emptiness she thought had gone.

He shrugged then. “I don’t think she’ll cause any trouble,” he said finally. “As you said, we can always deal with the situation later if need be. And we mustn’t discount my powerful effect on women.”

Madame Lambert ignored his sarcasm, nodding. “That’s the Jean-Marc I know. I was afraid he was gone forever. Your midlife crisis is over?”

“Completely. I know who I am and where I belong.”

Madame’s satisfied smile hinted at the beauty she once was. Even she wasn’t immune to his effect on women. Probably one of the first in a long line of suckers, culminating in silly little Chloe Underwood.
“Thank God,” she said, putting a hand on his arm and starting to draw him away. “Together we can make the Committee what it always should have been. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me. The difference you’ll make in our war against terrorism and oppression.”

He paused at the edge of the clearing, pulling his arm free of Madame’s possessive grip.

“I’m afraid not,” he said in a cool voice. “Jensen can take my place. I’ve lost the killer instinct.”

“Not from what I’ve observed,” Madame said, eyebrows raised. “The world needs you, Jean-Marc.”

“Fuck the world,” he said succinctly.

The silence in the small, blood-soaked clearing was suffocating. Chloe didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe.

“You can let go of her, Dmitri,” he said, moving toward her in the bright sunlight. The snow was almost gone now, a bright new day dawning.

Dmitri released his crushing grip, and she felt her knees begin to buckle. She let out a muffled cry as Bastien caught her. He put his arms around her, gently, and turned her bruised face up to his. The light was back in his eyes, and he smiled down at her, a slow, sweet smile that she’d seen only once before.

“Don’t look so shocked, Chloe,” he said, touching her bruised mouth with his finger and then bringing it to his own lips. “I told you I wouldn’t lie.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider just taking a short
sabbatical, Jean-Marc?” Madame asked in a resigned voice.

“I’m retired,” he said, looking into Chloe’s eyes, and everything else faded into nothingness. “And my name is Sebastian.”