In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1) (31 page)

I wondered where Devon was, if he’d escaped from the accident unscathed or if he was badly hurt somewhere. The look on his face as he’d emerged from the hotel would be burned into my mind for a long time to come. Always so circumspect, seeing his fury so plainly written made me shudder at how enraged he must have been . . . must still be. I hadn’t wanted to see that, hadn’t wanted to know the faith and trust Devon had lost in me. I imagined he’d remember me with loathing and disgust, which was a far cry from how I’d remember him. A man I loved enough to betray him.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it had been a long time since I’d eaten, but there was nothing I could do about it. Pulling my knees to my chest, I waited.

I didn’t know how much time had passed when the door finally opened. I glanced up, afraid of what would happen next, and it was Heinrich who entered, accompanied by Hugo.

“My dear, we have a problem,” he said. He was smoking another cigarette and he dropped it to the floor, then ground it out with his heel.

“What’s that?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

“The code. I’d hoped the journal held the formula for the vaccine. Alas, it doesn’t.”

“That’s not my fault,” I said quickly.

“There are several pages missing,” Heinrich continued, “torn out, actually.”

I swallowed, but didn’t respond.

He towered over me. “You may not have outlived your usefulness after all.”

“How so?”

“Clay has an antidote. He gave it to you to save your life. I want it. I have you. If he was willing to save your life once, let’s hope he’ll do so again. For your sake.”

“He’s here,” Hugo interrupted, his fingers touching his earpiece as he listened.

“Excellent,” Heinrich said. “Bring her and we shall await Mr. Clay.”

Hugo’s hand clamped around my arm and dragged me to my feet, pulling me out of the room and down a hallway after Heinrich.

We emerged into a spacious room that was much nicer than the room I’d sat in all day. Ivory rugs carpeted the floor over shining hardwood. Two curved sofas in matching chocolate leather faced a fireplace with a fire dancing merrily in the grate. Windows curved along the walls and I could see lights twinkling outside and snow falling. We appeared to be high up, but were outside the city proper.

“Get me my revolver, Hugo,” Heinrich ordered. He glanced at me as he gestured to one of the sofas. “Sit.”

I had little choice but to obey. I was so scared my knees seemed barely capable of holding me up. I didn’t want to be beaten again, or shot.

“Devon’s not going to give you what you want,” I tried.

“That’s where you’ll be useful,” Heinrich said, taking the revolver from Hugo, who’d quickly returned. “I’m betting he’ll go to great lengths to protect you from harm, lengths that are decidedly unwise for a man in his position.”

“And what position is that?”

I jerked around, my breath catching at the sight of Devon standing, his silhouette a shadow against the dark windows. He stepped forward, making the light fall on him, and I gasped.

His shirt was torn and dirty and I could see bloody scratches and scrapes on the exposed skin of his arms. Dried blood marred the corner of his mouth and his brow, and a bruise darkened his cheek, but his voice was utterly calm and the hand that held his weapon was steady.

“There you are!” Heinrich exclaimed. “We were expecting you.”

Hugo had some kind of long machine-gun type thing pointed straight at Devon, who didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Miss Mason and I were just discussing how foolishly sentimental it was of you to save her life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The antidote,” Heinrich clarified. “You tipped your hand. She was infected with the virus, yet here she sits.” He moved behind where I sat, his hand settling heavily on my shoulder. “I want that antidote, Mr. Clay, or the immediate future of Miss Mason is in decided . . . jeopardy.”

Devon’s gaze was ice-cold as it moved over me, pausing so briefly at the blood on my head that I might have imagined it. “I didn’t give her an antidote,” he denied. “I imagine you need more research on your virus. Obviously, it doesn’t affect everyone the same way. She survived. Not that I care one way or another.” He shrugged and a stab of pain twisted my stomach. “She’s
your
spy, Heinrich.”

“Come now, Mr. Clay, you didn’t think I let you go that night out of the goodness of my heart? That you refused to give me the information I sought, so I threw up my hands in frustration and
left to lick my wounds?” He laughed again. “Hardly. Ms. Mason
saved your life. All I asked in exchange was for her to . . . acquire . . . the items I sought.”

“She betrayed me,” Devon said, his voice flat.

“She saved your life, you bumbling idiot.” Heinrich’s scathing condescension took me by surprise.

Devon didn’t reply, but his hand tightened on his gun.

“So now, if you don’t supply the antidote, her life will be forfeit. After all she’s gone through for you, you’ll let her die now? Come, Mr. Clay. There can be a happy ending for even star-crossed lovers like yourselves. I know it was in the journal, just as I know you took those pages from it. Now hand them over.”

Devon’s eyes flicked to mine, then back to Heinrich. “I told you,” he bit out. “I don’t have it.”

Heinrich heaved a sigh. “I don’t have time for this.”

I felt the press of metal against my temple. It was the revolver Hugo had brought.

“This is a very special weapon, Mr. Clay,” Heinrich said. “It’s an Italian-made replica of an original antique Remington .44 caliber single-action six-shot revolver. I had it specially crafted. Do you like it? There’s only one bullet in it, which means Miss Mason has a relatively good chance of surviving . . . if you cooperate.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this,” Devon argued. “This is between you and me. You want that antidote, then let her go.”

“Time is running out, Mr. Clay.”

The revolver clicked, the hammer falling on an empty chamber with what seemed to me a deafening clang. I flinched, instinctively jerking away, but Heinrich fisted a handful of my hair and yanked me back.

“Do be still, Miss Mason,” he said, his voice coldly cordial. “I trust you’d prefer death to permanent brain damage.”

My breath was coming so fast, I was nearly hyperventilating, and my whole body shook with tremors. My eyes were glued to Devon’s, though he was watching Heinrich—not me.

“What’ll it be, Mr. Clay? A happ
y ending . . . or a tragic one? And she’s so lovely, too. I can see why you’d want to keep her.”

“Her life is nothing in the face of the millions you plan to infect,” Devon retorted.

“Is that so? Well then we should just dispose of her, shall we?” Another click. I jumped, choking back a sob. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed it would be quick and painless.

“Stop!”

Devon’s shout made my eyes pop open in shock. His jaw was locked tight, his cool blue gaze now on me.

“Stop,” he repeated more quietly. “If you kill her, you lose the antidote.”

“I’m not playing this game—” Heinrich growled.

“I mean it!” Devon cut him off. “Galler injected her with the only formulated vaccine he’d created. That’s why she didn’t die. I didn’t give her an antidote. I didn’t need to. She’d already been vaccinated for the virus by Galler himself.”

Those words echoed in the silence, sinking into me with the force of knives. The needle we’d found in Galler’s desk, the one that had pricked me. Devon must have known—must have figured out somehow—what had been in that needle, but hadn’t told me. What he’d said about the journal, how the vaccine formula had been in it, that had all been a lie.

“If she dies, you’ll never be able to re-create it,” Devon continued. “You need her blood, and last I checked, dead people don’t make a lot of blood.”

Heinrich seemed stunned at this revelation, then he burst out laughing.

“How incredibly marvelous! How clever! And you, Mr. Clay, keeping her as your lover all this while so you’d know exactly where the vaccine was at all times. You are a devious one, I have to hand you that.”

I could literally feel the blood drain from my face. I stared at Devon, begging him with my eyes to contradict what Heinrich had said. But his focus was no longer on me.

A sound outside caught my attention, and Heinrich’s. The whipping sound grew louder and I recognized the turn of a helicopter’s rotors.

“What’s this?” Heinrich asked, his hold on my hair loosening, though the barrel of the gun remained steady at my temple.

“It’s backup,” Devon bit out. “It’s over, Heinrich. Even as we stand here, your computers are being erased, all files on the virus permanently deleted. What you’ve managed to manufacture is being confiscated. Let the girl go and I’ll allow you to live.” His words were like ice, bit out sharply as though he just managed to control his rage.

The helicopter was right outside the windows now, the bright lights shining inside. Guns were mounted to the helicopter and I was terrified of the damage they could do. I heard shouts from below and didn’t doubt for an instant that everything Devon was saying was correct.

“Do you think that kind of weapon is just going to go away?” Heinrich asked, and this time there was no accompanying laughter. “If I don’t sell it, someone else will. You won’t be able to keep it under wraps forever. And Miss Mason here will be locked up in a lab, studied and dissected until they can re-create the vaccine or formulate an antidote, and then she’ll die. Because you can’t just have the vaccine up and walking about now, can you.”

His foretelling of the dire future ahead of me made my empty stomach churn with nausea.

“Better I just end it now,” Heinrich said. “It’s really the merciful thing to do.” The barrel pressed harder against my temple.

“No!” Devon shouted, just as all hell broke loose. Glass shattered and bullets flew. I saw Hugo go down, his rifle spewing bullets, and suddenly Heinrich no longer had a hold of me. I dropped to the floor as more glass shattered. People shouted and I covered my head with my arms.

Heinrich’s people were putting up a fight and I was caught in the cross fire. I crawled toward the one door no one was guarding. Broken glass bit into my skin, but I made myself keep going, tears pouring down my face. When I got to the door, I glanced back.

Heinrich was flat on his back on the floor, a pool of blood spreading from underneath his body. Through the chaos, I saw Devon just as he saw me. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t read anything on his face. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, then he turned away and disappeared from view into the smoke and wind whipping through the glassless windows.

I fell through the door into a stairwell. It was empty and I scrambled to my feet. I lost track of the floors I passed, my thoughts in panicked disarray with the sole focus of escape. I hit the bottom floor and pushed through a door marked Exit.

I was at the top of a hill, apparently having come out the back. The wind swirled snow and I started shivering. Without thought as to where I was going or what I should do, I ran. The urge to run, to get away as far as I could, was too pressing of a primal need to resist, no matter the bitter cold outside.

I slipped and slid down the hill, my clothes getting wetter with each step. I could hear the chaos behind me growing fainter the farther I got. I prayed no one would follow, sure that they’d kill me if they found me.

Nearing a village, I saw people and cars. Some had paused to stare up at the building with the helicopter circling, but I ran on, my feet on solid ground now. The cold seared my chest as I sucked in air and I could no longer feel my feet, they were so frozen inside my soaked shoes.

Finally, I had to stop. I couldn’t run anymore. I stood on the sidewalk, chest heaving and my limbs trembling with cold.

“Eh! Mademoiselle! Ça va?”

I jerked around in dismay to see a man approaching me. Big, with a full beard and swathed in a huge coat, he looked like a lumberjack bearing down on me. Scared, I held up a hand to ward him off and began backing away.

“S-stay away from m-me,” I stammered, my teeth chattering so hard it was tough to talk.

“
Arrêtez
!
”
he called out.
“Regardez! Derrière vous!”

I couldn’t understand, his alarm incomprehensible to me. When he began hurrying faster toward me, I panicked.

“No! Leave me alone!”

The sound of a horn blast and tires squealing made me spin around in time to see a car stopping inches from me. I stared in shock. Then I crumpled to the ground.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

W
hen I opened my eyes, I found I was in a dimly lit room, lying on a bed with a thin blanket covering me. Confused, I looked around. Where was I? What had happened to me?

“Bon. Vous êtes éveillé.”

I
turned around and saw a woman—a nurse?—standing next to me. She wore a kind smile, but I hadn’t understood a word she said. By her uniform, I figured I was in a hospital . . . somewhere.

“Where am I?” I asked.

She switched to heavily accented English. “You are in the Hôpital Saint-Louis.”

“How did I get here?”

“A man found you on the street. You were unconscious. People who saw say you were almost hit by a car, but you had other injuries. He brought you here for treatment.”

It all came rushing back to me now. Heinrich. Devon. The attack and my escape. The man who’d tried to warn me about the car. Looked like there were still some good Samaritans out there after all.

She fiddled with my IV and took my blood pressure. I rested my head back on the pillow, the effort of holding it up too much for me, though I didn’t know if that was due to my injuries or my heartbreak.

Devon had lied to me. Used me.

“You have no identification,” the nurse said, dragging my attention back to her. “What is your name?”

I swallowed. My purse was gone and so was my passport, which had been in my wallet.

“Ivy,” I replied. “Ivy Mason. I’m American.”

She nodded. “The police will be glad you are awake. They want to question you.” After adjusting the IV drip in my arm, she left the room.

The police.

I was in a foreign country with no ID and no money. I couldn’t tell the police anything about Heinrich or Devon or the Shadow. In fact, considering that Heinrich had wanted to kill me and I was reasonably sure Devon wanted to as well—or possibly stick me in a lab—telling the nurse my real name had been a really dumb idea. For all I knew, the Shadow could have someone monitoring the Paris hospitals for a woman of my description.

You can’t just have the vaccine up and walking about now, can you.

Which meant I didn’t have much time.

Taking the IV needle out of my arm hurt more than it was probably supposed to, but I’d never done it before. My clothes and shoes were in a plastic bag on a chair in the room and I dressed as quickly as I could, wet clothes and all. My body ached and my head was pounding. There was a bandage on my forehead covering a knot that felt the size of a walnut—a memento of hitting the concrete when I’d passed out.

Easing open the door, I peeked into the hallway. It was late in the evening on Christmas Eve and the halls were nearly empty. Had it just been last night that I’d eaten a seven-course French dinner in a designer ball gown? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Spotting a sign that looked like stairs over a door at the end of the corridor, I took a chance and started briskly walking toward it. I had to cross another hallway that intersected this one and I paused, hearing voices.

“She said her name was Ivy Mason,” a woman said.

“Yes, that’s her. Thank you for finding her. What’s the room number?”

I stopped breathing. Oh my God. It was Devon.

Unable to help myself, I glanced to my right just as he turned . . . and spotted me.

Time froze for a moment as our eyes met. I searched his face for any hint that I had nothing to fear from him as I teetered on the brink of indecision, wanting so badly to go to him, then Devon reached inside his jacket.

I ran, my shoes skidding on the linoleum floor as I hit the stairwell door. I could hear Devon’s footsteps as he ran toward me, but the knob turned easily and I was through.

I flew down the stairs, hearing the door come crashing open above me, but I had a decent head start. I burst out the bottom floor onto the street, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that it was so crowded.

Melting into the flow of people, I had to remind myself not to run, which would stand out in this crowd and call attention. Resisting the urge to look behind me, I ducked into a café. The place was teeming with customers, the fluid sound of rapid-fire French swirling around me like the aroma of espresso.

At first, it seemed to be a bad idea, as moving through the tightly packed café was harder than I thought. But I kept going, heading toward the back and ignoring the irritated glares sent my way. At last I found the rear exit, then I was outside again. I crossed the street and repeated the process, this time impulsively grabbing and pocketing a cell phone I saw lying on a table while the owner was bent rummaging through their bags, which were resting on the floor. Now I was three streets from the hospital and a block down. Not safe, but not in immediate danger either. I hoped.

I walked down the narrow street, my arms around my middle as I tried to stay warm. My breath was a puff of fog in the chilled air as my feet crunched the ice and snow covering the sidewalk. Festive lights glittered and people laughed as they walked by, jostling packages. Occasionally, a door to a restaurant or café would open and the strains of conversation and music would fill the air.

I’d never felt so alone.

I lost track of time and location, walking aimlessly as I tried to think what to do. Tears leaked from my eyes to immediately freeze on my cheeks. My body was racked with chills.

The sound of a pipe organ caught my attention and I glanced up. I’d come upon a church, the stained-glass windows gleaming in the night. People were going inside. Of course! Midnight Mass. I could get warm for a while.

I hurried to the doors, my fingers so frozen I couldn’t feel them curve around the door handle as I pulled it open. The rush of warm air made me release a long sigh. Walking inside, I saw the place was full, but there were some empty spots in the last few pews. Keeping to the very last one, I gratefully slid in and took a seat.

The service was already starting, and since it was in French, I couldn’t follow what they were saying. But it was Christmas Eve, so I could guess well enough. The music was beautiful, haunting, and echoed in the old stone church well after the last line had been sung. I listened to the priest, the unfamiliar language soothing in a way. My gaze caught on the many candles dotting the altar and all around. The dancing flames mesmerized me.

I had no plans beyond the immediate one of getting warm. My stomach cramped with hunger pangs and my eyes were heavy with exhaustion. I found myself nodding off and jerking awake again.

A hand on my shoulder made me start, and I realized I’d fallen asleep completely. I’d slumped over in the pew and now sat up quickly, realizing as I did so that the church was nearly empty of people. Some still filed past me, but most had gone.

“La masse est terminée, ma fille.”

A priest stood by me, a look of kind concern on his face. I couldn’t understand the words he’d said, but I got the gist well enough. Homeless weren’t welcome to sleep the night here any more so than at a church back home.

“Um, yeah, yeah. I’m going.” I got to my feet, grabbing on to the back of the pew when the room spun and my vision grew dark. I didn’t want to pass out. But after waiting for a moment, the spell passed.

The clock outside chimed the hour as I stepped out of the building. One toll. One hour after midnight. Merry Christmas to me. It seemed unreal that just twenty-four hours ago, I’d been with Devon, leaving the opera house in a ball gown and happier than I could ever remember being.

I’d known it was too good to last. Nothing like that ever does.

The cell phone seemed to burn a hole in my pocket as I walked. I found a small alcove between two buildings and took as much shelter from the wind there as I could. Taking out the phone, I stared at it. Who in the world could I call? Who could possibly help me?

But I did remember a number, one I thought I’d never use, and I dialed it. I waited as the connection went through, wondering why in the world I was calling. No one could help.

To my surprise, it picked up, and hearing the voice on the other end say hello was such a relief, it rendered me momentarily speechless.

“Hello?” the man asked again. “Who is this?”

I forced my mouth to work. “Agent L-Lane, i-it’s Ivy. Ivy Mason.” The cold made my teeth chatter.

“Ivy, where are you?” Gone was the slight irritation and only concern laced his words now.

“I-I’m really far away,” I said, “but I need help. I don’t know what to do.” My face crumpled and I started to cry.

“I’ll help you, just tell me where you are.”

But I was crying too hard to talk, the helplessness and heartbreak hitting me hard.

“Please,” Lane begged. “Ivy, please, talk to me. Where are you?”

“P-Paris,” I managed to stammer through my sobs. “H-he brought me here, b-but now I think h-he’s going to k-kill me.” That started a fresh round of crying.

“You’re in Paris?” Lane asked.

I sniffed, wiping my streaming nose on my sleeve. “Yeah.”

“Okay, listen to me, Ivy. You’re going to do as I say, okay?”

I closed my eyes and leaned against the building, so tired I could barely stand. “Okay.”

“I need you to find a hotel. Is there one near you?”

“Um, I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t go to a hotel. I don’t have any money or ID. I lost my passport.”

“It’s okay,” Lane assured me. “Just find one. Stay on the phone with me and walk until you find one.”

“All right.” I pushed myself off the wall and started walking again. Luckily, I found a little place just a block down. “I found one,” I said.

“Go inside, and give the person at the desk the phone. Don’t talk, okay?”

“Okay.” It sounded bizarre, but I had no other options. Obediently, I went inside. A woman who was maybe fifty and looked every year of it sat behind the small counter. She glanced up as the door swung shut behind me.

“
Bonsoir
,” she said.

I didn’t speak, just handed her the phone. She looked questioningly at it, but reached out and took it.

“Allô?”

I stood and watched as Lane spoke to her, but couldn’t hear any of what he said. She listened, though, her gaze on me. The suspicious look on her face changed to one of sympathy, then she scrawled something on a notepad, nodding her head as she did so.

“
Oui, oui
,”
she said, then handed the phone back to me.

“Okay, now listen,” Lane said. “I told her you’re my wife and that I was supposed to be there, but my flight was delayed. I said you’d gotten mugged tonight and are traumatized. She has my credit card so she’s going to put you into a room. I want you to sit tight until I get there.”

I swallowed, the relief washing over me so intense I thought I’d start crying again.

“Ivy? Are you there?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Get some rest,” Lane said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” I ended the call, pushing the phone into my pocket.

“
Suivez-moi
,” the woman said, motioning for me to follow her up the rickety staircase.

We walked up two creaking flights before she unlocked a door with the number thirteen on it. Going inside, she kept up a rapid chatter that I couldn’t decipher as she flipped on a light and showed me the small bedroom and bath.

She left, returning quickly with a plate of bread and cheese and a glass of wine. I thanked her profusely, but she just blushed and said, “
Joyeux Noël.
”

I ate half the food, saving the rest for later, and drank the entire glass of wine. The shower was tiny, but the water was hot enough. I couldn’t bear to put on the same dirty and torn clothes, so I crawled beneath the covers of the bed and fell instantly asleep.

I woke slowly, my body not wanting to give up the dreamless sleep I’d been enjoying. I stretched, then winced at the aches and pains that produced.

A blanket was tugged up to my shoulders and my eyes popped open with a start.

Agent Lane stood above me.

I gasped in surprise, grabbing the blanket and pulling it to my chin. “What—how—” I stammered.

“You’ve slept a long time,” Lane said. “Must’ve been exhausted. It’s”—he glanced at his watch—“almost noon.”