Notorious in Nice (22 page)

“Don’t bother. Place is empty. Back door’s open.”

“He moved her.” Bile flooded Terry’s mouth.

“Wake up.” The coarse-accented whisper penetrated Su-Lin’s fogged mind, but the words seemed faraway and floated around her mind, meaningless.

Her head throbbed.

Bony hands with jagged nails bit into her flesh.

“
Vite, vite
. Before he comes back.
Merde
.” The hissed expletive bore the scent of onion.

Su-Lin gagged. Her eyelids opened in slow increments. She wet her lips and winced when the light touch stung.

“I’m dreaming.” Did that coarse voice belong to her?

“Non, non. No dream. Come with me.”

The girl’s thin face swam in and out of focus.

“Adria. Gypsy. Gym.”

Su-Lin wriggled bare toes and tensed, stilling as a thousand pins lanced her flesh.

“Up, up,” the girl whispered and darted a glance over one shoulder. She edged one hand under Su-Lin’s armpit and pulled.

The movement brought a wave of nausea and shaved returning sharpness from her vision. Su-Lin bit her lip and dug her elbows into cool dirt, leveraging her back off the ground. Something hard dug into her pelvis; she shifted and pushed her hand into her pants pocket. Her fingers closed around cool metal, and she removed the object.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

“Phone,” she muttered. “One.”

The girl crooned, “Up, up.” Her small hand pried Su-Lin’s fingers open, and she took the phone. “Bien, vite, vite.”

The girl moved behind her, and using two small palms, she pushed Su-Lin to her feet.

As soon as Su-Lin stood, her knees buckled and she fell against a wooden surface. Slivers worked into one hand as she grabbed a rough edge.

Working one arm around her waist, the girl kept Su-Lin standing.

Su-Lin frowned when her eyes grew accustomed to an almost-pitch darkness. She recognized a thatched interior and puzzled over the dirt floor.

A loud chorus sung in a lilting rhythm almost drowned the sound of loud laughter, a hearty cackling, and the splintering of glass on glass. Through a hole in the matted leaves and twigs, Su-Lin glimpsed colorful garments, and…dancing?

“Dreaming,” she muttered.

“Non, non.” The girl took two steps forward, and Su-Lin stumbled along.

In fits and starts, they made it to an opening in the hovel. With each slow inch, Su-Lin’s mind absorbed more sounds. Shots? Screams? A tambourine? As they edged out of the structure, she understood the persistent onion stench. A heap of the rotting vegetables braced a door hanging off one hinge.

She held her breath, but that made her head spin, so she breathed through her mouth.

“
Rapide, rapide
,” the Gypsy hissed and broke into a trot.

Su-Lin bit her lip to stifle the moans threatening to emerge. She choked in oxygen, gulping cool air into starved lungs.

“Please, stop.” She gasped. “I can’t.”

“You must. He comes soon.” But she slowed their pace.

“Who?”

“
Mon frère
. Vite, vite,” Adria shouted. “He comes. Run, run.”

“Phone.” Su-Lin gasped. “Phone. One.
Une
.”

A variety of male voices splintered the forested area. From the thrashing and crashing behind them, Su-Lin knew it wasn’t a single person following them, but several. Had she finally lost her grip on reality?

It felt real. Her heart competed with the hammering in her head. Each strangled breath made her dizzier.

A bellow sounded from right behind them.

Adria urged. “Rapide,
tout de suite
.”

Su-Lin stumbled and fell to her knees.

“Non, non. Up. Up.”

“Phone, une,” she muttered, squeezing the girl’s fingers. “Une.”

“Merde,” Adria muttered, but she flipped open the cell and stabbed one. Shoving the phone into Su-Lin’s hand, the girl thrust her hands under Su-Lin’s armpits and pulled.

“Adria.”

Su-Lin turned; she recognized the boy from the Cours Saleya. The menace in his flashing black eyes cleared the fog from her brain. Racing toward them, less than a highway’s width behind them. A surge of panic flooded her brain; she broke into a jog and stumbled.

“I get knocked down,” accompanied by the pounding bass of a guitar, blasted from the phone’s receiver.

Her feet tripped over a gnarled tree root, and Su-Lin hit a tree trunk and wrapped one arm around the rough bark.

“Su-Lin! Su-Lin, where are you?”

“Terrence,” she said, “I don’t like this dream.”

The phone fell onto the forest floor. She pushed off the spindly tree and turned around, Casmir stood not two feet away, lips in a snarl baring white teeth. Adria faced him. He raised a hand behind his head. Protective instincts showered adrenaline through Su-Lin’s veins; she jerked between the two Gypsies.

Su-Lin glared at the boy and remembered his name. “Casmir.”

The boy shouted, “Adria.”

The girl stepped in front of her, arms folded across a thin chest, chin jutting. Adria opened her mouth, and a barrage erupted. Startled by the force of her bellow, Su-Lin jumped. These two argued often, she guessed and grew giddy trying to decipher their yells. As she leaned her head against a tree, the aches and pains the adrenaline had blocked surfaced.

In the distance, through the thin curtain of leaves swishing in a cool breeze, she saw four men galloping across a meadow.

Su-Lin blinked, certain now she’d lost all sanity.

Horses? When she spotted Terry’s wheat mane flying in the wind, she surrendered to the white-knight-on-a-horse fantasy and smiled, waiting for his rescue.

This dream proved perfect. He never took those wonderful gray eyes off her, not for a second. The sound of pounding hooves added a nice soundtrack to this movie, she decided. Terry brought the black steed to an abrupt halt, threw the reins to one side, and vaulted out of the saddle, every movement powerful, intent, determined. He stalked to her side, drew her into his arms, cradled her face with one hand, and raked her features.

“You’re cut. You’ve blood on your right temple. Here.” He touched a thumb to her skin.

His voice shook and moisture leaked from one storm-filled eye.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m okay. I love you, Terrence O’Connor.” She brushed the tear off his cheek. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

He scooped her off her feet and held her tight in his arms.

She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, listening to his heart beating, knowing everything would be all right now.

“Round up everyone. I don’t give a fricking damn if any of these men happen to get hurt in the process, especially that piece of vermin.” She opened her eyes to see the vermin, but Terry whirled around and so did everything else.

“Get them all to the house. Miche, call a doctor. Have him at the house before I get there. Harry, find a vehicle and drive us back now.”

“There are several trucks in the village,” Jean-Michel stated. “I’ll ride ahead and return with one.”

“Go, honey,” Thomas said. “I’ll keep my brother from murdering anyone.”

“You are going to regret ever touching my woman, Gypsy boy. I’ll make you pay every minute of the rest of your short mongrel life.”

“Ter, cut it. Keep a lid. I know you’re near breaking point, but Su-Lin doesn’t need this right now.”

Hearing Thomas speak her name puzzled Su-Lin. She stroked Terry’s throat, let her finger rest on his strong pulse. “It all feels so real. I should sell my dreams to those adventure parks.”

Terry’s eyes narrowed. “Darlin’?”

“She’s drugged, Terry. They’ve shot her up with something. Her eyes are glazed.” Harry raised a finger. “Sugar, follow my finger.”

“Makes everything spin. Stop, Harry.” She closed her eyes, and their faces stopped acting like blurred carriages on a Ferris wheel. “I’m going to rest my eyes for a few minutes.”

“We need to keep her awake, at least until the doc sees her,” Thomas said.

“I’ll take care of it. Tie him up,” Terry ordered, angling his chin at Casmir. “Make it hurt.”

“Non, you do not hurt mon frère.”

Su-Lin opened one eye and peeked in the direction of the girl’s voice.

Adria poked a finger into Terry’s jean-clad thigh. She barely reached his waist. Neck craned to meet his eyes, the little girl stamped one foot.

“She’s perfect,” Su-Lin said. “She’s going to be a great gymnast. Could we have a daughter soon?”

“Whatever you want, darlin’.”

“Stop frowning,” she ordered and rubbed away the lines between his eyebrows. “You have to say it back.”

“What, darlin’?”

“I love you. That’s how it works. The knight rescues the princess. She says I love you. Then he says it back and kisses her. Only don’t kiss me. I think they dropped me in the rotting onions.”

“Rotting onions?”

“You still have to say it back.”

“Cornered, drawn, and quartered,” Harry drawled.

Distracted by a loud clanking, Su-Lin glanced in the direction of the noise and saw a most peculiar version of a pickup coming their way. It bounced and weaved on the gravel driveway, sending small pebbles flying and belching sooty smoke from a spout on its roof. The comical vehicle shuddered to a halt in front of them.

“It hiccupped,” she said.

“I’m afraid you won’t fit in the cab. I borrowed a blanket. Only consolation is the house’s not far away. Ten-minute ride, even in this thing.” Jean-Michel gave that fatalistic, archetypal shrug only the French male had ever mastered.

“Oh my,” she muttered when the vehicle reared and jumped before moving forward.

“Wrap your arms around my neck, darlin’. Hold on tight.”

“How clever,” she said a few minutes later, as Terry wedged his feet into the far corners of the tray. “Thank you.”

And then she slept like a baby. The last thing she felt was Terry’s arms and his body spooning her. Only the rays and a familiar scent lured her from sleep.

“Tea,” she muttered and sniffed. “Peppermint tea.” She lifted her eyelids with slow caution and stared at a vaguely familiar ceiling.

“How’re you feeling?”

Eyes widening, Su-Lin stared at a vaguely familiar female.

“Do you remember me? Sarita Paxton? We met briefly at the masked ball.”

“Yes.” Su-Lin slid up the bed’s headboard, and her mind raced, taking in the surroundings. The bright sunshine flooded over a stone terrace through open glass and wood doors. Holding her breath, she hooded her eyes and darted peeks at the far wall, and almost slumped down with relief. “The Goddess room. Jean-Michel’s house.”

“That’s right. I’m sure you’re wondering how you got here. I’m guessing the last thing you remember is the
Glory
.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to piece together what happened after hearing Terry’s bald statement about his stepmother. She shuddered as a vision of the redhead with -- No, don’t go there, she thought.

How could he think she would blame him? What kind of woman does that to a barely teenage boy?

A memory surfaced. “The last thing I remember is Austen bringing a tray of food to my room. I ate a little and then fell asleep. How on earth did I get to the Fragonard Château?”

“It’s a long, complicated story.” As she spoke, the woman deposited a tray on the bed next to Su-Lin’s thighs. Turning over a chintz teacup, she picked up a matching pot and said, “Herbal tea, no caffeine. I figured after what your poor stomach’s been through over the last while, we’ll stick to soothing foods. Okay with you?”

The peppermint tang of the hot tea washed away the sour taste in Su-Lin’s mouth.

“The doctor checked you out yesterday, but I’m sure you hardly remember any of that. You were pretty out of it.” Sarita edged an ornate chair closer to the bed. She waved a hand at the tray. “Two bran muffins with local honey and wild blueberry jam. Now I’m going to sit here and bring you up to date while you eat both.”

Su-Lin broke one muffin in half and nibbled on the top while Sarita spoke. As each horrifying detail emerged, her appetite diminished, but she forced the food down. An existentialism settled around her brain, the ugly facts made her shudder.

“You’re very pale. Are you feeling okay?” Sarita moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

The door burst open. A young boy with a shock of sun-kissed blond hair and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen careened into the room and braked to an abrupt halt directly in front of the two women.

“Mom, Dad wants you.” His eyes swung from Sarita to her. “Hi. I’m Anthony Rolan Paxton, but most everyone calls me Tony. Dad said you’re a gymnast, and Harry says you can do a split upside down. Can you show me how?”

“Son --”

The boy’s energy made her smile, and Su-Lin interrupted his mother. “I’d love to teach you how to do a split. Maybe tomorrow?” It’d be good to concentrate on something physical, tangible. She’d practice her routine tomorrow. Work with Tony. Where was Terrence?

“Terry and the others left for Nice right before I brought you breakfast. They spent the morning interrogating Casmir and Adria. Son, ask your father to join us.”

“Adria tried to help me. I remember that.” As she twisted the napkin into the shape of a crane Su-Lin’s thoughts sifted through hazy, seemingly unrelated images, Adria’s pale cheeks, her brother’s thundering bellows. She only noticed the boy sprinting away when he missed tumbling a chintz vase by an infinitesimal inch. “Why did Terrence go to Nice?”

“Your uncle and aunt have vanished. Terry, Thomas, Suresh, and Miche are there because Carol-Ann’s body washed up on the morning tide. Miche’s uncle is overseeing the investigation into the matter. Terry has to testify about his whereabouts that night.”

“Where was he?” She held her breath.

“In a bar drinking.” Sarita’s voice changed, and Su-Lin studied her features. She wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Please tell me,” she whispered as she tore apart the delicate bird napkin.

“In a bar drinking,” Rolan Paxton repeated as he strode through the open doorway. “You look much better. How’re you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Are you up to hearing what we’ve discovered?”

“Yes.”

Sarita collected the tray and set it on a walnut sideboard on the other side of the room, while Rolan lifted a chair, then set it down with its back to her. He sat and rested his elbows on the frame.