Risk the Night (7 page)

The words hung in the air between them, like a confession.
 
Drake put out a well-shaped hand and
covered hers.
 
“This isn’t like
you, Maddy,”
 
he said gently.
 
“I suppose the man must have amazing
charm, though I’m damned if I can see it.
 
He’s just one of a score of petty users with a good-looking face.
 
You’ve never been shallow.”

She didn’t ask him how he knew.
 
There would have been people at the party who would have told him whom
she left with, and he knew her too well.
 
He could look at her and know things had changed.

She smiled at him.
 
“Now
aren’t you glad I never agreed to marry you?”
 
she said lightly.

“The offer’s still open.
 
Everyone likes an occasional adventure every now and then.
 
Even me.”
 
His thumb stroked her hand.
 
She had a bruise on her wrist, she noticed.
 
At times last night he’d been
infinitely tender.
 
At other times
rough.

“Not a good idea,”
 
she
said.

“All right,”
 
he said, not
withdrawing his hand.
 
He’d seen
the bruise as well, as his fingertips traced it lightly.
 
“We’ll revisit the question in a few
months, when you’ve had time to think about things.
 
In the meantime, how long was he here?”

“I really don’t want to discuss it …”

“Because Tessa died sometime between three and five in the
morning.
 
I’m assuming he’d left by
then since he chose to disappear.
 
An innocent man doesn’t take off when his girlfriend has an accidental
overdose.”
 
There was just the
slightest emphasis on ‘girlfriend,’ and Maddy tried not to flinch.

“A man innocent of murder might not want all the attention a high
profile death might bring,”
 
she
said.

“Was he here?”
 
For the
first time there was an edge in his voice.

“Yes.
 
He left about
six.”
 
Or at least she assumed
so.
 
The last thing she remembered
was the darkness closing in, the strength of his fingers around her throat, the
knowledge she was going to die at his hands.

But she hadn’t.
 
And
neither had Tessa Parker.

Drake seemed to relax, his hand still stroking hers.
 
“Doubtless he’ll show up again
eventually, living off some other rich woman.
 
Did he know who you are?
 
How much money you have?”

She pulled her hand away.
 
The implication was clear – he had chosen her as a new meal
ticket.
 
There would be no other
reason he had come to her.
 
“I have
no idea.
 
We didn’t talk much.”

Drake flushed.
 
It has
been a cruel blow, but she didn’t care.
 
“I deserved that,”
 
he said,
scrupulously fair.
 
“Are you going
to see him again?”

“No.
 
He couldn’t have
known Tessa was dead when he left, but we were both very clear that last night
was a moment of temporary insanity.” She took another, careful sip of her
coffee.
 
“He’s out of my life.
 
Forever.”

“And you have a book to write,”
 
Drake added.
 
“We never had
much of a chance to discuss your interview yesterday.
 
How was it?
 
You
told me you taped it – I’d love to hear it.”

It had been gone, of course.
 
He hadn’t come just for her.
  
She shrugged.
 
“It wasn’t
terribly useful.
 
I’ve already
erased it.”

“But you said
Renard
was helpful,”
 
Drake protested.

“He was.
 
The man he found
was not.
 
If I decide to continue
with the investigation I’ll take another tack.”

“And we’ll go on as before?”

Not likely, she thought, smiling at him.
 
It was as if the first sharp wind of winter had blown in,
destroying the bright flowers.
 
Things were never going to be like before.

By the time he left Drake had convinced himself that everything was
the same.
 
He would come by and
take her to dinner this evening, they would talk about work, and sooner or
later he’d talk her into bed again.
 
And she’d probably give in, just to try to wipe the man from her mind,
from her body.
 

She’d told Drake the truth.
 
Last night had been temporary insanity.
 
There was just one problem.
 
It hadn’t been temporary with her.

She dressed in black jeans, a shirt and over-sized sweater, then put
on her boots.
 
It wasn’t Parisian
attire, but she didn’t give a damn.
 
She managed to tame her hair into one thick braid, then grabbed her
fourth cup of coffee and moved toward the small balcony.
 
Her stomach was in an uproar, her hands
were shaking, her heart hurt.
 
Pushing open the doors, she stepped onto the narrow platform and looked
out over the skyline of Paris.
 
It
was beautiful, and she loved it with all her heart.

It was time to leave.

She wouldn’t say good-bye to Drake – he’d only argue.
 
Her mother could have someone pack up
the apartment – that, or leave it for her if she ever wanted to come back
to it.
 
She wouldn’t.
 
Everything had changed, whether she
liked it or not.
 
She was a new
person, and the old Maddy was gone.

For some reason she looked down into the streets.
 
The icy mist was rising, and there was
an old Citroen parked illegally in the alley behind her building.
 
She stared at the car in bemusement
– she’d always loved old, classic Citroens.
 
This one looked fairly battered, and she watched as the door
opened.

A stranger got out.
 
He
had short, sun-streaked blond hair, faded jeans and a flannel shirt beneath a
down vest.
 
He was tall, lean, and
moved with an economy of motion, reaching up and removing his sunglasses as he
turned to look up at her balcony.

They stared at each other, and Maddy felt her breath catch, her heart
slamming against her rib cage.
 
In
the distance Notre Dame chimed eleven – he’d been gone five hours.
 
It had been enough time for him to
completely change his appearance.
 
Why had he come back?

But she knew the answer.
 
He made no effort to come to her – he merely leaned against the
car, folding his arms across his chest as he stared up at her.
 
Waiting.

Clearly this kind of insanity had a lingering effect on all parties
concerned.
 
She stepped back and
closed the windows, setting down her coffee cup.
 
She grabbed her coat and the backpack she used as a purse,
locked the door behind her, and started down the narrow, winding stairs.

She didn’t hurry.
 
He
would be there.

He was.
 
He straightened
to his full height when she approached him.
 
She wasn’t used to men being so much taller than she was.

“Ready?”
 
he said.
 
Even his voice was different.
 
Lower, a deep, sexy rumble that heated
her bones and did nothing to calm her racing heart.

She thought she should make some kind of protest.
 
“This is insane.”

“Yes.”
 
He surveyed her
out of surprisingly blue eyes, almost a turquoise color, startling in the
familiar/unfamiliar face.
 
“You’re
here.”

“Yes,”
 
she said.
 
She glanced at the car.
 
“This thing run?”

“Like a champ.”
 
He tilted
his head, surveying her.
 
“I figure
if I can’t kill you then I might as well keep you.”

“Very romantic,”
 
she
said.
 
“I’m going back upstairs.”

“No, you aren’t.
 
By the
way, my name is Thomas Lambert.”
 
He didn’t move, and neither did she.

“Hello, Thomas Lambert.
 
What do you do for a living?”
 
She held her breath.
 
There
was an odd look in his eyes, as if he were far away, and then he smiled at her
with surprising tenderness.

“Actually I’m at loose ends right now.
 
I decided it was time for a change.
 
I didn’t like my old job much.”

She nodded.
 
“Change is
always good.
 
Where are we going?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really.”

“Then get in the car.”
 
He
moved out the way, even opening the door for her.
 
Despite the outside wreck of the car, the inside was
perfectly restored and spotless.

She sat very still as he went around the back of the car and climbed
in beside her.
 
He turned to look
at her, and then he put his hand behind her neck and held her for a deep,
endless kiss.
 
When he pulled away
his eyes were suddenly sober.
 
“You
sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure,”
 
she said.

And a moment later they were flying through the Paris traffic, heading
for God knew where.

She leaned back and smiled.
 
Everyone would scream, no one would believe it.
 
She’d have to send her mother an
anonymous email telling her she was fine.
 
But for now, she was going to disappear, with a man she couldn’t
possibly love, a man who couldn’t possibly love her, and maybe they’d never
come back.

For now, that was good enough.