Sudden Legacy (20 page)

I opened my mouth to defend myself but he stopped me with a dashing smile. “Ah-ah. Don’t deny it! I rather like it.” And he kissed me again, this time with more fervor.

The loud crack of Pops’s shotgun rang out through the valley. I heard three more shots ring out from an unfamiliar gun, and then silence descended upon us. It was so quiet I could hear the trickling of the creek murmuring softly under the sound of Julien’s labored breathing.

Julien was no longer able to hold himself up, and he was becoming a dead weight across my back. I wriggled a bit to readjust myself, but I was too afraid to call out, not knowing what was going on in the gun fight happening just above our heads.

“Julien?” I whispered. “Julien, can you hear me?”

“
Sí
, stay still, Lara. It wont be long now.” Julien’s phone beeped a text alert from inside his pocket. He shifted above me and pulled his phone out to read the message. Before I could ask what it said, Pops called out right next to us.

“Lara? Julien?”

I craned my neck to look at Julien. He nodded and slowly attempted to raise himself into a sitting position. “We’re over here, Pops,” I called as I helped Julien to steady himself against the boulder. His shirtfront and left arm were covered in bright red blood. The scarlet hue was quite shocking, and my brain immediately started recalling horrifying facts half learned in biology class about oxygenated blood being bright red. Did it matter if it was oxygenated or not? What constituted
bright
red? Would I notice a difference if it were
un
oxygenated? Why was my brain focusing on such asinine questions? The human body holds five point five liters of blood. How many liters of blood did it take to soak a man’s shirt like that? My useless thoughts were interrupted by Pops coming around the copse of trees. He gasped in shock.

“Lara! Have you been hit?” I followed his terrified gaze to my wet shirt back.

“No, Pops. It’s not my blood. It’s Julien’s. He’s been shot.”

Pops and Martin deposited Julien on one of the couches in the solarium. Nan bustled in, saw his blood stained shirt, and immediately went in to nurse mode. As she removed his bloody shirt I looked around for Alex, grateful that he must have still been sleeping.

“Ah. It’s a flesh wound,” Nan said with relief. “A deep one, but a flesh wound all the same. You’ll need a few stitches and some antibiotics, then you’ll be good as new.” She patted his good shoulder reassuringly. “How did this happen?”

Julien nodded his thanks as Nan motioned for me to hold a towel against the gash in Julien’s shoulder. He had gone quite pale, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his face. He was probably in shock.

Not waiting for the explanation, Nan turned toward Pops. “Daniel, go pull the car around. He’s messy enough that they’ll see him right away in the ER.”

Mr. Martin stepped forward. “I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s not going to be possible right now. We can’t risk exposing him to more fire before the area has been secured. You’ll have to dress it as best you can for now. We’ve got reinforcements on the way.”

Nan’s eyes were large as saucers. “‘Reinforcements’? What exactly is going on here, boys?”

Evidently Nan had been upstairs with Alex when Mr. Martin had arrived. She hadn’t seen Mr. Martin explaining the situation to Pops, nor had she been there when Chester had shown up, frothy with sweat and no sign of a muddy “OK” on his rump.

“I believe I can be of some help in the way of an explanation,” Came a quiet, thickly accented voice from the doorway. I jumped, startled by the newcomer. In all the commotion I hadn’t noticed him standing there. He inclined his head in greeting. “I am Signore Passarelli. At your service,
signora, signorina
.”

Signore Passarelli was a short, unassuming man with a mop of limp black hair plastered to his upper forehead with sweat. He was wearing a tweed suit, its single button straining to stay fastened over his slight paunch. Nan gave him her full attention, but it was Mr. Martin that spoke next.

“Baldovino here is newly arrived from
Mugga
. He’s an
ambasciatore
of sorts. Is that about right, Baldovino?”

Signore Passarelli nodded graciously. He kept glancing nervously at Julien. Julien in turn was doing his best to focus on the conversation, but I could feel him trembling slightly under my hand, which had grown damp with his blood from the soiled towel.

Mr. Martin directed his next statement to Julien. “According to Baldovino, you are the heir to the throne of his small kingdom.”

Julien’s eyebrows shot up. He studied Mr. Martin, unsure whether the older man was joking or not. His chapped lips parted as if to speak, but he said nothing, seemingly at a loss for words. Martin continued, “I had the same reaction, so I checked him out. It’s true. I had them take a DNA sample from your father to be certain. It was a match. All this time I’ve been calling you a royal pain in the ass I’ve been literally correct.” Mr. Martin seemed to be in an unusually good mood. He couldn’t hide his amusement over this latest turn of events. For the first time since I’d seen Mr. Martin, I noticed a sort of avuncular repartee between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “What does all of this have to do with our friend the sniper?” I asked. Julien flinched as I pressed harder into his wound.

“Oh! Careful Lara. That’s got to smart.” Nan clucked at Julien, then ran to retrieve her suture kit. Being a retired nurse, Nan always had certain essentials on hand. Her suture kit had been used to patch up Pops more than a few times.

Mr. Martin frowned a bit at my question. “There are two possibilities. The first is that the shooter was one of Omniteq’s goons. It would be surprising, but certainly not entirely out of character for them.”

My jaw dropped a bit and I looked at Julien in disbelief. He did his best to give me a half smile and started to shrug before remembering his wound. “I employ Martin for a reason,
Chérie.
I told you as much the other night.”

“You said there was no more danger-” I started to argue, but I was interrupted when Nan came back in with her suture kit and set it at Julien’s side. She waived me away and positioned herself next to his wounded arm. I stood there stupidly for a moment until Julien raised his good arm and beckoned me to join him again on his other side.

“You’re sure we can’t take him to the hospital?” Nan asked one last time. Off Martin’s head shake Nan turned back to Julien. “This is going to hurt like the dickens. Do you think you can hold yourself still?”

Mr. Martin unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his belt loops. Folding it over on itself, he gave it to Julien. Knowing exactly what Mr. Martin had in mind, Julien took the belt in his good hand and fit it between his teeth, biting down a few times and adjusting the leather. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said with a groan. “So now you’re John Wayne?”

Nan shushed me as she cleaned Julien’s shoulder with a betadine solution. Once the area was cleaned to her liking, she pulled out some 4-O nylon and clamped the needle holder in place. Holding the forceps in her left hand, she paused one last time to allow Julien to brace himself. “This will be a pinch. I know it’s tender, but try to stay still.”

Julien nodded once, and I could feel his muscles tensing as Nan set to work. Mr. Martin, obviously used to these kinds of situations, and not finding Julien’s wound all that worrisome, took the opportunity to snap a picture of the moment with his cell phone. Noticing my indignation he quirked a half smile at me. “He’ll laugh at this later.”

I startled at the clicking sound the camera made, and looked over my shoulder in alarm. Quickly my hand moved to cover what little it could of my backside before Julien could snap off another picture. “What are you doing?” I asked. I made a grab for the sheet and rolled across the bed, effectively wrapping myself into a modesty preserving burrito.

“I’m documenting perfection,” he said. It was hard to stay properly indignant when he was looking at me in that way of his. “I want to archive your beauty. An ass as delectable as yours should be shared with the world,
Chérie
.”

He was crawling toward me across the bed, the camera swinging from his neck. I did my best to damper a squeal and wriggled myself up against the headboard, cursing my clumsiness and lack of forethought - I was at quite a disadvantage without the use of my arms. “I have no intention of sharing my ass with the world, be it delectable or otherwise.”

He had reached me by this point. He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, then started kissing and nibbling his way down my throat, pushing the sheet away with his nose as he went. I could hear him murmuring little bits of French, but as usual had no idea what he meant. Well, that’s not entirely true. I knew exactly what he
meant
; I just didn’t recognize the words he was using.

When he reached my left breast I gasped and arched my back as he took my nipple into his mouth. He pulled two long draws against my breast before pinching my sensitive flesh between his lips and flicking my taught bud with his tongue. Cool air hit my wet skin as he sat back on his ankles and snapped off another picture. My already hard nipple seemed to tighten even harder at the sound of the camera’s click.

Julien repeated his treatment on my other breast, the shutter snap arousing me all the more. He had awakened my inner exhibitionist, and I was eager to see which part of me he would photograph next. He tugged at the sheet, pulling it away from my legs. They opened for him hungrily, and I shivered at his hot breath ghosting over my sex. As he dipped his head and began teasing me with his expert tongue I reached for the camera strap. The camera was resting against my outer thigh, and Julien didn’t seem to notice as I relieved him of his equipment, his documentary work momentarily forgotten in light of his new assignment.

He brought me almost to climax before cruelly pulling away and smiling down at me with a cocky smirk. I snapped a picture of my own, digitally capturing his impish triumph. He laughed and reached for the camera. “Portraits,
Chérie
?” He made a tsking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I can think of much better material to film.” He flicked the camera button from picture to video and turned the lens toward me. I could tell from his angle that he was in an extreme close up.

“
Bonjour
,” he said to me for the benefit of the camera. I giggled, my eyes crinkling with mirth. “Hello,” I answered.

“You look so beautiful, Lara. Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are bright. What could be the cause of such excitement?” He reached down with his left hand and glided his finger over my clitoris, then delved into my warmth, all the while keeping the camera trained on my face. I gasped and ground against him like a wanton.

“Hmmm?” he asked again. “What is it that you need
Chérie
?” His finger curled within, rubbing against my g-spot and making me buck off the mattress. “Can I be of assistance?” he asked, the picture of innocence. I bit down on my lower lip and pressed into him as best I could. He flipped the camera around and handed it to me one-handed, his other hand still wreaking havoc on my sensitive flesh. “
Dites-moi
, Lara. Tell me what you need,” he urged in miniature through the viewing screen.