To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (14 page)

David hadn’t shown the letter to anyone, not even the police. It had been locked away until he had come across it again this morning. He wanted his father remembered for the man he once was and not for someone who took his own life because he felt a failure. The air force had been his life and being forced to retire because of a defect in his sight which would eventually take away his pilot’s license had devastated him. David had known that, but so had his mother and he had neither seen nor spoken with her since his father’s funeral.

For the rest of the night, David achieved little sleep. Foreboding gnawed away at his insides. He was used to staring into the barrel of a gun, walking into a meeting with known killers and pretending to be one of them. The slightest mistake and they would cut him to the ground without mercy. He knew all about that kind of fear, but not what he was undergoing now. He would doze off and wake up covered in sweat, his heart racing, nauseous from nightmares he couldn’t even recall.

At other times, those bewitching emerald eyes haunted him. He craved the soft silkiness of her skin, those full giving lips upon his, to wake up and have that heavenly body wrapped around his and then to make long, leisurely love to her. It was a different kind of torture, to want so much and know he would never be with her again.

The next day, David kept busy, his mind occupied with the mission. But when night came, the dreams were of one person only. Chantelle.

This time, at daybreak, David was covered in a sheen of perspiration, another nightmare having woken him. This one, he could recall. Chantelle was reaching out to him from the passenger door of his Islander plane and he was running beside it, trying to grab her hand. As their fingers touched, she was snatched back into the plane. He stared up as the plane soared and banked, giving him a view of the cockpit, only there was no one flying it. That had scared him awake.

Going into the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, leaned on the bathroom sink for several minutes and then pulled out his cell phone. The line was engaged; he tried the number several times before slamming the receiver down. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he left the house, jumped into his car and headed for London.

****

David stood on the doorstep, buzzing Chantelle’s flat, his finger eventually holding it down.

“Yes,” she finally snapped.

“Chantelle, we need to talk.”

“I think we said all there is to say. Now if you don’t mind, I’m…”

He cut in, “Chantelle, I don’t want this conversation out on the street. Either you release the entrance door or I’ll kick it in and pay for the damage later.”

“Oh! You’re impossible.” The entrance door clicked open.

Taking two steps at a time, he was about to hammer on the door when it opened and Chantelle stepping aside to allow him in. He nearly tripped over a suitcase by the door. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes. Not that it’s any business of yours.” She walked off into the kitchen.

He noticed that although her ankle still had a support bandage on it, she was now placing it fully on the floor. She wore a long denim button up skirt and gypsy top and her russet hair hung in a French plait down her back. She bent down and was placing a pair of lace up ankle boots on while talking to her cat, ignoring him.

Approaching, he reached out and gently took hold of her forearm, forcing her to straighten up and face him. “You should still be resting that ankle and especially not wearing those things.” He motioned to the ankle boots now on her feet.

“Is that what you came here for, to be my nursemaid? Well, forget it. My ankle is doing fine and…”

He held his finger up to her lips, silencing her. “No, I didn’t come here to fight. There’s so much to say, but I’m not sure you will want to hear it.”

“Your timing is not good, David.”

Taking the impatience in her voice as a sign that she was still angry with him, and she had every right to be, he spoke in a soft coaxing tone. “Look, this isn’t about us. Well, not directly. I’m concerned you could be in danger.”

Chantelle stared back at him in disbelief. “Danger from what? Finding out I just slept with a mercenary?”

Taking hold of her other forearm, he pulled her closer. “I told you, this isn’t about us.”

Moist green eyes looked into his. ”It never is. Now, please release me.” Her voice was calm and a little sad. “David, my mother has taken ill in France. I’m leaving for the airport.”

For a moment, David was stunned into silence. Releasing her arms, he asked, “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know. A friend of my mother’s rang. She has a bad chest infection that has led to other complications. He wasn’t very clear on the phone, didn’t speak English and had a heavy, guttural accent. My French is pretty poor.” Picking up her handbag from the kitchen, she walked past him toward her suitcase.

“Are you flying over yourself?”

“No. I don’t know a private airstrip nearby and her villa is in the middle of nowhere, so I’ll need to hire a car. I have a flight booked.”

Moving towards the door, he stood in the entrance. “Let me drive you to the airport. It’s the least I can do.”

Looking reluctant, she nodded. “Okay.”

After traveling with him for ten minutes in silence, Chantelle could stand it no longer. “Why did you come around, David?”

“It doesn’t really matter now.”

“Great.” She let out a sigh. “Do you know how infuriating it is having you around? You talk in riddles half the time, you blow hot and cold, tell me I’m in some sort of danger and then claim it doesn’t matter.” Her voice shook with emotion. ”I think it’s best for my sanity that we never set eyes on each other again.” Glancing at her watch, Chantelle added, “There isn’t time to park. Just drop me off here.”

“You have it all wrong, I didn’t mean…” He gave a small sigh, knowing it was too late to retract his words. Besides, what could he say? That what they had did matter? She was all he cared about, which was why her leaving was more important than the two of them. Nothing he said would explain that contradiction. Pulling the car up to the terminal, he switched off the engine.

Chantelle was opening the door when he pulled her back toward him, his hand going around the back of her neck as he brought her lips to meet his. There was no resistance. Her lips, soft and yielding, allowed his tongue to plummet into the moist recesses, and fire seared through his loins. He wanted to hold onto her forever. Then, as suddenly as it had started, Chantelle broke away. “Goodbye, David.”

The anguish within the depths of her eyes mirrored his own. In those few seconds, if she had reached back and touched him, any resolve he had left would have been torn aside. Instead, she stepped out of the car and went to the trunk to retrieve her suitcase.

He couldn’t even trust himself to getting out the car. He allowed her to walk away from him, expecting her to look back and then not feeling surprised when she didn’t. He kept reminding himself it was better this way. She was removing herself from danger and that was all he wanted. Wasn’t it?
 

Chapter 9

The villa was situated in the southern region of Le Languedoc-Roussillon, an area dominated by vast fields of vineyards and olive groves. Hiring a car at Montpellier, Chantelle drove along winding country roads that passed through ancient towns with narrow streets and quiet squares and then villages lined with window boxes containing fading geraniums. Fresh late summer smells filled the air; autumn was late to arrive here. As the road narrowed and climbed, the view became breathtaking. She could even see the coastline, the blue Mediterranean shimmering in the sun.
 

Her mother’s villa was set on a hillside overlooking a village. The vineyards the family had once owned stretched out in a valley behind. The road was now no more than a dirt track used only for access to the villa. The villa stood out like a beautiful Spanish hacienda, a white wooden veranda running the full length, one hundred-year-old wisteria climbing the walls. Wooden shutters had been thrown back and on one windowsill sat Ming, her mother’s Siamese cat, looking like an Egyptian sculpture.

Parking the hired Fiesta next to her mother’s Clio, Chantelle stepped out onto the graveled drive, her attention drawn to the other car parked on the driveway. It seemed strange that it was also a hired car. Whoever the visitors were, they weren’t local.

What troubled her more was not being able to get through on the phone. The line was dead at the other end, the operator claiming the fault was with the receiver and had been reported. Chantelle wished she had asked the person who had rung her, what his relationship was with her mother. At the moment, she was wishing for a lot of things, most of all that her mother hadn’t worsened and gone to a hospital.

Stepping onto the veranda, she approached the door. The sound of the door chimes resounding through the open windows was met by silence. She tried again and then decided to walk around the back. Ming followed, rubbing around her legs. Bending down, Chantelle picked her up rather than risk tripping over her. “You’re getting very affectionate in your old age.” She smiled down at Ming and the cat’s purr grew louder as she nestled in the crook of Chantelle’s arm.

The veranda took her around to the side of the villa, widening to a terrace adorned with a mass of bloom, mostly reds and whites filling large earthenware pots. Placing Ming on the terrace wall, Chantelle looked down across the large stone patio surrounding the swimming pool. The sight there surprised her. She should have felt relieved, because her mother looked well and was sitting up, a magazine on her lap.

It was who was in the other sun lounger that made Chantelle uncomfortable. Looking even more relaxed and fully reclined was a man who couldn’t have been more than mid-twenties with shoulder length, shiny raven hair. His heavily bronzed skin and angular features made his nationality questionable, but he looked more Arab than French. He also looked kind of sinister, the sunglasses hiding his eyes.

Chantelle slowly approached.

Though facing her, neither had noticed her arrival. The man was obviously dozing and her mother was staring down at her lap. It wasn’t until she was nearly up to them that her mother looked up and let out a cry of alarm. Her hand quickly covered her mouth, but it was too late.

Suddenly, the man leapt up and it was then that she saw what was gripped in his right hand. Her eyes widened in shock and horror. The gun was pointed straight at her and for a moment, Chantelle felt herself go dizzy, her breath catching in her throat.

“I will not kill you. Sit down.” The words were spoken in broken English and Chantelle recognized his accent from the phone call. He moved away from the lounger and motioned with the gun for Chantelle to sit.

For a moment, she felt unable to move, but her mother’s pleading broke into her shock.

“Chantelle, please do what he says.”

Her eyes remained fixed on the handgun as she backed her way to the lounger and nearly fell into it.

A ruthless smile crossed their aggressor’s face and then he was shouting out, calling another’s name in a language she didn’t recognize.

Chantelle tore a glance at her mother, whose expression mirrored Chantelle’s emotions. Helplessness had taken over the fear.

Within seconds of the shouting, an older man with a fuzzy, graying beard and an unkempt appearance was rushing from the house, tying the cord on his baggy white cotton trousers. An argument developed between them, the coarseness and speed of the dialect making it impossible to understand.

A soft hand reached over and gripped Chantelle’s, drawing her attention back to her mother.

She spoke in a low tone. “I don’t know what they want. They arrived yesterday. There were four of them, but when they realized I lived alone, two of them went off. They won’t answer any of my questions and get angry if I press them, so I’ve learned to say nothing.”

“Have they…” Chantelle’s voice wavered. “Tried to hurt you?”

She felt her hand being squeezed again, her mother forcing out a reassuring smile. “No, they’re not here to rape or rob. If they were, it would have been done by now. What possessed you to turn up like this? I wasn’t expecting you for a month.”

“A phone call.” They looked at each other with a sudden realization that it was Chantelle they wanted. She was silenced from saying more when the two men turned back to them.

“You do as we ask and no one gets hurt. Understand?”

They nodded their agreement to the one holding the gun. Chantelle couldn’t help feeling she was now under his scrutiny. Before, the surprise at her sudden arrival had preoccupied him. Now, he was looking at her as a man looks at a woman and liking what he saw, his tongue slowly sliding over his bottom lip.

Chantelle felt sickness rise from the pit of her stomach. Her hands automatically drew her undone shirt together to cover the flimsy gypsy top she wore underneath.

He had removed his sunglasses now and leered at her. “You take after your mama, very beautiful.” He came forward and stood close, looking down at her. A hand reached out and his dark eyes threw her a warning when she tried to dodge his fingers. With her body pressed back hard against the cushioning, her face turned away from his as she felt him take hold of her French plait. Tugging at the band holding it together, he freed the braids, his fingers going through it.

“Such perfection, the color of passion.” He lowered his lips down to a chunk of hair, held it in his grasp and drew in a deep breath.

“Please, leave her be. Do what you like with me, but don’t touch her please,” her mother’s distraught voice rang out. She clutched at his arm, trying to pull him away from Chantelle.

A gruff, coarse laugh came from the other man as he said something in his language, causing the young man to laugh with him. Releasing Chantelle’s hair, he stepped away, pushing her mother from him.

“I’m a soldier, I follow orders. Maybe later, those orders change and then we shall see, but for now…” He blew first Chantelle and then her mother a kiss. “I act with honor.”

“Why are you doing this?” Chantelle blurted out.

“I love my country. Let us hope your man loves you the same way. Otherwise…” He raised the gun and pointed it at Chantelle.

Both men let out cruel laughter at the terror that swept across both women’s faces. Slowly, the younger one lowered the gun to his side and motioned for Chantelle and her mother to go in front of them into the house.

There was only one man who could relate to animals such as these. If her captors thought love could be her savior, they didn’t know David Bishop at all.

****

David hauled up the heavy metal shutters of the hangar and stepped into the semidarkness. On his left shoulder hung his knapsack. His right hand he kept free, his fingers clenching and unclenching. The gun belt strapped across his chest was visible. They knew he would be armed. In his line of business, it would be foolish not to. As a backup, he always kept the 9mm automatic hidden in his knapsack. If this was a trap, he was walking straight into it and no amount of weaponry would save him. The fear that his cover might have been blown at this late stage in the game was ever present. Perspiration broke out in small beads down his back, but the he kept the expression on his face calm, in control.

He heard footsteps and three men came out of the shadows. One he knew was Abdul, the other was also Algerian going by the darkness of his skin, and the third was Hendersson. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he tried to keep control of his anger. The rest of his body tensed at the betrayal.

“You’re surprised to see me.” A heavy cloud of smoke followed Hendersson’s words. He drew calmly on the cigarette again, then dropped the cigarette to the floor.

David remained silent. A tiny ray of hope lit within him. Maybe Hendersson had infiltrated this group and was working undercover just like him. It seemed unlikely though; Hendersson wasn’t one for dirtying his hands.

“Ah! You hope maybe my friends don’t know who you really are.” He gave a small smile. “I’m afraid I had to let them in on our little secret, Agent Bishop.” He paused, obviously enjoying the effect of the disclosure. “I had to put them in the picture, just as I had to hope I’d judged you right. Money is very important to you, as it is to me. The deal still stands, only double the amount promised and you can disappear as you wanted. After all, what did the agency ever do for you except try and get you killed on more than one occasion?”

“Go to hell!” David was already contemplating whether he could take all three out. It was impossible odds; the two Algerians had TEC-9 machine pistols capable of spitting out thirty-six rounds each. Armed with only his handgun, he stood no chance.

A sneer appeared on Hendersson’s thin lips as he studied David. “You disappoint me. If we wanted to kill you, it would be easy, but good pilots like you, who know the terrain, are difficult to find. So maybe we have something else to bargain with, call it my little persuader.”

That gnawing in his stomach started up again, the unexplained fear he couldn’t identify. Eyes of flint fixed on Hendersson. “Enlighten me.”

The glare seemed to unnerve Hendersson. He dipped his gaze and lit another cigarette. “The second deal stands, a tidy investment for you and your lady friend to live a very comfortable life on foreign shores.”

David’s fists clenched harder, his eyes narrowing sharply, daring Hendersson to continue.

“I see you already know who I talk about. Chantelle Duvall is a lovely lady, unlike the usual tramps you go for. It would be a great shame for that beauty to be marred in any way.”

“You stay away from her.” His voice came out in a coarse whisper as he tried to hold his emotions together.

“But we already have her.” Hendersson smiled back with predatory amusement.

His anger erupted like a volcano. David lunged forward, his fingers already reaching for Hendersson’s throat. Murderous rage poured from him as his fingers grasped the sinewy neck and then tightened.

He was out of control. All he could think of was Chantelle being harmed, of the man he was trying to kill being responsible for countless others dying. He was the traitor within the agency’s midst, the one who had betrayed the agent in Iraq.

Even knowing rationally that he might be sealing Chantelle’s fate, he couldn’t stop. His fingers squeezed into Hendersson’s flesh, pressing him up against stacked crates with no escape. Hendersson was turning a shade of crimson and spluttering, but his blows against David were bouncing off a man possessed.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through David’s temple. His grip loosened as his legs crumpled beneath him.

****

David came around slow and painfully, a container of water thrown in his face speeding up the process. He slowly looked up from his position on the ground straight into the barrel of a machine pistol. Behind it stood Hendersson, the imprint of fingers clearly visible around his neck, his face red and angry.