To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (17 page)

Chantelle had stepped away from him and her expression said it all. She was comparing his appearance and actions to the ones that lay dead around them.

His vest T-shirt clung to his chest, his shoulders and arms gleamed with perspiration and he had just picked up the machine pistol again. He looked and acted like one used to carnage, his eyes probably transmitting the murderous glint he still felt. He never liked what he saw in the mirror, so it was no surprise to see her revulsion.

Suddenly, her expression changed to worry. “You’ve been shot! My God, David, look at your leg.” Her hands flew to her mouth as she leaned forward to take a closer look.

“Don’t worry; I’ll live. Not that you should care, but as for getting you home, it looks worse than it is.”

“You’ll bleed to death.”

“I’ve had far worse.” He went over to Jabir’s body and ripped part of his shirt off, then proceeded to wrap it tightly around the wound on his leg. He noticed the appalled look Chantelle threw him and could understand what she was thinking. Nevertheless, it had to be done in order to stem the bleeding and there was nothing else he could use.

Once inside the plane, David sat Chantelle in the copilot’s seat and secured the seatbelt around her. He couldn’t fail to notice the way she flinched at his touch, her knuckles almost white where they clenched the lapels of his jacket to her neck. She had to be stifling now that they were out of the cool farmhouse and in a cockpit warmed by the sun.

His hand gently lifted her chin. “Did they hurt you?”

“What do you mean? Did they rape me? No. Did they verbally and physically abuse me? Yes. Did they make me wish I was dead? Yes. Did they turn me into a murderer?” Her voice rose with every word. Moistness filled her eyes, but no tears came as she stared back, making him feel the full impact of her condemnation.

She would never forgive him for what he had put her through. He knew that; they both did. He hid his sadness by turning away from her and sitting behind the controls of the plane. With a roar, the engine came alive, but the carnage left behind was a memory neither of them would forget.

It was ten minutes into flying time that David began to notice how dangerously low the fuel gage had become. He had ascertained when they had first taken off that he had enough fuel to get to a private airfield near Limoges and refuel there. Instead, they were entering the mountainous area of Auvergne and weren’t likely to get any farther. The warning lights had come on, making it alarmingly obvious they were leaking fuel.

He cursed out loud at his stupidity in not checking the plane over before taking off. The fuel tanks must have been hit during the gunfire. The chances of finding a suitable landing area below, despite the Islander’s short takeoff and landing capabilities, was impossible. The ground below was mountainous.

He could keep looking, hoping to find somewhere before they plummeted from the sky or hit a mountain or they could parachute out of here. David decided on the second option. Switching the plane to autopilot, he unclipped his seatbelt.

“We’re going to have to jump.”

Chantelle stared at him as if he was insane.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be strapped to me and I’ve done it plenty of times. Close your eyes and we’ll be on the ground before you know it.” As he talked, he entered the cabin area and removed the parachute rigging from the rear of the plane. He gave it a quick check, knowing it was the only one he had and hadn't been used for some time.

Looking up from the parachute, he noticed Chantelle had followed him into the cabin, but was backing into the corner, her body now crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked like a terrified child, her large eyes staring at him.

“I’m not jumping. I’d rather die here in this plane than risk being torn apart in midair.”

“What’s wrong with you? It’s our only hope of survival. Look, we haven’t time for this. If you’re worried about the plane hitting anyone below, don’t worry, darling, we’re on course for a mountain. The only casualty is likely to be a goat or two.” His impatience turned to anger as she continued to stare back at him defiantly. “Chantelle, it will be far safer than bloody wing-walking ever was. I don’t understand you.”

“I told you, I’m not jumping and you can’t make me. Go, save yourself.”

David approached her. He could see in her face she was becoming panic-stricken and he had to act quickly. There was no time for further persuasion. In one swift movement, he leapt forward, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to him, slamming her into his chest. The straps of the parachute were around them both, binding her to him before she could fight back.

Pulling the portside loading door open, he stood on the edge, rocking on the balls of his feet and facing the inside of the plane. He could feel Chantelle’s body trembling against his. She had ceased struggling, her face buried into his chest. The wind lashed against his back, making him wish he had packed more clothing than just the flying jacket being worn by Chantelle. The knapsack was secured across his chest and was now digging into his side.

“We’ll die together sweetheart or not at all,” he whispered into her ear.

Taking a deep breath, David rocked forward and then released his hold, launching them both back into the bitter cold air.

Chantelle’s high-pitched scream was carried away by the wind whipping against them and the dying sound of the aircraft engines, spluttering on their last intake of fuel before going eerily silent. Chantelle had her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The harness and pressure of their decent molded her body into David’s, her fingers digging into his back.

The promise he’d made her right before they’d jumped -- that they’d die together or not at all -- flashed through her mind. It was crazy to feel comforted by it, but she did. The sharp explosion following her thought confirmed David’s theory that once the engines cut out, the plane would glide straight into the side of a mountain.

Her eyes finally opened. Looking up from his chest to seek reassurance, she was met by azure eyes capturing hers, an intensity so bold and consuming that it drained the last of her fear away.

He threw her a wink and released the cord. Loud rumbling sounded as the chute unfolded and flapped, then a sudden, violent jolt hoisted them back up and then down again. Chantelle exhaled as their bodies took on a floating sensation.

David’s fingers were busy operating the steering toggles on the parachute as she took in the breathtaking beauty of their descent. On all sides was a semi-mountainous area, dipping and rising with great boulders of desert-colored rock. Statuettes formed from the jutting peaks and alpines seemed to carpet every inch beneath.

The fear of being impaled gripped Chantelle. There seemed no break in the threatening embrace of waving green limbs. Anxiously, she looked up at David, but he was busy staring past her. The intense expression in his eyes caused her fears to strengthen. She couldn’t see where they were heading without turning her whole body around. All she saw was a cushion of spears rushing up to meet them. Any second now, their feet were about to be ripped apart. Her body stiffened and her eyes squeezed shut again.

“Chantelle, for pity sake! Don’t tense up; let your limbs go limp. Otherwise, you’ll break every bone in your body.”

Opening her eyes, she saw the most welcoming sight stretching out beneath them: a wide-open valley of heathers and ferns and the odd scattered goat. David managed to take the full impact, his feet hitting the ground first and rolling to control the canopy while taking Chantelle’s body weight with him.

Freeing them both from the harness, he remained sprawled out on the rough ground, Chantelle still pressed up against his chest, their hearts pounding as one. Her gaze lifted to look into his face. His usual swarthy complexion had paled, giving way to a tense, pained look. His eyes closed briefly and Chantelle looked down at the cloth wrapped around his thigh. Fresh blood was seeping through the darker, dried stain.

“David, your leg.” She tried to sit up, but his hands went under her armpits and hoisted her body up, his lips upon hers before she knew what was happening. The assault was so fast that there was no time to think of her feelings toward him. Her lips parted, moving against his. The exquisite, consuming sensation went far deeper than sexual, but neither of them made an attempt to carry it any further. It was relief at being alive and nothing more, she reasoned.

As they rose to their feet, Chantelle knew David was trying to conceal his pain by the tight-lipped expression causing the lines around his mouth and eyes to intensify. She rushed to support him when he seemed to sway, but he steadied himself and gently pushed her from him.

“I’m quite capable of standing unaided, so stop fussing, woman.”

“Fair enough. What do I care if you bleed to death?” she snapped back, insulted.

She stepped aside as he walked past, steely determination in his eyes. The muscles in his back stretched taunt as if he was drawing on all his strength to keep himself moving.

In the far distance, at the base of the hillside they were on, she could make out what looked like a road winding its way through the valley. It was probably at least a couple of miles and the route to it was a dense growth of heather and gorse, punctuated by thickets and stone. Except for a scattering of goats, they couldn’t have been more alone.

Chantelle followed in David’s path. He hadn’t spoken a word since ordering her not to fuss and she wondered if he would notice if she lost her footing and tumbled off the hillside. When she stopped to remove a stone from her trainers, he proved that she hadn’t been forgotten by turning around and barking at her to keep moving.

“I need to rest. We both do,” she shouted at him, noticing he was now dragging his leg rather than limping.

“We can’t.”

Chantelle hurried her pace and caught up, taking hold of his arm to try and make him stop. It was then that he lost his footing and stumbled, cursing loudly.

Chantelle tried to prevent him from crashing to the ground, but he was too heavy and nearly took her with him. Rolling for several feet in the thick gorse, his twisted body finally came to rest by a large boulder.

“David!” she screamed. Rushing to him, she was relieved when he straightened himself out and propped his body up against the boulder.

“That’s why we couldn’t stop. All the time I was moving, my leg had some feeling, but now it’s gone numb and there’s little chance of me getting back up on my feet.”

His words failed to register as she stared back at the feverish hue of his skin. Beads of sweat lined his forehead and she resisted the urge to reach out and touch the clamminess. The climate changing from freezing wind to pleasant warmth and the loss of blood was a dangerous combination.

“Chantelle, you’ll have to go on alone and get help. There must be a farm somewhere around here, these goats have an owner. Find a phone and contact 254-7862. It’s in Limoges so you will need to go through the operator. Ask for Pascal and speak to no other. Tell him the Falcon is down and where to find me. I’ll be all right here until he comes.”

“The Falcon. What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s simply a code name,” he snapped, clearly frustrated by her questions.

“It will take hours and I might not even be able to reach him. You’ll bleed to death.” Her voice was panicky, teeth biting into her lower lip as she stared back at him.

“Trust me.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not about to leave you, not with the taste of that kiss still on my lips and the promise of more.” His mocking smile broadened.

“I don’t want to be responsible for your death, so help will be the first person I find,” she hissed back at him, angry her feelings were so transparent.

He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down so her face was in line with his. “Listen carefully. Don’t say I’ve been shot or we’ve parachuted out of a plane. We’re a couple of hiking tourists and I’ve had an accident. If you must, get us taken to the nearest village with a hotel and then find a phone.”

“David, you’re hurting me.” Her eyes widened with fear and shock as his fingers bit violently into her wrist.

Immediately, he released her. “I’m sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I just don’t want you to do anything foolish.”

“Like they’re going to believe I’m a blasted tourist. We hardly look the part…”

“Chantelle,” he cut in sharply. “If they call in the authorities, we’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do and I don’t think they’ll believe us. Trust me. We could both end up suffering a worse fate than being thrown in a French jail.”

“We? It’s you who has the explaining to do, not me! I’m merely the victim, caught up in your treacherous double dealings, whatever they are. If you end up in prison, that’s your problem, not mine. I simply want to go home.” She felt so confused, wanting to be angry and hate him, while fearful for his life. “David, I can’t cope with this. You need help urgently.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t expect you to understand this, not after all I’ve put you through, but if you go to the French authorities, by the time they check it out with England, a different story would emerge. The one who arranged your abduction and tried to have us both killed will be the one doing the talking and we’ll be extradited and conveniently made to disappear before you even see a lawyer.”

“You’re just trying to frighten me. What would be the point of them killing me? I don’t know anything.”

“You know me, which is already too much. Why do you think they abducted you? It was to get to me. For the first time, I allowed myself to care for someone and that person was the perfect tool to use against me. I did warn you, Chantelle, and now you know why I tried to keep my distance.”

“So this is my fault? Nothing to do with the work you do, which is what exactly?”

“Work nobody else wants to dirty their hands with. Now, can we continue this conversation later?” He leaned over and opened his knapsack. Searching inside, he removed a T-shirt and a flask containing water. He held both up to her. Greedily, she drank from the flask and then passed it back to him to take a few mouthfuls. He then returned it to her, muttering she would need it more than him.

Removing the flying jacket, her torn denim shirt fell away and she slipped on the baggy T-shirt, tucking it into her jeans. David had closed his eyes by this time and she leaned over him to place the jacket around his shoulders.

Weakly, his arm came up, pushing it back to her.

“I’m not the one with a fever, so don’t argue and David…” She waited until his eyes narrowly opened. “Forget it.” She shook her head, confused by her actions, yet she couldn’t stop her lips from coming down and fleetingly touching his.

A weak smile formed. “254-7862, remember.”

“Yes and ask for Pascal.” Chantelle turned away and didn’t look back as she continued the descent to reach the road they had viewed from above.

Although it was nearing the end of October, the climate in the central part of France was still very warm, especially on this cloudless day. The valley she was in, shielded by hills that gave way to mountains, made the heat stifling.

After being on the road for over twenty minutes with the sun beating down on her back and perspiration seeping from every pore, Chantelle’s pace began to slacken, her head pounding. She had tried rationing the water, taking a couple of sips every ten minutes, but the flask felt almost empty and still there was no sign of life anywhere except the odd rabbit that darted across her path.

Despair took hold. The road seemingly came from nowhere and went nowhere, just endless burning hot tarmac disappearing over the horizon. The vision of David lying up in the rocks bleeding to death never left her. His survival as well as her own rested solely on her getting help. It was the only thing that kept her going. Afraid she would become disorientated since the terrain looked the same in every direction, Chantelle was careful to mark her route by building a pile of small rocks every twenty paces.

When she first sighted it, Chantelle rubbed her eyes, fearing she might be seeing a mirage, but it continued coming toward her. Tears of relief began streaming down her face. The open-backed truck slowed as it approached, Chantelle standing in the middle of the road waving her arms frantically meant it had little choice.

Several men stood up in the rear of the truck and looked toward her. She could make out two relatively young men and an older one, all wearing vests, denim overalls and cotton caps, their arms and faces bronzed by the sun. The truck came to a standstill and Chantelle found renewed strength as she pulled open the driver’s door and fell into a fast dialogue of French, surprising herself as much as them.

Explaining how her boyfriend had fallen from some rocks and cut his leg open badly was met with suspiciously raised eyebrows as the men glanced at one another and then in the direction she pointed.

“Please, I need help to carry him down. It’s only a short way to the road. I couldn’t, but four strong men could carry him easily.” She pleaded with her eyes, hoping her French was good enough for them to understand.

They shook their heads, glancing up at the hillside and then back at her. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing rock-climbing attire and the bruising on her cheek and jaw was also attracting their attention. “We’ll take you into a village not far from here and get some help,” the driver finally said in thick French.