To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (18 page)

“No, there’s not time. He’s bleeding badly. He’ll die. We must get him down now.” Her voice was bordering on hysteria and she wasn’t even sure now if they understood her.

The four men began to argue. Chantelle felt the younger two were keen to help, but the older ones were tired and didn’t fancy trekking up the hillside. Desperately, she reached out and gripped the driver’s arm, her voice pleading, eyes brimming with tears. She knew how pathetic she sounded, but couldn’t help it. She was willing to do anything at that precise moment.

Finally, the driver, who introduced himself as Andre, let out a deep sigh. He shrugged his shoulders and motioned with a nod of his head for her to climb in his truck. She could have thrown her arms around him and kissed him with gratitude, but managed to control herself. She smiled and he smiled back, still shaking his head, but this time in puzzlement.

The truck soon reached the pile of rocks Chantelle had left, leaving little time for further questioning. When one was asked, Chantelle sipped much needed water from the flask they’d offered her and pretended not to hear or understand. She pointed up the hillside, but indecision still clouded their faces, so she started the ascent with the hope they would follow.

It was particularly hard for Chantelle as she was already exhausted, but she pushed herself forward, relieved to hear she wasn’t alone. It didn’t take long to reach David and the sight of his head slumped forward to rest on his chest caused her to sink to her knees in front of him, her hands gripping his face to lift it.

Immediately, his eyes shot open. Chantelle started to remove her hands, but his came up and gripped her wrists, holding them in place. The blue intensity of his eyes as they met hers spoke more than words could. He released her wrists and looked over at the four men who now stood regarding him and his bloodied leg.

A water flask was handed over while Andre knelt down and tried to make a closer inspection of David’s leg. Immediately, David placed his hand on his thigh, covering the torn cotton where the bullet had ripped through his trouser leg. He told them in fluent French that a stone had ripped through the muscle and he couldn’t walk.

The two men who were the fittest and had youth on their side bent down on either side of David, placed his arms around their broad shoulders and brought him upright, his weight evenly distributed between them. The grimace fixed on David’s face revealed his pain, though he made no sound as they slowly made their way back down the way they had come.

The shoulder strap of David’s knapsack dug into Chantelle’s skin, making her wonder what the hell he had in this bag, especially at his insistence that she carry it and no other. Trailing behind, her thoughts were now on what to do once they were driven into a town. They could find a hospital and end up having the doctors inform the local police that they were treating a man with a gunshot wound. The alternative was risk having David die while she tried getting in touch with his friend.

Her head throbbed badly now and the responsibility of making the right decision didn’t help. She thought of David’s warning about placing them in even more danger by having the police question what two English nationals with no I.D. were doing in a mountainous area. He had told her to trust him and at the moment, that was all she could do.

They arrived back at the truck and David was hoisted up into the back and propped up against the cab. His two helpers slumped down on some empty sacks stacked in a corner, cigarettes hanging from their mouths as they closed their eyes, revealing their exhaustion. Andre explained that the nearest hospital was in Tulle, which was quite some distance away.

“Chantelle.”

She looked up into the truck to see David motioning frantically for her to come to him. Climbing in, she went over and crouched down. He took hold of her chin and positioned her face so he could whisper into her ear.

“I don’t want to be taken to a hospital.” Despite the onset of a fever, his voice sounded strong and in control. “Get us to the nearest village and into a hotel and then contact that number. Give me my bag and then tell the driver to come over. I need to speak with him.”

Chantelle started to protest, but David threw her a warning glare and in the end she called for Andre to come over and dropped the knapsack into David’s hands. She watched as David spoke with the driver in whispered French. All Chantelle could understand was that a deal of some sort was being made.

At first, Andre shook his head, throwing his arms up as if he wanted nothing to do with what David was saying. The other older French man had come to join him and was also shaking his head, until David reached into his knapsack and held up a stack of French money. All four men were now gathered around David and jovial smiles and handshakes followed as the notes were evenly distributed.

Chantelle caught a glimpse of a leather-patterned wallet from which the notes were taken and immediately remembered where she had seen it: removed from the body of a dead man. Disgust rose in her throat as she turned away.

When the truck was started up, Chantelle requested she travel in the back with David. When she was sure the other two men were asleep, she turned to David, certain that they couldn’t speak English in any case.

“So what kind of shady deal did you fix up this time?”

“We’re to be taken into a village not far from here that has a small hotel. The driver knows the proprietor well, so he’ll fix us up with a room and access to a phone.”

“How perfect for you. That is, if you don’t drop dead in the meantime waiting for your friend to turn up. One thing for sure, I won’t be stuck in some hotel room with you.”

“No?” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to continue.

“I have my own phone call to make, first to make sure my mother is okay and then to rescue me from this hell you have thrown me into.”

“You’re wrong. You ring your mother and tell her to go somewhere safe and then you stick by my side until I say it’s time for us to part company.”

“Go to hell!”

She tried to move away, but his arms locked around her waist like a vice, his voice hissing threateningly in her ear, “We left four men dead, one of them killed by you.”

She threw him a look filled with the torment he’d made her remember and immediately, he took a sharp intake of breath as if desperate to retract his words. “I’m so sorry, Chantelle, but I’ve got to make you realize what danger we are both still in. Those men back there are part of a terrorist faction which has contacts everywhere. Not to mention that our own country will be convinced we are a couple of renegades who killed our terrorist friends to get a better deal for ourselves.”

“My mother knows the truth,” she threw back at him. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“You risk your mother’s life the moment you speak her name.”

“Bastard, I hate you.”

His hand went behind her head and brought her face into his chest, muffling her cries, his fingers buried deep in her hair.

Chantelle must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, she was being roughly shaken and dragged off David, who was also having trouble coming around.

“Here, he must put these on to cover up the leg.”

Chantelle groggily took hold of the very large dungarees which could only belong to Andre since he had by far the broadest waistline. The truck had come to a standstill by the side of the road and in the distance, sloping down a hillside, were rooftops adorned by towers and turrets with a river seemingly running right through the picturesque village.

“Vite, vite.” Andre’s voice echoed in her ear, his arms gesturing toward David and the dungarees in her hands.

The two young men came to her assistance by lifting David off the floor of the truck, his arms once again around their shoulders as she took off his shoes and struggled to get the dungarees over his trousers. She wasn’t sure how much they knew, so she resisted the idea of trying to remove them. David’s eyes were like slits set in a ghostly mask and his dried lips didn’t utter a sound.

The dungarees helped disguise David’s injury, but he looked awful and wasn’t strong enough to stand, let alone walk into a hotel. Chantelle hoped Andre was a man of his word and he and the proprietor were the very best of friends as he had claimed. The truck started up again once Andre was satisfied the dungarees revealed nothing of what lay beneath.

Late flowering geraniums adorned the honey colored hotel. The building itself looked as if it dated back to medieval years. Andre disappeared inside for what seemed ages before he finally came out and motioned for the two men to get David out of the truck. Chantelle jumped down and Andre immediately pulled her to one side as he explained what he had told the proprietor.

Supposedly, they had gone off the road in a rocky ravine several kilometers from here last night. David was just suffering from heat and exhaustion, having trekked all night to find help in the wrong direction while she stayed in the car. They needed to rest up for a day or two while they sorted out their car problem and he had been insistent that no doctor was required. Andre shook his head at that part as if it disturbed him greatly; simply looking at David was enough to understand his concern.

Inside, David was laid on the bed. Chantelle thanked the men and insisted they had done enough and she would undress him herself. Once the door closed behind them, she slumped heavily down on the edge of the bed.

The room she found herself in was modern and airy, nothing like its medieval exterior. Dragging herself up, she went over to the phone. She looked over at David, who laid motionless, beads of perspiration still lining his forehead.

“Pascal, call him, the Falcon is down.” His voice was a weak whisper, trailing off as his eyelids sank shut again.

Chantelle bit into her lower lip. Finally, she spoke with the operator and got the district code for Limoges. Dialing the number, she silently prayed Pascal would answer. If not, she was going to have to get David to a hospital. After what seemed like an eternity with her teeth almost drawing blood, a strong Marseille accent sounded on the other end.

“Is Pascal there please?” She’d decided to ask in English rather than risk getting the translation wrong.

“Oui, tis I. Who is calling?”

“My name is Chantelle> I was told to tell you the Falcon is down.”

“I do not know what you talk about. Who do you say you are?”

“Please, help us. He’s been shot and has lost a lot of blood and is slipping into a fever. He will die unless he gets help.”

“Calm down. Tell me where you are and I will get you help.”

Chantelle relayed the name of the village and the hotel.

“Good, help will be with you soon. In the meantime, you stay in your room. Do not leave.”

“But how long will it take?”

“I don’t know. Several hours at least.”

“He can’t wait that long.”

“Where has he been shot?”

“In the thigh.”

“Then he will live.” The phone went dead, leaving Chantelle to stare back at it in horror.

“Chantelle.”

Hearing her name snapped her out of it. Going over to David, she tried to sound confident. “Help is supposedly on its way, so I better try and keep you alive until then.”

“You can start by undressing me.” He managed a small smile, adding, “And sponging me down.”

“If you think I’m going to…”

“Chantelle, my leg at least needs cleaning up and I can’t do it.”

Her eyes widened. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him naked. She just didn’t want to weaken toward his finer points when the need to hate him was very much with her. But he was right. With the flying jacket removed, she saw his T-shirt was soaked to the skin.

Roughly, she pulled his T-shirt over his head, then flung the offending garment to the floor. Then her shaky hands went to the dungarees’ zipper and were about to yank the material down past his hips when she felt her wrists being held in a surprisingly strong grip and looked up to see David’s concerned face.