To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (22 page)

Fury raced through her and she kicked him in the good leg.

“You bitch.” His fingers had come away from her forearm as he tried to steady himself from crumbling to the floor. He made it to the bed and looked up at her disbelievingly.

“Ladies self-defense lessons,” she snapped back to his unspoken question. “You’re lucky. I should have aimed a little higher.”

Chantelle rang down, asking for her jeans to be brought up and not to worry if they were still damp. She looked over at David and saw him trying to stand. Taking hold of the pitcher again, she held it up, ready to strike if he came any nearer. Her actions were automatic, a panicky need to get away from him taking hold.

“Chantelle, listen, we can work this out. You have no transportation, no money. How far do you think you can get?”

“Far enough,” she snapped.

The knock at the door was followed by her jeans appearing. The young girl’s curiosity as she poked her head around the corner was halted by receiving the rest of the Euros Pascal had generously provided. Thanking them both very much in broken English, she backed out the door.

“You’ve just given her more than the hotel makes in a month.”

“Good. They deserve it.” Placing the damp jeans on and running a brush through her nearly dry hair, she then stood and looked around her. She had no other possessions and no money. Self-recrimination at how foolish it had been to hand over all the money now hit her hard. Her teeth clamped into her lower lip.

“That’s a bad habit of yours.”

“What?” she snapped back at his interruption.

“You’re chewing your lip again. Think this through, Chantelle. You’re acting irrational.”

“I’m not. My head couldn’t be clearer.”

Marching over to the door, she swung it open, only to be confronted by Pascal. He read straight away the situation and stood blocking her exit.

“Let me pass.” She tried to sound forceful.

“I don’t think so, Mademoiselle Duvall. Let us go back into the room.” The softly spoken words held an unspoken threat.

“I’ll scream. Now, get out of my way, please.” Her gaze was challenging, but fear was fast replacing the anger as she witnessed a return to the cold severity in his face that had alarmed her on their first meeting. A chameleon who changed as the situation dictated and who wouldn’t hesitate to harm a woman if it was needed.

“Please, I will not ask again.”

“Do as he says, Chantelle. We’ll talk this through and then if you still want to leave, I will have Pascal make the separate arrangements.”

Pascal stepped forward, his expression enough to make Chantelle step back into the room as he closed the door behind him.

“We do not have time for this. The plan is a good one. There is no other way.” Pascal’s dark, suspicious glare fell on Chantelle.

“Pascal is right, Chantelle. Listen to me. The man I spoke of, Hendersson, is a ruthless manipulator. In order for me to survive and succeed as an undercover agent, very few know of my true identity. Hendersson was my controller and my only contact with the C.T.A.U. It is not unusual for an agent to go bad. When it happens, that person is targeted and eliminated. They can’t afford to have a renegade agent offer his services elsewhere. Hendersson can’t have me targeted if I’m already dead, which buys me a little time.”

“You could turn yourself in to the French authorities. Your friend here believes your story, so surely they will protect you and see to it that their English counterparts learn the truth,” Chantelle said.

David let out a small sigh. “If only it was that easy. Chantelle, I’m a trained killer, a mercenary who’s left bodies on French soil. My word won’t count for much and Pascal can’t afford to break his cover. It’s not how we operate.”

“No, because you want vengeance, implemented by you and you alone. Isn’t that the truth, David? See, I do know you. Too well, it seems.” For a brief moment, their eyes locked. Chantelle lowered her lashes and turned her head, a sad admission that the earlier intimacy between them was now lost.

“Look, somehow we’ll make sure your mother knows the truth and won’t be hurt by this, that’s all I can promise,” David said.

“That’s not possible. It is too risky,” Pascal interjected.

“It can be done. Look, you said yourself Chantelle’s involvement has been a secret only Hendersson knows. Arrange for just one body to be found. The main objective here is for the C.T.A.U. and the terrorists to believe I am dead. As for Chantelle, she has disappeared, either dead or in hiding.”

“Whatever you say, but it doesn’t mean I like it. They will still be looking for the girl, even more now. She will become a liability for you, an unnecessary one.”

“I’ll take that risk.” His intense blue gaze rested on Chantelle. “Word will reach your mother that you are alive and safe, but for you to remain that way, the opposite has to be believed by everyone else. Would your mother be able to carry out such a lie convincingly?”

“Yes, if it has to be done,” Chantelle answered in a small voice. She knew only too well how her mother could disguise the truth. Her father was a prime example.

“Let’s go then.” David rose unsteadily to his feet. His thigh was obviously causing him a great deal of pain. His brow knitted together as the grimace became permanently fixed.

Pascal moved forward to offer his support, which in the end David reluctantly agreed to by placing his arm about Pascal’s shoulder.

Grabbing their meager possessions, Chantelle’s gaze fell on the knapsack David had already secured around his free shoulder. Obviously, he wasn’t about to trust her with it now that she knew the contents.

Down in the reception area, the proprietor, dressed in his night attire, unlocked the door and poked his head outside to make sure the street was clear. Nodding it was, he stood aside, allowing them to slip out into the darkness and the waiting car.

****

The Renault slowly drove off, winding its way along dark, cobblestone streets. The scene in the rear window as Chantelle looked back was that of a medieval village shrouded by moonlight, the houses with their turrets becoming one beautiful castle as the car increased its speed and the setting behind slowly disappeared from view. Then, there was little to look at, just shapes and outlines of hills and valleys, an occasional twinkling of lights from a village they passed through and then more pitch blackness, the headlights their only source of light.
 

Chantelle preferred to close her eyes and wrap the blanket Pascal had provided more tightly around her, shielding her from the draft made by the driver’s window being wound down. Whenever she opened her eyes, she could see the bright red glow coming from Pascal’s cigarette. She sensed the silence between the two men was for her benefit, especially with the occasional glance both from the rear mirror and David turning his head to check she was okay. Deciding to feign it, she allowed her head to roll back and kept her eyes firmly shut. It didn’t take long for Pascal to ask what David planned to do once he got to England.

“Find a safe place for the girl and then set about getting Hendersson.”

“It won’t be easy, my friend. He will know if you are alive, you will come looking for him and will make arrangements to that effect. Why don’t you forget him? Take the plane and your girl and fly to another destination. You have the money and the means to invent a new identity. Hendersson will be taken care of eventually.”

“How? That’s just what Hendersson wants, for me to disappear. I’m his scapegoat, his ticket to continue setting up deals and having more agents killed. No, this is about more than clearing my name. This is personal.”

He had kept his voice low and controlled, but a tremor rose through Chantelle’s body and a sense of foreboding that far worse was about to come.

“Any word on Abdul? He was my original contact before Hendersson appeared on the scene and gave him my true identity.”

“No, nothing. He’s gone to ground or he’s dead. Did he know of the girl’s involvement?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Then you better hope he’s dead. Otherwise, it won’t be just Hendersson looking for the girl. I told you we had two bodies lined up, killed in an automobile accident, their injuries compatible to a plane crash. It would have taken the heat off. Now, the C.T.A.U. is the least of your problems. If the Algerians get hold of the girl, you’ve had it.” Pascal lit up another cigarette and drew heavily on it, the exhaled smoke nearly filling the car.

“Yeah, if I don’t die of cancer first.” David wound down his window. “As for anyone getting hold of Chantelle, forget it. She’ll be glued to my side most times and at other times, a good friend of mine will take care of her.”

“For how long? The rest of your life? These people don’t give up. A year, two years, they’re worse than the mafia,
fanatique.
You should know, but then you have not acted rationally. You are smitten and it is not good in our line of business. You are going soft, my friend.”

“And you are mistaken. I feel responsible for the girl; that is all. Now, the item I asked you to bring. Where is it?”

Chantelle opened her eyes as Pascal motioned toward the glove compartment.

Opening it, David removed a SIG 9mm pistol and a spare cartridge clip. Holding the pistol up, he checked it over, then placed the gun and spare clip inside his flying jacket. “Thanks.”

Pascal said nothing, but as if sensing it, David looked over his shoulder at Chantelle. Her eyes met his in the darkness, the shock causing him to turn his head back sharply.

She remembered his words, a responsibility; he had used that term again. Lies and half-truths came easy for him. He told people what they wanted to hear, and maybe that included her. Did he know the truth from the lies?

They arrived at the small airstrip. The fencing surrounding it had barbed wire along the top. There was a hangar, but that was the only building within the enclosure. The surrounding area was uninhabited farm land.

Drawing up to large padlocked gates, Pascal climbed out, leaving the engine running and the headlights on. He unlocked the gates with a key produced from his pocket, then pulled one of the gates open wide, got back in the car and drove over to the hangar. Inside were half a dozen light aircrafts. Pascal led the way over to a Robin DR 400.

“Sorry, David. She’s not what you’d call a bargain, but there was no time to negotiate.”

“How much?”

Pascal said the cost in Euros.

Both David and Chantelle threw him an astonished look.

“You’re right, she didn’t come cheap. I could have bought a whole fleet for that price.” Removing from the front pocket of his knapsack the tissue wrapped diamonds he had set aside on the bed, he handed the tiny package to Pascal. “Here. These should cover your cost and leave a little extra for yourself. Don’t worry, they’re clean, at least in the context they don’t belong to anyone else.”

“No, but you could say men died because of them, that they are soiled by the men who handed them over and the one they were meant for,” Chantelle added.

“Ah! A
moraliste
. She has a lot to learn, no?” Pascal laughed as he placed the package in his pocket.

David didn’t return the humor. Instead, he motioned for Pascal to help him into the plane’s cockpit so he could check her out and told Chantelle to do likewise on the outer parts of the plane. With everything seemingly intact and the instrument panel lighting up okay, Pascal opened the hangar doors, allowing David to taxi the plane onto the dirt runway. Chantelle climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and watched as Pascal leaned into the cockpit and shook David’s hand.

“
Faire attention a sa santé, mon cher ami, Le Faucon.”

“I’ll try my hardest to do just that.” David smiled.