Crossfire (22 page)

“Oh,” she said, puzzled. “How come?”

“We met three years ago, in Italy,” Claude explained. “Stefan and his men protected Jean-Michel after he had received death threats.”

She paled. “I don’t understand.”

Claude looked at Stefan. “Didn’t you tell her?”

“Jean-Michel swore me to secrecy, as he did you.”

“But Jean-Michel is dead. What’s the point...?”

“The point,” Stefan interrupted him in an icy voice, “was to spare Marcelle’s feelings. Look how you’ve upset her now.”

“Will you stop talking about me as if I’m not in the room,” Marcelle said, stamping her foot. “How can you not tell me, Stefan? And you Claude, you were in on it too. How could you?”

“Jean-Michel didn’t want you to worry. And afterwards,” he shrugged in typical Gallic fashion, “well, I just never thought about it again. I’m sorry.”

She turned to Stefan. “And what’s your excuse? All this time you’ve been pretending you don’t know Jean-Michel.”

He clenched his jaw, trying hard to suppress his anger at Claude’s treachery. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper now. “Marcelle, I think it would be best if we discussed this in private, when you’re a bit calmer.” He wasn’t going to allow her to humiliate him in front of Claude.

She stared at him as her breathing slowed to normal. “Yes, I agree. Claude’s come a long way. Would you guys prefer tea, or coffee?”

They accepted coffee, and she went to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

The two men looked each other up and down in silence. Claude noticed that the mercenary was thinner and paler than when he had seen him last. “You’ve been ill?”

“I’m better now, thanks, nothing serious.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you here,” Claude confessed, allowing his curiosity to get the better of his judgment. “How did you two get together?”

“We met in Paris a few weeks ago. It’s a small world, I guess.” Stefan’s voice carried a subtle warning as his blue eyes turned to ice, boring into the Frenchman.

Claude took the warning to heart, and decided not to pursue the subject any further. He would question his friend’s widow later about her relationship with the German. He wasn’t a coward, but he knew better than to rub the mercenary up the wrong way.

Three years ago in Italy, he had seen Stefan cold-bloodedly kill a man, displaying no hesitation in slitting his throat. This was why he had chilled at the sight of his friend snuggled so trustingly up to him, fast asleep. Did she know this man was a probable psychopath? How had he managed to win her trust? What could he, Claude, do to protect her from this killer?

Marcelle returned with their coffee. Stefan rose and took the tray from her, setting it down on the coffee table.

As they enjoyed the fragrant brew, Claude turned to Marcelle and said, “I’ve instructed our lawyers to draw up papers for a libel lawsuit. So if those two think they can get personal injury money out of you, they have a surprise coming.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I haven’t gotten round to that yet. My mind is in a bit of a whirl.”

Claude smiled, happy she approved. He turned to the gift-wrapped parcels he had brought and said, “I brought you some things I thought you might enjoy.”

Her face brightened. “You didn’t have to, but since you did, hand them over.”

He gave her the two parcels.

Stefan realized he was now a mere observer to an old ritual, as Claude tried to fill the void his friend and teammate had left. Marcelle opened the smaller parcel first, and pushed aside the tissue in the box. With a gasp of wonder, she removed some green silk summer pajamas from the box. Little designs patterned the smooth green silk, and closer inspection revealed the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote in various poses. She picked up a matching silk wrap, and cried out in delight, letting the soft silk run through her fingers. “Claude, where did you get this? It’s beautiful. Thank you so much!” She kissed him affectionately.

“I had it made when I was in Japan for the Grand Prix. It’s the only one of its kind,” Claude said proudly. “I’m glad you like it. Open the other one,” he prompted.

She opened the other parcel to reveal a brown leather team jacket with a colorful sponsor’s design on the back and on the right breast. It was identical to the jacket Claude wore. She smiled, fingering the expensive leather.

“New team colors, new cars,” Claude said with a flourish, “but the same people. And they’re expecting you at the track on Thursday. I’ve arranged for you to drive the spare car for a couple of laps! Like when Jean...” He stopped, unsure if the comparison would upset her.

“Like when Jean-Michel let me drive his car,” she finished for him, a gentle smile on her lips.

“Yes,” he recovered himself. “But you don’t go over three hundred, not like last time!” he said sternly. “Deal?”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“Well, now that I’ve cheered you up, I have to unpack my bags.” Claude rose, extending a hand to the mercenary in a handshake. “Nice to see you again,” he said for Marcelle’s sake.

Stefan returned the handshake, murmuring, “The feeling is mutual, Claude.”

“Would you like to come over later for supper, Claude?” Marcelle asked. “I’ll cook something special.”

“Sounds good. I wasn’t looking forward to cooking for myself again. I’ll bring the wine.”

He left, and they were alone.

Marcelle turned to Stefan. “Let’s get comfortable, and then you can tell me everything.

He sighed, following her to the couch. “There isn’t much to tell,” he said as he sat next to her. “Some Algerian left-wing organization had approached Jean-Michel for funds. Why they thought he would give money for their cause is a mystery to this day. Knowing what I know now, about your history, I think that because Jean-Michel had helped you with your problems with the law and immigration, they thought he might be sympathetic to their soon to be deported comrades, and help with their legal fees. There are many problems here in France with the Algerians, and their citizenship. Perhaps they thought he might be a spokesman for them. Anyway, Jean-Michel refused, and had quite a bit to say about them, their cause, and the violence they employed to achieve their objectives. They became angry and vowed revenge.”

“I can’t believe Jean-Michel never told me about this. We had no secrets from each other.” Marcelle was disappointed to learn of her husband’s deceit.

“He knew you would come to him if you found out about the threats. He wanted you far away, so you wouldn’t get hurt. Those people were serious, and he knew it. Their first attempt on his life nearly succeeded.”

“What happened?”

“They shot at him from the roof of a building opposite his hotel room. Jean-Michel had been relaxing on his balcony, enjoying the sunset, believing he was safe so high in the sky. It was a sniper’s dream, but they missed his head by half-an-inch when he moved unexpectedly.”

She gasped in horror.

Stefan nodded. “He told me later that he got the shock of his life when the window behind him shattered. Only his excellent reflexes saved him. Before they could get off a second shot, he was back inside his room, flat behind the bed. He managed to ring the reception desk for help, but by then the sniper was long gone. Hotel security put him in touch with me, and we protected him from there onwards. At Jean-Michel’s request I also assigned some men to protect you, though you were never aware of them.”

She searched her mind. “No, I guess I wasn’t.”

“My men are professionals. You would only have seen them if they allowed it.”

“So what happened after that?”

“We thwarted a second attempt on Jean-Michel’s life, when we caught somebody tampering with his car. Soon afterwards, we tracked down the terrorists and neutralized them. So Jean-Michel was safe, and so were you.”

“Thank you. At least you bought Jean-Michel another year of life. You must have been disappointed when you heard he had crashed.”

He dropped his head, guilt gnawing at his insides. “I was devastated. Jean-Michel and I had become good friends. We spoke on the phone often, and met for dinner whenever we found ourselves in the same city. In the year before his death, he visited La Montagne five times, once staying for ten days while you were away on a tour. My men had a lot of respect for him, especially after he beat them on the obstacle course.”

She chuckled. “He hated coming second, didn’t he?”

Stefan smiled too. “He was a born winner.”

“Why did you keep this secret from me?”

“As I said before, Jean-Michel swore me to silence. My loyalty to him, even after his death, prevented me from saying anything. But since Claude spilled the beans, you might as well know the whole story.”

“Don’t be so hard on Claude. He’s a good friend.”

He watched with an amused smile as she picked up the silky garments. “Good enough to give you pajamas?”

“His intentions are good. He’s been doing his best for me since Jean-Michel...” she struggled for a second with the hateful word before saying it, “...died. He always brought me special presents from his trips, so Claude’s doing it now. I haven’t had the heart to tell him it isn’t the same, so he keeps doing it. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Isn’t he too protective of you?” Stefan quizzed as they went to the kitchen.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He isn’t happy about me being here.”

She glanced at him. “Why do you think that?”

Stefan sat in the breakfast nook and watched as she removed various foodstuffs from the fridge and the kitchen cupboards. “I’m a good judge of human character, and I know Claude. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tries to speak to you alone later.”

She came to stand in front of him. “Why would Claude be unhappy about you being here? It’s not like you’re a total stranger.”

“Claude and I didn’t get along well in Italy. He thinks I am on the same level as the terrorists I hunt.” His voice hardened as he continued, “I don’t apologize to anyone for what I am, and what I do, least of all Claude.”

“No need to get so defensive. I’ll talk to Claude. I’m sure it’s nothing at all.”

“It would be better if we didn’t tell him the circumstances of my arrival, just to be safe.”

He had pushed too far, and her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Do you think Claude would try to cause trouble for you? That isn’t fair. Whatever you may think of him, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, or my friends. But I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want.”

“Claude wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” Stefan returned, stung by her heated rebuke, “but he has no problem letting you turn yourself into a greasy spot on the track!” His voice rose as he continued, “At three hundred kilometers per hour! With friends like that, who needs enemies?”

She stepped forward, furious. “I know how to drive racing cars. I know how far I can push the limits!”

“Yeah, I’m sure Jean-Michel thought he knew that too,” he said bitterly, getting up from the table, tired of the argument.

“How dare you say that?” Her face was paper-white, her eyes filled with pain. “What right do you have to say that?”

Stefan was sorry he had let his composure slip, but he couldn’t turn back now. “Jean-Michel thought he couldn’t kill himself, that he was invincible. He wanted to win, no matter what. That’s a dangerous attitude to have, and eventually it gets you killed. I knew him well. I knew he wouldn’t live to see old age.” He saw the pain in her face and softened his voice. “Surely you knew that too.”

Marcelle had stepped back until she came up short against the counter. Slowly she sank to the floor, her legs no longer willing to support her. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, speechless.

He saw he had wounded her, and sank to his knees beside her. “I’m sorry. That was cruel. Please forgive me.” He had been so busy trying to throw her off the truth that he had begun to believe his own lies.

She looked at him with agony in her eyes. “But it’s the truth, isn’t it? Jean-Michel was obsessed with speed, with winning, no matter the cost. He had that look in his eyes sometimes.” She looked down again, beaten. “It scared me, but I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t try...that was what he was, that was what I had married.” Her shoulders sagged. “I wasn’t prepared to use our love to force him to give up the life he had chosen, but deep down I knew it would happen one day.”

Stefan stared at her for a few moments, feeling wretched. He got to his feet and reached out a hand to help her up. “I’m so sorry, Marcelle. I wish it could have been different. Please forgive me,” he said, not telling her that he was asking her forgiveness for a different crime.

Marcelle wrapped her arms around him, and put her head on his chest. “I forgive you.”

He folded his arms around her, and tried to pretend the stolen absolution was real. But it was no use. He wanted to crush her to his chest and tell her everything, but his guilt kept him silent. If only she knew, she would chase him away like a bad dog.

Marcelle relaxed, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Why did you get so angry about me driving the racing car?”

Now wasn’t the time to reveal his feelings. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, that’s all. Who would cook and clean for me, if you’re lying in traction?”