Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) (23 page)

“She’s pretty tough. She’ll be fine until my contact figures out a way to sneak her out.”

Henry nodded, but remembered what she’d said to him in Edinburgh. It won’t be over until one of them was dead. The muscles in his legs, shoulders, and neck tightened, and his heartbeat deepened into a heavy pounding. Her plan didn’t involve escape.

“No. She won’t leave. As long as Luc is alive, her family’s at risk. Why didn’t I see this before?” He found it difficult to speak the words with his throat constricting.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’ll protect her family no matter the cost. She’s going to kill Luc or die trying.” Henry jumped up. The tension moved to his chest. “I have to stop her.” Grabbing a gun from the dresser, he headed toward the door.

Simon called after him. “You’ll be the cause of her death if you show up guns blazing. Think. You never reacted like this in the service.”

Henry paused. The reason for his actions struck him in the gut like a lead bullet wrapped in lace. “I’ve never had so much at stake.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When the last guest departed, Alex lumbered toward her room with Pascal close on her heels. “Can you hold my crutches a minute?”

He obliged her by pushing her into the oncoming stairs. Her wrist hit one stair and the cast slammed hard into another. The pain shot throughout her body and caused her eyes to tear up. She stayed in the awkward position, inhaling and exhaling until the stabbing ache receded. Pascal stood over her grinning like a schoolyard bully.

Her gown had ripped in the fall. It didn’t matter, though. She didn’t intend to wear it again. She forced herself into a sitting position and caught her breath. The marble chilled her through the thin material and sent an arctic shiver through her limbs. If Luc thought she was tormenting Pascal, he’d hurt one of her sisters or the children again. She needed to hold herself together until they were safe.

With a burst of adrenaline, she struggled to stand. The crutches remained a few feet away on the floor. Lifting the dress past her calves to prevent herself from tripping again, she climbed step by step. The pain in her leg made for a slower climb, but it also prodded her forward, a warning of things to come if she didn’t buck up and fight.

Luc had left the table with some redheaded tramp named Matilde. The girl was looking for a shortcut to wealth and would find that shortcuts typically led to dead ends. But she might provide Alex a few extra hours to figure out a way to finish this game tonight.

Limping toward her room, she maintained a certain distance from Pascal. He didn’t seem worried about her trying to escape. Instead, he mumbled apologies into his phone for his long absence from whatever desperate female he’d convinced to date him.

She entered her bedroom and shut the door, leaving Pascal on the other side. The lock clicked into place. Luc had arranged to keep her in, but not him out. Dragging herself over to the bed, she leaned against the headboard and elevated her leg with a pillow. After a few minutes, she shifted her foot. As much as the position helped the swelling, her leg felt as though fire ants were swarming under the cast. She kicked the pillow aside with her other leg and let her broken leg rest flat.

They’d left her with nothing in the room to use as a weapon. No lamps, statues, fireplace tools. They’d even taken her crutches. Only two Queen Anne chairs remained by the window. The heavy brocade curtains over the windows wouldn’t help her, either. She had nothing.

She wouldn’t rely on anyone else. Were Simon and Nicola allies or enemies to her or each other? She didn’t know who to trust anymore. The dining room had quaked from their open hostility. After Simon had left, Luc knelt at Nicola’s side and caressed her shoulders to ease her fiery emotions. She’d left dinner early, while Luc had escorted the redhead to someplace comfortable to discuss “opportunities.”

For the moment, Nicola and Alex shared a common imprisonment. Luc would never allow Nicola to walk away from him, even while he was interviewing someone else for her job. They had to stay put and wait. Hopefully, Nicola would be free after Alex figured out an escape from this nightmare existence.

The handle to the door turned. Luc walked in. His blazer was gone and his shirt untucked. He looked like a man who’d just finished screwing a redhead. He shut the door behind him and wandered slowly to the bed.

“Alex, darling, you look tired.” She hated when he called her darling. He’d called her darling before raping her the first time, and the word now burned her ears.

“Exhausted.” Every tired muscle alerted, ready to fight.

“Feel free to fall asleep. I’ve decided to consummate our marriage tonight. Your body is all I need.” He spoke as though molesting her was a bore, but a necessity.

Icy fear spread through her veins. She shifted to the opposite side of the bed. Rejection would infuriate him, but she couldn’t convince herself to cooperate with his demands.

“Don’t play hard to get. I’ve already had my share of dominating someone against her will tonight, and I’m not in the mood to call Pascal in to hold you down.”

The thought of Pascal seeing her so vulnerable soured her stomach and stopped her retreat.

“That’s my girl.” He stretched over the bed and pulled her toward him. “You’re mine, Alex, until your death. Never forget that.”

She scanned the room again, in case a magical weapon appeared since Luc had entered. No such luck. He had the upper hand.

He brushed her hair back. “I miss your long hair. If you live long enough, you’ll have to grow it out for me.”

Kissing her shoulder, he slowly unzipped her gown. Alex shivered at his touch. His fingers felt like a scorpion crawling on her skin, waiting for the right moment to sting. The gown loosened; a strap slipped off one of her shoulders. Her body began to tremble.
How do you fight a man who strips down your defenses, both physically and emotionally?

“You’re so beautiful. The perfect complement to my art collection.” He kissed behind her ear and grasped a bunch of her hair to expose her neck. “If you behave, we could do amazing things together in the art world.”

She tried to back away. His hand had twisted her hair through fisted fingers.

The grip on her hair tightened, and he wrenched her head back. “What the fuck is this?”

The stabbing pain he caused stole her breath. “What?”

He yanked her hair again and threw her back onto the bed. “You altered my mark.” His face reddened to crimson, and his lips curled.

The tattoo. She’d forgotten about her layover in Washington, DC. “I didn’t know we’d be getting back together. I guess we can change it back.” She struggled to keep her voice from quavering.

“Change it back? Who the hell is ER?” He spit out the words.

He’d kill her for having another man’s initials on her, even if it was only the man’s title and not his name, so she reached into her memory for a woman. “Eleanor Roosevelt. She’s my role model.”

“You lie.” He slapped her face.

She threw up her hands to press on the stinging. Her stomach twisted with fear. “The Queen of England?” The words came out between sobs.

“Wrong.” He slapped her again; her ear ached as though a hammer had struck it. Tears formed in her eyes, and she struggled to get away. She wasn’t ready to die. He pushed her off the bed by kicking her cast. Loud screams came from her mouth, but no one arrived to help her. Landing hard on the floor, she ignored all the pain and shuffled toward the fireplace. Not even a damn log available to launch at him.

Through her tears, she focused on the Queen Anne chairs. Twins, made of a hard oak. She couldn’t break them into pieces in her condition, but maybe she could break his head with one.

Before she reached them, Luc arrived at her side and kicked her in the stomach, his shoes slicing through the thin material and scraping her skin. The wind knocked out of her, she gasped for air and coughed, barely breathing.

Blood soaked through the white dress still wrapped around her torso. A bloody bride in a macabre horror film. This was it. The final act.

She caught his next kick with her hands and tried to pull him off balance, but the beatings had weakened her. She only managed to slow him down. When he stepped back, she dived for the chair. Lifting it only halfway above her head, she swung it toward him. He evaded it with ease. She swung again.

This time he grabbed it and tossed it toward the door. “You are a dead woman.”

She reached the second chair before he turned back to her. When he raised his hands to stop her from hitting him with it, she launched the chair in the opposite direction and straight into the silver gilt mirror hung over the fireplace. The mirror shattered.

Luc stepped back to avoid the flying glass, giving Alex the chance to dive into the spraying shards. The glass cut her knees, but the agony spurred her on. She lifted a large piece in the shape of a dagger. The edges pierced her palm and lacerated her fingers, but she squeezed tighter in order to strike at him with deadly force. She rushed toward him, attempting to stab him in the neck. His size and strength made her job impossible. She managed to scrape it across his face before he threw her on the bed and knocked the weapon from her hand. His fist landed on her cheek below her eye. The impact pushed her head into the headboard. The last thing she heard was Luc calling out to Pascal.

…

Henry swallowed several shots of the cheap Irish whiskey Simon had ordered from room service. It helped dull the nagging dread that occupied all of his thoughts. He finally settled down to research Luc’s location on the internet. Mapping out their operation provided the perfect distraction from his badass case of raging emotions. Simon relaxed while Henry’s analytical mind dissected and used every smidgen of information he’d gleamed from his time at the café as well as the information Simon provided on the dinner at Luc’s house. More information came from Google Earth and the MI6 satellite surveillance system.

He lifted his gaze from the laptop. “I’m impressed with these programs. They would have helped us in Afghanistan at the start of the war.”

Simon laughed. “You jumped ship too soon. Technology changes by the millisecond now.”

“I miss it occasionally, but I’m a nerd at my core. Reading books, leading seminars. I even love teaching cocky computer science majors who believe the subject’s a waste of time until they analyze the career of a cultural anthropologist working at Intel. And what would I do without the Ripon Women’s Group?”

“Attend more social events, I suppose.”

Simon’s mobile rang. He answered the call in the bathroom.

A bad feeling rose through Henry’s gut. He wished he could listen in to understand the depths of the intelligence Simon had access to.

Simon shouted into the phone. His alarmed words were muffled through the door, but the message was clear.

He sprinted out of the bathroom. “Henry, we have to get Alex out
now
.”

Shit
. If something happened to her, his world would end.

Henry’s stomach twisted and cramped. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he tried to harness his growing dread at the outcome. He moved with efficient strides and focused on his sole objective.

He grabbed the gun Simon had given to him. They both secured the weapons in their waistbands, hidden from the public and the police. Within seconds, they bolted out of the hotel, jogging down the street fast enough to get there, but not so fast as to draw attention to themselves. They crossed through a side street and into the backyard of one of the houses next to Luc’s. The wall was high between the properties, but a Range Rover parked near it provided the perfect means of entry.

“We only have one chance if this alarm goes off.” Henry slowed and gave the area a quick once-over.

Sliding under the car, Simon reconfigured a few wires. “It should be all set. Let’s go.”

He bounded to the top of the vehicle. Henry climbed up behind him. They peered over the wall. The house was eerily silent. They hopped over and moved to an entryway next to a small patio.

Simon signaled Henry to stay back as a lookout while he tried the door. It was locked. “My partner is on the second floor. I’ll assist there. You locate Alex. Fighting was heard on the third floor, so start there.”

Simon kicked the lock on the door, but the door didn’t give. This wasn’t the time to wait for backup. Henry grabbed a patio chair and smashed it through the full-length window in the door. Raking the rough edges with the chair, he stepped in, gun drawn and ready. Simon followed behind.

The bottom of the house was dark, except for a few lights left illuminating a path to the kitchen and the front foyer. They crossed a large family room. A creak from the right sent them diving in different directions, avoiding a bullet aimed at one of them. He heard Simon shuffle against a wall.

They couldn’t waste time down here. They needed to find Alex.

When the bastard with the gun started firing a haphazard spray of bullets and moved farther into the room, Simon fired a single bullet toward the sound. His shot ripped through a window in the dining room. Damn, he’d never been a straight shot. The gunman fired back. Neighbors would be calling the police soon. They didn’t have much time.

Henry took aim, a position as natural as holding a book, and hit the assailant midforehead. The man dropped with a
thud
.

He’d let his conscience rip him apart later, after Alex was safe and in his arms.

Staying low, he crossed to the dead assailant and took his gun. He acknowledged Simon with a nod and crept out of the room.

Chapter Thirty

Henry hadn’t killed anyone since leaving the service. Death still wrenched his gut and ripped out a piece of his soul, but the urgency to find Alex took priority. He climbed the stairs two at a time until he hit the second-floor landing. A quick glance to the left and right revealed long hallways of doors. The enormous house must have forty rooms in it.

Simon would be heading to his partner as soon as he picked his arse up off the floor. Henry continued up the stairs to the third-floor landing. He needed more information. The only sound came from something shuffling around on the second floor. Probably Simon.

A stream of light flowed out from under a door farther down the hall. Henry took off toward the light and paused. Not hearing anything inside, he pushed the door open, keeping his gun raised. His stomach roiled as he braced himself for whatever his instinct told him was behind the door.

“Alex?” He spoke in a loud whisper.

The opulent bedroom had a crackling fire in the fireplace filling the room with a smoky scent. By the fireplace, the room’s only occupant sat in a chair with his legs crossed, pointing a gun toward Henry.

Luc.

“If it isn’t cousin John. Nice to meet you again.” A long, bloody laceration marked his face, and his clothes appeared disheveled and stained. His serenity, amid such a violent appearance, failed to cover his malevolent soul. He’d kill Henry without a moment’s hesitation. Henry approached with caution.

“Where’s Alex?” He glanced around the room with his gun trained on Luc’s head. He’d have killed him immediately, but he didn’t kill arbitrarily. He might require information.

“My wife? She was sleeping soundly last I saw her.
Dead to the world
as the saying goes.” His arm stretched across the armrest, his aim steady and directed at Henry. “Should I be calling the police about a break-in? I’d hate to kill you, but I’m within my rights to use deadly force to protect my family.”

Henry glared at the manky prat who’d ripped apart Alex’s life. “Let me take her out of here, and I won’t be forced to kill
you
.” Cocky language might hold Luc back if he had the slightest hesitation to kill. He didn’t.

Luc’s gun went off and struck one of Henry’s knuckles in his right hand. As the pain exploded across his fingers, he lost hold of the gun. A second round went over his head and he dived out the door, reached into his waistband with his left hand, and pulled out the Glock 19 he’d taken from the corpse near the back entrance.

Breathing heavily, he heard Luc throwing more wood into the fireplace. He turned back into the room. Luc was pushing burning firewood into the middle of the throw rug. The son of a bitch was going to burn the place down with Alex inside. The edges of the rug had already caught fire. Henry stayed low, catching his breath, the hatred for Luc pushing away his panic for Alex’s safety.

A low growl came from Henry’s throat as he aimed with his left hand and fired. His shot nicked Luc in the shoulder. Luc dived to the ground and returned the volley, missing twice, but hitting Henry on the side of his chest the third time. The force knocked him to the floor and pushed the air from his lungs. He shook the pain off and silently thanked Simon for the loan of the Kevlar vest. It still hurt like hell, but he was alive. He needed to move his position to avoid being vulnerable to a final shot in the head.

“Good-bye, Mr. West. Good luck finding your
cousin
in time to escape.”

Luc clicked on an empty cartridge, paused, and then swung the butt of his gun toward Henry’s face. Quick reflexes had the gun in Henry’s tight grip before being pistol-whipped. He tried to pull Luc off balance, but Luc kicked his chest while pulling the gun out of his hand.

Flames had already spread up the heavy drapes. Noxious gases billowed throughout the room. Henry roused himself before the smoke and fire overtook him. By the time he pushed himself to a standing position, Luc had run.

Bracing the wall, Henry tried to ignore the blood oozing from his dominant hand. He stared at the fire and the room around him. Nothing was available to slow down the blaze. He had to get Alex out before the flames consumed the house. The hall stretched in both directions from the main staircase. Henry headed to the right first. Throwing each door open with his left hand, he glanced inside for any trace of Alex before moving on to the next room. He worked methodically, but every room sat empty.

His right hand was bleeding profusely. He wiped the blood on his shirt and refocused on locating Alex. She had to be here. Somewhere. Anywhere. He needed to commit to the task of finding her and rid himself of the debilitating emotion slowing his movements, but his overpowering love for her returned over and over to screw with his focus.

At the end of the hall, he turned and headed back toward the staircase to search the rooms in the other wing.

“Alex,” he hollered.

Smoke streamed out of the fiery room and permeated the open spaces of the house. Henry held his breath trying to avoid the toxic fumes. Moving quickly, he sucked in some less smoky air and continued his search. More doors, more empty rooms. The entire hallway was getting brighter as the fire behind him flared. If she was on a different floor, he wouldn’t have time to locate her.

Where was she? Henry fought the panic rising up in him. Stay calm and do the job. Another door, empty. There were only two more doors until the end of the hall.

He opened the closest and light streamed over his shoulder, revealing a macabre scene. He swallowed his scream. The room was smashed to bits. Chairs overturned, a broken mirror, and Alex.

His Alex.

He turned the light on and tried not to cry out at the state he found her in. Her face was swollen and discolored. A white and bloody material covered her body. He sent out a prayer that she only looked like death. He wouldn’t survive if he lost her. His heart broke apart, and the beating of those separate pieces deafened him.

“Alex. Do you hear me?” He rushed to her side.

Her pulse gave him hope. Faint hope at best, but her heart still fought for life. Moving her might worsen her injuries, but he had to risk it, or she’d die in the fire.

“Hey, Sunshine. Wake up.”
Please, wake up.

Pulling the duvet around her, he lifted her into his arms. The simple task felt awkward with his damaged hand. Her body fought him at first. Blackened eyes flickered open. Alex didn’t seem to recognize anything. Her stare turned toward the glimmering light from the blaze out the door. She didn’t react. Her muscles relaxed into his arms, and her eyes closed again.

He covered her nose and mouth with the duvet as he entered the hall and kissed her forehead. She’d lost weight since Atlanta. She was thin before, but now she was emaciated. Holding her as securely yet gently as possible, he shifted most of her weight to his left arm. His right hand continued to lose blood and feeling, but he had to use it to secure her to him.

Tugging at the duvet again, he covered the rest of her face.

The fire had expanded across the third floor. He rushed to the stairs through the smoke filling the hall and past the flames coating the walls.

…

Simon knew exactly where to run. Second floor, third door on the right side. Nicola, the queen of procedure, had drawn Simon a map of her location on a cocktail napkin during one of their meetings. His beautiful Girl Guide always prepared.

Henry ran up the stairs in front of him on the way to the third floor and, hopefully, to Alex, although her location was not clear. Simon stopped on the second floor. The third door to the right stood open, waiting for him. He paused, preparing himself for an armed assailant or an empty room. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the scene inside.

Her room, decorated in a non-Nicola pink floral theme, appeared as though it awaited a new guest. The bed was made, the dresser cleared, and Nicola’s small suitcase was zipped and ready to go. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Blood splattered the closet door and the adjoining walls. Nicola, wearing the black dress that had drawn the admiration of the men at dinner, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her eyes stared toward the ceiling. No fear resided in that gaze. She stared down death the way she faced all of life’s challenges, with ballsy determination.

Simon stopped feeling. An icy numbness covered his heart. His mouth froze into a frown. This was part of the game, but the game had turned sinister and foul. He no longer saw the point of it. They’d survived a long time, but both of them had ignored the risks increasing against them with each new assignment.

Only a small hole had entered her chest, but Simon knew the other side would show the true devastation of the mortal wound.

He knelt by her side. Placing his gun down next to her, he closed the eyes that touched him in his sleep, the ones he wanted looking at him every morning, the ones he wanted to see in their children. Brushing her hair back, he let his fingers absorb the waning warmth in her skin.

“I promised to have your back, sweetheart, and I let you down. I’m so sorry.” A chill crept through him and sucked away that part of his soul that longed for a simple life with a complicated woman.

Footsteps at the door caught his attention. Pascal, one of Luc’s boys. “Simon Dunn. Come to reconcile with your ex-girlfriend? You’re too late. Unlike you, when Luc is done with a woman, he prefers not seeing them with their exes, or anyone else for that matter.”

Simon slid his hand toward his gun, but the Glock pointed in his face stopped him.

Pascal stood over him with a pleased-as-shit grin on his face. “Luc will be curious to know how your dead body came to rest near the remains of his latest whore.” He tapped Simon’s face with the nozzle to indicate he should step away from Nicola.

Simon glanced back at her. She was dead. His frozen heart wouldn’t break, so long as he left it undisturbed.

He stood slowly and walked to the door with Pascal. A flicker of light from the stairway grabbed his attention. “I hope we’re meeting Luc in a less heated section of the house.”

As Pascal’s eyes shot a concerned glare toward the flames, Simon swung his arm and knocked the gun from the son of a bitch’s hands. Punching with his left hand, he nailed Pascal in the stomach. The impact pushed him into the wall, but the bastard shot forward again, lifting Simon off the ground and slamming him across the hallway.

Simon’s knee to Pascal’s groin forced the sod to drop his hold. They both stepped back to breathe. After a deep intake of air, Pascal charged him again and tried to throw Simon off balance, but his weight and height equaled Pascal’s. He had Pascal on the ground without too much exertion, but Pascal kicked out his leg, shoving Simon across the landing. His head hit the railing, but he managed to right himself and pull a five-inch blade out from near his calf.

Tucking it in his palm, he closed in on Pascal. He feigned right and then plunged the knife deep into his enemy’s chest. Pascal faded to the floor.

Simon kicked Pascal’s face once more before pulling out the knife. “I hope you rot in hell.”

Turning to retrieve Nicola’s body, Simon froze at the roadblock before him. The fire had spread through the venting system into Nicola’s room. The curtains ignited and dropped embers across the floor. He stood helpless as Nicola’s dress caught fire and within seconds, she disappeared behind a wall flames.

…

The stairs seemed to descend forever. Ash and smoke flowed around Henry, hindering his view of the solid marble floor in the main foyer. With Alex wrapped up and passed out in his arms, he ran toward the front door, but Luc stepped from the main parlor, blocking their escape. He waved his gun toward them, wearing a smirk that needed to be beaten off his face. There may have been enough time to reload, but something in Luc’s bravado told Henry he was bluffing.

Luc stepped toward them. “I’m afraid you can’t help Mrs. Perrault. As the story goes, she dies in the fire and her husband, who tried to save her, didn’t make it to her in time. With the money from her trust fund and the insurance I recently purchased on her life, I’ll carry on despite a broken heart.”

“You seem to be mixing up a tragedy for a comedy. You’re the pathetic loser who dies in a fire you set yourself, leaving Alex, the happy widow, to dance on your grave.”

“A funny man.” Luc pointed the gun at Henry. “Take her to the other room.”

Henry couldn’t reach his own gun. “I prefer to take her out the door.”

“I can shoot you now and drag your bloody corpse into the gallery.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead, ace, shoot me.”

The gun clicked. Luc threw it at his head. Henry ducked and rested Alex next to the front door as Luc charged him.

Luc tried a right jab, but Henry caught his fist in his left hand and returned a right elbow into his face.

Blood sprayed from Luc’s nose, but didn’t slow his attack. He kicked up at Henry and hit him in the gut. The thickness of the vest softened the blow. Henry pushed forward. The venom racing through his veins powered his left hand into a crunching punch at Luc’s chest. The strike was hard enough to break a rib.

“That’s for Alex’s broken rib.”

Henry’s long arm span proved advantageous against the short-limbed Luc, allowing his left fist to connect with Luc’s face. More blood splattered from his nose. They continued swinging at each other. Henry propelled Luc into the gallery and away from Alex.

Luc tried to fight back, but Henry was stronger. He rammed his foot into Luc’s knee until it popped. Luc fell to the floor with a bellow.

“That’s for Alex’s leg.”

Henry leaned against the wall, chest heaving and lungs aching from the smoke. Staring at him from no more than twenty feet away, Lady Elizabeth graced the smoldering walls. Son of a bitch. Smoke filled the space as the fire rushed through the adjacent rooms. Getting Alex to safety was his main priority, not getting revenge or even the painting. He turned to leave Luc to die in the fire.

Stupid move. Luc grabbed a statue and flung it toward Henry’s head. He ducked, but a corner of it nicked his temple. The pain pushed him off balance and into the wall next to an iron trident hung on loose pegs. Limping, Luc loomed closer, throwing anything within his reach. Eyes wild with anger, Luc lifted a large marble bust over his head. Henry executed a roundhouse kick to Luc’s face, swiping at his arms in the process. The bust fell to the floor, but Luc remained upright on the broken leg and ten gallons of adrenaline.