Vintage Pride (19 page)

Olivier strode over to where Marcus sat. He’d switched his grip on the gun and now held it by the barrel. Swinging his arm viciously, he brought the butt of the revolver down in the direction of Marcus’ head.

Thérèse let out a shriek. “Leave him alone!”

Marcus tried to jerk his body away but the weapon connected with his temple, hard enough to leave him seeing stars. Something wet trailed down the side of his face and he realized groggily that the blow must have drawn blood.

“Olivier!”

Marcus’ assailant spun sharply on his heel at the sound of Agathe’s voice. “What are you doing? Where’s Florent?”

“He’s gone down to the cellar. I told him where to start looking. I know you think my brother’s a liability but he knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t have let you involve him if he didn’t.” Agathe walked closer. “But it occurred to me that seeing as Marcus is here, he more than likely knows the combination to the safe.”

“Safe?” Olivier’s interest was noticeably piqued.

“In the drawing room, behind that awful Watteau portrait on the chimneybreast.”

Olivier aimed a sharp kick at Marcus’ ribs. “Get up. You’re coming with us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The glance Olivier gave toward Thérèse told Marcus all he needed to know. “Let’s just say I have an insurance policy. Jacques, keep an eye on her till we get back.”

Marcus rose groggily to his feet, fury boiling in his blood. If the scumbag did anything to hurt his beloved Thérèse… He looked over at his wife, trying to convey with his eyes that he’d do his best to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

Olivier wrapped his arm around Marcus’ throat. With the other hand, he jabbed the barrel of the revolver into Marcus’s side. “Walk.”

He did as he’d been told, following Agathe out of the scullery. She walked with assurance, as though she owned the property, and Marcus found himself wondering how much he or any of the family knew about their housekeeper. She’d been brought up in the nearby village of Chouilly and had come to them with impeccable references from her previous employers but she never spoke about her personal life. Until tonight, he hadn’t even been aware she had a brother.

His damaged forearm throbbed, the dull pain keeping him alert. Assuming Jean-Luc had received his message and was on his way, or had alerted the local police to the situation, how long would it take for help to reach them? The fact Agathe’s brother was currently searching the cellars meant they must have come in the hope of finding those fabled hidden works of art. Though Marcus had long been convinced that story was false, the money and jewelry held in the safe would be considered a more than decent haul by any would-be thief. He just needed to play for time, find some way of keeping the gang here until the cavalry arrived…

They’d reached the door to the drawing room. Agathe opened it, and Olivier shoved Marcus inside. The white facecloth Thérèse had been using as a compress for her headache lay on the couch. Marcus’ heart lurched as he caught a glimpse of it.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Agathe,” he said. “You of all people. I mean, we let you into our home. We trusted you…”

“Shut up,” Olivier commanded.

But Marcus’ words had obviously hit home. “Please, Marcus, you have to believe that this is nothing personal. I have very much enjoyed working here and I never intended for any of you to come to harm, particularly not your wife. But when Olivier found out I was employed here, he persuaded me to work with him, help him get access to the château.”

Oh, Agathe, you really don’t think I’m getting out of this alive, do you? Or maybe all you care about is saving your own skin.

“Don’t play the innocent.” Olivier sneered at Agathe. “You took almost nothing in the way of persuading. We all know how much those paintings are rumored to be worth, and you’re just a greedy little bitch. You only pretend to be respectable.”

“How do you know this man?” Marcus’ mind worked overtime as he tried to find a way to exploit the obvious antagonism between Agathe and Olivier.

“He’s my ex-boyfriend. Until two months ago he was in Clairvaux Prison, serving time for armed robbery…” She shrugged. “I provided him with the access code to the main gate.”

“But why are you here? You didn’t need to get involved.” He had to keep her talking. Maybe she didn’t realize how much information she was giving away.

“I came along so I could let him into the château. After all, it doesn’t really matter if the police find my fingerprints. I work here,
non
?”

“Agathe, we’re just wasting time.” Olivier led Marcus over to the chimneybreast and stood staring at the painting Agathe had mentioned, a bucolic scene of a shepherdess sitting on a fallen log. He prodded Marcus with the gun once more. “I want you to move that out of the way. Give him a hand,
chérie
.”

With his housekeeper’s help, Marcus freed the Watteau in its ornate gilt frame from the wall. They propped it against the couch. Marcus could almost see the cogs turning in Olivier’s head as he surveyed the canvas, obviously assessing its worth.

Agathe must have noticed where Olivier was looking, for she snapped, “Don’t even think about it. Everyone knows the LeBlancs own that painting. We’d never get away with trying to sell it on.”

Olivier straightened up and focused his attention on the safe, now revealed. “Okay, let’s get on with this. What’s the combination?”

Tempted as he was to give a false series of numbers, Marcus resisted. With Olivier clearly on a short fuse and Thérèse still at the mercy of the gang, he couldn’t run any risks. He took a breath then recited the numbers Jean-Luc had selected. “One-four-oh-three.” Benoît’s birthday. Even if Marcus hadn’t already known the combination, it would have been his first, instinctive guess.

Olivier pressed the keypad in sequence. There was an audible click, and when he turned the safe’s handle the door swung open. “
Fantastique
!” He glanced over his shoulder at Marcus and Agathe, his expression a mix of delight and pure avarice.

Marcus knew just what the safe contained. Some legal paperwork pertaining to the ownership of the château and the business partnership between himself and Jean-Luc, along with the up-to-date wills of all the family members. Jean-Luc had insisted on the latter after Benoît’s untimely death, clearly afraid of leaving his own affairs in disarray. None of that would be of any interest to Olivier and his gang.

Instead, Olivier was already reaching in to bring out an ornate necklace, heavy with diamonds. It had belonged to the LeBlancs for over three hundred years. Thérèse had worn it on their wedding day. She had never looked more beautiful than with those jewels caressing her pale throat. On their honeymoon night, Marcus had fucked her as she wore nothing but sheer white stockings and that necklace. The thought could still get him hard. It sickened him to think of the family treasures falling into the hands of these crooks.

“
Merde
, there has to be a fortune in here…”

Now Olivier brought out a bag of gold coins that dated back to the reign of Louis XIII. He emptied them out into his hand then tossed one in the air, chuckling at the way it sparkled in the light.

“I’m almost tempted to tell Florent to forget about the paintings,” he said, “but we might as well try and find what we really came for, eh?” He grinned at Agathe. “You finish taking everything out of the safe. You”—he grabbed hold of Marcus again—“are coming back into the scullery with me. We’re going to make sure you’re all tied up nice and tight. Don’t want you getting any stupid ideas about trying to contact the police once we’re gone.”

The man’s cockiness sickened Marcus but he couldn’t do anything to prevent himself from being dragged back along the hallway, not if he wanted his wife to remain unhurt. He tried to cling on to the hope that the man was being straight with them, and that they might well get out of this alive. From somewhere came the sound of a door being flung open, followed by footsteps clattering over the hard tiles in the lobby.

Jean-Luc appeared ahead of them, his face a mask of snarling ferocity. Marcus thought he caught a glimpse of Ethan running to keep up behind him. But already his brother-in-law was shifting, the seams of his clothes ripping as they failed to contain the proportions of his transforming body. Where moments ago there had been a man, a lion now charged toward Marcus and Olivier, its teeth bared.

Agathe emerged from the drawing room, obviously alerted by the commotion. She let out a high-pitched scream and threw herself into the fray, trying to pull the beast away from Olivier.

Then the gun went off.

Chapter Twenty-One

Twenty minutes earlier…

Jean-Luc’s phone beeped to indicate he’d received a message. He thought about not checking then realized it might be from Marcus. What if Thérèse had taken a turn for the worse and the doctor had been sent for? He set down his coffee cup and pulled the phone from his pocket.

The message on the screen chilled the blood in his veins.

Intruders. Help us.

Without a word, he passed it along the table to Ethan.

“What the hell?” Ethan muttered as he looked at the text.

“Don’t let any of the others know anything is wrong. You and I will deal with this.” Jean-Luc rose to his feet. “I’m terribly sorry but I’m going to have to leave you. A small emergency has arisen at the château and Marcus needs me. Something to do with the vines.” He beckoned over the waiter, who was clearing away the dessert plates. “I’d like to settle the bill, please. And be as quick as you can.”

“Very good,
Monsieur
.” The man hurried out of the private dining room.

Jean-Luc turned to address the rest of the table. “Marcus has asked for some assistance with the problem. Ethan, would you care to come with me?”

As Ethan nodded in agreement, he went on, “The rest of you, please feel free to finish your coffees. I wouldn’t like this unfortunate intervention to spoil what’s been a perfect evening.” He fished his car keys from his pocket and handed them to Ethan. Speaking in a low voice, he said, “Go out to the car park and start the engine while I pay for dinner. We need to be on the move as soon as we can.”

The waiter returned with a handwritten bill. Jean-Luc scanned it briefly before nodding and bringing out his credit card.

“
Un moment, Monsieur
.” The man retrieved a handheld card reader from the capacious pocket of his apron. He pressed various buttons on the compact keyboard before handing the machine to Jean-Luc so he could insert his card.

Jean-Luc followed the instructions on the screen, adding a generous tip to the final total and grunting with audible frustration as he waited for the request to input his PIN.
Why are these damn things always so slow?

Nausea churned in his belly as he thought of Marcus and Thérèse, alone in that big house and facing some unimaginable threat. If anyone harmed so much as a hair on his sister’s head, he would make them suffer. How could he have been so foolish as to leave the château, even for an evening? Not that he could have known anything like this would happen, but still…

Finally having completed the transaction, he said his goodbyes to his dining companions, apologizing again for having to leave so abruptly.

Sophie hovered by the front door. “It was so good to see you again, Jean-Luc,” she said, pressing a firm kiss to each of his cheeks in turn. “I hope you won’t leave it as long next time.”

“Thank you, Sophie. And give my compliments to Chef Georges for a truly wonderful meal.” He gave her a regretful shake of the head. “I’m sorry to have to run off like this…”

“Please, at this time of year, I fully understand.”

With so many of the town’s population relying on the Champagne houses for employment, whether that was permanent or on a seasonal basis, it seemed the whole of Épernay moved to the rhythm of the ripening vines.

Jean-Luc left the restaurant without looking back. At least the fact they’d traveled to the restaurant in two vehicles meant the rest of his guests wouldn’t be reliant on a taxi to take them back to the château. He ran down the street and into the car park, where he joined Ethan, who had the engine of the Citroën idling. As Jean-Luc opened the driver’s door, Ethan clambered over into the passenger seat.

Jean-Luc paused barely long enough to fasten his seat belt before pulling out of the parking space and onto the street in one smooth maneuver.

Without taking his attention from the road, Jean-Luc took his phone from his pocket. He tossed it to land in Ethan’s lap. “I need you to call the police and let them know what’s happened. The number is one-one-two.”

“Jean-Luc, I don’t think my French is up to it.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be able to talk to someone who speaks English. They’ll put our request through to the local
gendarmerie
and officers will be sent out to the château. But we’ll get there before they do, and you’ll need to be prepared for that.”

He tried to keep his voice level but anger and anxiety coursed through his body in equal measure. It was triggering his desire to shift—the last response he needed when attempting to control a powerful luxury car. Fortunately, he’d had very little of the wine, conscious that he would be driving home, and his clear head helped him to restrain his impulses. Gaze fixed on the road ahead, Jean-Luc did his best to tune in to Ethan’s phone conversation.

“
Bonjour. Parlez-vous Anglais
?” Ethan obviously received a positive reply, for he immediately switched to English. “Yes, we need the police to come to the Château LeBlanc. It’s on the road between Chouilly and—” He glanced over at Jean-Luc.

“Mareuil-sur-Ay,” Jean-Luc grunted. He listened as Ethan repeated it to whoever was on the other end of the line. In happier circumstances, he might have chuckled at Ethan’s attempt to pronounce the unfamiliar place name.

“There are intruders on the premises,” Ethan went on. “No, I don’t know how many. Yes, they might be armed… Please, just send someone as soon as you can… Thank you.” He ended the call. “Okay, they’ve said they’re on their way. The police here carry guns, don’t they?”