Against the Wall Page 2

  "I am Jacques Mercier. Now you know mine. I was imprisoned to await trial. Wouldn't you like to know why?"

  "No. It is nothing to do with me. Are you attempting to cultivate the Stockholm Syndrome with this foolish exchange of information? I promise you I will never become attached to an abductor no matter how friendly you try to be."

  She faced away from him again. "Stop looking at me that way."

  Jack hadn't realized he was making her even more uncomfortable. It would be difficult not to look at her. She was something to see, that was for sure.

  He should try to put her at ease, as much as he could. "You're very brave, that much I already know. Instead of a mere profession, you have a calling, I believe. Anyone else would be begging me for their freedom. Instead, you are willing to go along to care for our young friend in the back seat. Are you afraid?" He knew she was terrified, but he also knew she would never admit it.

  "Of course I am afraid," she confessed, surprising him. "Only a fool would not fear you. I saw what you did to that guard."

  "I could easily have killed him," Jack said in a slightly defensive tone.

  "I know," she replied, not quite hiding a shiver.

  He could see that that thought relieved her only a little. "You need not worry about rape, either," he told her. "I believe I can restrain my animal instincts."

  She tried to cover her relief with a mirthless laugh. "I have offended you by thinking you might?"

  "Do you care whether I am offended?"

  She didn't bother to answer. Jack knew she cared. She had to worry if she had made him angry, that he might change his mind and show her who was boss here.

  "You're safe with me," he said, and meant it, too. Not just about his leaving her alone physically. He felt a need to protect her, even from the worry she must be feeling at the moment.

  For an instant he considered stopping the car in the next village they reached and letting her go. Bad idea, and he couldn't imagine why he had even thought of doing it. There was the mission to consider, and she was crucial to the success of it. Without her help, the plan would fall apart before it got underway.

  That had been the point of waiting until the doctor was with the boy to take him. The problem was that her father had eagerly agreed to help with this. The man had experience in this sort of enterprise, had worked with intelligence before. The daughter had no clue what was going on.

  "We'll have to lie low for a day," he said, knowing she would assume the police would be giving chase. There would be no all-points bulletin on them, of course. Holly Amberson could take care of that with a few choice phone calls and a bit of hacking with her magic laptop.

  "Open the glove compartment and get the phone," he commanded.

  After eyeing him with suspicion for a few seconds, she complied. He took it from her before she could punch in any numbers and pressed the pre-coded digit.

  When Holly answered, he kept his message brief and to the point. "We have a substitute. See that Dr. Solange Micheaux is officially listed on emergency leave. Arrange for someone to handle her duties and cover for her. Her father is an accident victim, a patient at Broussais. Check on his condition." He paused. "And make sure it really was an accident."

  Amberson did not waste words either. "So we are still on?"

  "Unless the mission is compromised. Are things all set at your end?"

  "Right on schedule," she replied.

  That meant word would soon be out that the son of Ahmed Chari had escaped Baumettes Prison with a little help from a fellow inmate. This way, Chari probably would not be surprised by his son's arrival if he heard about the escape on the news. The police would not bother to question Chari. They would be informed there was evidence that his son and his accomplices had left the country immediately.

  Jack would use the downtime to become better acquainted with the doctor and determine whether she could be trusted with the truth or if she should go in blind.

  Taking her in her father's stead bothered him. It shouldn't. She was just one person, expendable in the big scheme of things. The big scheme here was to save lives. Many of them. If sacrifices were necessary to accomplish that, then he would just have to live with it.

  Solange realized she had dozed when the car stopped. She ran her hands through her hair and shook off her grogginess. How on earth had she managed to fall sleep in such a predicament as this?

  Before she fell asleep, she had been marking their route visually. They had headed north from Lyon, with the central highlands to their left and the Swiss Alps to their right. Vineyards and fruit orchards lined their way along the wide path cut by nature.

  When she looked out now, there were no landmarks or identifying characteristics on the eerie, moonlit landscape. He might have changed direction entirely. They could be anywhere in France by now.

  "We'll stay here for the night."

  She looked at the man who had kidnapped her, then out the window again. "Would you tell me where we are?"

  "A safe place," he replied cryptically.

  He got out, opened the back door and gently lifted René in his arms. Solange hopped out quickly and hovered, cautioning him to be careful not to jostle her patient any more than he could help.

  The night was chilly for mid-May, but that was not what caused her to shiver. She rubbed her arms briskly.

  "Look under the mat there and find the key," he ordered, his voice curt.

  She hurried to find it and unlock the door to the old house, feeling for the keyhole with trembling fingers. What would happen once they were inside?

  Where was this place? The moon was high enough that she could see they were not in a town or village. In fact, she could see no other buildings except this old cottage they were entering.

  Could this man be intending to hold René here for ransom? And, if so, what would happen to her? If René remained unconscious during all this, he could not identify his kidnapper. But she could. Perhaps she would live only so long as René needed her.

  If she found an opportunity, she would escape. Then she could go to the police and have them rescue René.

  "There should be an oil lamp and matches on the table. Careful you don't knock it off and break it," he said, moving farther into the main room.

  She heard the rustle of movement as she discovered by feel the lamp and a box of matches where he had said they would be. She struck fire and lifted the old-fashioned globe.

  When she had adjusted the flame, Solange carried it over to where he had laid René on a shabby, but comfortable-looking couch.

  "See to him. I'll go and get your medical bag," Mercier told her.

  "Is there water in here or must we go outside to draw it?" she asked.

  "Running water. The bath is off the hallway. Kitchen's through that door," he said pointing.

  She knelt beside the couch and began checking René's pulse. It felt steady and strong enough. He breathed normally and seemed to be quite comfortable. She lifted his lids and examined his pupils in the lamp light. A crocheted afghan lay draped over the foot of the couch and she used that to cover him against the chill of the room.

  Mercier returned quickly and handed her the bag. "How is he doing?"

  "No worse than he was."

  "His pain was severe enough for morphine?"

  She hesitated. "First answer me one thing. Are you holding René for ransom?"

  "No," he declared shaking his head. Then he seemed to think about it. "But I can see why you might think that's what I'm doing. No, I'm returning him to his father as soon as I can. I was escaping, anyway, and thought I might as well take the boy out of there with me."

  "On the hope of a reward, perhaps?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "That and a place to hide once I got out. I'm hoping Chari will offer me a job."

  "You said my father agreed to help you? Why?"

  "Even before he was beaten, the boy was not strong enough to survive long where he was. Your father knew that, and I suspect you know it, too
."

  Satisfied he was not lying, she answered his question truthfully. "René was hurt, yes. He could have borne it well enough with pills, but my father wanted him bedridden, to seem worse off than he was."

  Mercier's dark eyes softened as he crouched beside her on the threadbare rug. "To protect him? So he wouldn't have to return to the cells?"

  She nodded. "He has been at the prison for over three weeks and this is his second beating. That is why Father gave him morphine. If René remained unconscious, he would have more time to heal. When my father told me of his condition, both of us tried to intervene on René's behalf, plead his youth and size to someone in authority. But neither my father nor I could get in to see anyone in the prefecture or the warden's office. Even if we had, they probably would have laughed at us. He is simply another prisoner to be locked away. Why should they care?"

  "But you care."

  "Of course I care!" she exclaimed, glaring at him. "He is hardly more than a child. Look at him. A gentle boy. How could they put him in with all those monsters?" Oh God, what had she said? She had just included this man in that insult.

  But instead of outrage, she saw full understanding in his eyes. "Good for you. Your father and you outwitted them." He smiled at her then, a gentle expression she would not have expected from such a man.

  "We do what we can, though it is never enough."

  He nodded. "Baumettes is a three-hour drive down from Paris. Do you come to work at the prison hospital often?"

  "Whenever my schedule permits, I assist my father in his volunteer work. Since his retirement, he spends a good many hours at three of the prison facilities." She could see no point in going into their reasons for doing what they did.

  He sighed. It was more a gust of resigned frustration. "One of my people is checking on your father's condition and you'll be advised how he is tomorrow. Try not to worry about him, though I'm certain you will, anyway."

  "Then I must thank you for that, I suppose." Solange slumped, burying her face in her hands. She felt like weeping but knew she must not.

  She took a deep breath and raised her head again, meeting his eyes. "I am very tired. Would you mind if I lie here on the floor beside the divan and sleep for a while? I had duty in the emergency last night and was unable to rest."

  He straightened and held up one finger. "Wait just a minute."

  Before she knew it, he was dragging in a single-bed mattress. "Here you are," he said, positioning it next to her. "I'm afraid there are no linens. But here is a pillow and it's new."

  She took the pillow from him and lay down.

  Her captor offered her a reassuring smile and went to sit on the floor beside the front door. Somehow she knew that was the only exit that she would be able open.

  It would be useless effort to try to escape tonight. He would only come after her, and she had no idea which way she should run even if he did not bother. Perhaps tomorrow would afford her a chance.

  It was more than she could manage to stay awake and worry or react to any leftover fear. She would simply have to trust the angels as her mother used to say.

  In the dream that followed close on the heels of her surrender to sleep, Solange felt one of them brush a wing over her face to comfort her. It rested lightly on her head for a long moment, a blessing, a promise to ward off evil. She smiled and felt safe.

  Chapter 2

  Jack stirred the bacon, careful to do it precisely as Holly had once shown him. He was not much of a cook but had been trying to learn. Since Holly was the only woman who worked with him and the only person he knew who didn't exist on junk food and the occasional outing at a restaurant, she had volunteered.

  Holly was slipping in under his guard, and he would have to watch that. Nothing sexual going on, but he was damn close to regarding her as a friend, not just one of the team.

  Come to think of it, he had been spending a little too much of his free time with the others, too. Camaraderie was one thing; getting to be buddies was quite another. Maybe this mission would put things back in perspective.

  He liked field work, but missed the daily routine in the office. Sometimes he could pretend for days he was just an average nine-to-fiver, fighting the traffic to work where he'd spend all day arranging investments and contacting clients. Visit his parents when it proved convenient. Maybe meet some interesting female for drinks after hours once in a while, get it on later if she seemed interested.

  That was his life for about two weeks out of twelve. The rest of the time he was checking out rumors of terrorist rumblings and trying to stamp out trouble before it got underway. So far they had been successful beyond their best expectations going into this.

  He thought about the woman in the next room, the pretty little doctor who had inadvertently become involved in this mission. Solange Micheaux was the least likely person he could imagine for getting wound up in any intrigue. What an open book. No guile whatsoever. She was so totally unlike the women engaged in this business, she could blow the whole op and ruin everything.

  He pretty much lived for his job now, that of SAIC, or Special Agent in Charge, of a fairly new team called SEXTANT, consisting of six specialists recruited from different U.S. Government agencies. Organizations that had previously spent a great deal of their time bickering over jurisdiction and jealously guarding from each other the info they dug up. With the team's respective contacts within their old jobs, and full allegiance to the new one, intelligence had a fighting chance of getting combined and doing some good.

  Jack was formerly with the National Security Agency, the NSA, fondly dubbed No Such Agency because of its covert nature. The others were from the FBI, DIA, CIA, DEA and ATF.

  They all had their own specialties, though they usually teamed up to make use of unique talents. As a rule, only one actually went in undercover. That depended on who was most suited for the job. In this instance, Jack's French was best, learned at his mother's knee instead of books or tapes. So was his ability to resolve matters without the use of weapons.

  Jack had handpicked the agents on his team. He admittedly chose several of them for their psychic abilities. Paranormal gifts had always fascinated him. While these talents weren't officially listed on their resumes, their extrasensory perceptions had been extremely helpful so far.

  Jack wished he possessed a little mind-reading capability right now so he could decide whether Dr. Mi-cheaux would become a help or a hindrance.

  He stirred the bacon some more, then flopped it onto the waiting plates. The eggs were going to be a problem. He always had trouble with eggs.

  "What are you doing?"

  He eyed the eggs again, reluctant to turn around and face her. She would look soft and deliciously rumpled, he knew. She even sounded that way. Damn, she was attractive. And very distracting.

  What was she doing to him? He had to get a grip. Must be her French, that faint Parisian-born drawl like none other, he guessed. Could be she reminded him of his mother a little. She sounded a bit like her. She even had that little one-shoulder shrug he remembered his mother using. Only on Solange, it looked a damn sight more interesting.

  "I'm making breakfast," he answered, his words a little more gruff than he intended. No, it was not Mama he was thinking about at the moment. Not even close.

  She brushed past him and reached for the coffeepot sitting on the stove and poured herself a cup. When her arm touched his, he nearly jumped, catching himself just in time. He wasn't exactly Mr. Cool this morning, he thought with a grimace.

  Jack kept doing what he was doing, shoring up his internal defenses, cracking eggs and trying to concentrate on how Holly had taught him to do that one-handed. He nearly crushed the first one and stifled a curse.

  "Move out of the way," Solange ordered and took the bowl of eggs and fork out of his hand.

  He watched the impatient little shake of her head as she took over. In no time she had turned out a perfect, fluffy omelette, which she neatly halved and slid onto the two plates he'd p
ut out on the table.

  Then she sat across from him and they ate, wordlessly eyeing each other in the way two strangers might do who had shared a night together and could find nothing to say when morning came.

  Essentially that's what they were, he supposed. There was even a faint sexual undertone present, though he had scarcely touched her at all and never with that intent. He wanted to, however, and that was the problem. She couldn't know that, of course. And definitely wouldn't share the feeling or appreciate his telling her about his. When they had finished eating, she gathered up the dishes and began to wash up.

  He knew he had to gain her trust, and so far he hadn't done much in the way of accomplishing that. He also decided he would trust her. Maybe it was the tender way she treated the boy and how she had leaped to his defense. There was a goodness about Solange Micheaux that seemed to emanate from her pores like a sweet fresh scent.

  "Would you leave that and sit down again?" he asked politely. "We need to talk."

  Immediately she dried her hands on a towel and complied. Why wouldn't she? He was her captor, or at least she thought of him that way.

  She leveled a questioning look at him but didn't speak.

  "There is something I need to explain to you." Still, Jack hesitated and looked through the doorway at René Chari. "Are you certain he's still unconscious?"

  "He is asleep."

  "Would you check on him and see if he's conscious?"

  "I did before I came in and he is not. His vitals are acceptable under the circumstances. I expect he will recover completely, but not anytime soon."

  "My point is, are you certain he can't overhear what I'm about to tell you?"

  "Why?" She frowned, and the expression tugged at him, made him want to erase it and put a smile there. He had not seen her smile and imagined it would be like sunlight on water.

  Jack shook off the thought that was a little too poetic for comfort. "Just tell me if there's any chance he's awake right now."

  "None. I doubt he will awaken for hours."

  Jack relaxed a bit. He needed to bring her in on the plan. She would be able to sink him with a word when they encountered Chari, but he was literally betting his life that she wouldn't. "I have to trust you," he told her. "May I call you Solange?"