Page 39 of Icebound

Bastien looked at Luc again, and Chloe wanted to moan. By the way he was driving, it would be a moot point. They were all going to die, and soon.

“If she needs killing, I’ll do it,” Bastien said finally. “I’m not so squeamish.”

“You can kill a woman you’re fucking?” Luc asked incredulously.

“I can kill anyone who needs killing.”

“But after it’s over? Assuming she does what she’s told, what are you going to do about her then?”

Bastien made an explosive sound of annoyance. “I haven’t decided yet. We’ll see how things go.”

“You mean you might let her live?”

“I told you we’d see how things go. Now shut up and let me concentrate on the driving.”

Yes, please, Chloe thought from the back seat, listening to the discussion of her final disposition calmly enough. She’d learned not to panic over the last few days, particularly when she wasn’t supposed to understand the conversation and the threat, and she wasn’t about to do a thing to let on she understood every word. It was her one advantage in this fucked-up situation, and she was clinging to it.

She leaned back, deciding if they were going to die on this twisty lakeside road, then she preferred not to watch it, and she closed her eyes. For a moment, it made things worse, like closing your eyes on an amusement park ride, but she did the therapeutic breathing that she’d learned long ago when she was dealing with her PTSD. Not that that was a current problem. There was nothing “post” about her stress right now.

In for four counts, hold for four counts, out for four counts, hold for four counts. The steady rhythm of her breathing calmed her as the Renault raced along the narrow roads, and she tuned out the men in the front seat. Whatever was happening, she wasn’t going to die today, and that would have to do.

Anderson was pleased with himself. He’d managed to keep Peter Madsen away from any hint of where they were keeping Bastien Toussaint. They should be at Como by now, and he wondered if the woman was still with them. That was an act of sheer stupidity, he thought, grimacing. Sooner or later, he was going to remember something, anything, and the shit would hit the fan. The meds Luc was using were strong, along with the more forceful methods Le Fauçon had used to brainwash him, but that didn’t mean they might not become less effective after a while. Especially with the man’s forgotten wife by his side.

They were going to have to get word to Luc. She needed to go, and if the drugs were still working, then Bastien would barely notice. The longer they waited, the more likely that Bastien would recognize something.

Once he’d finished in Bellagio, there wouldn’t be this much at stake. Le Fauçon didn’t want Bastien dead, at least, not yet, but the man could hardly be reliable, no matter how completely he was drugged. At least Peter had no possible idea where he was…

“Anderson!” Peter called from the inner office, and he jumped up, all eager readiness.

“Yes, boss?” he inquired cheerfully, standing in the doorway. Peter was staring at his computer screens, intense as always.

“We’ve caught a break. Toussaint has been seen.”

Anderson plastered an enthusiastic expression on his usually bland face. “Really? Are they sure?”

“He’s not the sort of man who blends in with a crowd unless he’s trying to. And he has a woman with him who meets Chloe’s description.”

Anderson thought quickly. “Well, there you are. They’re both fine. They’re probably just taking a second honeymoon or something…”

“Not without being in touch with the children. Something’s going on, or one of them would have called.”

“Well, since we don’t know where they are…”

“They were seen going through the Mont Blanc Tunnel, and they had another man with them. They were heading into Italy.”

Anderson cursed inwardly. Someone had cocked this up, big time, and he wondered if Bastien was starting to remember. “They must be heading for Milan,” he said. “They’ll be hard to find…”

“I don’t think it’s Milan,” Peter said slowly, his face giving nothing away.

“Then where do you think they are?” It was taking all Anderson’s concentration not to break out in a cold sweat. He was going to have to call Le Fauçon and break the news to him. He didn’t like giving the old man bad news. Maybe he’d decide to abort the operation. But then, what would he do with Bastien and his wife?

The answer was obvious. Anderson still couldn’t understand why Le Fauçon had chosen Toussaint, when someone else would do, someone who didn’t need brainwashing and heavy meds to keep him in a fog. But it wasn’t his place to ask.

“I’ll go,” he said suddenly. “If he’s in Milan, I’ll find him, and if he’s moved on, I can follow⁠—”

“I need you here to follow up on the information,” Peter said, pushing away from the computer screens.

“But then, who will go? Don’t you think we should have someone on the ground to follow up on sightings?”