Page 71 of Icebound

“Jean-Marc,” Luc said in a placating voice. “You know you don’t care that much about pussy. Just do as Jefe says and everything will be fine.”

“Much as I disapprove of your language, you’ve made a very good point,” Le Fauçon said. “You aren’t that enamored of the girl, are you? I’ve never known you to let a woman get in the way of doing your job. We’ve got plans to make, and nothing will get accomplished if you’re rolling around in bed with your latest conquest.”

To Chloe’s fury, Bastien hesitated. He released her hand, his momentary rebellion settled back into boredom. “I’m not enamored of anyone, Jefe. You do know me—I’ve never let sex get in the way of anything I need.”

“And you need to complete this job, as soon as possible,” Le Fauçon said in a soothing voice. “Luc will escort her back to your bedroom. In the meantime, you’ll be taking the room next to his. Better to keep out of temptation’s way, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Jefe.” He sat back down, leaving Chloe standing there like a fool. She wondered whether she dared sit. Maybe she could simply refuse…

Luc rose from his seat across the table. “Come on, Chloe,” he said in that deceptively friendly voice. “I’ll take you back to your bedroom.”

She wanted to refuse. Maddelena was looking smug, eyeing Bastien with hungry eyes, and she wondered if he’d really be sleeping alone.

She had no choice. Luc held out his arm, but she ignored it, walking away from the table. She could find her own way back to the bedroom—if Luc wanted to tag along, that was his business.

He hurried to keep up with her. “I hope you can forgive me,” he said in a rushed voice. “I was doing it for the best.”

“Locking me up? How is that for the best?”

“Because I was supposed to kill you. You’ve gotten in the way, and Le Fauçon very sensibly wanted you dead. I talked him out of it.”

“Thanks for small favors,” she said cynically.

“Hardly a small favor. I hope we can still be friends.”

She was about to tell him where he could stuff his friendship when she hesitated. If she were at war with everyone in this place, she’d get nowhere, especially with Bastien out of reach. She trusted Luc least out of all the people there. The others made no pretense of their enmity, even Bastien. Luc was a lying snake in the grass.

“We can,” she said, putting just the right amount of doubt in her voice to convince him. He’d never believe too easy a capitulation. But she had no doubt—he was her enemy, worse than the others, because the others made no pretense at being on her side. Le Fauçon had probably told him to cozy up to her, to spy on her. She could use him as well.

“Do you think he’ll let Bastien send me home?” she said in a tremulous voice. She wondered if she was coming on too strong, but Luc simply made soothing noises, as if she were the frightened little female she was pretending to be.

“You can trust Le Fauçon,” he said, and Chloe resisted the impulse to laugh. “He’ll see you safely home once Jean-Marc takes care of business. He’s a man of his word.”

She sincerely doubted it. She knew too much, and they never would have disclosed his latest assignment in front of her if she weren’t disposable. “That’s good to know.”

“You seemed startled when Le Fauçon talked about the latest job. Does the name Peter Madsen mean anything to you?”

Shit. Though if he noticed her instinctive reaction, then he was probably too busy to see Bastien’s initial start of surprise.

She shook her head. “Should it?”

“He’s the man who almost shot Jean-Marc at the gala. The one you saved him from. Why did you do that? If Bastien was dead, you could have found yourself on your way home by now.”

He was trying to trip her up, but they were almost at her room, down at the end of one long hallway. “I thought that was clear to everyone. I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, Chloe.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “You know he can never love you. Jean-Marc is not like other men—he’s a killer. He has no tender feelings.”

But you were the one who killed LaDonna, she thought. “Love isn’t practical,” she said loftily.

“And what about the husband you were looking for? The one who looks like Jean-Marc? What did you call him? Bastien?”

She had to tread very carefully. If they were behind Bastien’s memory loss, then they knew about him, and probably about her as well. This game of double-blind was giving her a headache. “They are not that much alike,” she said.

Luc gave her his familiar warm smile, the one she had foolishly trusted. “What’s he going to say to you when you finally get home?”

She wasn’t going home and he knew it. She wasn’t going home while he went off to kill Peter Madsen, maybe in front of the children. Maybe killing some of the children when he did. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” she said.

“Very wise. And now I must leave you.” They were at the door of Bastien’s sumptuous rooms, and he reached forward and opened it. “If you have any problems, any needs, there’ll be someone stationed outside your door during the night. You have only to ask.”