Page 77 of Icebound

“Then why don’t you send him in the first place?” she asked.

“Oh, he isn’t quite as gifted as Jean-Marc. He’s more of a blunt force.”’

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “I think he can be very devious.”

“Merci du compliment,” Luc murmured.

She gave him a toothy smile, rather like a jungle cat. “It would be a mistake to underestimate you,” she said sweetly.

“For most people,” he conceded. “You, however, can trust me. We’re pals, remember?”

Pals that locked the other up, she thought, keeping the insipid look on her face. “We are, indeed,” she said, and Luc looked satisfied.

The food arrived in front of her, and she looked down at it without any real interest. They wanted something from her; she was sure of it. She was just as determined not to give it.

“So, tell me about yourself, Chloe,” Le Fauçon said genially. “Where do you live when you’re not shagging Jean-Marc. I hear you have a husband? I wouldn’t think he’d approve.”

So that was it. He wanted to question her, and she kept her expression stoic. One thing was abundantly clear to her. Le Fauçon must be to blame for Bastien’s amnesia, or brainwashing, or whatever it was. They’d summoned him in the first place, months ago, with a call to their home in North Carolina. Which meant they knew perfectly well where he lived and who he lived with. They probably knew about the children as well.

“I don’t know where my husband is,” she said truthfully. “He left me, so I don’t really have to worry about his approval one way or another.”

“Left you? I don’t believe it! Who would leave such a charming, clever girl?” Le Fauçon looked suitably surprised, but he was acting, watching her carefully for some kind of tell. One that she was determined not to give.

Could she convince them that she thought Bastien really was a different man? She would have to try. “Apparently my husband would,” she said wryly. “He looks a great deal like Jean-Marc, and I was initially confused. But after spending time with him, I know that he’s not my husband. He’s what I wish my husband would be,” she added, hoping it would help convince him.

Le Fauçon’s smile was thin. “How interesting. They do say everyone has a doppelganger somewhere. And where is your home?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my guest and I’m interested,” he said innocently. “So is Luc. Aren’t you?”’

“Very interested,” Luc said.

If Le Fauçon could look innocent, then so could she. “We have a house in North Carolina.” They would know that anyway. She suspected they already knew everything about her; they were just trying to see how open she’d be with them.

“And children?”

Damn, she hated admitting to it. If they knew about them, they knew they were staying with the man they were sending Bastien to kill. They would be one more weapon. “No children,” she said on instinct. If they knew they existed, not much she could do about it, but there was always the chance they didn’t.

“That is a great regret. Children are the comfort of one’s old age,” Le Fauçon intoned, and Chloe resisted laughing at the thought of Maddelena being anyone’s comfort. “But that doesn’t matter. You’re still young enough. Women are waiting longer and longer to have children—most unwise in my opinion. Don’t wait too long.”

“I won’t,” she said docilely. Which reminded her—her birth control was packed in her suitcase, wherever the hell that was. She hadn’t had a pill in almost a week. An unplanned pregnancy was all that was needed to make this situation more of a clusterfuck than it already was.

Le Fauçon smiled benevolently at her. “You must be growing very bored in your room. I’m sorry you’ve had to stay in there, but I’ve had several sensitive things going on and I didn’t want to draw you into them. I’ve made Luc promise to take you out for a little walk in the desert tomorrow to brighten up your mood. There’s an abandoned movie studio not far from here that’s worth seeing.”

“A what?” She said, confused.

“They used to film movies in the desert around here. I think they called them spaghetti westerns. There was a whole handful of studios in the Tabernas Desert, but most of them are merely ruins nowadays. I think you’ll be fascinated.”

Chloe kept her expression absolutely still. She wasn’t going to be taken on a tour of an old Clint Eastwood set. She was going on a tour to her death, and she knew it.

“I’m not particularly fond of deserts,” she said.

“Oh, you will love this one. It’s the only desert in Europe, and they still film some things here. You Americans are so crazy about your movies!”

“I don’t want to go,” she said stubbornly.

“Oh, come on. The walk will do you good,” he insisted with easy good humor, and she realized she was wasting her time. If they were going to kill her, they could just as easily do it here. Maddelena would cheer.