Dead Run (17 page)

One hundred acres of potential ambush, in Will’s opinion. The cemetery—or park, if you had a taste for the macabre—was enclosed by a massive wall, its maze of dirt and gray cobblestone paths lined with five thousand and more chestnut and sycamore trees. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout as far as Will could see.

A motion to the left, and they both drew their pistols.

A pale cat walked delicately across the top of a headstone and vanished with a flick of its tail.

Both men relaxed. They’d already noted the strange number of cats prowling the grounds.

“Back,” Taylor said tersely.

They retraced their footsteps. Scattered flower petals whispered against the cobblestones, blew like grave dust across the grass. Overhead, the stars glittered in the midnight vault of sky. The same stars that had watched over the cemetery for centuries.

“It seems like you still have feelings for Bradley,” Taylor said suddenly.

Will threw him a quick look, but there was a conspicuous lack of lighting along the avenues and boulevards of Père Lachaise.

Taylor’s tone was neutral. Will kept his tone neutral too. “I like him, sure.”

“It’s got to be more than that. If you can remember being with him but not me.”

“I don’t know why my brain made that jump,” Will said honestly. “I’m sorry for the hurt that caused you. “

“This way.” Taylor turned and headed up a small stone staircase. At the top of the steps was a large urn. The plaque underneath it read HINAULT. Taylor sighed. “What do you think?”

“I still think we’re looking for a tomb or a chapel.”

“Agreed.”

Over the course of the long evening, they had eliminated thirty of the forty-three possible sites labeled
Hinault
. That still left a busy night ahead of them.

Will said, “On the plus side, this place must have changed a lot in forty-something years. Helloco is probably as lost as we are.”

“Unless he’s on his way to Normandy,” Taylor said darkly.

“No.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“You’ve got good instincts, MacAllister. I’m going with you.”

Taylor huffed a breath—a sure sign he was on edge. Will reached out and hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him close in a rough hug. And God, it felt good—right—to hold Taylor. Even that briefly. Even feeling Taylor’s instant tension and instinctive drawing back.

Will said against his ear, “I don’t know why this happened to us, but we’ll get through it. I swear to you.”

Taylor freed himself, turning his back to Will. Will watched the quick rise and fall of his broad shoulders in the pale moonlight.

Will took mercy on him. “Are you sure the police know we’re here? It feels like we’re the only people in this entire damned labyrinth.”

“They know. Somewhere out there we’re supposed to have some backup.”

“Where to next?”

Taylor turned. “I could tear this list in half and we could split up. We’d cover a lot more ground that way.”

“We don’t do so well on our own.”

Taylor snorted. “Give it a rest, Brandt. I know you’re sorry. I’m not blaming you. Let’s just get through this. Then we’ll see where we are.”

Will nodded. They both stiffened at the distinct sound of a muffled
bang
drifting through the wall of trees.

“Explosives,” Will identified.

“Where? Where did that come from?”

“North.” Will pointed. They were already running, gaining speed, separating as they headed for the sound and the hint of smoke that still drifted on the night breeze.

Taylor ran like a deer, with a fine disregard for low fences and graves alike. Will tore after him, but he’d never been quite as fast as Taylor and he was slower now, thanks to his assorted injuries. His head pounded with each footfall as he sprinted around the gravestones and statues that seemed to rise in his path like pop-up targets in a training course.

As Taylor pulled farther ahead—vaulting the obstacles Will veered around—Will put on more speed, swearing under his breath. It was like watching Riley jetting after a cat. He’d need fucking wings to catch him.

He watched Taylor scramble over a short wall and disappear. A sudden dread filled him.

The wall was carved with a long row of ornate, smiling skulls.

Memory opened up beneath his feet, and once again Will was in the catacombs feeling the earth tremble, the roar of the ceiling giving way, the screams of the men around him as the lights went out. His final vision: the black and cavernous smile of a yellowed, cracked skull.

And his only thought—his final thought:
Taylor.

A distant and unmistakable
pop
bounced off the limestone and marble. Adrenaline flashed through his veins, and Will hurdled over the low wall of skulls and shot across the wet stretch of grass. His feet thudded on the damp earth.

He crossed another cobblestone walk and faced another city block of tall sepulchres and tombs. The silence was eerie. Where the hell was the cemetery security or the police who were to provide backup?

Heart thundering, Will pulled his weapon. He wound his way through the monuments, sticking closely to cover until he came to a short set of steps leading down to a small crypt. From behind the shed-sized building came the grating scrape of stone on stone.

Will pressed back against the wall, stole a quick look around the corner. His heart stopped.

Taylor lay facedown on the walkway in front of a comparatively plain square of limestone, about the size of a large sofa. An elderly man dressed in black was busily using a crowbar to pry open the face of the tomb.

As Will stared, Taylor stirred and tried to push up. The elderly man turned, made an exasperated sound, and raised his crowbar to bring it down on Taylor’s head.

“Don’t do it.” Will stepped out from behind cover and brought his weapon up.

The man stared at him. He threw the crowbar away. It clanged on the stone and rolled away. The man raised his hands over his head.

Will spared a quick look. “MacAllister?”

Taylor muttered something, sounding reassuringly alive and pissed off.

“Are you okay?” Now there was a silly question. But somehow it was the only one that mattered.

Helloco soundlessly stepped back into the concealing shadows.

“Don’t take another step,” Will warned him, half his attention still on Taylor, who made another clumsy attempt to push up.

Will stepped forward, locking a hand in Taylor’s collar and dragging him out of range of Helloco’s feet or reach. It wasn’t easy to do and still keep his pistol trained on Helloco. Helloco remained still and watchful.

“Come on, MacAllister. Get it together.”

Taylor muttered something that might have been assent or just obscene.

Will kept his gaze on Helloco. The moonlight silhouetted the old man’s aquiline features and the silver of his hair. He never said a word, his black eyes as hollow and unrevealing as any death’s head.

“Turn around. Lock your hands behind your head,” Will ordered.

The old man didn’t move.

“Do it.”

“Shit…” Taylor bit off the rest as he made it to his knees, using one hand to balance and the other to grab for the black wrought iron fencing of a nearby tomb.

Will ignored him, but Helloco either misread him or figured he had one chance and one chance only, because he suddenly snatched at his waistband and brought up a gleaming and efficient-looking Beretta.

Will shot him.

The
bang
of his SIG Sauer crashed through the forest of stone and iron, reverberating around the monuments and statuary.

It wasn’t possible to miss at that range. Helloco clutched his chest, staggered back, and fell over the tomb. Taylor snapped upright, turning to Will and then the fallen Helloco in shock.

“
Jesus
.”

“He was armed.” And Taylor had been perfectly positioned to get caught in the crossfire. No way was Will taking chances with that. He stepped around the tomb and looked down. The pistol lay a few inches from Helloco’s outstretched fingers. The center of his chest glistened in a pool of spreading darkness. Helloco’s eyes were wide open. They stared fixedly up at the moon. Will watched him for a few seconds.

“He’s dead?” Taylor leaned on the tomb, peering blearily over. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

Taylor folded slowly onto the tomb. He rested his head in his hands. His voice was subdued. “I think I tripped.”

Will, trying gently to examine the lump rising out of Taylor’s hairline, paused. “You
tripped
?”

Taylor’s response was terse.

“
You
tripped?”

“Shut up, Brandt.”

“You’re like a cat. I’ve never seen you tri—”

“Shut
up
, Brandt.”

Voices were coming toward them, drifting on the night air. Will tore his gaze from Taylor’s bent head in time to spot the circles of flashlight beams bouncing through the trees.

“Better late than never,” Will muttered.

Taylor raised his head and peered nearsightedly into the gloom. “I don’t see them.”

“They’re on their way. Just relax.”

Yeah. Right. It was like telling a jack-in-the-box to settle down. Taylor clambered to his feet and swayed. Will reached to steady him. “Would you sit still? You could have a concussion for all you know.”

Taylor’s heavy eyes popped open. He leaned forward, studying Will’s face intently. “Wait. Wait…”

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

Taylor’s jaw dropped. He peered closely. “Do I know you? Who are you again?”

Will couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. He grabbed Taylor and pressed a hard, hungry kiss against his startled mouth.

There wasn’t time for more. Within a minute or two the French police had reached them, and the questions began. Will and Taylor were separated and asked to give their individual account of events while the side door of the tomb was dragged open the rest of the way.

Whistles and exclamations followed the discovery of the contents of the tomb. Will and Taylor joined the circle around the opening as a heavy, square bundle wrapped in canvas and rope was lifted out.

Brief discussion followed as to whether they should wait for museum officials.
Hell no
! seemed to be the same in every language. The canvas was carefully ripped and laid wide to reveal the portrait of a smiling woman in an elaborate powdered wig and the rich robes of a long-ago empire.

Merveilleux! Fantastique!

And Will had to agree.

“You realize now we’re never going to know what it was that brought Helloco out of hiding?” Taylor muttered when they were finally waved off in dismissal. “We’re never going to know why he left Finistère. We’re never going to know if he was having a three-way with his brother’s wife. We’re never going to know—”

Will had a vision of Taylor trying to push to his feet directly in the line of fire between himself and Helloco. He interrupted mildly, “I can live with that.”

He looked back. Taylor had stopped at the fenced monument next to the tomb where Helloco had hidden the five paintings. “What’s up?”

“Look at this.”

Will obligingly walked the few steps back and looked—and then looked more closely.

Beneath the bronze medallion of a man’s profile were four stone placards. One of the placards bore the name
Jacques-Louis David.

“Could that be a coincidence?” Taylor couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

And studying his profile, Will said, “I don’t believe in coincidence.” He added, “Not anymore.”

* * *

The Eiffel Tower was gilded in pink-gold sunlight by the time they finished their phone calls.

Will listened to Taylor reassuring his sister with the usual white lies. “No, no one was injured. I mean, besides Helloco. I don’t know why. You know the news; they’ve got to say something, right?”

Will, lying on the bed and staring out the window at the sunrise, rolled his eyes.

“If you want to go ahead and attend the D-day ceremony, sure. No, Will and I have plans.” Taylor looked over his shoulder at Will.

Will nodded.

They had plans all right. Plans Taylor didn’t even know about yet.

“Sound him out,” Stone had said when Will had spoken to her a few minutes earlier. “He’s a little unorthodox, but he’s got imagination. He’d be a good man to have on our team, and we’ve got an opening.”

If nothing else it was vindication for Taylor. He’d gone out on a limb, but in the end he’d been proved right. So now he had another option. They both did.

Stone hadn’t been the first call Will had made. The first call had been to David. Will felt like he owed him that. The last few days probably hadn’t been much easier on David than they had on Taylor.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” David had said, once Will had gotten past the excuse of relating the news about Helloco and the confirmation that the D-day events could proceed as planned. “I’m glad for you both.”

Yeah. Well, that was why Will liked David so much. Why at one time he’d thought it might be him and David.

But as things stood, Will was never going to forget Taylor’s face when Will had inadvertently blurted out, “What about David?” Taylor had looked less hurt getting shot in the chest. Will was going to make that up to him.

So he’d apologized to David, and he got off the phone as soon as possible, and as soon as he disconnected, he’d gone to Taylor, burying his face in Taylor’s hair for a moment. Taylor had looked surprised and wary, but then he’d relaxed, giving Will a friendly little shove and ordering him to call Stone.

Taylor finally said good-bye to his sister. Will held the duvet up, and Taylor slid between the sheets, lithe and brown from the Southern California sun. He moaned his relief as he sank into the pillows.

“We’re officially back on leave,” Will informed him.

“Thank you Jesus.” Taylor closed his eyes and then opened them. “You never said. When exactly did you get your memory back?”

Will rolled onto his side, facing him. He had never been so grateful for a good mattress, clean sheets, and the superior quality of European painkillers.