His Reluctant Bodyguard (19 page)

Roussellot
beeped the horn incessantly as they made their way through the fading light. The odor of smoke and sulfur grew more distinct, and when they came within sight of the walls, Rip quickly saw why. The gaping hole blown into the solid stone blocks was literally wide enough to accommodate a truck. However, armed guards blocked the way, forcing them to stop.

After
Roussellot
shouted out his name and mission, one of the guards made a phone call,
then
waved them on. Driving over the rubble of the breached wall, they emerged into an eerily empty compound. If the rebels were holding prisoners, they weren’t out in the open. All the activity appeared to be centered at an ornate building in a far corner. "The palace" he remembered his mother calling it with a sneer. A persistent feeling of déjà vu hovered on the fringes of his consciousness. But he couldn’t recall his uncle or his father living there, just like he had no clear recollection of ever going there.

They had to park the jeep and make their way on foot through the crowd of men in
camo
. Rip purposely kept Avery tightly wedged between himself and
Roussellot
, but in spite of their presence and her baggy fatigues, she got more than a few lingering looks. He felt a muscle in his tightly clenched jaw twitch.

Luc met them at the door of the mansion, which was actually part of the building where the ceremonial parliament met once a year. After the election, that parliament should be fully functioning.

The expression on Luc’s face did nothing to alleviate Rip’s growing unease. As they made their way across the ornate marble entry, Rip noticed the dirt and scuff marks on the floor. Armed guards stood at both ends of the dual curved staircase. When they reached the foot of the left stairs, Luc ordered
Roussellot
to take Avery into the dining room. Surprisingly, Avery didn’t argue, so Rip didn’t either. But he had a hard time taking his eyes off her as she and the youth walked away.

"I guess you have a reason for me to see my uncle alone," Rip mused as they ascended the wide steps.

Giving a brief nod, Luc explained, "I’m afraid your uncle is not himself, either physically or mentally."

More armed guards in white police uniforms stood at the top of the staircase, and Rip saw more posted in front of several doors in the hallway. They all stood mutely and let Luc and him pass.

The strong smell of urine hit Rip like a physical blow. Heaps of clothes and papers littered the expansive room, and Rip saw draperies and blinds also on the floor. A shrunken old man in a satin bathrobe stood at the far window. Or at least that’s how the figure appeared to Rip. For a moment he thought this couldn’t possibly be his uncle, who was the younger of the
Pollendene
brothers, only sixty-five years old. But then, the man turned, and he saw it really was his Uncle Jean Jacques, though the man looked much older, his expression blank and uncomprehending. Then a grin split his face and he rushed toward Rip.

"
Phillippe
!"
He cried, throwing his arms around Rip. "I knew you weren’t dead, knew you wouldn’t leave me. You were wise to send your sons away,
Phillippe
, both of them. My boy, little JB, I’m afraid of him. I don’t think we can trust him." He pulled away, tears in his otherwise vacant eyes and asked, "What are we going to do,
Phillipe
?"

Pity and revulsion knotting his stomach, Rip patted the much smaller man on the shoulder. "Don’t worry, it’ll be all right."

Luc finished muttering into his phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket before he turned to address Jean Jacques. "You must give the people what they want, sir, a free election."

The older man stared at Luc in confusion. "Who did you say you are, Monsieur? Do we know him,
Phillippe
?"

Fighting a growing feeling of nausea, Rip nodded and tried to sound reassuring. "He’s Luc, Uncle Jean Jacques, a friend who will keep you safe from JB."

Being addressed as uncle seemed to pass right over the emotionally disturbed man. "Can we trust him?" he persisted. Then as Rip nodded again, Jean Jacques turned back to Luc. "Will this election
keep
me safe?"

"I won’t let anyone hurt you, sir." Luc replied, urging him toward the bed. "Let’s get you dressed so you can announce the election."

"Will you be safe,
Phillippe
?" Jean Jacques asked, reaching for Rip’s arm.

"I’ll be fine." Rip rifled through a pile of clothes and pulled out a pair of dark slacks and a white shirt. Though they were wrinkled, they didn’t smell, so he tossed them on a chair.

While he helped his uncle keep his balance, Luc took off Jean Jacques bathrobe and put the shirt and pants on him. Rip searched for shoes while Luc finished buttoning the shirt. One of the guards rapped on the door and passed Luc a bullhorn.

"Never mind the shoes," Luc ordered, crossing to the bank of windows. "Bring him out here on the balcony."

As Luc stepped out, a volley of lights hit the windows. Rip had to shade his eyes with one hand, while he led his uncle like a child. He could hear voices in the courtyard below them, but the lights aimed at them prevented him from seeing anything clearly. Luc yelled into the bullhorn and a ragged cheer went up for the gathering.

"Our people still love us,
Phillippe
!"
Rip’s uncle enthused, and rushed to the balcony railing, waving his arms.

Rip followed and grasped his shoulder in an attempt to pull him back. Squinting, Rip could see a crowd of twenty or thirty people, most appeared to be Luc’s fatigue-clad cohorts, though a few were plain dressed citizens.
 
Luc himself continued to shout through the bullhorn about a free election and the cheering grew louder. Jean Jacques continued his manic waving, refusing to let Rip draw him away. Instead, the older man clasped Rip’s hand and lifted both their arms high.

"Yes, my people!" Jean Jacques shouted. "We love you all!"

"Come back inside, Uncle." Rip had had enough of this grandstanding.

But as he backed toward the balcony door, he realized the people’s cheers had turned to a chant. He stood momentarily dumbfounded as he recognized the words – "Rip! Rip! Rip! Rip!"

Chapter 11

Avery stood next to
Roussellot
on the edge of the group in the courtyard, when her young companion took up chanting Rip’s name. The realization hit her, this was exactly what Luc, Mama Simone, and the CIA all wanted. Maybe it was what Rip wanted, too. What he’d been born to do.

Panic gripped her by the throat and shut off her breath. She stumbled with the enormity of the realization, almost losing her balance, but managed to drag in a gasp of air.

Roussellot
gave her a questioning look. "Is something wrong, Mademoiselle?"

Everything
! She wanted to shout. Instead she waved her hand in front of her face. "I think I -- I’m going to be sick…" Doubled over, she staggered to a nearby flowerbed and retched.

"Mademoiselle Avery, you are ill!"
Roussellot
cried in distress. He grabbed the nearest bystander. "Help me, the lady needs medical attention."

Avery felt the two men pull her arms around their necks. The floppy hat she’d been wearing fell on the cobblestones, and her bandana went askew sending strands of blonde hair into her eyes. The men hustled her across the courtyard so quickly that she couldn’t keep up and her feet dragged painfully. However, they reached the jeep before she could protest. When
Roussellot
made her lie down in the back, she finally sputtered out that she was okay, but he would not be deterred.

"I’m taking you to hospital." The young man insisted as he jumped into the driver’s seat.

 
As the jeep bounced and bumped through the dark, Avery resignedly hung on. In truth, she was glad to be anywhere else but that courtyard where the future of
Benezet
was being shaped.
A future that included Rip but not her.
If she’d learned anything since arriving on this island, it was that she didn’t belong here.

Roussellot
drove with one hand on the horn, beeping it constantly as he shouted out the open window. The hospital must have been closer than she’d thought, for once they reached the bottom of the hill,
they
only made a couple of turns before
Roussellot
slowed the jeep to a crawl. Avery sat up and blinked at the white two story building with lights streaming out of all its windows while every other building was dark. Of course it would have a generator, she realized.

It was also thronged with people. Most seemed to be women and children and many were wailing or crying. Several uniformed men jostled through the crowd trying to keep order.
Roussellot
inched the jeep as close to the front doors as possible before he shut off the engine.

"Stay here, Mademoiselle," he ordered, leaping out of the vehicle. "I will bring a doctor to you."

Avery closed her eyes and did deep breathing in an effort to turn off her swirling thoughts. After several long moments, she began to relax. The din around her faded to a non-descript hum, and she let herself succumb to the fatigue she’d pushed aside for hours. Minutes later,
Roussellot’s
hand on her shoulder startled Avery back to awareness.

The young man’s low voice filled her ear. "Mademoiselle Avery, here is Nurse Boucher, and Monsieur Thierry
Beaumarchaise
."

She opened her mouth to speak, and the hefty white uniformed woman standing next to
Roussellot
shoved a thermometer under her tongue and shined a light into Avery’s left eye, then the right. Without pausing, the woman stuck her stethoscope into her ears and held the cold metal end on Avery’s chest while running a critical eye over her blonde hair. Giving a grunt of satisfaction, Nurse Boucher pulled out the thermometer, squinted and stuck it back in her pocket.

"Your arm, please," she ordered and slapped on a blood pressure cuff.

"Will she be all right?"
Roussellot
asked with obvious concern, but the nurse shushed him with a severe expression.

Her countenance didn’t change, but once she removed the cuff she barked out, "This woman is fine but she’s exhausted. Take her some place to rest. We have no quiet spot, much less a bed here."

"We’ll take her to my house." Luc’s friend Thierry spoke up for the first time. "C’mon
Roussellot
, I’ll drive."

With a snort, Nurse Boucher handed Avery a fat yellow pill. "Take this. It will help you sleep." Then she spun on her heel and strode away before Avery could say thank you.

"I was checking on our friend Williams," Thierry told her as he slid into the driver’s seat. "He’s on the road to recovery."

"Good to know," Avery murmured, closing her eyes as the jeep began to move away from the brightly lit hospital to the dark street. She put the pill in her mouth and managed to swallow it dry.

"How far are we going?"
Roussellot
asked. "I must call Monsieur Rip and tell him where we are."

"Not far. My house is next to the harbor. Luc knows where…" Thierry’s voice faded to a hum as Avery resumed her deep breaths and tuned out everything in hopes of the pill working.

A short time later, she smelled the salty tang of sea air and opened her eyes. Very few lights were visible, and the jeep headlights picked up no movements in the dark streets.

"When will the power be restored?" she asked.

"We have a ceremony planned for tomorrow morning." Thierry replied. "I hope you’ll be able to participate, along with Rip, of course."

Avery stifled the urge to ask if she would need to keep her hair covered.

"Here we are." Thierry pulled the jeep to a halt in front of a bright yellow cottage with soft light glowing in the front window. A slim figure emerged and ran down the steps. "You remember my sister, Yvette?"

The girl nodded as
Roussellot
helped Avery out of the jeep. The young man kept a firm grip on her elbow as if she were a doddering old lady. In fact, she felt like one too. The pill must be working.

"I’ll turn down a bed for you." Yvette led the way inside. "Mind the buckets. The storm made the roof leak."

A half
dozen stubby candles shed enough light to make the front room feel cozy. Yvette grabbed one in a glass holder and disappeared down the hallway, deftly stepping around a plastic bucket. A sudden wave of fatigue made Avery’s knees wobble.
Roussellot
tightened his hold and guided her to the nearest chair.

"Monsieur Rip will meet us here soon," the young man tried to reassure her.

Little did he realize Rip was the last person she wanted to see at the
moment.
Hearing those people back in the courtyard had made her realize that no matter what she and Rip might feel for each other, she simply could not play the part Rip seemed so eager to embrace. She didn’t fit in on
Benezet
in a way that went far beyond her blonde hair and pale skin. Sadly, she probably never would.

Thierry’s deep voice interrupted her unpleasant thoughts. "We’ll need to find some suitable clothes for you and Rip for the ceremony tomorrow,"