Notorious in Nice (21 page)

“Su-Lin ever talk about her mother?”

Terry met Suresh’s dark eyes in the rearview mirror. “Not much. She’s actually said more about her father. I know he taught her Mandarin.”

“From the little she said to me, her mother wasn’t the stablest of persons mentally. I think the truth about her aunt and uncle hit her hard. That day we had lunch in Nice, she spoke about her neighbors, an Italian family with loads of relatives. She had such a wistful tone.”

“She became the parent after her father died, that much I’ve gathered,” Terry said, and an overwhelming protective urge curled his fingers into fists. “That first night at dinner, Emma told me Su-Lin wasn’t stable mentally. That she only imagined she’d made the Olympic team. They’ve been setting up her disappearance from day one.”

“Looks like it,” Suresh said. “I wonder if they’re behind the newspaper reports about you?”

“Yeah, right. I’m not convinced my father didn’t have a hand in that one. There’s no love lost between us.”

“Probably because, aside from our mother, you’re the only functioning heterosexual in the family. Resentment, brother, and an old man’s regrets.” Thomas shook his head. “When I spoke with him, he denied any responsibility for either article.”

Terry retreated into his thoughts, images of Su-Lin’s innocent joy as she unwrapped the presents he’d given her, the way she tried to preserve the bow as a keepsake, the way she scrunched her nose, her shy smile when she saw the origami rose, stamping his pupils. Anger banked his blood at the thought of anyone despoiling her sweetness, and he knew he’d become a madman if anyone caused her even one iota of pain.

“Turn left ici.” Jean’s soft murmur penetrated his scattered mental ramblings.

They rounded a bend onto the familiar tree-lined driveway. At the far end of the long approach, soft illumination painted the graceful curves of the Fragonard Château. Moonlight hit a sparkling roof tiled ivory to match the paint on intricately crafted engravings gracing a double doorway. Six half-circle stone steps merged two curved staircases punctuating either side of the mansion.

A slender, scruffy female sat on the fourth step, elbows propped on knees bared by a jagged skirt. Inky smudges streaked one cheekbone, and sable hair haloed her thin face. Long legs stretched three feet below his hips, Rolan’s son sat next to the girl, braced on his elbows. Face pointed to twinkling stars, the boy ignored the sounds of the Hummer gunning up the formal driveway.

Before the SUV halted, Terry snapped his seat belt open. He hopped out of the vehicle before the vehicle’s engine died.

So did Thomas. “That’s Adria, Ter. That’s the Gypsy girl.”

A red haze engulfed his vision, and he cuffed one palm with his hand.

Grabbing his biceps, Thomas squeezed and said, “Let me. You’re wound too tight.”

He was. Terry nodded and clamped his lips together.

“Took you long enough.” Tony imitated Harrison’s Texan drawl. “Mom’s almost finished the barbecue.”

“Son.” Rolan appeared beside Thomas. “Who’s this charming young lady?”

“This is Adria.”

Thomas dropped to one knee. Faces level, he asked the girl, “Do you remember me?”

She nodded.

Terry listened as his twin cajoled the prepubescent female into divulging more information than she realized. His commando training prevailed, and he didn’t interrupt his brother, not even when temptation scuttled his brain.

To make her more comfortable, Thomas had switched into the Gypsy dialect. The girl kept her focus on Tony but answered each question his twin threw her way.

By the time Thomas paused, Jean-Michel, Suresh, and Harry had joined them. A stiff breeze whipped all the clouds out of the sky, and the moon competed with the soft track lights to polish the outside of the château with fairy iridescence.

Terry surreptitiously studied the Gypsy girl, noting the dirt under jagged fingernails and the holes showing in scuffed, muddied sneakers. Her right big toe poked a show-and-tell dance from one such opening. She appeared unnaturally contained for such a young girl.

Thomas rose and Terry noted the way he avoided looking in his direction.

“Translation?”

Thomas shifted so he faced everyone. “From what I can gather, Adria’s brother Casmir locked her up in a cottage on the property. Tony found and rescued her. They’ve hung out together since then. When Rolan left to meet us in Nice, he explained everything to his wife and son. Tony went into PI mode and managed to obtain a picture of Su-Lin. He showed it to Adria about thirty minutes ago. She told him her brother had Su-Lin in the barn. She saw him injecting something into her arm.”

A slight hiccup and a Germanic-sounding phrase erupted from Adria’s mouth.

“Adria says Su-Lin’s sleepy but okay.”

“Well done, son.” Rolan ruffled his son’s hair.

“Aw, Dad,” the boy whined, edging out from under his father’s embrace. “Don’t do that. It’s not cool.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Naw, Mom said we had to wait for you guys. She’s going to adopt Adria.”

Rolan’s eyes crossed. “She can’t adopt every stray she bounces into. That woman’s going to be the death of me.”

“Adria’s not a stray,” Tony snapped. “And she understands English. Speaks it too.”

“Son. You and your mother cannot adopt every wounded dove that comes your way. And you do realize Arnold will have to go to a zoo.”

“Arnold?” Jean-Michel interjected. “Zoo?”

“Our pet elephant,” Rolan replied.

Jean-Michel’s lips curled and his navy eyes twinkled. “
Mais oui
, but of course, everyone has one.” He waved a hand in the air.

“You said once I found a way to get rid of his turds, you’d think about letting me keep him.” The boy sprang to his feet. “You did.”

“I saw the size of Arnie’s doo-doo,” Harry drawled. “What crazy notion did you come up with, Tony?”

“Time’s ticking,” Terry barked. “I’m heading to the fricking barn.”

“Don’t be a fool. You know the rules, no SR, no SITREP, no go.”

“I am not making nice with anyone, Harry, nor do I intend to waste time with gruel.”

“Listen to Harry.” Thomas grasped his forearm. “Whatever those acronyms are, I’m certain they’re crucial.”

“US Army terminology for the first two steps before a deployment, Special Reconnaissance, Situation Report,” Harrison explained. “No one’s freaking expecting you to be a social monkey or to swallow food. We’ll go after Su-Lin right away, but after we suss out the situation.”

“Let calmer heads prevail, Terry.” Rolan urged. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Ask the girl if Carol-Ann was in this barn too,” Suresh suggested.

The comment stun-gunned Terry’s brain. “Jaysus, I’d completely forgotten about her.”

“No, she hasn’t. We saw the other woman on CNN.” Tony raced up the steps and threw open the double doors. “Come on. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

They followed, albeit at a slower pace.

A soft musical voice tinkled across the entranceway.

“Miche, don’t let your
amis
linger in the cold. Bring them in.”

“Maman,” Jean-Michel stated, kissing his mother’s cheek. “
Entrez
, everyone.” He waved the group into the room.

Nothing registered on his brain. Terry followed Harrison into a square airy room the size of a small department store. Two fireplaces with blazing flames framed glass French doors, which ran ceiling to floor and led to a canopied, slate-tiled terrace.

A lithe woman, dressed with the casual, elegant style only a Frenchwoman could muster, in less time than it took to inhale, graced a teak-planked center island bordered on the far end by two retro bar stools. Adria sat on one, grubby hands clamped together at her waist, gaze darting between Rolan’s wife, Sarita, and Michel’s mother. The resemblance between the two Fragonards couldn’t be missed.

“Terrence.” The woman’s voice proved even more musical up close. “I haven’t seen you since you were ten years old. I’d forgotten how identical you and Thomas are.” She tiptoed and kissed him twice, first on one cheek and then the other. “Welcome.”

“Hi, honey.” Rolan grinned and ate up the distance to his spouse. He circled one arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on her head.

“Hello, yourself.” Sarita untied a white apron and deposited it on the island’s wooden counter.

Jean-Michel introduced everyone to his mother, Renée Fragonard.

“Terry, I know you must be anxious and that you need to get to Su-Lin as soon as possible. Everything’s organized. Dinner’s delayed until all of you get back. Adria, Tony, and I scouted the barn and the approach to it. Don’t worry, Rolan.” Sarita rolled her eyes. “We didn’t get close. I took a zoom camera. We took zillions of shots. All the photographs are on the kitchen table. Go for it.”

“Thank you,” Terry said, and his words were heartfelt. He approached a side table littered with five-by-seven pictures. Breathing unsteady, fingers shaking, he thumbed through them. Even with the cold air bristling through the open doors, sweat broke out along his hairline and his palms grew damp. Accustomed to complete dominion over all body functions at all times, his reactions unnerved him further. Terry realized he’d started using terrorist tactics to combat anxiety, compartmentalizing the night into tight boxes and focusing on them.

Reconnaissance, rescue.

His brain shied away from anything faintly futuristic.

In the background, he heard the murmur of soft conversation. Terry concentrated on the photographs of the barn and its surroundings.

“How far away’s the barn?”

“About half an hour’s walk from the château,” Jean Michel replied. “We have three scooters, several bicycles, four or five vehicles, and the horses, of course. Your choice?”

“Horses,” Terry stated. “Details.”

“Four Arabs, all expertly trained.”

“Dad, you have to hear this.” Tony skidded to a halt beside Terry. “Adria says there’s some celebration tonight, and her brother’s at the Gypsy village. He’ll probably be there the whole night. That’ll help, won’t it? I mean, you guys can get going right away?”

“It helps oodles, Tony. You’re a great kid. Thanks.” Terry ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Aw, what is it with you grown-ups?” Tony complained, ducking away.

An argument broke out when Terry stated he and Harry alone would rescue Su-Lin. Thomas and Jean-Michel, furious and adamant, demanded to be included.

“Four makes more sense than two, Terry.” Sarita interrupted their quarreling. “I think one of you men should stay here. The others can keep us informed, and if we need to call in the authorities, we can.”

“I suppose you’re volunteering me for the stay behind man.” Rolan’s voice sounded sullen.

“I think it’ll take both you and me to ensure our son doesn’t follow everyone else.”

Rolan let out an audible sigh. “I’d forgotten about that. Tony, let’s teach Adria billiards.”

Tony spoke to the girl in her own language. Surprise had her eyebrows climbing to a widow’s-peaked hairline. She set her hands on her hips and grinned, raking Rolan head to toe.

“Uh-oh. That look so says I just caught the perfect patsy,” Sarita murmured. “You three head to the pool room. Renée and I will bring in snacks and join the game.”

As soon as the room cleared Terry asked, “You carrying, Harry?”

“You bet.” He patted his left shoulder.

“I can hardly believe it, but I must have left my Ruger behind last night. I don’t have it on me.”

Within ten minutes, the four men, mounted on powerful stallions, moved down a mud-packed path at a brisk walk. Jean-Michel led the way across a wide meadow toward a thick forest lining a steep ridge. Terry signaled his horse into a trot, keeping the pressure constant with his heel so the animal maintained an even, fast pace. They entered a canopy of green interspersed with tall, narrow pines and thick, spreading oaks.

A carpet of papery leaves crunched and cushioned the animal’s hooves. Terry shivered as a frozen northeast gust swept low-hanging boughs and branches, the chill in the air echoing the apprehension feathering each nape hair into a desperate salute.

Ahead of him, Jean-Michel eased into a canter as the forest thinned and opened into a narrow clearing. An unsteady stream of moonlight played havoc with solid and phantom shapes. When they neared a line of four sparse pines, Jean held up a palm.

“That’s it.”

Terry cursed even though he’d been forewarned by Sarita’s photographs. The barn stood in the center of a half a mile of a short-grassed, treeless field.

“Harry and I’ll approach on foot. You and Thomas watch our backs. If they spot us, or you notice anything out of the ordinary, charge. If either of you spots a woman, hold all fire. Otherwise, shoot. Try to wound, not kill. Got that?”

“You want answers, I understand. No problem, they will be alive.”

Terry grunted, his brain already in deploy mode.

They waited for the moon to duck behind one of the many clouds dotting the midnight sky. Harry took the left flank, Terry the right.

The iciness in the air didn’t prevent perspiration from coating Terry’s forehead. Crawling forward slow inches at a time, senses attuned to any nuances not of nature, he paused ten feet away from the dilapidated building.

Peering ahead through dancing green blades, he made out a set of high, square double doors, rusting iron handles held together by a sparkling steel chain and a brand-new padlock.

A slight rustle heralded Harry’s arrival at the right of the barn.

The moon picked that moment to peek out from under its cloud and Terry cursed and burrowed into the dewy grass. Above his head, brilliant radiance illuminated every detail: a series of footsteps imprinted in moist earth near a listing door, trampled weeds half-hidden where a hard shoe had dug out a clump.

He stifled a stream of expletives.

Harry’s booted feet disappeared around the opposite side of the stable.

Realizing nature had blown his cover, Terry shot to his feet and lunged for the chain.

Metal clinking reverberated like an exploding hand grenade in the quiet night.

Taking a step back, he pulled out the wire cutters Jean-Michel had provided them with earlier.