The Cherbourg Jewels (23 page)

O’Malley brandished the gun at her.  “I can’t have you telling anyone what I’ve done.  The Cherbourg name must go on.  Sébastien will have to find another way to reclaim his honor.”

“No, he won’t.”  Ella set her jaw. 
“
I don’t know how I’m going to do it.  But I know I’m going to stop you.”

Sébastien drove like a lunatic, swerving around corners and speeding through yellow lights.  All he could think of was getting to Ella before something terrible happened.  Beside him, Gertrude clung to the armrest anxiously.  He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he knew the words would sound empty and hollow.  They both knew there was plenty to worry about.

He still couldn’t believe Peter would harm anyone, let alone Ella.  But there was no other explanation.  He wanted to believe there was some harmless reason for all of this, but he hadn’t gotten where he was by hoping for the best.  In business, the best-case scenario hardly ever happened.  He knew he had to be prepared.

When he rounded the corner of the street Gertrude had told him, she raised her hand and pointed.  “There,” she said.  “It’s that one!”

She pointed at a neglected Victorian with peeling paint and yard full of weeds.  The wooden front porch looked more rotted than whole.  Sheets pinned up on the inside of the windows blocked the front rooms from his view. 

Sébastien jerked the car to a stop in the house’s short, narrow driveway.  Beside him, Gertrude gripped the seat belt tightly where it crossed her chest.  He knew she was worried about Peter, but he could hardly focus on anyone but Ella. 

He wanted her safe and back beside him—and in his bed, if she’d have him.  The thought that she was in danger because of him made him sick to his stomach. 
I have to fix this
, he thought. 
No matter what, I have to find her and make sure she’s okay.

He looked at Gertrude and saw the fear in her eyes.  As anxious as he was to find Ella, he knew he couldn’t lead his housekeeper into danger.  Gertrude had never harmed anyone and he’d feel terrible if anything happened to her because of him.  “Stay here,” he ordered.  Immediately, a memory of Ella flashed through his head.  “Please,” he added quickly. 

Frau Müller shook her head.  Despite the gravity of their situation, the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile.  “Sébastien, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’ before.”

He answered with a wry smile of his own.  “That’s all Ella’s doing.”

“But wouldn’t I be more useful to you inside?” his housekeeper asked.  “You may need someone to talk some sense into Peter.  I don’t think he’s…himself.”

“No,” Sébastien said again.  “I want you to stay safe.  I can handle Peter.”  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Gertrude.  “You’ll be the lookout.  If you see anything, call the cops.  If I’m not out of there in ten minutes, you call the cops.  Can you do that for me?”

Gertrude
snatched
the phone from his grasp.  “If I can keep Joyeuse running, I think I can handle a simple phone call.”

“I know you can.”  He placed his hand over hers, feeling the soft, wrinkled skin beneath his own.  She’d been a second mother to him for so many years.  Just in case things went wrong inside the house, he wanted her to know it.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Joyeuse wouldn’t be the same without you.  You’re a part of this family, Gertrude.  I’ll never forget that.”  

The older woman’s doe-brown eyes shone with warmth.  “Sébastien,” she said softly.

“Yes?”

“You’re a better man with her beside you.”

It took an enormous amount of effort to keep his voice steady as he answered her.  “I know,” he said.  Then he unlatched the car door and slipped outside.

The cold night air hit him in the face with the force of a punch.  He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.  He was used to walking into a room and demanding
what he wanted.  But this wasn’t the Cherbourg boardroom or a corporate merger.  It was a matter of life and death.  Plus, if Gertrude was right and Peter wasn’t in his right mind, there was no telling what he’d do or say. 

Sébastien had one small pistol, snatched from Novochek’s locker in the garage.  He still wasn’t entirely convinced Peter was behind Ella’s abduction, but he was sure the old man was in over his head.  Whatever awaited him inside this house wasn’t going to be pretty, but Ella needed him.  He vowed not to disappoint her yet again.

He decided to circle the house once, searching for an easy access point or some sign that Ella was actually inside.  After all, he and Gertrude were still operating on a hunch at this point.  He crept down the side yard, muddy and full of weeds.  His thousand-dollar handmade Italian loafers squished into deep, thick mud that would probably ruin them.  He didn’t care at all. 

Sébastien moved around the corner of the decrepit Victorian, noting the low basement windows that had been sprayed with some sort of tinted frost. 

He paused.  It sounded like something was happening in that basement. 

He dropped to the ground, putting his ear to the window.  His heart pounded hard enough to break his ribs when he heard two voices:  Ella’s and Peter’s. 
They’re here
, he thought with relief.  At least that part of Gertrude’s theory was right.

But then he realized he had another problem—he had to break into the house and get down to them without alerting anyone.  If Peter really was threatening Ella, he might harm her if anyone burst onto the scene without warning.  And if there was someone else in on it, Sébastien might have to fight them in order to get down to the basement.

He thought about all the other fights he’d been in.  Every single one of them had been on an elementary school playground.  That was before his parents pulled him out of public school and put him in a Swiss boarding school. 

To test his instincts, he curled his hands into fists and punched into the air.  Even though his last fight was more than twenty years ago, he knew he could strike when it mattered.  And with Ella in danger, everything mattered. 

Sébastien took a deep breath and crept back to the front of the house.  He tried the front door.  Just as he expected, it was locked.  He wondered whether he should shoot the door open. 
No
, he thought. 
Better save those bullets.

He put his shoulder to the door and tried to knock it open with the force of his body weight.  The door—old and decrepit like the rest of the house—gave way with one push.  The wood made a loud splintering sound, ruining any hope of a stealth attack.  Peter would definitely know someone was coming.

Sébastien grabbed the pistol from his pocket.  He crept along the living room wall, heading for the kitchen and pantry on the far side of the living area.  There was probably a door to the basement somewhere in there. 

He tried to keep his body loose and relaxed, knowing that every second mattered.  He’d never had more than a few sessions in a shooting range with Ed Novochek.  But then again, he’d never known what it was like to be more frightened for someone else than for himself.  It gave him strength and steeled his nerves.

Once he was in the kitchen, Sébastien paused and glanced around.  There were cobwebs everywhere and the whole place was covered with a thick layer of dust.  He spotted a door on the far wall that probably led to the basement.  He crept toward it slowly and quietly. 

Before he grabbed the door knob, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for what he might see.  Then he grasped the knob, turned it and pulled the door towards him.

Peter O’Malley stood with his back to him, pointing a gun at Ella.  She had nothing more to defend herself with than a pair of fists.  Although she was covered with dust, she looked unharmed.  Still, the hard lump of fear in his throat threatened to choke him.  What if Peter pulled the trigger?

“Peter!” he yelled.  “Get away from her!”

Ella’s eyes flew towards him, clouded with fear and worry.  Her fists were balled at her sides and she’d adopted a bent-knee stance, as if she thought she could fight Peter herself. 

Of course she thinks that
, he realized. 
She thinks she can do anything.  She thinks she’s bulletproof.
  And, he realized, that’s why I have to be with her. 

“Peter,” he said again, this time with more force.  “If you want to shoot someone, shoot me.  Turn around.”

“Sébastien, no!” Ella cried. 

But Peter O’Malley did turn to face him.  And the look in the old man’s eyes made him want to step backwards. 

Something wasn’t right.  The old man had lost his ability to see reason.  His eyes were weak and unfocused, with a dangerous gleam that did not bode well for the three of them making it out of that basement alive.

“Drop the gun, Peter,” he said, pointing his pistol.  “It’s over.”

“No, it isn’t, boy,” the older man hissed.  “I swore to your grandfather I’d do anything to protect him, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Peter, what the hell are you talking about?”

The doctor’s eyes widened.  “I swore I’d never tell!”

“You told me,” Ella said, giving O’Malley a stare that made Sébastien shiver.  “That was your first mistake.”

Sébastien groaned inwardly.  The last thing he wanted was Ella inserting herself into the conversation and redirecting Peter’s attention to her.  “Ella, stay out of this.  Please!”

Ella’s mouth, open and about to protest, snapped shut.  Her blue-gray eyes softened.  When she spoke, her voice was soft and silky.  “You said please.”

“Yes, I did,” he said.  “And I plan to say it again and again until you listen.  Now, please, stay out of this.”

“I can’t, Sébastien,” she said.  “Peter was one of the men who robbed my father.”

He noticed the strange tone of her voice, as if she were thinking very carefully about what she was saying.  It wasn’t like her.  What wasn’t she telling him?  Was it something she didn’t want Peter to know?  “Ella, what are you talking about?”     

Peter O’Malley waved the gun at him.  “I didn’t want you to find out, my boy.  Not this way.”

“Find out what?” he growled, tightening his grip on the pistol.

*

Ella looked into Sébastien’s eyes, so afraid of what would happen when he found out his grandfather had killed her father.  That kind of knowledge was enough to tear them apart.  Even if she forgave him, would he let the guilt eat away at him until it destroyed any chance they had at a real relationship? 

You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself
, she thought. 
Wait until no one’s pointing a gun to worry about that.

Peter O’Malley’s back was to her.  Could she somehow trip him up and get that gun pointed anywhere but at Sébastien’s head?  She began trying to think of ways to distract the old man.  She could pretend to be ill, or make a mad dash for the filing cabinet and dig out the black bag once more.  Either of those should make Peter turn her way. 

But before she could settle on the best option, Peter started talking.  And Sébastien, she noticed, was listening intently.

No
, she thought. 
I don’t want this.
  As hard as she’d fought to find her father’s missing gems and his killer, now she just wanted it all to go away.  She didn’t want Sébastien to know.  She didn’t want him to have to live with the terrible knowledge he was about to uncover.  The only thing that could be accomplished was causing more pain.

But O’Malley kept talking, telling Sébastien the whole story: his grandfather’s philandering, his grandmother’s revoking of their credit accounts, and the terrible conclusion of that night eighteen years ago. 

Ella kept her eyes on Sébastien’s face, feeling the impact of every word as they delivered one horrifying blow after another.  She saw the blood drain from his face.  The muscles of his
jaw clenched so hard she thought he’d snap them in two.  She understood every ounce of pain he was feeling and wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy.

“So it was you,” Sébastien said finally, when O’Malley had finished his tale. 

“What was me?” the dazed old man said.

“Two mornings ago.  The robbery in the vault.  You stole the jewels while Ella was down the hall.  I want them back, Peter.”

Ella couldn’t believe her ears.  Why wasn’t he reacting to the news that his grandfather was a murderer?  “Sébastien,” she said, reaching out her hand as if she could touch him. 

But Sébastien seemed to be ignoring her.  “Peter, I want those jewels back.”

“It’s too late,” O’Malley said.  “You know the exhibition can’t go forward, my boy.  No one can know how your grandfather acquired those jewels.  I promised him.”

“The exhibition will go forward,” Sébastien said.  His voice was low and cold, like an alpine lake covered with a thick layer of ice.  “No matter what.”

Ella watched the two men stare each other down.  It was going to end badly, she could see it.  O’Malley was stubborn in his deluded loyalty and Sébastien was stubborn in his devotion to his family’s good name.  Neither one of them was going to back down.  It was up to her to break this strange stalemate.

She closed her eyes for a moment and offered up a brief prayer to her father. 
Dad, you always said I could do anything.  I sure hope you’re right.