help him up. He’s small enough you should be able to manage. Is he really that hurt or just sedated?”
“Of course he is hurt. His injuries are numerous and he is on morphine.”
As she spoke, she raised the boy to a sitting position, eased his legs off the bed and tried to encourage him to stand up. She managed, but only just. The kid was pretty much out of it. He was very slightly built, almost delicate. Though he was seventeen, René Chari seemed younger. His sallow complexion and adolescent fuzz of a mustache only enhanced his look of vulnerability.
“Brace your shoulder beneath his and pull his arm around your neck,” Jack told her, grasping the boy beneath his other arm as they shuffled him to the door. “We have only a short way to go.”
“This door is kept locked,” she told him.
“Not today,” Jack replied as he reached for the handle and shoved the door open. “Go ahead of me. And if you run, I will shoot.”
She did as ordered and they were soon in the alley. No windows graced the inner walls that faced them between the wings. A heavy chain-link gate topped with concertina wire barred the only way out. “Hurry. Let’s get him inside the vehicle.”
The truck provided, a megaton monstrosity used for delivering supplies, would easily roll them to freedom. Several blocks away, a vintage sedan waited, souped up and ready to transport them to their eventual destination.
He placed the machine gun across his lap, cranked the starter, floored the accelerator and gunned it, ramming straight through the chain-link barrier.
The alarm was immediate and deafening. He sped away from it, taking side streets until he approached the wooded area of the park.
He pulled up behind the car Griffin had left him and slammed on the brake. In minutes he had loaded both patient and doctor into the gray Saab and they were off.
“Jail break accomplished,” he said to himself, ticking off tasks to be completed. It was an old habit. He turned to the doctor who looked pale as a bleached sheet. “Are you doing all right?”
She shot him a look of disbelief that he would ask such a ridiculous question. “I have been abducted at gunpoint. No, I am not well at all.” She swallowed hard, almost gulped. “Do you mean to…kill me?” she added, still defiant.
Her bravery, useless as it was, touched something in Jack. She was so totally defenseless and yet she refused to cower. A kitten backed against a wall, facing a bulldog, ready to claw for all she was worth if attacked. He felt faintly ashamed of himself. “Did I hurt you when I disarmed you?”
She flexed her wrist. Faint red marks discolored the pale ivory of her flesh where he had grasped it to relieve her of the syringe. She tucked that hand beneath the other and began rubbing the wrist slowly, absently. “No, but you did not answer my question.”
“I have no plans at present to harm you at all if you cooperate. You’ve not asked me once to release you since we escaped. Why is that?”
Her gaze left him as she glanced into the back seat. “There is René. He needs continued care and I doubt you intend to give it. What do you plan to do with him?”
“Take him home to his father,” Jack told her. “What happened to Dr. Micheaux?”
“I am Dr. Micheaux,” she replied with a haughty look. “Solange Micheaux.”
Damn. The daughter of the other doctor. He remembered a mention of her in Micheaux’s dossier, but nothing about her working at Baumettes. “Where is your father today?”
She refused to answer.
“He was supposed to be there and had promised to help,” Jack said, hoping that might gain him a little cooperation.
“You lie! My father would never assist in such a thing.”
“This is more than a run-of-the-mill escape, Doctor. Now where is your father?”
Her frown deepened, and she remained silent for a minute before answering. “In Paris.”
“Why wasn’t he at the prison today?”
She sighed. “He is in Broussais Hospital. He was injured in an accident yesterday morning.”
Either the team had not heard anything about this development or hadn’t been able to get word of it to him in his cell. “What happened?” Jack asked. “And are you certain it was an accident?
He heard her swift intake of breath. “He…he was hit by an automobile as he crossed the street. You…you are saying it was not an accident?”
“No. It probably was,” Jack said, but he was far from sure of the answer. “How badly was he hurt?”
She glanced out the window and continued to rub her hands together. “Broken femur, a concussion, bruises. He will recover.” Then she faced Jack, her eyes imploring. “Let me go to him. We can take René there, as well. You could leave us at the emergency entrance and be well away in no time. I promise—”
“Save your breath,” he said, interrupting her. “That’s not going to happen. I have to get René to his father no later than tomorrow. Do you know where he lives? Has the boy told you?”
“You do not even know where you are to go?”
Jack almost laughed. “Of course I know. I need to know if you know already. If René has said anything at all to you about his home or his family.”
She sighed, then looked out the window at the passing scenery. “No. René has not been living with his father. The boy has rooms near the Sorbonne where he attends classes,” she muttered, as if to herself.
Jack nodded. “Art student. Has he talked about his family? His father in particular?”
“Not to me and Father did not mention his discussing anything of that nature.” Her interest in the passing landscape ended abruptly as she turned that electrifying blue gaze on him again. “Why all of these questions?”
“I’ll tell you later. What of you, Dr. Micheaux? Will you tell me about yourself?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I ask.”
She scoffed. “You already know my name and who my father is. Even that is too much.”
“I am Jacques Mercier. Now you know mine. I was imprisoned to await trial. Wouldn’t you like to know why?”
“No. It is nothing to do with me. Are you attempting to cultivate the Stockholm Syndrome with this foolish exchange of information? I promise you I will never become attached to an abductor no matter how friendly you try to be.”
She faced away from him again. “Stop looking at me that way.”
Jack hadn’t realized he was making her even more uncomfortable. It would be difficult not to look at her. She was something to see, that was for sure.
He should try to put
