he declared shaking his head. Then he seemed to think about it. “But I can see why you might think that’s what I’m doing. No, I’m returning him to his father as soon as I can. I was escaping, anyway, and thought I might as well take the boy out of there with me.”
“On the hope of a reward, perhaps?” she asked.
He shrugged. “That and a place to hide once I got out. I’m hoping Chari will offer me a job.”
“You said my father agreed to help you? Why?”
“Even before he was beaten, the boy was not strong enough to survive long where he was. Your father knew that, and I suspect you know it, too.”
Satisfied he was not lying, she answered his question truthfully. “René was hurt, yes. He could have borne it well enough with pills, but my father wanted him bedridden, to seem worse off than he was.”
Mercier’s dark eyes softened as he crouched beside her on the threadbare rug. “To protect him? So he wouldn’t have to return to the cells?”
She nodded. “He has been at the prison for over three weeks and this is his second beating. That is why Father gave him morphine. If René remained unconscious, he would have more time to heal. When my father told me of his condition, both of us tried to intervene on René’s behalf, plead his youth and size to someone in authority. But neither my father nor I could get in to see anyone in the prefecture or the warden’s office. Even if we had, they probably would have laughed at us. He is simply another prisoner to be locked away. Why should they care?”
“But you care.”
“Of course I care!” she exclaimed, glaring at him. “He is hardly more than a child. Look at him. A gentle boy. How could they put him in with all those monsters?” Oh God, what had she said? She had just included this man in that insult.
But instead of outrage, she saw full understanding in his eyes. “Good for you. Your father and you outwitted them.” He smiled at her then, a gentle expression she would not have expected from such a man.
“We do what we can, though it is never enough.”
He nodded. “Baumettes is a three-hour drive down from Paris. Do you come to work at the prison hospital often?”
“Whenever my schedule permits, I assist my father in his volunteer work. Since his retirement, he spends a good many hours at three of the prison facilities.” She could see no point in going into their reasons for doing what they did.
He sighed. It was more a gust of resigned frustration. “One of my people is checking on your father’s condition and you’ll be advised how he is tomorrow. Try not to worry about him, though I’m certain you will, anyway.”
“Then I must thank you for that, I suppose.” Solange slumped, burying her face in her hands. She felt like weeping but knew she must not.
She took a deep breath and raised her head again, meeting his eyes. “I am very tired. Would you mind if I lie here on the floor beside the divan and sleep for a while? I had duty in the emergency last night and was unable to rest.”
He straightened and held up one finger. “Wait just a minute.”
Before she knew it, he was dragging in a single-bed mattress. “Here you are,” he said, positioning it next to her. “I’m afraid there are no linens. But here is a pillow and it’s new.”
She took the pillow from him and lay down.
Her captor offered her a reassuring smile and went to sit on the floor beside the front door. Somehow she knew that was the only exit that she would be able open.
It would be useless effort to try to escape tonight. He would only come after her, and she had no idea which way she should run even if he did not bother. Perhaps tomorrow would afford her a chance.
It was more than she could manage to stay awake and worry or react to any leftover fear. She would simply have to trust the angels as her mother used to say.
In the dream that followed close on the heels of her surrender to sleep, Solange felt one of them brush a wing over her face to comfort her. It rested lightly on her head for a long moment, a blessing, a promise to ward off evil. She smiled and felt safe.
Chapter 2
Jack stirred the bacon, careful to do it precisely as Holly had once shown him. He was not much of a cook but had been trying to learn. Since Holly was the only woman who worked with him and the only person he knew who didn’t exist on junk food and the occasional outing at a restaurant, she had volunteered.
Holly was slipping in under his guard, and he would have to watch that. Nothing sexual going on, but he was damn close to regarding her as a friend, not just one of the team.
Come to think of it, he had been spending a little too much of his free time with the others, too. Camaraderie was one thing; getting to be buddies was quite another. Maybe this mission would put things back in perspective.
He liked field work, but missed the daily routine in the office. Sometimes he could pretend for days he was just an average nine-to-fiver, fighting the traffic to work where he’d spend all day arranging investments and contacting clients. Visit his parents when it proved convenient. Maybe meet some interesting female for drinks after hours once in a while, get it on later if she seemed interested.
That was his life for about two weeks out of twelve. The rest of the time he was checking out rumors of terrorist rumblings and trying to stamp out trouble before it got underway. So far they had been successful beyond their best expectations going into this.
He thought about the woman in the next room, the pretty little doctor who had inadvertently become involved in this mission. Solange Micheaux was the least likely person he could imagine for getting wound up in any intrigue. What an open book. No guile whatsoever. She was so totally unlike the women engaged in this business, she could blow the whole op and ruin everything.
He pretty much lived for his job now, that of SAIC, or Special Agent in Charge, of a fairly new team called SEXTANT, consisting of six specialists recruited from different U.S. Government agencies. Organizations that had previously spent a great deal of their time bickering over jurisdiction and jealously guarding from each other the info they dug up. With the team’s respective contacts within their old jobs, and full allegiance to the new one, intelligence had a fighting chance of getting combined and doing some good.
Jack was formerly with the National Security Agency, the NSA, fondly dubbed No Such Agency because of its covert nature. The others were from the FBI, DIA, CIA, DEA and ATF.
They all had their own specialties, though they usually teamed up to make use of unique talents. As a rule, only one actually went in undercover. That depended on who was most suited for the job. In this instance, Jack’s French was best, learned at his mother’s knee instead of books or tapes. So was his ability to resolve matters without the use of weapons.
Jack had handpicked the agents on his team. He admittedly chose several of them for their psychic abilities. Paranormal gifts had always fascinated him. While these talents weren’t officially listed on their résumés, their extrasensory perceptions had been extremely helpful so far.
Jack wished he possessed a little mind-reading capability right now so he could decide whether
