Kane put his gun in his holster and sat Tommy up, putting pressure on his wound. “Explain.”
“He’s the Vicomte’s son,” I told him. “He’s a plant in the justice system to make sure these assholes get away with what they’re doing, even here.”
“The Vicomte?”
“My tormentor, and the one I ran from when I learned of my pregnancy with Camille,” I said. “He’s in the back room there if you want to see what a monster I am.”
“Why do you call him Vicomte?”
“He’s a Vicomte in France. That’s how he gets away with it. He has connections everywhere.”
Kane swore as he looked down at Tommy who was trying to battle against him.
“And Tommy?”
“Tommy is Tomasz, his son who he taught well I see. I recognised his name from my list, Kane. He’s going to kill us and make it look like an accident.”
“She lies,” Tommy hissed.
Kane looked down at him, and backed away from him, blocking me from his sight. He was protecting me.
“How certain are you?” he asked me.
“I am certain,” I told him. “I would never do this unless I knew for sure.”
“Okay,” Kane said, as he lifted his gun and shot Tommy in between the eyes. I jumped, startled that he would do that for me. “Listen, I can’t hold off the brass for much longer. Tommy’s death will put a wrinkle in the plan, so I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“I need you to poison me,” he said.
“No…”
“It doesn’t have to kill me, but you need to poison me in order to get out of this.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “No.”
“Maurelle…you have to. It will save me, and it will give you time to flee.”
I put my gun down, and I paced the living area, turning a lamp on to give me some light to work with.
“I haven’t worked out my exit strategy yet,” I said. “I wasn’t even thinking, I just…came here.”
Kane pulled an A4 envelope from his jacket and he handed it to me. Confused, I opened it and pulled out the passport and plane ticket before looking up at him.
“There’s no extradition treaty, you’re safe in Cuba.”
I flipped open the passport and looked down at the photo of me and the name.
“Margaux Sullivan,” I read out.
“It’s my mother’s name,” he said. “I needed the passport quickly, so I just told them the one name I always have on my mind.”
“Margaux?” I repeated. “That’s french.”
He nodded. “Yes, she was French.”
I put my hand on his cheek, loving that he would protect me like this. “Come with me.”
