He wasn’t worried about the intruder finding anything useful about Henri.He was smart enough to keep the house sanitized of any clues to the doctor’s whereabouts.But this was another escalation, a violation.Prior to the arrest, Deschamps had only had him followed.
Fuck.
Taking Blitz with him, Ford returned to the main house.Katja had invited him to dinner, and he’d been tired enough to accept, even though she’d stocked his kitchen when she found out he was due to be released.
After checking that no one had enteredherhome, he let the older woman fuss over him while his mutt ran in excited circles around the fancy dining room table.“Blitz,come.”He dropped his hand to his side with the command and stroked her head when she sat next to his chair, panting.They both calmed at the contact.
“I knew you were innocent,” Katja said, her voice both kind and outraged.She passed him a bowl.
“Of murder, at least.”He smiled and took the dish, adding a pile of heavenly smelling potato chunks to his plate.“Thank you for this.I haven’t had a good meal in weeks.”
She clucked and waved away his gratitude.“My son lives too far away.I must spoil someone.”Bernd lived in Zürich and made the three-hour drive at least once a month.
“His loss is definitely my gain.”Living on Katja’s property almost made up for being five thousand miles from his own parents.Neither his mom nor dad excelled in the kitchen, but they loved their kids fiercely and openly.
In some ways that made it even harder to face them.They’d absolved him of guilt over his brother’s death, and again when he’d fucked up so badly with Natalie.He didn’t deserve their forgiveness, but he didn’t want to cause them more pain either.Losing another child might destroy them.
Which was why he’d switched into a largely management role after recovering from his injuries.But then helping Henri had put a target on his back, and he’d bet good money Deschamps would escalate now that Ford’s arrest had failed to reveal Henri’s whereabouts.If Deschamps grew desperate enough, Katja might be in danger by proximity.
He set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a satiny cloth napkin.The woman never did anything by half measures, even what should have been a casual dinner.“You’ve been so good to me and Blitz over the last three years, and I worry about bringing this criminal element to your doorstep.Would you consider visiting Bernd until things settle down?”
She scowled.“Leave my house?”
“Just for a few weeks.Spend some time with your grandchildren.”When she hesitated, he placed his hand gently on her thin arm.“Please.I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.”
“You really think there is a threat.”
“Yes.I’m sorry.”He hated that he’d put her at risk too.“I think Deschamps is getting desperate, and desperate men are dangerous.”
Katja reluctantly agreed to leave the next morning, and the rest of their dinner was subdued.She was probably rethinking having him as her tenant, and he couldn’t blame her.
Back home, after taking Blitz for her evening walk, Ford set his apparently worthless security system and sat with her curled at his side on the couch, half dozing in front of a Servette FC game.
Sometime later, a buzz from his phone startled him upright, and he wiped a little drool from his mouth while checking the screen.
112
The European emergency number coming from one of Lehmann’s numbers made his body freeze.Shit.He stood and rubbed his face, pocketing his cell.Blitz jumped down and shook, then followed him as he went looking for a burner.In his office, he removed an untraceable phone from a floor safe and dialed the message service Lehmann used.
Her voice came over the line in German.“The ruse is over.Someone talked.”
CHAPTER SIX
SIXTEEN FUCKING DAYS.The slowest sixteen days of Nat’s goddamned life.Day after day of nightmares—both in her sleep and while awake—bandage changes, physical therapy exercises, and doing anything to avoid thinking about the despair she’d felt while lying in her own blood with a dead man a few feet away.
Shuddering, she stopped under a gnarly old olive tree that had probably been there since the first revolution, and took a deep breath of fresh air.The golden sun shone on her upturned face, still hot despite the late hour.The breeze was too warm to be of any help, and she really needed to start walking in the morning, but she’d never been an early riser.
Every evening, she walked a little further along the farm’s property line, past apple and olive trees gone wild, poplars, pine, cypress, and toward the rocky scrub that reminded her more of southern California than France.Or more like Italy, probably, given its proximity.Garlaban, a small mountain with a rounded limestone peak, helped her navigate once she crested the hill and the farmhouse was out of sight.
Walking with one hand bound to her middle was still awkward, and she had to be careful not to lose her balance, but her physical conditioning was slowly returning.She had no watch or phone to track the time or distance, but she guessed she’d worked up to a couple miles a day, at a pace slow enough to keep her wound from throbbing.
Every day she climbed a little faster up the low-grade hill that led to a view of the tree-filled valley, the pale buildings of Marseille with their red roofs, and the Mediterranean Sea.The farmhouse wasn’t that far from civilization, but enough land surrounded it that she’d yet to see a single other human outside of a moving car, even from a distance.
Occasionally, Henri joined her on her walks, but mostly he sat in the living room or on the back patio reading a book, or writing in a journal.How he didn’t go out of his mind, she had no idea.The only things keeping her mentally afloat were exploring the property and playing cards with Henri.
She’d also started helping him cook and clean, as much as she could one handed.Over the last week, they’d developed an easy camaraderie.It had come as a surprise given their rocky start, but in general, she had a knack for winning people over.
Except Ford.
