“No!” he objected. “I told you, we’re going straight back. I’m not having some hick doctor meddle with my leg.”
As she pulled the car back onto the trail, she glanced over at David to see what he thought, but he appeared to agree with their passenger. “Paris,” he said, resolutely. “As fast as we can get there.”
“But I’ll still need to know something,” Ascanio said, popping open a vial of pills and hastily swallowing several of them dry. “If you traded the Maserati for this piece of shit, you will please have to tell me why.”
Chapter 42
Olivia drove the little Peugeot straight into the hospital emergency entrance, and David had hoisted Ascanio halfway out of the backseat before he protested and grabbed for the Medusa hanging under David’s shirt.
“That belongs to Sant’Angelo!” he said, his words slurred by the Percocets he’d taken. “Give it to me!”
But David pulled back and let the emergency workers running out of the hospital strap Ascanio to a gurney and wheel him inside. It was clear he had lost a lot of blood, and the makeshift tourniquet was all but falling off. One of the doctors was asking David a battery of questions about what had happened and who the man was, when David—pleading that he spoke no French—bolted back to the car and told Olivia to gun it.
“Wait!” the doctor shouted, running down the drive as the Peugeot pulled away. “You can’t do this!”
But David watched the hospital recede in the rearview mirror, as Olivia headed back into the Paris traffic. Even she looked uncertain about what to do next.
“The airport,” he said.
“You don’t want to call the marquis? There’s quite a lot you should tell him, no?” While Ascanio, knocked out by the drugs, had snored in the backseat, David had filled her in during the long drive from the Loire Valley, and it was a miracle that she had been able to keep control of the car the whole way. He could think of no one else in the world who would have been able to do the same.
“Maybe the marquis could help?” she added.
“No,” David said. “Just drive.”
Using the BlackBerry from the doctor’s bag, he hastily dialed Gary’s number in Chicago.
“It’s me,” he said, the second Gary picked up. “How is she?”
“Hanging on. Where the hell are you?”
“On the way to Orly Airport.” He had not wanted to have this discussion with Ascanio in the car—snoring or not.
“You’re not on a plane yet?” Gary said, sounding downright angry.
“I’ll explain later. I’m coming as fast as I can.”
He heard Gary blow out a breath in disgust. “Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough, David. There’s not much time. Emme was here all afternoon, and for all I know, that’ll be the last time she ever gets to see her mom. Sarah’s waiting for you, David. She’s been waiting for you. But there’s only so much she can do.”
“I know,” David said, his fingers automatically feeling for the Medusa. “I know.”
“Christ,” Gary said, “no promotion is that important.”
That hurt, but David knew where it was coming from. Gary didn’t understand the delay—how could he? And what could David have ever said that would have persuaded him? “Please, just tell her I’m coming. I’m coming!”
When he hung up and the car had to stop at a traffic light, he felt Olivia’s eyes on him.
“You don’t trust Sant’Angelo?” she asked.
And David admitted, “No, not completely.” He turned to look at her. “He thinks the mirror is his.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“But he’s not the one who sent me to find it. And he’s not the one who promised to save my sister’s life with it.”
“What if he said he would let you?”
“What if he said he wouldn’t?” he replied. “Can I take that chance? Now?”
The light changed, and Olivia took off again. David set his jaw and tried to gather his thoughts. Everything had been moving so fast, and there was no letup in sight. But in his gut he knew that returning to the marquis’s town house could cause anything from a fatal delay to the loss of the Medusa altogether. No matter what he did, he would be forced to betray someone—Mrs. Van Owen or the Marquis di Sant’Angelo. He’d had to make a choice, and with Sarah’s life hanging in the balance, he’d done the only thing he could possibly do.
Now he just prayed that the instructions in The Key to Life Eternal would work. He knew every word of the text by heart—he had read them a hundred times—but putting them into effect would be another matter altogether.
As they neared the airport, the traffic slowed. Buses and taxis vied for space with thousands of cars, and the lanes were narrowed for random security checks.
“Try Air France,” David said, thinking it would probably be his best bet. If not, he could always run to another terminal.
Olivia jockeyed the car to the curb, cutting off a rental van with only inches to spare, and abruptly stopped.