Alex saw the red light on the side of the man’s head only a moment before his body recoiled and blood oozed from a hole that had shattered his skull. A dull roaring in her ears blocked all sound. Her eyes had taken over all of her senses, and the gruesome image etched itself into her mind as a permanent nightmare. The guard’s expression remained stoic; his mouth hung open like he wanted to speak, despite his death. Alex’s mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out.
Luc watched the man fall to the ground, shook his head, and then turned to Alex. “I’ve been trying to kill you for months. I’m very tempted to leave your body here with that ugly carcass, but I find the idea of interacting with the Northrops of Boston too intriguing. You’ve screwed me for the last time.”
Her legs gave way. She dropped next to the man who had come to rescue her. Another fatality because of her. Maybe if she struggled, Luc would kill her and leave her family alone.
He yanked her up. “Disobedience is never acceptable. The next one down is that little boy with the blond hair. My men have a perfect shot through the side window into a family room.”
Anna’s son. It must be. The realization that Luc stood in close proximity to her family with an armed assassin ready to kill on command crumbled her defenses and crushed her will to fight.
“No. I’ll do anything. Please leave them alone.”
Luc clasped her arm and pulled her toward the street, forcing her to walk away from her home for the second time in her life, this time in bare feet and under armed guard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The trees in North Carolina had the audacity to bloom green, pink, and white, despite the fact that Henry’s world had crumpled to pieces. Just to spite him, warm breezes flowed among a cluster of modern office buildings. Henry had headed to Charlotte after Simon informed him of Gabe’s unusual purchase of a large television set at a Walmart. Then the rental car company had contacted him after locating the Mustang in a garage within ten miles of that same Walmart. Three days combing this small Southern city, and he’d learned nothing. Searching for her in Oxford had been one thing, but trying to find her in an entirely different country was like finding a granule of sand in a silo of grain.
His mobile rang during his walk back to the hotel room after another useless day exploring hotels, stores, museums, the railroad terminal, and the bus depot.
Simon.
“Any new information? Because no one remembers her in this entire city.” Henry tried to sound more upbeat than he was, but why bother? Simon had already figured out he harbored strong feelings for Gabe when Henry had willingly parted with Lady Elizabeth and the future of the women’s shelter to find her.
“Actually, I did.” Simon’s voice reflected Henry’s serious mood. “Alex is female. Luc Perrault’s ex-girlfriend. From what my source tells me, she’s a native of France, although fluent in English and Ukrainian. She’s also an experienced art appraiser.”
Alex is Gabe? The news energized him. It made perfect sense. If she saw Luc at the auction, she’d run away as quickly as possible to avoid the man who had beaten the hell out of her and threatened to kill her.
Henry could have helped her, and he should have told her about his background. Perhaps she would have trusted him to protect her. On the other hand, his training hadn’t provided him with the means to decipher the identity of the most important person in his life. What an idiot. He should have added two plus two and reached four. Instead, he ended up with a small fraction of a personality and nothing of substance.
“What’s her surname?” Hopefully, it would shed light on her location.
“Lemoine, but I think it’s an alias.”
“Alex or Lemoine?”
“No idea.”
“No idea?” Henry’s voice lowered, and he squeezed the phone tighter.
“My source only knew her briefly through Luc. And don’t get your hopes up too high with this information. She has more personalities than the cast of Monty Python.”
“I can’t stay here any longer. As far I know, she took the first train or bus out of here or hitchhiked with a rock band to Seattle.”
“Let me see if I can confirm her surname with a few art contacts in Paris. If we don’t have it by morning, you might as well fly home. Talk to you soon.” He hung up, leaving Henry with only a crumb of new information. Enough to make him hungry for more.
The idea of leaving Gabe in the States bothered him. That blasted hole in his heart had opened wider and deeper. It would never be filled until he saw her again. If he saw her again.
During his walk back to the hotel, he analyzed everything she’d said to him and everything he’d subsequently learned about her. Control freak father, fleeing the United States for Europe, amazing ability in art, fluent in many languages, abusive boyfriend, hiding out in England. He was missing something important, he just didn’t know what.
Once in his hotel room, he wrote “Alex Lemoine” on a piece of paper from the desk. He then wrote “Gabrielle West” and “Belinda.” He sketched her acorn tattoo and “L.P.”
Glancing over at the pile of luggage, he tried to think of where she would go. She didn’t have much with her, except a few hundred dollars and the euros and pounds in her wallet, but she’d probably acquired more from her television transaction. Her suitcase remained by his bed, waiting for her to claim the contents. He’d already searched it over and over again, looking for secret compartments, a scrap of paper in a pair of jeans. Anything. Nothing. She’d abandoned some old dirty clothes on the floor of the Atlanta hotel room, her ingenious way of slipping past everyone at the auction.
Turning on the news, he stretched out across the bed and mustered the energy to call room service. The national news broadcast the growing violence in Afghanistan. “The Afghan National Army confiscated twenty weapons caches from rebel forces…”