Midnight Train to Paris (7 page)

I duck to the side and rush for the door, but Frédéric is quicker. His hand wraps tightly around my elbow as he yanks me backward, then grips both of my arms in his trembling hands.

“Why didn’t you just tell the truth, Frédéric?” I say as I try to wriggle out of his grasp. “Why didn’t you tell Samuel the truth?”

“Your whore of a sister humiliated me. She humiliated my entire family. She deserves what’s happening to her. That little bitch deserves it.”

The fury that boils over inside me is uncontrollable. Isla’s bloodstained tears flash before my eyes as I ram my knee into Frédéric’s groin not once, but twice. He doubles over, losing his grip on me.

Grabbing the sides of his face, I smash his forehead hard against my knee. He winces, stumbling to the ground, while I grab my cell phone and purse off the desk and bolt out into the hallway and down the stairs. Loud footsteps echo through the house, and just as I’m skimming over the smooth white tiles in the foyer, I glimpse Laurent running down the hallway toward me.

“Jillian!” he calls.

But I’m not about to wait around here and get myself killed.

I fly through the front door, slamming it at my back as I jog down the ivory steps and out over the snow-covered lawn.

Tall, snow-dusted pines hover over the dark winding road ahead, but there’s no sign of the black town car.

Shit.

I run down the never ending driveway, pumping my legs as quickly as I can in these stupid heels, ignoring the bitter wind that shoots right through my thin suit jacket and blouse.

“Jillian, wait!” It’s Laurent, crossing the lawn to reach me.

I don’t know if Frédéric’s father knows about my sister’s lies or if he has anything to do with her abduction, but I can’t take any chances. His son is clearly a psychopath who used his connection with Williams to take my sister down, all because of his own hurt pride.

I pick up my pace, turning down the empty street, wincing as my ankle rolls. Just as I consider tossing my heels into the bushes, a bright set of headlights comes into focus.

Racing even faster than before, I hear Laurent’s footsteps close behind.

“Jillian, I’m not going to harm you! Please, come back. My son, he’s—”

But I don’t hear the rest of his words because I’ve already slid into the backseat of the sleek black town car, slammed and locked the door behind me.

“
Allez-y!
”
Go!
I yell to the driver. “
Vite!
”

The car zips right past Laurent, who throws his hands up in frustration as we drive into the dark night and away from that godforsaken château.

Thick white flakes blanket the windshield and swirl around the car as the driver floors the gas. We skid over the crunchy snow, past another lakeside mansion, until the image of Laurent waving wildly in the rear view mirror vanishes completely.

My fingertips are numb from the cold, my hands trembling as I turn over my phone to dial Samuel’s number. But before I can get my shaking fingers to cooperate, my cell vibrates.

“Samuel, thank God,” I breathe into the phone.

“Jillian, listen. You have to get out of there.”

“I already did. I’m riding away from the château of horrors as we speak.”

“Who are you with?”

“I called the driver who picked us up from the airport this morning. I had a feeling I might be needing him.”

“Shit, Jillian. I’m so sorry I left you there.” Samuel’s deep voice is lined with regret, but I’m not angry. This is all happening so fast. How could he have known?

“Where are you headed?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I just told him to get me away from that house.”

“Good. I want you to meet me at the train station in Lausanne,” Samuel says.

“The same station where Isla boarded the train?”

“Yes. I just left the crime scene, and I’m pulling into the closest station. With the snowstorm wreaking havoc on these mountain roads, the train will be the quickest, most direct way for me to get to you right now, and Lausanne is only an hour ride from where I am. Plus I want you on the other side of the lake from the Morels. So I’ll need you to follow these exact instructions to get there. You ready?”

“Yes. Just get me the hell away from here,” I say, wishing the driver would crank up the heat. My race through the snow in this thin blouse, skinny pencil skirt, and these open-toed heels is beginning to take its toll on me. Not to mention the fact that I just kicked a psycho French boy’s ass and learned that my sister, who is still missing, is pregnant.

I could use a little warmth right about now.

“Tell the driver to take you to the ferry that runs across Lake Geneva. It will take you from Évian-les-Bains straight to Lausanne,” Samuel says. “The next one should be leaving at 10:00
p.m.
, so you don’t have much time.”

“Okay, hold on,” I say, before leaning forward to instruct the driver in French. After I do so, I ask him to turn the heat up. He eyes my outfit with a perplexed eyebrow lift, then turns the heat up to full blast.

“What then?” I ask Samuel as I watch my bare knees shake uncontrollably in the darkness of the car.

“It should only take you about a half an hour to cross. When you arrive, I’ll have a car waiting for you. My colleague will take you to the train station to meet me; it’s only a few minutes away. When you get there, stay in the car until I come out of the station. I don’t want you standing and waiting anywhere alone, do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Do you—” I start, but the driver’s loud voice cuts me off.

“Mademoiselle, were you expecting visitors?” the driver asks in French.

“Hold on, Samuel.” I lean forward. “What are you talking about?” I ask the driver.

The older gentleman nods at the rear view mirror. “Two cars are trailing us. There is no one else out driving on a night like this, not to mention that it’s Christmas Eve. Is it possible someone would be following you?”

The driver wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen the way I lunged into his car, and he’d watched as Laurent had screamed after me. Clearly, I hadn’t called him to take me for a scenic ride around Lake Geneva.

“Can you lose them?” I ask.

“I’ll do my best, Mademoiselle.”

I peek over my shoulder and glimpse two bright pairs of headlights, trailing closely behind. The only thing separating us from them is the blanket of snow falling rapidly from the sky.

“Samuel,” I whisper. “Whatever happened to the car you said would be waiting just around the corner from the Morels in case I needed anything? Is it possible that he’s following me?”

“No, it’s not him. Do you have a tail?”

“Two of them. Where’s your guy? Can he come scare them off?”

A long pause travels over the line, and I hear a train whistling loudly in the background.

“Samuel?”

“Right before I called you, I received word that he’d been shot in his car.”

“What? But how—”

“Listen to me, Jillian. I have to get on the train now, and I’m going to lose reception for a little while. I need you to lose those tails and get to the ferry by ten o’clock. My guy will be waiting for you when you get to the other side of the lake, and police are on their way to the Morel
Château
as we speak.”

“What if the guy who’s waiting for me gets shot like the last one?”

“He’ll be there, Jillian. I promise you. Do you think you can do it?”

“We may have to start doing wheelies in the snow to lose these assholes, but I’ll be there.”

The train whistles once more through the line as my driver makes a sharp turn down another dark, winding road.

“Samuel, did you find out about Isla? That she was pregnant? And that she turned down Frédéric’s proposal? Is that why you wanted me to get out of there?”

“Yes, we just tracked down the man Isla was going to be with in Paris. The father of the baby. He told us everything.”

“Who is he?”

“I’m not at liberty—”

“Samuel, cut the shit. I’m obviously on your side here.”

I can hear the train wheels squeaking as Samuel shouts into the phone. “His name is Christophe Mercier. He’s an artist—a painter I believe. He was the one waiting for Isla that morning at the train station when she never showed up.”

C. Mercier.
The signature of the artist who’d painted Isla’s portrait for the Morels.

I
knew
I’d seen something in her eyes in that painting…something deeper and more emotional than the usual breezy flirtation that she tossed around to any handsome man who came her way.

Despite the unbelievably grim circumstances I’m facing, I feel the slightest opening in my chest.
Hope
. Isla had finally found love. And she was going to have a baby.

I know my sister, and when she is passionate about something, she will fight to the death to protect it.

In that way, we are a lot alike, Isla and I.

“Jill, lose that tail, and I’ll see you in an hour.” The line crackles as Samuel’s voice is swallowed up by the loud train.

“I’ll be there, Samuel. I’ll be there.”

The pitch darkness surrounding the car is lightened only by the white glow emanating from the falling snow. I glance back to see both sets of headlights making the same turn my obedient French driver just made. He’d managed to put a little bit of distance between us and them, but not enough.

“Is there any way you can get to a main road so we can lose them faster?” I tap my hands nervously on my freezing thighs.

“Yes, right up ahead, we’ll come to an intersection that leads to the main part of town. Trust me, Mademoiselle, I have a plan.”

He steps harder on the gas, but the car only increases its speed slightly because of the thick layers of snow already coating the slick roads. We arrive at a stoplight just as it turns red, but to my surprise, the driver blows right through it. I grip the door handle as he makes a sharp left, and the back of the car fishtails. Turning around, I see the first car make it through the intersection, but Tail Number Two squeals to a stop in oncoming traffic.

I lean forward and grab the driver’s shoulder. “You lost one of them. Now, just one more. Thank you so much.”

“
Pas de soucis.” No worries,
he says. “I have seen the news,” he calls back. “I am sorry to hear of your sister, Mademoiselle Chambord. I hope they find her.”

A strange feeling pierces my gut. How does this guy know Isla is my sister? I’d told him my first name, and of course he’d dropped me off at the Morels’ house with that press mob outside earlier, but I hadn’t told him how I was related to her.

The driver steps harder on the gas, and the engine revs as we plow faster over the snow.

“I’m sorry, how did you know—?” I begin.

“Her picture was on the news tonight, and the minute I saw her violet eyes, I knew you were her sister. I have never seen eyes like yours, Mademoiselle, and I could never forget them. They are stunning…haunting even.”

I cross my arms over my shivering chest and try not to think about the fact that Isla and I have always shared these haunting eyes. They are the one thing about us that doesn’t resemble our sick mother or our absent, neglectful father.

They are ours.

But if Isla is taken from me, these eyes will forever be a reminder of her. Of what I’d lost.

I can’t let that happen.

We race through another red light, but we still don’t lose the first car. I squint to make out the driver’s face, but all I can see through the heavy snowfall are two blaring headlights.

“Don’t worry, Mademoiselle. I’ve done this before. I will lose them.” The driver’s calm voice is the only thing reassuring me in this moment. That and the thought of seeing Samuel in less than an hour at the train station.

Samuel will keep me safe. I know he will.

And of course my kick-ass self-defense moves can serve as a backup if need be. They’d already done the job at fending off my sister’s crazy ex-boyfriend.

Suddenly, we swerve into a driveway, and as I focus my eyes against the blinding sheets of snow, I realize that this man really did have a genius plan. He has just pulled into a police station.

Breath finally leaves my lungs as I watch our tail drive straight past. Whoever the bastard is, he’s not about to pull into the police station.

Patting the driver on the shoulder, I feel myself smile. It’s a cold, shivery smile, but I’ll take anything at this point. “Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your first name.”

He glances back at me, the lines around his silvery blue eyes crinkling as he smiles. “My name is Georges.”

For just the briefest of moments, I feel a connection to him, like I’ve met him or seen him before. But I can’t place it.

He breaks our gaze, putting the car in park. “I am very good friends with one of the police officers here. He will escort you to the ferry, and he will see you all the way to the train station so that nothing happens.”

“Thank you so much, Georges. You’re a life saver, you know that?”

He strips off his thick black coat and wool gloves, handing them back to me. “Take these. The ferry ride will be freezing tonight, and you didn’t quite dress for the mountain snow, did you?”

I chuckle in spite of myself and take his coat and gloves without protest. If this man has grandchildren, he’s probably the best grandpa ever. “Thank you again, Georges. I’ll keep your card so that when this is all over I can repay you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mademoiselle,” he says as I’m slipping on the warm coat.

He escorts me into the station, introduces me to his officer friend, then places a hand on my shoulder before leaving. “Remember, Mademoiselle Chambord, the answer to the mystery is not always as obvious as you may think.”

And with that, Georges, my angel chauffeur, leaves my side, a bitter gust of wind rattling the double doors at his back and whipping into the station with a fury.

Before I can process what he’s just said to me, the police officer rushes me out to his car, turns on the lights and the siren, and speeds through this winter wonderland resort town to get me to the ten o’clock ferry in time.