The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series) (3 page)

With its floor-to-ceiling bookcases
, the expansive hallway put Edie in mind of the library from
Beauty and the Beast.
A reference that went right over Caedmon’s head. At one time he had owned an English-language bookstore on the Left Bank. Soon after his debut tome
Isis Revealed
was published, he sold the shop but kept the inventory.

‘Come, Miss Miller. A gastronomic adventure awaits us.’ Invitation issued,
Caedmon swung open the door to the flat, gallantly sweeping his arm towards the landing beyond.

A few moments later, after they descended to the ground floor in a rickety, old-fashioned
elevator, Edie allowed him to usher out of the building.

When
a religious zealot intent on finding the Ark of the Covenant had marked them both for execution, fate, quite literally, hurled them together. Had it not been for that dangerous episode eight months ago, their paths would never have crossed.

While they were officially ‘an item’, because
Caedmon lived in Paris and she was based in Washington, they saw each other irregularly, although they communicated nearly every day via computer Skype. Something of a commitment phobe, Edie didn’t mind ping-ponging across the Atlantic. Despite the fact that it was an unconventional relationship, she considered it the perfect distillation of romance, long-distance longing and shared passions. No wonder she was happier than she’d been in years.

‘I thought that we could review our French Riviera itinerary over dinner,’ Edie said as they made their way across the cobbled courtyard adjacent to the Beaux Arts apartment.

‘This is the first that I’ve heard of a travel itinerary.’ Putting a hand on the small of her back, Caedmon shepherded her through the stone archway that led to rue Saint-Benoît, a typical Paris street with upscale boutiques at street level and elegant flats with wrought-iron balconies on the floors above.

‘A holiday checklist is a must
. If I let you do the planning, we’ll spend our entire vacation traipsing through old castles and ancient ruins. When
instead
we can be hitting the nude beaches and über-hip discotheques.’

‘Bloody hell,’
Caedmon grumbled. ‘Eight months into the relationship and I’ve become a predictable bore.’

‘Anything but,’ Edie was quick to assure him, unpredictability the key to
Caedmon Aisquith’s appeal. That and the fact that he was an incredibly smart man.

Soon after making
Caedmon’s acquaintance, Edie realized that he was addicted to knowledge. In a world of dangerous obsessions – drugs, pornography, online gambling – his was a harmless passion. And the fact that he exhibited such ardor when it came to cerebral pursuits was kinda sexy. But then she’d always been attracted to brainiacs, the mind being the sexiest organ bar none.

As they strolled leisurely down the street, arm-in-arm, Edie was amused to catch sight of a woman in a passing taxi who gave
Caedmon a wide-eyed second glance. At six foot three inches in height with a thatch of thick auburn hair, he definitely stood out in a crowd.

‘Which of Paris’s two venerable grandes dames would you care to patronize?’
Caedmon asked when they reached Boulevard Saint-Germain.

Waiting for the traffic light to change, Edie surveyed the busy street lined with fashionable shops and leafy green trees, the thoroughfare bathed in a golden, only-in-Paris kind of light.
Located within spitting distance of one another, Café de Flore and Café Deux Magots were the belle époque
‘
grandes dames’ in a city chock full of sidewalk cafés. Long-time rivals, both were icons with a storied history that included some of the most celebrated artists, philosophers and literary giants of the twentieth century.

Edie
contemplatively tapped her chin with her index finger. ‘I think that I’m in the mood to channel my inner Simone de Beauvoir.’

‘
Café de Flore it is. Shall we sit outside on the patio?’

‘
Where else can we watch people from every walk of life walk past?’ Edie remarked as they headed towards the welcoming shade of a striped awning. Sidestepping a
garçon
decked out in a tuxedo jacket, crisp, white shirt and a matching white apron, she suppressed an amused smile. It was the classic Parisian stereotype, and one that she loved.
Cue more French accordion music
. ‘As I recall, the last time we were here, we actually saw Karl Lagerfeld sitting a few tables away, sipping a glass of –’

‘Hello,
Caedmon.’

Hearing the unexpected greeting,
Caedmon and Edie simultaneously turned round. Standing a few feet behind them was a lovely olive-skinned woman attired in a lightweight brown trouser suit, a leather messenger bag slung across her chest. Her long black hair was pulled into a serviceable ponytail, the fringe on her forehead accentuating a pair of red-rimmed hazel eyes. Either the woman suffered from severe allergies or she’d recently been crying. Belatedly, Edie realized it was the same woman she’d seen in the passing taxi who’d ogled Caedmon.

‘I hope that . . . that you remember me,’ the dark-haired woman stammered
nervously.

Caedmon
recoiled slightly, clearly surprised. ‘My God . . . Gita. Of course I remember. What a delightful surprise.’ Quickly recovering, he gestured in Edie’s direction. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my companion, Edie Miller. Edie, this is Gita Patel. Gita and I were chums at Oxford.’

Smiling politely, Edie extended her hand in the other woman’s direction. Still resembling a deer caught in the headlights, Gita returned the courtesy, murmuring the familiar ‘pleased to meet you’ rejoinder.

‘Has it really been more than twenty years since we last saw one another?’ Not giving Gita a chance to reply, Caedmon went on, ‘I take it that you’re in Paris on a holiday?’

‘Um, actually
I’m here on a matter of great urgency. And I apologize for not ringing ahead, but I – I just arrived.’

‘Do you mean to say that this urgent matter involves
me
?’ Caedmon’s brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

Suddenly picking up on a
very strange vibe, Edie glanced anxiously between the two former Oxford ‘chums’.

‘Y-yes . . . it does involve you,’ Gita croaked, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Your daughter has been abducted.’

‘Obviously, there’s been some mistake,’ Caedmon replied matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t have a daughter.’

‘
I’m sorry . . . I wasn’t clear . . .
Our
daughter has been abducted.’

In a twilight state, Anala Patel blinked several times as the room came into focus. The thump of her heart against her breastbone gave testimony that she was still among the living and not stuck in some afterlife limbo.

My head is about to split wide open
, she brooded, wondering why someone didn’t take chisel and hammer and finish her off. Utterly decimated, she decided that she was hung-over, suffering from a severe case of brown-bottle flu. Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t recall any of the party particulars.

Parched, she tried to lick her lips, but couldn’t do that either. That was when she belatedly realized that there was a strap of tape across her mouth.

Hmm . . . that’s odd.

She tried to decipher the reason for her unusual predicament, but it proved an impossible undertaking. Her brain was functioning at a frustratingly sluggish speed, unable to do much of anything other than note the fact that she was in a dismally ugly room.
Paneled in dark wood, there was only one window, near the ceiling, and no furniture save for a metal cot and a plain wooden chair. Heavy-limbed and heavy-lidded, she fought the urge to close her eyes and return to the Land of Nod.

I can’t go to sleep. I need to go to the loo.

Determined to follow through on what she considered a very good idea, she moved to get off the cot. Only to fall back upon the lumpy mattress, her hands bound behind her back. Peering down at her legs, she could see that her ankles were strapped together as well with gray duct tape.

Panic-stricken, Anala struggled to come out of her stupor, a host of images flashing across her mind’s eyes – a mustachioed brute, a violent struggle and then a total blackout.

I’ve been abducted!

By who? And why?

She’d obviously been tranquilized. Whatever drug had been administered, the after-effects were grueling. As though she’d been lashed to the wheel and forced to withstand the mother of all storms. Grimacing, she rolled her tongue over the back of her teeth, her mouth tasting like the bottom of a baby pram. Wondering if she’d been given a date-rape drug, she glanced at her garments, relieved to see that her sleeveless cotton shirt was buttoned and her cropped cargo trousers were properly fastened. Her feet, though, were bare, someone having removed her running shoes. Puzzled, she wondered why someone would have taken her shoes but left her clothes on?

Work, brain, work!

She had to figure out why she’d been kidnapped. Had to gather her thoughts and –

Suddenly realizing the reason for the abduction, her stomach lurched.

Feeling the sting of tears, she squeezed her eyes shut . . .
She’d been nabbed by sex traffickers
. Who else would brazenly kidnap a woman right out of her own home? Every day, all across India, females were seized and forced into brothels.

Shock, horror and fear hit her in equal measure.

I have to escape! Now!

Refusing to become another sex statistic,
Anala squirmed clumsily into a seated position. From there, she wiggled her bum to the edge of the cot. She then bent at the waist and examined the bed frame. Espying a raised screw head, she twisted, positioning her bound wrists over the top of the metal protuberance.

Her only hope of escape.

A daughter!

Christ
. The sky was falling.

The blood
drained from Caedmon’s head so rapidly, it nearly felled him in its nauseous swoop. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words skidded to a silencing halt, his vocal cords paralyzed with shock.

Edie
, glancing nervously between him and Gita Patel, gestured to a nearby café table. ‘Um, maybe we should all sit down and, you know, regroup?’

Caedmon
managed a half-hearted nod. Pulling out a chair, he perfunctorily motioned for Gita to sit down. Then, still on auto-pilot, he performed the same courtesy for Edie before gracelessly plunking his own arse in a less than sturdy café chair. The ridiculously small table, no more than twenty inches in diameter, was designed for an intimate duo rather than an impersonal trio, forcing the three of them to huddle awkwardly around it.

Still processing Gita’s bombshell,
Caedmon tried to wrap his mind around the fact that twentysome years ago he’d fathered a child. Out of wedlock and seemingly out of the blue.

Her
expression one of deepening concern, Edie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Caedmon, are you all right?’ she asked in a lowered voice.

He nodded weakly once more
. Better to lie than confess to the truth – that he was far from all right.

A
weighty silence ensued, not a one of them knowing what next to say.

An aproned waiter stepped over to the
ir table. ‘
Désirez-vous un apéritif?
’

Taking charge, Edie asked Gita what she would like to drink. She then glanced expectantly in
Caedmon’s direction. His thoughts jumbled, he shrugged. He didn’t want a drink; he wanted to climb into a hole. And a deep, dark, bottomless pit at that.

‘
. . .
et une tasse de thé, s’il vous plaît
,’ Edie told the waiter, finishing the order with a strained smile.

Rudderless,
Caedmon stared at the blurred flash of motorists and pedestrians moving back and forth along Boulevard Saint-Germain. Stage props in a dream from which he could not awake.

The fact that he had a daughter a few years older than he’d been when he dated Gita Patel
at Oxford was unbelievable to him. He wasn’t the father to a gurgling baby in nappies. He was the father of a full-grown woman.
How is this even possible?
And why the bloody hell did Gita wait all these years to tell him?

Navigating his way across unfamiliar terrain,
Caedmon struggled for the right words to convey his utter shock at learning that her daughter – no,
their
daughter – had been abducted. ‘Of course, Gita, I’ll help in any way that I can, but I’m at a complete loss to understand how –’

‘
I couldn’t tell you that I was pregnant,’ Gita interjected, having somehow intuited his train of thought.

H
earing that, he exhaled a shaky breath, realizing that he was in the dark about a great many things. ‘Since I seem to have come into this at the denouement rather than the intro, I would appreciate hearing the story from the very
beginning.’