“Right on schedule,” she replied.
That meant word would soon be out that the son of Ahmed Chari had escaped Baumettes Prison with a little help from a fellow inmate. This way, Chari probably would not be surprised by his son’s arrival if he heard about the escape on the news. The police would not bother to question Chari. They would be informed there was evidence that his son and his accomplices had left the country immediately.
Jack would use the downtime to become better acquainted with the doctor and determine whether she could be trusted with the truth or if she should go in blind.
Taking her in her father’s stead bothered him. It shouldn’t. She was just one person, expendable in the big scheme of things. The big scheme here was to save lives. Many of them. If sacrifices were necessary to accomplish that, then he would just have to live with it.
Solange realized she had dozed when the car stopped. She ran her hands through her hair and shook off her grogginess. How on earth had she managed to fall sleep in such a predicament as this?
Before she fell asleep, she had been marking their route visually. They had headed north from Lyon, with the central highlands to their left and the Swiss Alps to their right. Vineyards and fruit orchards lined their way along the wide path cut by nature.
When she looked out now, there were no landmarks or identifying characteristics on the eerie, moonlit landscape. He might have changed direction entirely. They could be anywhere in France by now.
“We’ll stay here for the night.”
She looked at the man who had kidnapped her, then out the window again. “Would you tell me where we are?”
“A safe place,” he replied cryptically.
He got out, opened the back door and gently lifted René in his arms. Solange hopped out quickly and hovered, cautioning him to be careful not to jostle her patient any more than he could help.
The night was chilly for mid-May, but that was not what caused her to shiver. She rubbed her arms briskly.
“Look under the mat there and find the key,” he ordered, his voice curt.
She hurried to find it and unlock the door to the old house, feeling for the keyhole with trembling fingers. What would happen once they were inside?
Where was this place? The moon was high enough that she could see they were not in a town or village. In fact, she could see no other buildings except this old cottage they were entering.
Could this man be intending to hold René here for ransom? And, if so, what would happen to her? If René remained unconscious during all this, he could not identify his kidnapper. But she could. Perhaps she would live only so long as René needed her.
If she found an opportunity, she would escape. Then she could go to the police and have them rescue René.
“There should be an oil lamp and matches on the table. Careful you don’t knock it off and break it,” he said, moving farther into the main room.
She heard the rustle of movement as she discovered by feel the lamp and a box of matches where he had said they would be. She struck fire and lifted the old-fashioned globe.
When she had adjusted the flame, Solange carried it over to where he had laid René on a shabby, but comfortable-looking couch.
“See to him. I’ll go and get your medical bag,” Mercier told her.
“Is there water in here or must we go outside to draw it?” she asked.
“Running water. The bath is off the hallway. Kitchen’s through that door,” he said pointing.
She knelt beside the couch and began checking René’s pulse. It felt steady and strong enough. He breathed normally and seemed to be quite comfortable. She lifted his lids and examined his pupils in the lamp light. A crocheted afghan lay draped over the foot of the couch and she used that to cover him against the chill of the room.
Mercier returned quickly and handed her the bag. “How is he doing?”
“No worse than he was.”
“His pain was severe enough for morphine?”
She hesitated. “First answer me one thing. Are you holding René for ransom?”
“No,” he declared shaking his head. Then he seemed to think about it. “But I can see why you might think that’s what I’m doing. No, I’m returning him to his father as soon as I can. I was escaping, anyway, and thought I might as well take the boy out of there with me.”
“On the hope of a reward, perhaps?” she asked.
He shrugged. “That and a place to hide once I got out. I’m hoping Chari will offer me a job.”
“You said my father agreed to help you? Why?”
“Even before he was beaten, the boy was not strong enough to survive long where he was. Your father knew that, and I suspect you know it, too.”
Satisfied he was not lying, she answered his question truthfully. “René was hurt, yes. He could have borne it well enough with pills, but my father wanted him bedridden, to seem worse off than he was.”
Mercier’s dark eyes softened as he crouched beside her on the threadbare rug. “To protect him? So he wouldn’t have to return to the cells?”
She nodded. “He has been at the prison for over three weeks and this is his second beating. That is why Father gave him morphine. If René remained unconscious, he would have more time to heal. When my father told me of his condition, both of us tried to intervene on René’s behalf, plead his youth and size to someone in authority. But neither my father nor I could get in to see anyone in the prefecture or the warden’s office. Even if we had, they probably would have laughed at us. He is simply another prisoner to be locked away. Why should they care?”
“But you care.”
“Of course I care!” she exclaimed, glaring at him. “He is hardly more than a child. Look at him. A gentle boy. How could they put him in with all those monsters?” Oh God, what had she said? She had just included this man in that insult.
But instead of outrage, she saw full understanding in his eyes. “Good for you. Your father and you outwitted them.” He smiled at her then, a gentle expression she would not have expected from such a man.
“We do what we can, though it is never enough.”
He nodded. “Baumettes is a three-hour drive down from Paris. Do you come to work at the prison hospital often?”
“Whenever my schedule permits, I assist my father in his volunteer work. Since his retirement, he spends a good many hours at three of the prison facilities.” She could see no point in going into their reasons for doing what they did.
He sighed. It was more a gust of resigned frustration. “One of my people is checking on your father’s condition and you’ll be advised how he is tomorrow. Try not to worry about him, though I’m certain you will, anyway.”
“Then I must thank you for that, I suppose.” Solange slumped, burying her face in her hands. She felt like weeping but knew she must not.
She took a deep breath and raised her head again, meeting his eyes. “I am very tired. Would you mind if I lie here on the floor beside the divan and sleep for a while? I had duty in the emergency last night and was unable to rest.”
He straightened and held up one finger. “Wait just a minute.”
Before she knew it, he was dragging in a single-bed mattress. “Here you are,” he said, positioning it next to her. “I’m afraid there are no linens. But here is a pillow and it’s new.”
She took the pillow from him and lay down.
Her captor offered her a reassuring smile and went to sit