Her one attempt at a relationship had failed miserably even when she’d had her emotions under strict control. The mere thought of flinging caution to the wind with Mercier unnerved her. If ever there would be a time for that, it certainly was not now.
So she argued with him. Not only to set a precedent that she would remain independent and self-sufficient, despite his penchant for control, but because she had a legitimate reason to disagree.
Mercier kept changing the topic of conversation, insisting on hearing all about her school days, her trials of internship and residency and her father’s work and how she had assisted him. She shared all of the details, hoping to convince him that she had the necessary fortitude and experience with adversity to do what must be done.
Later, when darkness fell, they left the cottage and took to the road again. She would have continued trying to change his mind, but he silenced her immediately with a whispered warning. If René became privy to his plans, he told her, all could be lost with regard to this scheme.
Perhaps he believed she had given up. But Solange had made her decision, and that was all there was to that. They rode for what seemed hours, each lost in thought. He was probably working out an alternate solution in his mind, one that did not require her help.
They entered a village called Tournade, according to the road sign illuminated by the headlamps of the Saab. It was then Mercier declared his intention. “I’m leaving you here with my people. That way you’ll be nearby if the boy takes a turn for the worse.”
That said, he drove up a narrow winding street, parked on the cobblestones in front of a huge, Italianate three-story stone structure and got out. He motioned for her to do the same.
Solange did so, reluctant to leave the sleeping René. She wondered whether she would see him again if she were forced to stay in this house. It would have to be at the point of his gun. She meant to go with him.
The dark old house looked forbidding. Mercier lifted the ring on the lion’s head doorknocker and rapped once, paused, then tapped four more times in rapid succession.
A tall figure opened the door and emerged immediately, a mere shadow in the weak light of the moon. The doorway and the windows of the house remained dark. Solange noted the silhouette of a weapon in the man’s hand. “You’re late. We’d begun to worry,” he said to Mercier in English. “Everything go okay?”
“Not exactly. Will, this is Dr. Solange Micheaux, the old doctor’s daughter who was filling in for him. You stay here with our passenger while I get her settled upstairs. There’s no point moving young Chari any more than we need to.”
“Ma’am,” the voice acknowledged. “How is the boy?”
Mercier answered for her. “Not as bad as I thought.”
“Great. Then he’ll be able to vouch for you with his father.”
“I’m afraid he slept through everything,” Mercier said, taking Solange’s arm and ushering her inside the dark building.
He led her up a winding stairway to another door and knocked again in the same sequence. A woman answered. She was armed, but when she saw Mercier, she smiled and tucked the pistol into the holster at her waist and stood aside for them to enter. The room was warmly lit, the one window completely covered with heavy black fabric that had been taped securely to the frame.
“It’s about time, boss. We were getting ready to come looking for you.” Her dark brown gaze landed on Solange, who had elected to remain slightly behind Mercier and as unobtrusive as possible.
“Holly Amberson, this is Dr. Solange Micheaux,” he said, stepping away so the woman could see her better.
Solange admired her looks, even as she experienced a twinge of envy. Amberson was an unusual beauty with skin the color of pale caramel. Sleek black hair clipped in a short cap clung to a perfectly shaped head. Her dark brown eyes were long-lashed and slanted upward, giving her a faintly exotic expression. Her figure looked toned for strength beneath her black leggings and cropped chenille sweater. Though she stood only an inch or so taller than Solange’s five-three, she exuded self-confidence.
Jacques Mercier must find this Holly person terribly attractive. Were they involved?
He spoke up then and dispelled her musings about Amberson. “The Chari boy’s still in the car. Solange has him heavily sedated.”
The woman nodded. “So he missed the whole rescue op he was supposed to tell his daddy about. And our option, the elder Dr. Micheaux, is in the hospital. We verified the accident last night. The driver who struck him was a plumber on his way to a job and in a hurry. He checks out clean, no ties to anyone connected with Chari. It was just an unfortunate turn of events. Tough luck, but not insurmountable. She’ll do just as well.”
“No, she’s staying here.”
“What is my father’s condition? Have you heard?” Solange demanded.
“He’s doing very well. Better than expected. You need not worry about him.”
“Thank you for finding out.” Solange knew he would recover. She had checked his condition herself before she had gone to the prison. But it was her prerogative to worry, anyway. Their housekeeper, Marie, would be there for him if he needed anything.
Mercier interrupted her thoughts as he spoke to the woman. “I saw Will as we came in. What are the rest of the troops up to tonight?”
“Heard from Clay a couple of hours ago. He’s on top of things at the office. Joe and Martine are upstairs,” she added with a sly grin. “Eric’s out prowling around somewhere. You want me to raise him?”
“No, that’s all right. Just counting noses.”
He left Solange standing there, subject to the woman’s continued scrutiny and went straight to the coffee maker where he poured two cups. “I can’t take Solange in with me. She’s willing to help, but—”
“She knows the score?” the woman asked, eyeing Solange critically.
“Yes, everything,” he admitted as he turned and handed Solange a steaming cup. He was still addressing the woman, and they were both speaking rapid English, perhaps thinking that might prevent her understanding. “She can be trusted. That’s not the problem. Still, I’ve elected to leave her with you.”
“Why? He’ll need a doctor. You were the one who said—”
“Yes, but she’s not what I…we expected,” Mercier stated flatly, as if Solange had somehow disappointed him.
Amberson gave a little mirthless laugh and shook her head. “If I thought you’d had any time to get acquainted, I’d think you’d gone sweet on her. Maybe that you didn’t want to risk her cute little neck or something.”
Mercier looked away while he drank his coffee, obviously not wanting to dignify that ridiculous supposition. Sweet on her? An idea as facetious as the expression was archaic. But it gave Solange a small lift in spirit that this gorgeous woman might think such a thing was possible. Solange, an ordinary physician, hardly felt she was exotic enough to interest a man such as Mercier. Could she have made this woman a bit jealous?
It was hard to contain her smile. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and raised her eyebrows at the Amberson woman just because provoking her seemed the thing to do at the time.
“Good grief, man.” Amberson groaned and rolled her eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re definitely wrong,” Mercier muttered. But he sounded more impatient than outraged. “We don’t know much about Chari, the man. And Solange is so…well, look at her, Holly.” He gestured in her direction rather rudely.
Solange had enough of being talked around as if she were not there at all. She interrupted in English to establish that