Authors: Diane Whiteside
Safe at the forest’s edge, Celeste stared at Rosemeade’s shattered remains without saying a word. Occasions like this when absolutely everything was gone, such as Raoul’s death, required planning, not curses. Planning for survival—and revenge.
She’d heard the plane coming—too big for a crop duster, too low for the military flight it resembled—and instinctively dived for cover. The
mesnaderos
nearby had done the same thing, and they were the only ones who’d survived, all three of them. Plus the lot in New Orleans, anyone at her airfield, of course, and Georges.
“Get me a car,” she snarled at the
mesnadero
closest to her.
“Yes, madame,” he said, almost shrinking in on himself. “But nothing on two wheels or four can catch
that
motorcycle.”
She hissed angrily. He flinched but didn’t run.
“Would a plane?”
“Yes, madame.”
It was something, at least. And she still had Georges.
Dear Georges. Life began to regain its savor.
She flipped out her cell phone. He answered on the second ring.
“Cher madame?”
“Texas has destroyed Rosemeade, including all the commanderies’ troops and most of the
mesnaderos
.”
“Crap.”
“You have such a way with words. I’m heading for Hollingsworth’s ranch.”
Static echoed in her ear, not words.
“It’s in Texas,
cher
,” he commented finally.
“Just this side of Houston, to be precise—and it’s our closest arsenal, other than New Orleans.”
“Which the Texans are undoubtedly on their way to raid, even as we speak. I will steal a plane and meet you at Hollingsworth’s.”
“Excellent. I’m leaving now, before the stupid
prosaico
fire department decides to investigate Rosemeade’s demise.”
“
Au revoir
, madame.”
Jean-Marie brought the big bike off the bridge as quietly as possible. Sand slithered across the streets, overrunning any dirt, and Spanish moss whispered in the cypress trees overhead. The small hamlet’s few landmarks included a single traffic light guarding the bridge and a half dozen commercial buildings, all centered on an ancient fish-packing plant—and Dirty Bill’s Bikes.
Dirty Bill’s was a cross between a junkyard and a bike shop, which could have been one of the biggest in the South if it ever filed any honest paperwork. It was laid out like an old garage, whose big plate glass windows in front allowed passersby to see the tailpipes hanging from the ceiling, swaying like hula dancers in an invisible breeze. An entire side wall held only full-size garage bays, disappearing into the shadows. Cases of parts, racks of tires, both old and new, abounded, sparkling like jewels under an occasional spotlight. Even with all that, most of the cavernous interior was an indoor boneyard where antique motorcycles had come to die, displayed in every stage of agony and dismantling. Out back were acres more of motorcycles’ remains, wedged between the bayou and the fish-packing plant’s compost pile.
Even if Celeste’s plane had been flying low, she was unlikely to spot them here, a speck on the map reached only after zigzagging over back roads and bridges throughout the bayous.
Jean-Marie parked his Hayabusa by Dirty Bill’s side entrance, near the office. Hélène climbed down stiffly and took her helmet off, shaking her hair out and gulping in the humid night air.
Thank God she was out of that. She hadn’t had time to put it on properly, and her long hair had been crushed inside. She began to finger-comb it out, more interested in watching Jean-Marie clipping their helmets to the bike than discovering their exact location.
He turned back to face her, tall and lean in his black leather. She went into his arms like a homing pigeon, and he kissed her, long and sweet, their mouths relearning each other with every touch and taste, pledging themselves to each other again and again. Heavens, he was delectable, his shoulders’ muscles and bones shifting under her hands to hold her closer, his zippers cutting into her to mark her as his…Soon, they’d be doing more than kissing. Soon.
“Can you forgive me for trying to destroy your family?” He nuzzled her forehead, his breathing ragged.
“You are my family
now
, the only one that matters.” Tears touched her eyes, and she blinked them back. “You were right about her, and I can no longer claim her.”
He winced but didn’t try to pretend ignorance.
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to realize—”
“How far she’d fallen?” Hélène shuddered, thinking of Celeste’s letter to Raoul de Beynac’s sister.
Jean-Marie kissed the top of her head, offering silent compassion. Her heartbeat steadied, his warmth flowing into her, and she smiled faintly. “We can talk later, after you’re safe from her vengeance.”
“
I’m
safe?” His eyebrows flew up.
“Because you rescued me. I have the names and addresses of her
bandolerismo
in Texas.” She flashed the jump drive’s narrow silver band at him.
“Shit, no wonder she was chasing you so hard.” He whistled softly. “This means we can’t rest.”
“Were we planning to?”
“Not on this side of the border, no. But you look very tired, and I’d hoped to, cherish you a bit.” He caressed her face, his fingers brushing her skin in a foretaste of love.
Her heart melted at the look in his eyes. “I’ll be fine, truly. I fed last night.”
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
She started to stammer something and stopped, irritated at herself. There was no reason, after all, why she should be embarrassed. The fellow had only been food, and she had been separated from Jean-Marie.
“I will personally attend to your needs,
mon amour
, once we reach Texas.” Jean-Marie kissed her cheek. “Thoroughly.”
She blushed like a teenager.
“Right now, you need to put on the extra leathers. They’ll be too big, but they’ll protect you so we can leave Louisiana faster.”
She raised an eyebrow when he unlocked the office door. “Come here often?” She glanced around the utilitarian space, which seemed focused on posters of bikes and well-endowed women.
“Occasionally—and we always pay in cash. I need to change the bike’s tires while we’re here. She won’t be able to make this run, at least not fast enough, after driving over the gate’s remains.”
“How long will it take?” Hélène sat down on the small cot and started pulling on the leathers.
“Longer than I’d like. There are only two working roads out of Louisiana right now: the interstate and this back road. We’ll have to keep to this route, but Celeste could take the interstate.”
“Or she could alert whoever’s ahead of us.” Hélène contemplated the enormous boots he’d given her, reminded herself she only needed to sit—not walk—and started pulling on socks.
“True, although Ethan and his men are raiding Bacchus’s Temple right now. With luck, that’s where she is.”
“Celeste’s never been good at doing what people expect her to.”
“Agreed. We’re safe once we reach the Houston Commandery.” He caught her hand and kissed it, just before she pulled on the first glove.
“Hmm?” She smiled at him, privately laughing at her undoubtedly sappy expression. But nobody had ever treated her romantically before.
“Once the war is over, we can live wherever you’d like. The New Mexico
esfera
is held by Don Rafael’s vassal, but he holds to the more traditional customs. I’m sure he’d welcome you.”
“You’d be close to your friends,” she offered.
He shrugged noncommittally. “Or we could go to O’Malley in San Francisco, if you’d prefer a more sophisticated lifestyle.”
“You’re very generous, my love.” She caught his hands, and he pulled her close, making her feel fragile and feminine inside the clumsy, oversized gear.
“Above all else, I want you to be happy.”
“And I you, my
cónyuge
.”
He swooped down to kiss her, and she met him more than halfway, their bodies melting against each other. Would they ever have enough?
All too soon, his radio crackled into life.
“Jean-Marie, do you read me? Jean-Marie, come back.”
“Shit,” said Jean-Marie with considerable feeling and pulled his helmet on. He keyed the mike, keeping her in the crook of his arm where she, too, could hear. “What is it, Ethan?”
“According to the rats here at Bacchus’s Temple, Madame Celeste is flying to Hollingsworth’s ranch to reclaim her arsenal.”
“Oh hell,” she muttered.
She exchanged a long look with her love, both of them having nightmares about how much trouble Celeste could cause with more weapons.
“Yeah, that’s just what I said. Did you have a chance to look it over when you made Hollingsworth talk last month, Jean-Marie?”
“Yes, it’d be a good start to World War III. Didn’t touch it, though, since we left him in place as a double agent.”
“Not much of one, since he’s in Aspen with his girlfriend,” Ethan groused. “Madame Celeste is in the air right now, and I can’t get there before she does.”
“Houston’s got their hands full with the floods, and you’ve got Dallas with you,” Jean-Marie said slowly.
Hélène began to frantically review a map of Texas in her mind. Were there any big cities close enough to help, other than Houston and Dallas? No.
Celeste and a weapons cache—plus Devol and her very nasty
bandolerismo
?
Hélène’s stomach tried to find room for itself in the huge boots.
Jean-Marie’s eyes met hers, an honest question in them. He couldn’t go in alone, he couldn’t leave her behind—his only chance was to do this with her as
cónyuges
. But hadn’t they always been a team, no matter how high the price or bitter the task?
She nodded firmly, and he squeezed her hand, his relief and pride spreading through their bond.
“Hélène and I will go. We should be able to reach Hollingsworth’s ranch just before midnight.”
“You should have a few minutes before Madame Celeste arrives. Don Rafael is flying in with the
mesnaderos
, but I don’t have a precise arrival time for him.”
“Keep me informed.” Jean-Marie cut the radio off.
“Together again, huh?” Hélène tilted her chin up, wishing she’d taken him up on that meal.
“Always.” He tapped her affectionately under the chin. “Saddle up, partner.”
Jean-Marie stopped the Hayabusa just off the main road, where a gap in the pine trees offered a vantage point, and they dismounted to survey their future battlefield.
Hollingsworth’s ranch was more than a century old, originally funded by timber and longhorn cattle, but it had made its real money from oil. A few oil derricks still lazily pumped as a reminder of those days, while a small airstrip hinted at present-day wealth. Thickets of tall pine trees intermingled with stretches of grass, where longhorns grazed in the moonlight.
“
Longhorn
cattle, not something more modern?” Hélène murmured.
“Hollingsworth has ambitions of being an old-fashioned political boss, which means a big ranch in Texas,” Jean-Marie answered. “Besides, longhorns are canny beasts and actually quite profitable, as well as romantic.”
“Ah.” She let the single syllable summarize her disdain for anyone so snobbishly motivated.
The main house was a turn-of-the-century affair, encrusted with columns, layers of white trim, and several turrets. It had been built by an oilman for his three wives and displayed all of their widely varying tastes. It also had plenty of room for gun vaults, walk-in freezers, and other locked spaces. Only security lights were shining now.
“No
prosaico
scent. Hollingsworth must still obey Madame Celeste’s order about no overnight staff,” Jean-Marie commented.
Hélène raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. “It’s cheaper, after all.”
“Makes it harder to look after livestock,” she countered.
“The only animals here year-round are the longhorns. If he wants horses, he’ll truck them in for the occasion.”
Hélène rolled her eyes at such niceties and pressed on with their survey. “There’s marsh throughout the area, correct?”
“Technically a bayou, which is what’s flooded.”
They both glanced at the water bordering the road they’d ridden in on. The closer they’d gotten to Houston, the less dry land there’d been. Here it seemed as if ponds and streams penned the cattle as much as fences did.
“So Celeste and her men can only arrive by plane, not car, since this is the only open road.”
“Giving us two tasks—prevent the plane from leaving…”
“Because we don’t want that lot causing trouble in an unknown spot,” Hélène agreed vehemently.
“And destroy the arsenal. Or at least stop them from using the arsenal’s contents.”
“Do you know where it is?” She glanced sideways at him.
“Yes. I was here last month, when we suspected Hollingsworth had betrayed his fealty to us and was talking to Madame Celeste. He became quite chatty after a little persuasion.” He offered no details about his methods or the subsequent conversation.
“Hmm.” Professional spy that she was, she didn’t ask for any such insights. “Do you know the combination to its door?”
“I know what it was, but I’d bet it’s been changed since.”
A plane hummed through the sky, its engines changing pitch for arrival. Crap. Celeste would arrive early.
Hélène’s voice broke the unhappy silence. Was she also trying not to think about the risks?
“Two of us, two tasks. I’ve only cracked a safe in school, so I’ll take the plane. I should be able to figure out how to blow it up.”
“Hélène! Dammit, what if that doesn’t work?” Horrific visions flashed before his eyes of Hélène caught in an explosion, because she’d had to go too close in order to see. Her skin burnt and peeling away, her voice gasping in pain after inhaling fiery air…
“What do you mean,
doesn’t
work?” She propped her hand on her hip and glared at him. “Does Celeste have inert fuel tanks so they can’t catch on fire?”
“Wouldn’t you, if you thought you’d be chased by a firestarter?” he countered.
“Shit.” He could almost hear her brain spin. He thought rapidly, racing her to another option.
“We have to stop the plane from taking off,” he said firmly.
“How?”
“Use the cattle.”
“What?”
“Move them onto the runway after the plane lands.”
She frowned but finally nodded. “It could work, but I’ve been a city girl for a long time. Even when I was growing up, I never herded cattle.”
“Just shapeshift and herd them. What shapes do you have, exactly?”
“Owls.” She shrugged, looking both embarrassed and irritated. “I enjoy flying.”
His eyebrows went up before his face cleared. “Night birds and little use for escape,” he summed up.
“Correct. I could learn the shapes during peace time, but they weren’t much use for outrunning my bodyguards during a mission.”
“Idiots,” he dismissed all of Whitehall’s staff for the past two centuries. “I can give you a useful shape.” It should also keep her out of firing range.
I heard that,
Hélène snapped,
but you’re right. I can’t crack a safe quickly, but I can learn to herd cattle.
Do you mind?
A little but I’ll be fine, so long as you come back to me.
Always.
He infused his voice with all the reassurance he could.
The plane buzzed closer, clearly on final approach.
“Go!”
They kissed hard and fast before he ran for the house, taking advantage of every bit of cover.
Tell me when you’re in position
, he added.
I’ll picture the shape for you then. We’ll rendezvous at the motorcycle after you’re finished.
Hollingsworth’s ranch slept placidly in the moonlight, yet another boring piece of Texas mud. Celeste couldn’t wait to leave, and she’d only been here two minutes.
“Just get the guns and ammo, then come back here. We don’t want to spend too long on the ground,” she reminded her idiot
mesnaderos
. A quartet now, thanks to finding two more at her airfield. “I’ll wait here.” She sure as hell wasn’t risking her only—only, dammit!—pair of decent shoes by running over this ground.