“Is this your complication, Lainie?”
The familiar use of Madelaine’s name had Christien clamping his teeth together so hard he almost bit the inside of his cheek. Complication? What the hell did that mean? And who the hell was this man who knew Madelaine by name?
Madelaine touched Christien’s sleeve. “Christien, this is John. He was keeping me entertained while you worked.”
He just bet he was. Christien grunted an acknowledgment but didn’t offer his hand as manners dictated. Obviously the twenty-first century Madelaine was just as naïve as the fourteenth century. Couldn’t she tell a player when she saw one? Must he keep his eye on her constantly? And where the hell was Ken?
John’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile. “Christien Chevalier, I assume? You didn’t tell me your complication was the owner of the club, Lainie.”
Madelaine shrugged and Christien wanted to punch the man for even uttering her name. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the fourteenth century. Men were allowed to speak to women these days.
John chuckled and dug into his pocket to lay money on the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Lainie.” He turned to Christien. “No harm done, man. We were just talking.” He walked away.
Nay. Christien
let
him walk away. No use causing a scene in his own club, but he kept an eye on this John as he disappeared into the crowd before turning back to Madelaine.
“I’m a complication?” he asked.
She looked up at him with those big, unfocused eyes and swayed. He caught her by the shoulder before she slithered off the barstool.
“You’re drunk.”
She shook her head, but the movement was slow. “No.”
He called Ken over. “How much has she had?”
Ken held up his fingers, indicating three.
“Three what?”
“Blueberry martinis,” Madelaine said. “They taste like melted Popsicles.”
Ken motioned him over but Christien couldn’t let go of Madelaine or she’d fall, so he leaned over the bar.
“I watered them down,” Ken whispered above the noise. “She shouldn’t be drunk off what I gave her.”
“Christien?”
He turned to Madelaine as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped over. He quickly caught her and lifted her in his arms. She was limp, her head lolling to the side, her breathing weak.
Christien barreled through the crowd. People parted, staring. Whispers followed him as he made his way to his office. Suddenly Sabine was at his side.
“Call nine-one-one.” Panicked, he shoved his office door open with his shoulder and gently laid her on the leather couch. Kneeling beside her, he took her cold hand in his.
What the hell happened? She was sitting at his bar, drinking a martini. She was safe. Except she wasn’t. Someone got to her and now she was—
No. He wouldn’t think like that. She was going to be okay. She had to be. He rubbed her hand to bring warmth back to it.
“Madelaine? Love? Can you hear me?”
She didn’t move, not even a twitch.
Mon Dieu,
what happened?
People crowded into his office and he faintly heard Ronald pushing them out until it was blessedly quiet.
Sabine appeared beside him with a look of concern. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He watched Madelaine’s chest rise and fall. As long as she breathed, she would be okay. “Bring Ronald in here,” he said.
Minutes later Ronald was at his side, his expression severe. “How is she?”
“Breathing. A man was with her. Red hair, medium height. Jeans. Three-buttoned shirt. Name was John. Sound familiar?”
Ronald shook his head, his forehead creasing in thought.
“I want him found. Have Ken pull the receipts to get a name.” Damn it. Christien remembered him throwing a few bills on the bar. “Never mind. He paid in cash. Try to find him. Ask Ken what he knows. Ask anyone.”
Ronald nodded and hurried out.
The EMTs arrived, pushing Christien out of the way. He stood to the side, his heart in his throat, a primal scream on his lips. He wouldn’t lose her. Not yet.
Not yet, damn it!
Christien bathed Madelaine’s head with a cool washcloth. Her face was nearly gray but for now she was resting between bouts of violent nausea. He didn’t know how much more her body could handle as it tried to rid itself of the poison.
GHB, the doctors said. Gamma Hydroxy Butrate. Street name G, Gook, Easy Lay, Vita G or G Juice, take your pick. Similar to the date-rape drug, Rohypnol, but more insidious and dangerous. He was told to expect the nausea as well as disorientation, dizziness, unconsciousness and memory loss, but the warnings didn’t make it any easier to watch.
She was in and out, throwing up when she was awake and sleeping fitfully in between.
A rage unlike he’d ever experienced before swirled inside him. He would discover who did this to her and he would kill the bastard. Slowly. He had a bad feeling this John guy wasn’t acting on his own. If they found him, maybe they’d discover who was behind this.
She moaned and her eyes fluttered open, but there was nothing there, no recognition. She was still under the influence, awake but not conscious.
Sabine entered the hospital room. “Ronald wasn’t able to find the John guy. A few people said they saw him leave and head west, but he was gone before Ronald could follow.”
Christien nodded, outwardly calm as he continued to wipe Madelaine’s face, inwardly a roiling mass of fury and fear. He would never get the image of her limp body out of his head.
“Ready my plane,” he said quietly. “As soon as she’s released, we’re leaving.”
Sabine hesitated, then nodded and left the room without the questions he knew she was dying to ask. He would take Madelaine away from here. Away from the danger to someplace safe. The safest place he knew of.
Lainie blinked against the light invading her darkness. Her throat hurt and her bones ached. For a moment she lay perfectly still, afraid if she moved, she’d be sick again. Disoriented, she searched her mind, trying to remember what happened. The last thing she recalled was settling onto the barstool of the club. Had she contracted some sort of stomach flu or had she consumed too much wine? No. Not wine. Something blue. Blueberry martinis.
She remembered Christien’s constant presence. Every time she woke up he was there, washing her face or holding her hair out of the way while she vomited.
She vaguely remembered him saying something about a trip. Maybe when she got better they’d go on a trip? That sounded wonderful. Hopefully it would be someplace with a private beach and a house right on the sand. Did Christien own his own island? Wouldn’t it be cool if he did?
“Madelaine.”
She forced her eyes open again. She was in a soft bed beneath even softer sheets, in a room that seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn’t quite place. Certainly she wasn’t in Christien’s bed in his apartment above the club. No velvet spread with matching curtains tied to the bedposts. This room was lighter, airier, the windows much bigger with the view of a cloudless blue sky and rolling hills of green grass. No Lake Michigan in sight. And yet she felt at home here. Almost at peace.
She sat up slowly, relieved her stomach didn’t protest. Christien was sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes weary and bloodshot, a few days’ growth of beard covering his chin and jaw.
“Hi.”
He smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Much better. Did I have the flu?”
He shook his head, his lips thin and bloodless. “You don’t remember?”
She took inventory and decided she felt fine except for a sore throat and a residual achiness that would probably go away once she moved around. “I remember coming home from work and wanting to see you. I wanted to get a glass of wine and sit at the bar to unwind before…” Her eyes widened. “What day is it? I have a huge project due on Monday.” She threw the covers off, surprised to find herself in only a large white T-shirt. “I have to go to work. Giselle will be furious if this project isn’t finished by Monday morning.”
Christien put a staying hand on her wrist. “It’s Sunday, Madelaine.”
“Sunday?” She jumped out of bed. The room tilted and she had to grab on to the delicate nightstand beside the bed. Oh my God, she was in so much trouble. Giselle was going to fire her.
Christien eased her back onto the bed. “Madelaine, sit. You’re in no shape to go into work.”
“I have to—” She looked around the room, at the ornate white-and-gold-trimmed dressers, the light yellow walls and the paintings of people from other eras. Obviously this wasn’t Christien’s bedroom in Milwaukee. Or any other room she’d been in. “Where are we?”
When Christien didn’t answer she turned to him. “Where are we, Christien?”
“At my home.” He took a deep breath. “In France.”
Her breath caught in her throat. France. She was in France. She’d never been outside the country before. “I don’t have a passport.”
“Taken care of.”
Of course. Was he so powerful even in France? Sure he was. This was his country and he lived in this huge house full of antique furniture and paintings that in her naïve estimation were probably worth a lot of money. His wealth far exceeded even what she had guessed.
But why didn’t she remember flying to France? She didn’t remember anything past Christien introducing her to Ken the bartender.
“I’m going to miss my deadline,” she said in horror.
“I’m afraid you are.”
“I’m going to get fired.” Her dad was going to lose his place in the nursing home and her student loans would go into default. Suddenly her stomach started to churn and it had nothing to do with the flu.
Christien took her hand in his. “Listen to me, Madelaine. Something happened at the club Friday night.”
She searched his face, waiting for him to continue but it seemed he was finding it hard to go on, which made her fear double. “What happened?”
“You were drugged.”
She yanked her hand away. “Drugged? How?”
“I don’t know, but I’m looking into it.” His voice was hard, his eyes flashing steel. “You’ve heard of the date-rape drug?”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, I was raped?”
“No, no.” He took her hand again. “Someone slipped a similar, but far more lethal drug into your drink. You passed out and were rushed to the hospital.”
“Why don’t I remember this?” She didn’t recall anything of a hospital. All she remembered was… She searched her brain but was unable to come up with anything past meeting Ken. “Was it Ken?” she whispered.
Christien shook his head. “We believe it was a man named John. He was talking to you. The two of you were…” His face twisted. “Close.”
Lainie touched his knee, shocked at what she was hearing and horrified she didn’t remember any of it. “Oh, Christien, please don’t think… I would never—”
“I know,
ma chérie.
I knew immediately something was wrong. I thought you were drunk.” He huffed out a laugh. “Ken’s blueberry martinis can be powerful, but he’d watered them down after the first one. We think this John dropped the drug in your drink. It’s a side effect of the drug that you don’t remember.”
“Why would someone do such a thing?”
He looked at her with the full force of his fury. “I assume to get to me.”
He thought the accident with the minivan was to get to him and now this. “Why does someone want to hurt you?”
He looked away, his fingers flexed in hers. “I have something people want. Something powerful.”
What was so powerful they were willing to hurt her to get to Christien? He was a businessman. By everything she’d read his business was clean and legitimate. Was he involved in something illegal? Drugs? Oh, God, was he dealing arms to the terrorists?
No. Not Christien. He was kind and honest. But who knew what people would do when their backs were pressed against a wall.
She smoothed the oversized T-shirt over her thighs and glanced out the window to the unfamiliar scenery. Did anyone know where he’d taken her? Would they be able to find her in France?
Christien shot her a hurt look. “By the fear on your face, I imagine you think I’m some sort of criminal. Money laundering? No? Drugs? Ah, yes. You think I’m dealing drugs.”
She shook her head, but the words wouldn’t come to deny the charges. The nightclub would be an excellent cover for a drug operation.
“I’m not dealing drugs, Madelaine. I’m not involved in anything illegal,” he said sadly.
She winced at his tone. She didn’t mean to hurt him. “Then what?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Something far bigger and far more evil than drugs. But not illegal. At least in the eyes of the law.”
“Unethical?”
“Possibly. But I’m on the side of right here. You have to trust me in this.” He stood and paced to the windows. The bright sun shone behind him, creating an aura of light that surrounded him. Like an angel. Her angel.
What was she thinking? Of course he wasn’t doing anything illegal. This was Christien. The idea of him dealing drugs or negotiating arms with terrorists was ludicrous and she’d been an idiot to think it in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know you would never do anything illegal.”
He laughed, but the sound was cynical. “Don’t be so sure. At times I’ve done what I had to.”
“You had your reasons.” Just like he had his reasons to believe she was in danger. Proven twice now.
“I’m humbled by your faith in me,” he said sarcastically.
His words bit, but she absorbed the pain. It was no more than she deserved for doubting him when he’d done nothing but take care of her and try to protect her.
“Forgive me.”
“Ah, Madelaine. There’s nothing to forgive,
mon coeur.
You have every right to your doubts after what you’ve been through. I never meant for you to get hurt.”
She stood again to join him at the window. Her legs wobbled a bit. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
He touched her cheek, his thumb grazing her jaw. “But I did know. From the moment I saw you in my club, I knew you were special and I knew nothing good would come of this.”
She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “This?”
His hand dropped and he turned away from her to stare out the window. “Us.”
What was he saying? They had no future? Surely he hadn’t brought her all the way to France to break up with her.
She stepped away and raised her chin. “What do you mean?”
His harsh expression softened. “Only that I should have walked away when I had the chance. But I never had the chance. One look at you and I’d found the other half of my heart.”
Such beautiful words, spoken so seriously and with such emotion. “I’m glad you didn’t walk away.”
Humor shone in his eyes before it fizzled. “I knew when I brought you here you would lose your job and I’m sorry. But I can’t let you stay in Milwaukee. Not after two unexplained accidents. I had to bring you somewhere safe because I won’t lose you again.” His voice trailed off and he looked away.
“I don’t care about the job.” She laughed but it was more of a nervous stutter. “It’s my dad I’m worried about. Moving him will be hard. He doesn’t take well to change and it might set him back.”
He looked away and his jaw flexed. “About your father.”
The blood suddenly rushed from her head. “What’s wrong with my father? Is he sick? Did something happen to him?”
He took her hand and pulled her closer. “No, love, nothing like that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your father is safe.”
She willed her heart back to normal.
“Don’t be angry, Madelaine.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“I knew you would be worried about paying his bills, so I took care of him before we left. He won’t ever have to be moved. He’ll remain safe and secure in his nursing home for however long you want him there.”
Her gaze wandered back to the view of the countryside, but she didn’t see the rolling hills studded with lavender. She was looking inside herself. She didn’t want to accept Christien’s generosity. She should be able to take care of her father on her own. “His entire life was spent working for me,” she said softly. “So I could have the things I wanted.” She pressed her lips together to fight the tears. “I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger. I was just as selfish as any other teenager, I guess. It wasn’t until later, when the government put pressure on him to sell, then outright took his land, that I discovered just what type of man he was.”
She reached for Christien’s hand and wound her fingers through his. Tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. “You would have liked him and I think he would have liked you.”
“He sounds like an honorable man.”
“He was strong, honest, hard-working. A man who would give someone the shirt off his back if they asked for it. And then… Then everything was taken away from him.” She brushed at her tears with her free hand while Christien held tight to the other. “I tried to help him fight, but I was one small voice against the big engine of government and the government
really
wanted that highway.”
“You did what you could. Your father would be proud.”
“My father’s mind broke when his land was taken away from him. An Alexander had farmed that land for the past one hundred years.” She turned to Christien. “Don’t you see? I owe it to him to take care of him.”
“And yet, wouldn’t you still be taking care of him by accepting my help? Don’t let pride get in the way of what’s best, Madelaine.”
She smiled. “We Alexanders are a proud people.”
“I understand pride and I also understand when to accept another’s help.”
She needed to do what was best for her father and while not having a job wasn’t the best, Christien’s humble offering was.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, swallowing her damn pride. “You’ve never even met him.”
“He’s your father, Madelaine. The man who formed you into the strong, beautiful woman you are today. He’s special to you and special to me because of that. Besides, I hated you working for Giselle. You deserve better.”
She laughed, surprised she was able to through the tears clogging her throat. “I won’t argue with you there. But seriously, Christien, thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me to know Dad’s in a place he loves and he won’t ever have to leave.”