Page 122 of Win Some Love Some
He was the definition of Euro cliché with his slicked back hair. A cigarette pinched in his fingers.
“I did not mean to ever hurt you, cherie,” he said in his heavy accent, but I refused to speak French with him. It felt like a betrayal of something I loved. “You know I am a lover, not a criminal. I only…how you say…borrowed from you.”
“Oh really? Then give it back.” He took a long drag of his smoke. “You’re a thief.” I said bluntly, then turned back around in my seat to make sure Peter was, in fact, taking me back to the garage. “How could you, Peter? How could you for one second believe I would have anything to do with him again?”
“I wanted to put you both in a room and see if I could get you to talk it out. I told you, I need both your stories.”
“I thought you gave up on that book?”
“I already accepted the advance,” he said, looking pale. And sweaty. “Without your story, they want the advance back. Apparently, no one is interested in what Rene has to say.”
Oh. What a poor dummy. I would have felt bad for him if he hadn’t kidnapped me. Both his hands were on the wheel and he kept glancing between the speedometer and his watch, because Nick had put the fear of God in him. We passed the Dumont Hotel heading back into town, so I felt confident Peter wasn’t planning on any tricks.
“Cherie,” Rene said, poking his head between the two seats. “There is a so much money. We can split-”
“I don’t care about the money,” I said between clenched teeth. “I want never to see either one of you again.”
We were approaching the town square and I could see the shop across the way. Nick would be there waiting for me. I was certain of it. I wished I had put that agent’s number in my phone so he could meet us there too, but the card was in my bedroom at home. Should I get them to drop me at home? Would the trail run cold by the time I was able to get the number and call them?
This honestly looked so easy in the movies.
“With the money,” Rene said, still with his head between our seats like an overzealous Golden Retriever. “I could…how you say…pay you back?”
“What about the other women you stole from? Whose lives you ruined? That woman you left stranded in Morocco?” I wrestled with my seatbelt to glare at him. “You’re a bullshit con artist Rene, I wouldn’t help you if it was the last thing I did.”
“Look,” Peter said. “If you could just convince your caveman boyfriend not to do anything stupid-”
Nick was standing in the driveway leading to the garage doors of his shop. In nothing more than jeans, Tims, and a henley shirt, he was the opposite of Rene. Nothing flashy about him, all stability, responsibility and loyalty.
I couldn’t love him any more in that second if I tried.
“Money, fame and adventure are nothing compared to love.”
“Ouais, this is true,” Rene said, and I could have murdered him with my bare hands.
Nick looked murderous, and even I was worried about the two idiots in the car with me.
“Tell him not to kill us,” Peter whispered.
“Kill as in death?” Rene asked.
“Kill as in hurt you quite a lot. I make no promises.”
Peter pulled up his rental in front of the garage and I popped out, ready to show Nick I was fine. Physical retribution was not required.
“Hey,” I said, running up to Nick, who wasn’t looking at me, but at the car behind me. “I’m good. No worries. We need to get to my parents’ house so I can get the card for the FBI agent. Then it’s in their hands.”
I could hear the squeal of tires and figured Peter was making his getaway.
“Now, Nick, we need to go-”
I turned to see an old Chevy truck parked parallel in front of Peter’s rental.
“Is that Wyatt?” I asked, looking at the driver.
Peter put his car in reverse, but a large black Bronco pulled up behind him, blocking his retreat.
“Get inside, Nor. We’ll handle this,” Nick told me.
