Page 9 of The Devil Wears Orange
In the alley of the Jardins, Anne holds Chase tighter.
“He tells her that she need not worry, that if her friend loves her and Chase as much as she believes she does, then everything will be fine. Do you understand, Ms. Milton?”
I nod my head weakly, stunned that he knows my name. In the distance, Anne stands rigid, clutches Chase, and looks frantically around her.
“‘You can’t run or scream,’” he says. “‘No one can help except Ms. Milton.’”
Outside, the man opens his jacket. My hand flies to my mouth, suppressing uncontrollable utterings. Does he have a gun?
“My nature does not allow me to be a violent man. However, my partner views things differently.” Gently, the waiter twirls my hair that cascades around my neck.
I stiffen. “Don’t touch me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He pulls his hand away. “I apologize, my dear, Charlotte. Please, tell me you understand my predicament.”
This time, I nod in exaggeration to illustrate how docile I can be. How did things go so wrong? He whispers instructions in a soft intonation then makes me repeat everything back to him, voice shaking. When he is done, he backs away and disappears. As instructed, I count in a quiet murmur…18, 19, 20.
Perhaps this is all a misunderstanding or a prank for a new TV show – God knows, I’ve seen my fair share of trashy Euro shows – but when I look back at the guard, I notice that, true to the stranger’s words, a red laser beam is aimed at his forehead. They mean to kill him. I set the plan in motion and nervously approach the guard.
“I’m sorry to have to put you through this, but a man...”
“Pardon moi?”the guard says, confused.“Non-Anglais.”
Oh.Merde.
Switching to French, I tell him a gun is pointed at his head, but I can tell by the expression on his face, mirroring the Prince and Pierre’s at the party, that he doesn’t comprehend a word.
“Oh, no,” I moan. Exasperated and terrified, I use trembling hands to gesture the shape of a gun, aim it at his head, and cock back my finger. Alarm jumps to his face, eyes wide, mouth open, quickly agitated.
“Ssshh, not so loud.” I worry he will draw attention to us. “Stay still and be quiet.” I bring a finger to my lips, wear an intense expression on my face.
The guard quiets down. Under his breath, I hear the incantation of a prayer. His eyes look up, almost cross-eyed, to where the red laser shines on his sweaty forehead. Now that he’s contained, I swipe his phone from a pouch on his hip and drop it to the ground, stomping until the screen cracks and blackens.
“I’m terribly sorry, but if I don’t do as they say, they’ll hurt my friend.” My quivering voice cracks part-way through.
The guard is riveted by something, and I turn around to follow his gaze. A hand appears in the slit of the tent alongsideMistress in a Red Dress.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, voice thick with dread. Carefully, I lift the painting off a wire that hangs from the ceiling. It’s more burdensome than I anticipate and nearly drop theMistresson my toes. Grabbing onto both sides of the frame, I heave the painting through the opening and hand it to the thief on the other side. The moment he takes it, I thrust my head through, eyes scanning the area for Anne and Chase.
They’re gone.
Chapter 5
Tumbling out from theslit in the tent, I search for Anne and Chase. I scan the fountain, the gravel walkway, the benches, but they aren’t there. Panicked, I tear across the grounds. I did everything the waiter had asked, and he took them anyway.
As I sprint, I catch swirling images of tourists posing for family photos in front of the fountain. Get out of my way! I want to yell, if only I could quit gasping. A woman is pushing a stroller, but she’s blonde.
It takes me several seconds to locate the white of the waiter’s uniform, the thief jostled by a tour group. I hunt the man in white like Alice pursuing her rabbit, but Alice never had to do it in heels with blistered feet and a side cramp. I nearly catch him by Rue de Rivoli, but people on the street push past me, shopping bags in hand, and block my view. If I’m having trouble navigating through this crowd, then it must be more challenging for him with the painting.
Horns blare, startling me, and I lose sight of the white rabbit. My head jerks from side to side, eyes darting. Dread rises from my gut and into my throat. What have they done with Anne?
There!I spy the waiter attempt to get into a green Peugeot, but a large family blocks his way. It gives me time to catch up to him. I seize the frame and yank it towards me.
“Where are they?” I shout. His head tilts to me, the fencing mask hides his facial expression, but his body language appears unruffled by my presence. He pulls the painting back to him with little force as though I’m nothing more than a tiny ant.
But ants are strong enough to carry more than twice their weight, and I tighten my grip, pulling theMistressback toward me. My voice comes in hard and loud. “Tell me where they are, or I’ll scream for the po–”
Someone smothers my mouth from behind, and my attempt for a blood-curdling scream comes out muffled. My assailant drags me back into the waiting vehicle. I kick back, trying to hook my foot behind his ankle to pull him off balance, but only succeed in hitting his shin. I try again, slam him with my heel, but he hoists me up and all I hit is air. My arms pinned, I thrash and wiggle but he’s too strong. Why can’t I remember the self-defense article we ran in the health section two years ago? He stuffs me into the backseat, banging my head on the way in and my purse falls to the road. Doors slam shut. Bodies press against me on either side.
