Blood Oath Part 9

"Excuse me?" Bellay said.

"The office. What day was it leased?"

"This month. The eleventh."

"That's three days ago."

"And why is that important?"

Houston shivered, raging. "Jan was dead by then. The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!"

"Peter, there's your proof." Simone sat bolt-upright in her chair.

"Of what?" Bellay said.

Houston's voice was angry. "When that stranger sent us here, there wasn't any way he could have known that St. Laurent was in that office. The office wasn't even rented yet. It didn't have to be. They never meant for us to get here. When they found out I had lived, they hoped I'd follow through on what I started. So they waited until the cops had checked the building; then they leased the office, and they waited. G.o.dd.a.m.ned b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. They watched me go in the building.

They called the office, confident I'd answer the phone. They had to make sure I was in the room."

Chapter 18.

Houston drove at random, constantly checking his rearview mirror. He turned left, then right for no apparent reason. On occasion, he went all the way around a block. He sped up. He slowed down. And when at last he had been satisfied that there was no one following, he darted toward the main road out of Roncevaux and pressed his foot on the accelerator.

"This road takes us out of town," Simone said, surprised.

"I know it."

"But the hotel Bellay sent us to is back the other way."

"That's why I'm going this way."

"Then you didn't lose direction back there? All those wrong streets you were taking? Oh, my G.o.d."

"You understand now. They won't think we'll leave town this soon. We're hurt.

It's natural for us to spend the night here. How long would it take for someone to discover where we're staying?"

"We could check in under different names."

"That only makes it harder for them. Not impossible. If we stayed here, eventually they'd find us."

"We could ask Bellay for a guard."

"Would you trust a guard? We wouldn't know him, wouldn't know if someone made a switch and wore a uniform to fool us. Even if we trusted him, a man who wants to kill us bad enough can find a way to do it. We don't have another choice. We've got to leave. While we've been hunting St. Laurent, somebody's hunted us. The next time he'll make extra sure. He'll fix it so no one ever finds us."

She shuddered. "Don't talk like that."

"I have to make you understand. We're fighting for our lives."

The high beams on the headlights showed the empty tree-lined road ahead. Pete squinted toward a road sign. "Do you know that town?"

"I've never even heard of it," she said.

"Well, maybe no one else has. Ten kilometers. Let's try it. I can't drive much longer. My shoulder's in agony."

"My wrist is swollen. I can't drive at all," she said.

He geared down into second. Fighting not to groan, he turned the steering wheel.

His throbbing arm resisted. The Renault slipped past a ditch and headed east along a gravel road, its headlights probing through the dark.

"Simone, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For getting you involved."

"I didn't have to come along. You told me Jan was murdered, but I thought you were imagining. I humored you."

"But I knew it was not imagination. I knew there was risk. I was so caught up in my rage I didn't realize I was putting you in danger too. I never should have asked for help."

"It doesn't make a difference now. I'm here. I made my choice. Let's say we both were wrong. It doesn't change a thing."

"Look, I could take my chances. You could leave me in this town. But when you got back home . . . I'm worried. Maybe he'll come after you," he said.

She didn't speak, but he could hear her draw in her breath.

"You see? It's maybe not just for tonight while you're with me. He might decide that you're involved. He might be worried you're a danger to him. Do we separate, or do we face this thing together?" Houston waited, but she didn't answer.

He kept staring past the headlights. All at once he saw some cottages, a cafe, a service station. Lights were few. He saw no people. One lone car was parked along the street. Before he knew it, he was through the town, the darkened countryside before him once again. He made a U-turn, tensing from the painful effort, and went back the way he'd come.

"Simone, you didn't answer me."

"I'm furious."

"I told you I was sorry."

"Not at you. I'm angry, and I'm frightened, and I don't like being threatened.

In the States, when I was married, that's the way my husband was. He wanted to control me. When I left him, he chased after me. He terrorized me. Twice he tried to kill me."

"Jesus."

"I came back to France. I made a promise to myself. I'd never live in fear again. I won't submit to always wondering if someone's hiding in the bushes. I won't sacrifice my freedom, flinching every time I hear a footstep. This is my fight now. I want that b.a.s.t.a.r.d stopped."

Chapter 19 hotel, the sign said, but the place seemed the equivalent of a boarding house in the States. A stark old home, a block away from the main intersection. Here the neighborhood was absolutely dark. He parked the car behind some bushes down a lane. As cats snarled, they walked toward the street.

The house was dark and quiet. Houston knocked on the door. No answer.

Houston knocked again. He shivered from fatigue, the aftermath of shock. Simone stepped deeper in the shadows as the headlights of a car went past.

A third knock, and at last a light came on inside. A shadow hobbled down a hallway toward the entrance. An old woman in a bulky robe and baggy nightcap peered through a narrow window. Then she pulled the door open a crack and frowned suspiciously at them.

Simone did all the talking, quite a lot, it seemed to Houston, just to rent a room. But this aged woman was annoyed that she'd been wakened, and she seemed to recognize that Houston and Simone were different nationalities, which raised the question of whether they were married.

Houston nodded his a.s.surance.

If they weren't, the woman said, she'd have to rent them separate rooms.

Pete understood. She isn't bothered if we live in sin, but if she rents two rooms, then she gets twice the money.

They couldn't risk the night in separate rooms. At last Simone resolved the issue by agreeing to pay double for one room, and now the aged woman, satisfied, nodded.

They had brought their bags. They stepped inside. Houston paid. The woman gestured without ceremony toward the stairs and a door that faced them at the top. They went up wearily.

"She missed her calling," Houston said. "She should be selling cars."

"She told me breakfast is at six."

"Which means she figures we'll sleep through it, so she won't be bothered making it. I take it back. She ought to be a politician."

They went inside. The room was neat and clean but small. A bra.s.s bed had a too-soft mattress, sagging in the middle. Houston set the bags down, testing it. Simone had shut the door.

"I hope you're not embarra.s.sed," Houston said. "There isn't any other way. We have to share the room."

"I've seen a man asleep before. The question is, Who gets the bed, who gets the chair?"

"You want to toss a coin?"

"I think I'll exercise my womanly prerogative and offer you the chair."

"I was afraid of that." He glanced around. "There isn't any bathroom."

"Twice the price, and you expect to get a bathroom? You're a dreamer."

Houston pulled the door and peered out. "Down the hall. Well, since I'm sleeping in the chair "

"You get the bathroom first. I was afraid of that." They grinned at one another.

Then the circ.u.mstances that had forced them here occurred to them, and instantly they sobered.

"I won't take too long," he said.

He grabbed his bag and left the room. When he came back, wearing pajamas and a robe, he discovered that Simone had already undressed and put on her own robe.

While she went out, he found a blanket in the bureau, and he nestled in the chair. But something nagged at him. A puzzling detail he was certain he had missed.

Simone returned. She set her bag down. But instead of getting into bed, she sat on its edge and stared at him. "Bellay was right."

"About what?"

"You haven't told the truth," she said.

"You're wrong."

"Not all of it." Her face was tense. "I felt suspicious from the start. You seemed too eager to find St. Laurent and thank him."

"He maintained my father's grave. I owed him. What's so strange about "

"He didn't do it."

"What?"

"He disappeared in nineteen forty-four. He never kept his promise to your mother. You don't owe him anything."

Pete felt his face blanch. Something swelled within him, at the same time sinking, burning.

"But I let the contradiction pa.s.s," she said. "I figured you must have a reason not to tell me your real motive. It was none of my concern, I thought. I liked you. I was curious. I went along."

"Simone, I never meant to "

"Let me finish. Then your wife died, and I sympathized with what you'd been through. Unlike some of my compatriots, I feel a fondness for Americans. I pushed away my doubts. I helped you further. But now someone wants to kill me.

I'm not blaming you for that. As I said, I made my choice, and even if I made it blindly, it was my choice. I'll stand by it. But as long as I'm involved in this, please be honest with me. All the way here I was waiting for an explanation, but you wouldn't trust me, wouldn't honor me by telling me the truth. I can't wait any longer. What the h.e.l.l is this about?"

Pete concentrated on her. He felt nervous, bothered not just by the danger they were in, but by a different kind of fear, a lurking, hidden threat to peace of mind and sanity. The threat was like a vicious animal that stalked in secret.

He'd been trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't there, to make believe that his suspicions had no basis in reality.

But now the time had come. The animal was snarling from the darkness. "In my bag," he said. "I've got some brandy." Houston pushed the blanket from him, leaned out from the chair, and reached his bag. He opened it and found the brandy bottle. When he looked around, he saw no gla.s.ses.

"Guess we'll have to rough it." He twisted the top off and raised the bottle to his lips. Then, blinking, he offered her the bottle.

She surprised him by accepting. She peered at the label, raised the bottle, and drank deeply. Houston watched her throat move as she swallowed. Then she set the bottle on the floor between them.

"The truth," she said. "You're just postponing it."

He studied her, reluctant to talk. Then, as if his fierce restraint had snapped, his mind stumbled forward. "It's my father. I can't find his grave." The words hung in the air.

He fumbled through his jacket, found the pack, and lit a cigarette.

Simone was baffled. "What's that got to do with "