Her Dark Knight Page 4

  I’m not going in. I’m not going in. She shivered even though the temperature was well past seventy. Thoughts of last night spiked her fear. She didn’t want to relive last night. Chevalier’s weird behavior. The strange visions. Thank goodness the bartender never delivered her water or she would have thought someone drugged it.

  And the strangeness didn’t end when she left the club either. It continued right through the night and into her dream of the woman running through the forest.

  The door opened, startling her, but Christien wasn’t standing on the other side, rather the beautiful blonde was. The one with the killer boobs and silver dress.

  Of course Lainie should have realized he wouldn’t answer his own door. And she should have realized he would have a gorgeous woman answer it.

  The woman eyed Lainie with curiosity, a slight twist to her lips hinting at amusement which made Lainie’s embarrassment worse.

  “Yes? May I help you?” Her voice had a slight European flair to it, the kind that ended every sentence with a question mark. She wore white linen pants and a white flowing blouse that Lainie was sure cost two of her very generous paychecks.

  Lainie tugged on her skirt and resisted the urge to run her hand down her hair to make sure nothing was sticking up. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing those ridiculous shoes she’d worn last night. At least she could feel her feet.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Chevalier,” she said.

  The woman’s half smile blossomed into a full grin, a knowing grin. As if women knocked on the door looking for Christien all the time. Which they probably did.

  “Mr. Chevalier is unavailable. I can take a message if you wish and tell him you came calling.”

  Came calling. What an old-fashioned term.

  Lainie glanced at the blackened windows. She could use this to her advantage because not seeing Christien Chevalier again would definitely be an advantage.

  “Actually, maybe you can help. I’m here to pick up some papers I delivered last night.”

  Recognition lit the woman’s bright blue eyes. “Oh, I remember you now. I’m sorry, but Mr. Chevalier is taking a very important conference call or I would tell him you are here.”

  Good. An important call meant she wouldn’t see him. Coward, her mind whispered, but she pushed the word away, preferring cautious. “Would you by any chance be able to get those papers for me? I’m supposed to deliver them to my boss as soon as possible.”

  The woman contemplated Lainie for a moment. “I can’t,” she finally said, her voice full of regret. “He told us he was not to be disturbed. What is your name and number and I will have him call you?”

  Lainie’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll wait.”

  The woman frowned, apparently taken aback. “But it will be a while.”

  Of course it would. Yet, what choice did she have? Return to Giselle without the papers? Impossible. Give the woman her name and leave? She liked that idea much better than the others. It might be the easier choice but she’d be on edge all day wondering when he would call, if he would call, and what she would do when she saw him again. No. She wanted to get it over with.

  “I don’t mind waiting,” she said.

  The woman appeared confused, as if she didn’t know what to do with Lainie now that she couldn’t get rid of her.

  “Can I get your name?” she asked.

  “Lainie Alexander. I’m sure he’ll remember me.” Unless another woman had been accosted in his club and delivered fake papers.

  “Lainie Alexander,” the woman repeated. “I will be sure to tell him.” She hesitated and looked behind her. “Would you like to come in? We’re not open, but—”

  “No. Thank you though,” Lainie added, tempering her tone. The thought of going in made her shiver. Strange things happened in that building. Weird visions. Bizarre thoughts. “It’s such a nice day, I’d rather wait out here.”

  The woman looked up and down the street, nodded and disappeared into the club, shutting the door behind her.

  Lainie plopped down on the top stoop, resigning herself to a long wait. The view across the street wasn’t a pretty sight. A dirty, rusted elevated train track perched above a dried-out patch of land filled with dead, brown weeds. Rusted machinery poked up here and there, giving the field an abandoned feel.

  To her left and down the street were other warehouses, some still operational but most abandoned and covered in graffiti. To her right began the rejuvenation process Chevalier started and others were completing. Shops and storefront businesses had thrown open their doors on what was looking to be the warmest day of the year. The lunch hour was over, but a couple blocks away a few people strolled the sidewalk and window-shopped. The juxtaposition of the two sides of the street was odd but at the same time uplifting, reminding her life was a continuous cycle of resurrection, restoration and rebirth. What was old, was new again.

  She considered walking down the street and looking into the shop windows. The day was warm and sitting in the hot son was making her thirsty.

  “Madelaine.”

  With a squeak of surprise, Lainie jumped up and spun around. Her foot slipped off the top step and her arms windmilled frantically. A strong hand clamped down on her wrist, hauling her back on the step and keeping its grip until she found her balance.

  Her hand flew to her chest, as if she could physically stop her racing heart. She looked up into the clear, silver eyes of Chevalier.

  “You scared me to death,” she said.

  He didn’t loosen his hold and didn’t tear his gaze away. He was still dressed in the magnificently cut gray suit he’d worn the night before. His silver tie was undone, his eyes bloodshot and his black hair mussed. This wasn’t the Chevalier she’d met last night. The man she met appeared impeccable, no hair out of place. This man looked like he’d had a rough night with a few bottles of whiskey, yet his eyes were clear, if weary. And his body was tense, on alert.

  What was the same, though, was her reaction to him. Just like last night, her hands turned clammy and she found it hard to breathe, as if a large rock had settled on her chest.

  He mumbled something French-sounding. “I thought…” he said in English then shook his head. His gaze slid to her hand still resting above her pounding heart. “I frightened you.”

  “No.” She lowered her hand. “Well, maybe a little.”

  “There is no need to be frightened of me.”

  She wasn’t sure she was frightened of him. It was more like she was frightened of her reaction to him. Which made no sense.

  “You break my heart with your fear, Madelaine.”

  He spoke as if they knew each other. But they didn’t. She swore they’d never met and yet… She sensed they did know each other. More than their brief encounter the night before. It was as if she knew him in ways she shouldn’t.

  Suddenly he was right there, so close his suit coat brushed against her blouse. She stared into those light gray eyes that seemed so familiar.

  “Have we met before?” she asked.

  He pulled back as if startled. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked away, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. “It’s just… You look familiar.”

  He touched her cheek, his thumb feathering across her jaw, causing goose bumps to race up her arm and her breath to catch. His gaze fell to her lips while his thumb continued its lazy exploration of her cheek and jaw. Lainie swallowed, her legs suddenly weak. If she didn’t have so much pride, she would have leaned against him for support.

  Suddenly his hand was gone and he stepped back. His jaw muscle clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I too thought you looked familiar.”

  “Do I?”

  “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I met in France.” He watched her closely. His tone was accusing as if he didn’t much like the person he’d known in France.

  “I’ve never been to France.”

  He studied her for such a long time she became uneasy. “N
ot you then, eh?”

  She attempted a laugh to soothe the tension coming off him, but feared she failed miserably. “I wish. I’d love to visit France.”

  His intense stare made her hands shake. She hated her reaction to him. Hated him for causing this strange reaction. And hated Giselle for forcing her to return here when everything inside her said to run like hell. “I, uh, came for those papers.”

  He blinked and his eyes cleared. “Ah, yes. The papers.”

  Lainie held her hand out in a gesture of peace. “I’m just the messenger. Don’t shoot me.”

  A smile touched the corner of his mouth and went a long way in easing the harshness of his expression. She wished he would smile fully. It would be a sight to behold. “I would never harm you, Madelaine.”

  Her brain stumbled over what she was about to say and her thoughts flew away at his words. “I know,” she whispered. And she did know. No matter how much he scared her, no matter how much he irritated her, he would never hurt her physically. Emotionally? She had a feeling if she let herself get close to Christien Chevalier she would never be the same again.

  She cleared her throat, forcing herself to remember the reason she was here. “The papers. My boss needs them by tomorrow.”

  “Well, then, I must give them to you.” He turned to go inside and glanced over his shoulder when she didn’t follow. “They’re in my office.”

  She waved him on. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Are you afraid to come inside with me?”

  She hesitated, reluctant to admit her fear of stepping inside those doors. Strange things happened to her in there. But before she could answer, Christien linked his fingers with hers and lightly tugged.

  “Come,” he said softly.

  She swallowed, liking too much the warmth of his hand in hers. His touch set off tiny electric shocks that traveled up her arm and settled deep in her belly, turning her insides to liquid. Instinctively she folded her fingers in his. His hold tightened, as if he were telling her he’d never let go. And she didn’t want him to. For letting go would mean losing him and losing him would be the destruction of her.

  But that didn’t make sense. They only met last night, yet something told her Christien Chevalier was important. Vital and imperative. She’d heard stories of people who fell in love at first sight, but that wasn’t happening here. It was something deeper.

  She shook her head and followed him into the darkness of the club, the strange feeling dogging her footsteps and frightening her more than anything else had ever frightened her. More than when her father stopped recognizing her and she realized she was entirely alone in the world.

  She wanted to pull her hand away, to run out of the club and never look back. Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, Chevalier glanced at her and his fingers tightened around hers, keeping her at his side. Lainie edged closer to him.

  The club looked different in the middle of the day. The lights were off, the disco ball dark. Their steps echoed across the cavernous dance floor, sending a shiver up her spine.

  Christien opened the door to his office. Lainie hung back, reluctant to enter. He threw her a bemused glance. “I told you I would never hurt you. You don’t need to fear me, but if it makes you feel better to stand outside, I won’t stop you.”

  She peered into the office. It was an ordinary office with a desk and chair and bookcases. All very expensive, but an office just the same. No ghosts lurking in the shadows. “What is wrong?” Christien asked.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing but my imagination.”

  “And what is your imagination telling you?”

  She hesitated, feeling stupid.

  Christien tugged on the end of her hair in a surprisingly playful gesture. “Imagination can be a delightful thing,” he murmured.

  Lainie’s gaze flew to his, to the fire inside his eyes. All she had to do was raise her head a little bit and their lips would touch. His gaze dropped to her mouth. His breath hitched. Lainie lifted up on her toes and looked into his eyes. His kiss would be gentle and worshipful. She didn’t know how she knew that. She just did and she wanted it. She wanted his lips pressed against hers. Would die if she didn’t get it.

  Suddenly he was gone and she dropped back on her heels, disoriented, embarrassed. She looked down at her shoes, afraid to see the expression on his face. What a fool she’d been. Christien had far more beautiful women to kiss than her. She was merely the messenger on an errand for her boss and would never be the type of woman to run in his circles.

  The manila envelope appeared in her sight and she grabbed on to it, her face heating in mortification.

  “Madelaine, look at me.”

  Slowly she raised her gaze to his chin, but stopped there, too much of a coward to look him in the eye. He tilted her chin up until she had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were a stormy gray, like the clouds she’d seen race over Lake Michigan.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked softly. “Do you feel what is between us?”

  She nodded, incapable of speech. She’d thought she’d been the only one experiencing this weird connection. His grimace told her it wasn’t one-sided but it was definitely unwanted.

  “What am I to do with you?” he whispered mostly to himself. Lainie could have sworn he shook himself. “Tell Etienne if he has any questions, to give me a call.”

  It took her a moment to calm the butterflies in her stomach. But she came back to earth with a solid thump that left her disoriented and bruised. What did he mean when he asked what he was going to do with her?

  “I will. Thank you.” She turned to leave. Christien fell into step beside her. They made their way across the silent dance floor. This time he didn’t hold her hand. In a way, she was grateful. She didn’t think her mind could take much more of the turmoil his presence had on her psyche and her emotions. It was this place. It did weird things to them.

  At the front door, she hesitated. “I’m sorry I interrupted your business call.”

  He looked at her with those enigmatic eyes that appeared silver one minute, a churning gray the next.

  “Take this.” With the hands of a magician, he whipped out a business card seemingly from nowhere and held it out to her. “My personal number is written on the back. If you need anything, please call me.”

  “Oh. Well.” Flustered, she stared at the card. Her common sense screamed at her to get out and never come back. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think—”

  “Keep it.” He put the card in her hand and curled her fingers around it, wrinkling the heavy paper and causing the corners to cut into her palm. “Please. Call if you need anything. Anything, Madelaine. Even if it is the smallest thing, I am here for you.”

  He caressed her cheek, his finger idly wandering down to her jaw to touch the key hanging at the hollow of her throat. Her vision blurred and she saw another hand, the same hand, in another time. He stepped back, broke the connection, and her vision sharpened. With a half bow, he turned and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait…”

  Christien tensed, bracing himself to turn around. The memories of Madelaine he’d kept tucked away bombarded him all night, let loose by this woman’s visit. He hadn’t even bothered trying to sleep, knowing it was pointless. In the hours before dawn and after the club closed, he’d relived every minute with her. Up until and including the defining moment of the knowledge of her death. He was tired, his nerves stretched thin. She was so much like his Madelaine it hurt to look at her.

  He turned and his heart constricted. The sun bounced off her deep brown hair, picking out the reddish strands. She was looking up at him and something passed across her face. A hint of the confusion she was feeling inside. Mon Dieu, he needed to get out of here to tend to the wounds opening up inside him in the only way he knew how. Only the haze of alcohol would dim his memories and make them less poignant.

  “Yes?”

  “I…” She still clutched the envelope with the blasted papers i
n them. Papers she would take to Lucheux, his enemy.

  He had the sudden urge to grab on to her and never let go. To protect her with all the resources he lacked centuries ago. Instead he tilted his head, his gaze roving over her body, drinking in the sight of her while his heart broke all over again.

  She must have sensed something inside him, or saw the pain he was valiantly trying to control because she took a step back. “Never mind,” she whispered.

  Once again he watched her walk away, studied the swing of her slim hips in the tight skirt. Again he had the almost overwhelming urge to run after her, but he kept his feet planted and let her leave.

  In the darkness of the night and early morning hours he’d done his homework. He knew where she lived—in an apartment building owned by Lucheux. He knew where she worked—for Lucheux. He knew all about her father, the farm the Alexanders owned for generations and she grew up on. The battle she fought alongside her father to keep the government from taking over the farm. He knew to the penny how much she paid in nursing-home costs and the extent of her student loans.

  He knew Lucheux held a powerful hold over her, offering her enough money to work for him that would put a considerable dent in those loans and bills and keep her father in the expensive home she’d chosen for him.

  At the corner her steps faltered and she hesitated. Christien held his breath, waiting for her to turn around but she didn’t. She squared those shoulders and marched out of sight.

  And he let her go.

  But he wasn’t worried. He’d put a man on her to watch her and report back to him.

  Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. It was a motto he lived by and believed in.

  Except he was finding it difficult to think of Lainie Alexander as his enemy. Her eyes were too expressive and she was a terrible liar. There had been moments when he glimpsed her fear and confusion. There had been a few times he swore she remembered him, but she’d quickly squashed those memories and the confusion had doubled.

  But he would not let himself be swayed by the copper-colored eyes or the thick hair. He would not forget he was here for a larger purpose. He had to remember she worked for Lucheux, reported to Lucheux. Was she a plant? Most definitely. Of that he had no doubt. Whether she knew it was another story.