Black Ice - Anne Stuart [114]
“I think I prefer the watery grave,” she said, her voice husky. “I’d just as soon not give you the satisfaction of killing me yourself.”
“I’d still count it as my accomplishment. He’s at the bottom of the mine shaft. There’s water down there, so you might drown before you starved to death. Or you might hit your head as you went down, making it very merciful. But I don’t think you want anything to do with it. You’re not very fond of close, dark places, are you? I think you’d rather die out in the open, on your back, spread-eagled.”
Oh, Christ, he knew what she was going to do. She was going to dive for the mine shaft, anything to get away from Monique. She thought he was down there, and she was going after him, even if it killed her.
It was no choice, Chloe thought. Bastien was dead, dumped like so much garbage at the bottom of the old shaft. She could barely remember where that particular entrance led, she only knew it was steep and dangerous. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t believe Bastien was dead until she saw him, and if she was going to die she wanted it to be with him. Stupid, romantic, ridiculous. He’d laugh at her if he was still alive. I’ll come to you by midnight, though hell should bar the way. Except it was past dawn, the day growing brighter and brighter, the snow melting around her, the mine shaft a suffocating tunnel of death.
She moved so fast Monique barely had time to draw her gun. She scrambled across the clearing, ready to dive headfirst, anything to get away from that scrawny, demented bitch and her two rapacious goons, when the explosive sound of gunfire shattered the stillness, and she heard a scream that wasn’t her own.
It didn’t matter. She made it as far as the broken barricade when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, whirling her around to face one of Monique’s goons. Dmitri, the one who killed Bastien.
Something inside her snapped. She went for him, kicking, scratching, biting, screaming, pounding at his huge, heavily muscled body. He brushed her hands away like he’d brush away a fly, putting his burly arms around her and holding her motionless against his sweaty body.
And then she realized that all was chaos in the clearing. A shouting noise, the hideously familiar sound of gunfire. The other man lay on the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead, his eyes staring sightlessly into the bright blue sky. And somewhere out of sight came the sounds of a struggle.
She twisted around, just enough to see Bastien on the ground, blood flowing from beneath him, and Monique’s thin body straddling him, her shaved head tipped back as she laughed. “I’m glad you’re not dead, chére,” she said. “I did so want to do the honors myself.” The gun in her hand was huge, enough to blow his head off, and Chloe shrieked, unable to stop herself.
Monique turned at the noise, a minuscule mistake, but enough. The volley of bullets tore through her, so that her body jerked in a spastic dance, and she squeezed the trigger in her hand.
The gun exploded in the snow, and Monique splayed out on the ground, twitching slightly. And then she went still, lying on top of Bastien’s still body.
And then, to Chloe’s horror, she began to move, to sit up, and she wanted to scream, until she realized that Bastien was simply shoving her blood-soaked body off him, onto the ground.
Dmitri released her, and she panicked, grabbing at his arm, certain he was about to shoot Bastien, but he simply swatted her away. “Are we done here, Madame?” he called out.
The woman who strolled out of the woods was as elegant as ever, her silver-blond hair beautifully coiffed, her makeup perfect. Wearing designer black, and the armed men with her were wearing black as well. So perfect for hiding the blood.
Chloe tried to move, to get to Bastien, but Madame Lambert was ahead of her, holding out her elegant hand to him. He stood, wincing slightly, not even looking in Chloe’s direction.
“I