In Their Footsteps / Stolen: In Their Footsteps / Stolen. Tess Gerritsen

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СКАЧАТЬ through another garden. Now if only we could find a maze with a nice little stone bench at the center.”

      “Why?” she asked with a smile. “Are you hoping for a repeat scenario?”

      “With a slightly different ending. You know, after you left me in there, it took me a good five minutes to find my way out.”

      “I know.” She laughed. “I was waiting at the door, counting the minutes. Five minutes wasn’t bad, really. But other men have done better.”

      “So that’s how you screen your men. You’re the cheese in the maze—”

      “And you were the rat.”

      They both laughed then, and the sound of their voices floated through the night air.

      “And my performance was only…adequate?” he said.

      “Average.”

      He moved toward her, his smile gleaming in the shadows. “Better than adquate?”

      “For you, I’ll make allowances. After all, it was dark…”

      “Yes, it was.” He moved closer, so close she had to tilt her head up to look at him. So close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “Very dark,” he whispered.

      “And perhaps you were disoriented?”

      “Extremely.”

      “And it was a nasty trick I played…”

      “For which you should be soundly punished.”

      He reached up and took her face in his hands. The taste of his lips on hers sent a shudder of pleasure through her body. If this is my punishment, she thought, oh, let me commit the crime again… His fingers slid through her hair, tangling in the strands as his kiss pressed ever deeper. She felt her legs wobble and melt away, but she had no need of them; he was there to support them both. She heard his murmur of need and knew that these kisses were dangerous, that he, too, was fast slipping toward the same cliff’s edge. She didn’t care—she was ready to make the leap.

      And then, without warning, he froze.

      One moment he was kissing her, and an instant later his hands went rigid against her face. He didn’t pull away. Even as she felt his whole body grow tense against her, he kept her firmly in his embrace. His lips glided to her ear.

      “Start walking,” he whispered. “Toward the Concorde.”

      “What?”

      “Just move. Don’t show any alarm. I’ll hold your hand.”

      She focused on his face, and through the shadows she saw his look of feral alertness. Swallowing back the questions, she allowed him to take her hand. They turned and began to walk casually toward the Place de la Concorde. He gave her no explanation, but she knew just by the way he gripped her hand that something was wrong, that this was not a game. Like any other pair of lovers, they strolled through the garden, past flower beds deep in shadow, past statues lined up in ghostly formation. Gradually she became more and more aware of sounds: the distant roar of traffic, the wind in the trees, their shoes crunching across the gravel…

      And the footsteps, following somewhere behind them.

      Nervously she clutched his hand. His answering squeeze of reassurance was enough to dull the razor edge of fear. I’ve known this man only a day, she thought, and already I feel that I can count on him.

      Richard picked up his pace—so gradually she almost didn’t notice it. The footsteps still pursued them. They veered right and crossed the park toward Rue de Rivoli. The sounds of traffic grew louder, obscuring the footsteps of their pursuer. Now was the greatest danger—as they left the darkness behind them and their pursuer saw his last chance to make a move. Bright lights beckoned from the street ahead. We can make it if we run, she thought. A dash through the trees and we’ll be safe, surrounded by other people. She prepared for the sprint, waiting for Richard’s cue.

      But he made no sudden moves. Neither did their pursuer. Hand in hand, she and Richard strolled nonchalantly into the naked glare of Rue de Rivoli.

      Only as they joined the stream of evening pedestrians did Beryl’s pulse begin to slow again. There was no danger here, she thought. Surely no one would dare attack them on a busy street.

      Then she glanced at Richard’s face and saw that the tension was still there.

      They crossed the street and walked another block.

      “Stop for a minute,” he murmured. “Take a long look in that window.”

      They paused in front of a chocolate shop. Through the glass they saw a tempting display of confections: raspberry creams and velvety truffles and Turkish delight, all nestled in webs of spun sugar. In the shop, a young woman stood over a vat of melted chocolate, dipping fresh strawberries.

      “What are we waiting for?” whispered Beryl.

      “To see what happens.”

      She stared in the window and saw the reflections of people passing behind them. A couple holding hands. A trio of students in backpacks. A family with four children.

      “Let’s start walking again,” he said.

      They headed west on Rue de Rivoli, their pace again leisurely, unhurried. She was caught by surprise when he suddenly pulled her to the right, onto an intersecting street.

      “Move it!” he barked.

      All at once they were sprinting. They made another sharp right onto Mont Thabor, and ducked under an arch. There, huddled in the shadow of a doorway, he pulled her against him so tightly that she felt his heart pounding against hers, his breath warming her brow. They waited.

      Seconds later, running footsteps echoed along the street. The sound moved closer, slowed, stopped. Then there was no sound at all. Almost too terrified to look, Beryl slowly shifted in Richard’s arms, just enough to see a shadow slide past their archway. The footsteps moved down the street and faded away.

      Richard chanced a quick look up the street, then gave Beryl’s hand a tug. “All clear,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

      They turned onto Castiglione Street and didn’t stop running until they were back at the hotel. Only when they were safely in her suite and he’d bolted the door behind them, did she find her voice again.

      “What happened out there?” she demanded.

      He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

      “Do you think he meant to rob us?” She moved to the phone. “I should call the police—”

      “He wasn’t after our money.”

      “What?” She turned and frowned at him.

      “Think about it. Even on Rue de Rivoli, with all those witnesses, he didn’t stop following us. Any other thief would’ve given up and gone back to the park. Found himself another victim. But he didn’t. СКАЧАТЬ