Wild Passion (5 page)

“Tell me,” the old woman continued, looking him up
and down in a haughty manner. “Your clothing is fine, your body
strong, what need you of the statue? Can you not make your own
living?”

He parted his lips to argue, but wasn’t even sure
what to say. Suddenly, the entire bloody statue seemed ridiculously
unimportant. Hell, he was tired of it all. Tired of the constant
danger he found himself in. Tired of working for others, hunting
down silly insignificant treasures that in the end, really didn’t
matter. “I was hired to find it.”

“Yes, but why did you take the offer? My Adelaide,
she risked her life on a journey for that statue. Why? For me. So
that I might have the doctor I need. So that I might have the life
I once knew. She never told me, but I know.”

The guilt surged and his annoyance flared. He
certainly didn’t need to stay here and listen to this nonsense.

“I was wealthy once, you know. But I left my family
for a man I loved, who didn’t love me as much as I thought. Dear
Adelaide has taken care of me since. I can only pray the same
doesn’t befall my child.”

Hell, yes, he felt guilty. But really, what was he
supposed to do? Besides, Adelaide didn’t love him. She barely knew
him. “I am sorry, but I must make a living as well.”

“By stealing from a woman?”

He paced across the room. His hardened heart fighting
with his growing emotions. “Your daughter is hardly better.”

“My daughter does what she does for me, for
love
. Can you say the same?”

Her words hit him in the gut. Of course he didn’t
steal for love. He didn’t even know if he could love. But he cared.
He could admit that much. He cared for Adelaide, whether he wanted
to or not.

“How, pray tell, do you expect my daughter to make
money? In a factory? A whorehouse?”

Her words were too blunt, too honest. His stomach
clenched, bile rising to his throat. The thought of Adelaide
harming herself in any way repulsed him, made his knees weak.

“They say the statue has powers, they say there are
men who would kill for it.” He turned to face her. “Where is your
daughter now? Tell me she isn’t meeting with anyone.”

The woman’s lower lip trembled, her eyes wide. Fear
was written quite plainly across her weathered face. Did she not
understand the direness of the situation? Something akin to panic
began to tap at the edges of his mind, urging him to run…run.

“Tell me where she went.”

“Notre Dame.” She reached for him, clasping onto his
hands. Her fingers so cold and frail, she reminded him of his own
mother and another time some twenty years ago. “Help her.”

He didn’t even pause as he answered. “I will.”

He pulled away from the woman and left the room,
closing the door behind him. He had no time to waste. His feet
thundered down the steps, his heart racing. How long had she been
gone and who was she meeting? He shoved the door wide and stepped
into the cold night. The lane was empty, the night quiet. A shiver
of unease raced over his skin. James paused. Someone was following
him. Suddenly he was slammed against a wall, an unknown force
pushing him forward. He couldn’t move, pinned like an insect to the
rough stone. He gritted his teeth, his muscles burning with
exertion, but someone…something… held him still, as if his body was
no longer his own.

“I trusted you,” a familiar male voice growled.

The pressure released, but before James could move,
he was flipped around like a ragdoll, his back to the wall.

Lord Emery stood five feet from him. No one else was
there. “Where the hell is my statue?” the man asked.

James tried to fist his hands, but not even his
fingers would move. Not a soul touched him, yet he couldn’t move.
Sweat gathered on his brow, his breathing harsh. Anger swirled low
in his gut.

Emery strolled closer. “You told me you’d get the
statue. Now where is it?”

“I gave you the piece, it was in your hands.” James
gritted his teeth and tried to move, he couldn’t. The struggle was
pointless. He didn’t understand what was happening. His mind
couldn’t make sense. “If you lost the statue, it’s your fault.”

“My fault.” He laughed, a soft chuckle that grated
his nerves. “You think I need you?” Emery lifted his hand, a pistol
gleamed wickedly in his palm. “I’ll show you just how much I need
you.” The blast rang through the air. James felt the bullet rip
through his insides…through his chest. Whatever power had been
holding him in place gave away and James crumbled to the
ground.

“You were just a pawn, my friend.” Emery crouched
low, hovering over James. “You think we only want the statue? The
girl has so much more to offer than that damn statue. Powers you
can’t even begin to imagine.”

James forced himself to pay attention to the man’s
words, even as he felt the warmth of his blood pooling underneath
him.

“Now that we know who we’re looking for, who has the
statue… the power we’ll hold will be unthinkable.”

Adelaide. He’d led them to her.

Lord Emery stood and spun around, his long black coat
flaring wide. He had led the man to Adelaide. Emery disappeared
into the dark shadows, his boots tapping against the cobbled stone,
fading…fading.

James fisted his fingers, his body tingling...cold.
He couldn’t feel anything, oddly enough. Not his legs, nor his
arms. His entire body had grown numb. He closed his eyes and
Adelaide’s face flashed to mind, that wicked grin that made his
knees weak. Those brilliant eyes. He must save her…must. But the
world was no longer his. He felt as if he floated…floated in a sea
of nothingness. Vaguely, he could hear street whores calling out
their wares. He would die here, in a foreign country, in a place
full of despair and refuse. A past he thought he had escaped.

“Open your eyes,” someone growled, pulling him back
to earth.

Yes. Yes, he must open his eyes. He must save
Adelaide. Slowly, his lashes lifted. A man stood before him, a man
he didn’t recognize.

His blue eyes narrowed in annoyance and concern, his
wavy blonde hair was slightly mussed by the chill wind that crept
down the lane. No man he knew. Too wealthy looking for a
pickpocket. Was he here to finish him off?

The man leaned down, his clothing fine, his boots of
the best leather. “What the hell have you gotten into?” He had an
American accent. An American accent in the poorest area of Paris….
how very odd.

The man sighed, as if annoyed with James. As if he
knew him, when he was rather sure they’d never been introduced.

Yet, if they hadn’t been introduced, why was he
prodding and poking at his chest in that familiar way? Hell, maybe
he was a pickpocket. James pushed the man’s hands away.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered.

“Oh shut up,” the man snapped.

He pressed his hand to James’ forehead and the other
to his chest. “Unless you want to die, then keep still.”

“Are you a doctor then?” James mumbled, barely able
to get the words out. His mouth couldn’t seem to work, his throat
growing thick.

The man smirked. “Something like that.” The man
closed his eyes. James wanted to push him away, to beg the man to
let him die in peace, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. So
tired. So bloody exhausted he let his lashes drift down.

His chest and head grew warm, the heat swirling
through his body, growing … spreading … down his limbs. The earth
gave way and for a moment he floated in brilliant white light.
Beautiful white light. The world was silent, he just
was.
Suddenly he slammed into something hard. James opened his eyes, his
lungs expanded leaving him gasping for air. The dark buildings
loomed above, wavering in and out of focus. Had he fainted? Christ,
he hoped not. But how else could he explain what had happened?
Confused, he bolted upright. His head felt clear, his body oddly
rested. He flexed his fingers, the feel of his body almost
strange.

Someone shifted beside him. James jerked his head
toward the man as he stood, raking trembling fingers through his
hair. “That should do it. Not quite dead, but close.”

James jumped to his feet, stumbling back. He’d seen
too many mad things this night, he wasn’t sure which were real and
which fantasies. “What the hell did you do?”

“Saved your pathetic life. Now, tell me,” the man
snarled. “Why it is you’re following my sister?”

Overhead, a bell tolled a deep, aching melody that
vibrated through the immense church. Adelaide shivered, huddling
within her worn, woolen cloak, the brown dress she wore just as old
and tattered. She’d always loved the church, passed it a few times,
although never stepped inside. For some reason she had felt like
she wouldn’t be welcome.

Above, the ceiling arched high, disappearing into
darkness. The blue stained-glass windows at the head of the church
gave the area a heavenly glow. She felt tiny in this building, at
the same time, protected. The old woman mumbling to herself in
front of Adelaide stood and hobbled down the aisle. Moments later
the door thundered closed. Only two others remained, a man and
woman at the front of the church, so far away, they were almost
hard to see.

Yes, she felt tiny and protected and guilty. Damn
guilty. She’d arrived early and hidden the statue. The piece lost
in this monstrous building. A perfect hiding place. She wasn’t
stupid enough to hand it over directly. She’d learned her lesson.
Yet now…now that she was here and ready to sell the statue to the
old man she had been willing to sell it to in the first place, she
wasn’t so sure she was doing the right thing.

She’d seen how people had reacted to that statue, in
India all those months ago she’d been practically murdered for the
piece. And she wasn’t the only one. And now…here… the way James
would sacrifice her to gain that statue. Yet, her mother needed the
money for rest, needed the countryside and clean air, mostly,
needed a doctor.

“My child, are you well?”

Startled, Adelaide jumped. She’d been so tangled in
her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard the priest approach.

“Yes, well. Sir,” she muttered, her cheeks
heating.

He was a young priest, his face still fresh with
hope, his eyes still sparkling with belief. He hadn’t been
destroyed by the sinful ways of humans…yet. “You look lost my
child.”

“Perhaps I am.”

His dark brows drew together. She should have kept
her mouth shut, but she so desperately needed to speak to someone…
anyone. He brushed his long, dark robes aside and settled next to
her. “What is it that troubles you?”

Dare she admit the truth? Dare she admit that she was
nothing more than a common thief. A liar. A sinner. “I’m… I’m
selling something that perhaps I shouldn’t, in order to help my
mother recover from an illness.”

He nodded, his gaze going to the lanterns that lined
the columns running the length of the church. “Hmm. Well, your
reasoning does sound noble.” He looked at her once more, his soft
brown gaze full of curiosity. “Why is it that you shouldn’t sell
this object?”

She shrugged, gripping her hands tightly in her lap.
Dare she tell him the truth? “Perhaps… perhaps it’s not truly
mine.”

“Then who does it belong to?”

Heat shot to her face, her entire body felt afire
with embarrassment, with confusion and so many other emotions that
she couldn’t possibly understand. “It belongs to the world.”

“Hmm.” He looked like he was desperately trying to
understand, but just couldn’t grasp the words. And why would he?
The story was preposterous. The belief that the statue held power
was insane. “I see,” he continued. “And your mother, does she
understand the importance of this object?”

Adelaide shook her head, feeling the sudden sting of
tears.
Merde,
she wouldn’t cry. She never cried! “No, she
doesn’t understand.” Her voice broke with emotion.

“Have you not told her because she would tell you not
to sell this object?”

She nodded, staring at the stone floor.

He sighed, a gentle sound. “Well, child, I think you
know the answer. Don’t you? Your mother would never want you to
save her over the suffering of others.”

He was right.
Maman
would never wish for her
to sin, but what choice did she have? Live forever in poverty?
Watch as her mother slowly died because they couldn’t afford a
doctor, let alone the tonics she needed to keep her lungs
cleared.

“If your mother dies,” he said softly, as if reading
her mind, “it will be with a clean heart, a clean soul.”

He had her. With those words he had her in his holy
grip. “Your hands,” she choked out, tears slipping down her
cheeks.

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

She grabbed his pale, warm hands and closed her eyes.
Immediately, images flashed to mind.

This man, this very priest in a dry, barren
land…India. His face flushed with sweat and heat as he handed her
golden statue to another…to a man in green robes. The holy man in a
temple, placing the statue on a pedestal. Vines growing, stone
crumbling, moss spreading, time passing and the statue still sat
there. Safe. Forgotten.

Adelaide opened her eyes and released the priest’s
hold. The walls wavered, her mind attempting to understand its
place on the line of time.

“Are you well?” the priest asked her. He was watching
her strangely, unsure if he should be nervous or not. She didn’t
have time to explain her gift.

“Go,” Adelaide whispered, shoving her hands into his
shoulders. “Go now. Hurry.”

He stumbled backward, his face a mask of confusion
and shock.

She surged to her feet, her body trembling with pent
up fear and anxiety. “Under the servant’s stairs in the back,
you’ll find something important. Very important. Tell no one what
it is, or what you hold. You’ll know what to do when you see
it.”