“Of course she’s paralyzed,” the man named Rien said. My heart beat faster as he looked down at me and smiled. A cold smile. It deadened my heart. This was not a man who would work for Jake. This was something different.
“But she can hear us?”
“Yes.”
“And see us?”
“Yes.”
“Give me the hood.”
Someone from the front seat reached back with what looked to be a burlap sack. My throat tightened up. Was he going to kill me? Oh Lord. I should never have gone out to meet him alone. I should have waited for Jake to be there. I should have told him where I was going to meet the art collector. I should have…
“Sorry, dear,” Jean-Luc said, with a grim expression. “I can’t have you see where we’re taking you just yet.”
Stupid me. I had wanted to prove to Jake that I was capable of handling art business on my own. All I proved was that I was capable of being kidnapped right in the middle of the streets of Paris. I should have never trusted him. God, I was so stupid. Nobody knew where I was, or who I was meeting.
“Isn’t that overkill?” the man named Rien asked. He cracked his knuckles, the popping sound echoing in my ears.
“Maybe. I don’t want her knowing anything. Just in case she escapes.”
“She’s not going to escape,” Rien said. “The injection will last until you get her down into the cell.”
Cell? Where the hell was he taking me?
“Alright. As long as it works.”
“Of course it’ll work. I’m a professional.”
Oh holy God. The man from the sidewalk— Rien. He was a surgeon. A professional. They were professional kidnappers. But why? Why were they taking me away? And where were they taking me? My eyes darted back and forth between their faces. Jean-Luc looked anxious, his fingers clutching the burlap hood.
The other man looked completely calm. His gold-brown eyes blinked slowly.
“You’re sure, then?” Jean-Luc asked. “You said before that you wouldn’t inject her until we were almost at the entrance.”
“If you hadn’t let her go running down the sidewalk like an idiot, that would still be the plan,” Rien said cooly. “But we’ll play it by ear.”
“Look, I paid you—”
“You paid me to get this girl to the catacombs quietly,” Rien said. “Frankly, you’re not paying me enough, not if I have to listen to your conversation all the damn way. ‘Is the injection working, Rien? Are you sure, Rien?’”
“Don’t say anything!” Jean-Luc hissed. “You said she could hear—”
“Sorry,” Rien said, leaning down so that his face was just over mine. His voice was chilling even as he teased. “Are you going to escape now that you know where we’re going, little girl? Hmm?”
I cringed back. He looked back up at Jean-Luc.
“I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
I tried with all my might to scream, but it was useless. My muscles didn’t work.
The catacombs? I knew only a little bit about them—tunnels that led underneath Paris’s streets. But I didn’t want to go anywhere with Jean-Luc. And especially not underground, to—what had he called it?—a cell. I wanted to be back at Jake’s apartment, painting another stupid painting. I should never have come along with him to Paris.
This was all a bad dream. It had to be.
Jean-Luc leaned down and pulled the hood over my head.
It wasn’t a dream. I strained for breath. Fear tightened around my throat like fingers wrapped around my neck. The burlap fabric scratched my face as he tied the hood tight around the back of my head.
This wasn’t the black silk blindfold that Jake used on me. No. This was a man who didn’t care what he did to me. I would have cried if I hadn’t been completely paralyzed.
“Great. Put a hood over her head. That’ll stop her from hearing the conversation.”
“Shut up.”
“Right. Not even a thank you for catching the stupid girl.” Rien paused. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Shut up.” Jean-Luc’s voice was terse now that he had dropped the accent. He snapped at the other man as he made sure the tie around my hood held fast. “You can go back to L.A. if you want people to simper over you.”
“I would just like some common courtesy. I took a day out of my vacation to help you—”
“You owed me, Rien. Until I get the money—”
“Fine. I’ll stay out of your way until it’s all done.”
My mind spun as I listened to them speak. Jean-Luc was an art collector… or was that all a ruse? It was an elaborately planned one, if so.