Carla Neggers - Betrayals

“Grandmum showed me pictures of it.” Mai beamed, remembering how much she’d wanted to visit the huge, rambling house. “I’d love to see it.”

Annette dried her hands and then put one out for Mai to take. “Then let’s go.”

“Sofi-Sofi, it’s Rebecca. I need your help.”

She was pacing in her grandfather’s kitchen. She still hadn’t heard word from anyone-her building, Winston & Reed, Jared. She couldn’t wait around for something to happen.

Sofi said, “Words I’ve despaired of hearing from R. J. Blackburn. What can I do?”

“I need you to come over here now.”

“Done-”

“No, wait. I won’t be here. Listen-I’m leaving the Jupiter Stones on my bed. Take them to a safe place. I imagine David Rubin can secure them. Nobody comes near them except Jean-Paul Gerard, Jared Sloan, my grandfather or me.”

Sofi inhaled sharply. “Jean-Paul Gerard. R.J., isn’t he a crook?”

Rebecca abruptly stopped pacing. “No. He’s not a crook. If something happens and none of us is able to get the stones, tell the police the gems were found in Annette Reed’s possessions in 1959 in the south of France, but not recovered until now.”

“Wait just a minute. What’s this about ‘if you’re not able to’?”

Rebecca resumed pacing and answered as clearly and as concisely as she could. “I can’t go into all the details right now. Tell the police Annette was Le Chat, and they’ve got to prove it and set the record straight. They have to admit they were wrong about Jean-Paul Gerard.”

“R.J.-”

“Sofi, will you do it?”

“I’m on my way.”

Rebecca hung up. The rain had picked up, the wind whipping it against the windows. As a little girl, she had loved to be in there while it rained. She’d color, read, play games with her brothers, just sit and watch the raindrops hit the puddles. Florida storms and the drafty O’Keefe house were different, but she’d brought her love of rainy days south with her.

It would be so easy, she thought, just to go upstairs and curl up on her bed and do nothing.

She dragged out her handbag, withdrew the red velvet bag of stones, and took the two flights of stairs two and three steps at a time and left the Jupiter Stones on her pillow.

Back downstairs, Athena was munching on an English muffin with pictures of dead bodies unfolded on her lap.

“I’m going out,” Rebecca told her. “If an Amerasian girl-fourteen years old-comes by, sit on her until Jared Sloan gets back.”

Athena glanced up with dark, intelligent eyes. “His daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And if he asks where you are?”

“Mt. Vernon Street. He’ll know-tell him it’s all Annette.”

Athena didn’t need to repeat the instructions, just said, “Okay,” and returned to her studying.

Rebecca headed out.

Jean-Paul hobbled down Mt. Vernon Street, knowing there was no longer any time…knowing he should have strangled Annette last night when he’d had the chance. He had jumped in front of the big Mercedes coming out of her driveway, trying to impede its progress out into the street. He’d pulled on the doors, but they were locked. He’d banged on the windows and screamed at Mai to run.

She’d looked nervous, but Jean-Paul had seen Annette’s reassuring smile and heard her as she rolled her window down a few inches. “Don’t worry-I won’t let him hurt you.” Then she’d turned to him. She knew she had him. “See you soon.”

The powerful car lurched, throwing Jean-Paul off. He’d landed hard and cried out at the pain slicing up from his bad leg.

Now he needed a car, a way to get to Marblehead. There was no question in his mind that Annette was using Mai to lure him to her house there. It was a private setting. She could kill him-finally. And Mai? What would Annette do with the girl? Jean-Paul felt himself go numb with shock and pain. Annette would kill Mai. She’d tried once before, in Saigon.

What have I done?

Rebecca Blackburn swung around the corner. Her expression, her mouth set hard against the rain, reminded him of her father so long ago. She was already older than he had been when he’d died. “She’s a relentless mix,” Stephen had said affectionately of his young daughter, “of her mother and her grandfather.”

No, my friend, nothing will happen to her.

But right now Jean-Paul needed her help.

Her gaze fell on him and she didn’t flee, as perhaps would have been smart. She came to him, running hard and just daring him to try and get away. Instead he moved toward her.

Before she could speak, he said, “There’s no time. Rebecca, I need a car. Annette-”

“I know about her.”

Jean-Paul could see that she did, and a surprising sense of peace came over him as Rebecca looked at him without fear, without hatred, without confusion. For the first time in thirty years he had someone who believed in him. That it was Rebecca meant everything to him.

But he said, “It makes no difference.”

“I have a truck. Come on-let’s go. You can tell me everything on the way.”

“No.”

Already starting down West Cedar, she swung back around at him, her rain-soaked hair whipping into her face. Jean-Paul grabbed her by the shoulders and held her tight. If his action created any doubts about her conclusions about him and Annette, they didn’t register in her pale, wet face.

“The keys,” he said.

“If you want them you have to take me with you. My grandfather’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

“Give me the keys, Rebecca.” He hesitated as his words had no discernible effect on her. Then, finally, he said, “Annette has Mai. She’s going to finish what she started in 1975.”

At Rebecca’s stricken look, Jean-Paul acted, taking advantage. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back, sticking one hand into the pocket of her soaked jacket, then the other. He came up with a set of keys.

“Which truck?”

“You’re hurting me-”

“You’ll survive, but I’ll break your arm if you don’t tell me. Which truck?”

“You’ll know.”

Glancing down West Cedar, he saw what she meant. Amidst the upscale cars was one battered ten-year-old truck. He started to release Rebecca, but knew she would only chase after him. Even if she didn’t have his soldier’s experience, she was younger, faster and didn’t have his bad leg. But he couldn’t bring himself to break her arm. Adding pressure, he pushed her down to her knees. She cried out in pain, but he didn’t release her.

“Let me do what I have to do,” he said.

Then, swiftly and with calculated force, he kneed her in the side, catching her in the ribs. She doubled over in pain, momentarily breathless.

Moving as quickly as he could, Jean-Paul hurried toward her truck.

Rebecca caught her breath and forced herself back upright. Her arm ached; she could see the imprint of Jean-Paul’s fingers on her wrist. The cold rain pelted down on her, but she ignored it. To get off West Cedar, Jean-Paul was going to have to drive past her.

In the next seconds, she heard the familiar rattle of her truck.

She was surprisingly steady on her feet, but to mislead Jean-Paul, she wobbled around as her truck came to the intersection of Mt. Vernon and West Cedar and slowed for a car speeding down Mt. Vernon.

Rebecca lunged and grabbed on to the back of the pickup, grabbing hold of the tailgate as Jean-Paul shifted gears and screeched sharply to the right, out onto Mt. Vernon. She could see Jean-Paul checking his rearview mirror. She hauled herself up and over the tailgate and went sprawling into the back of the truck, landing hard.

Jean-Paul slammed on the brakes at Charles Street, got out and walked around to her. “You don’t give up, do you?”