Eric Lustbader - The Testament

Camille Muhlmann, as beautiful and intimidating as she had ever been in her life, was waiting for Bravo and Jenny at Charles de Gaulle Airport as they emerged from security. She was wearing one of her signature Lagerfeld suits, but in deference to the midsummer heat it was of a lightweight fabric, as was her blouse, through which the lace of her bra glimmered enticingly. She waved when she saw Bravo and embraced him, kissing him warmly on both cheeks.

"Mon Dieu, quel choc!" she said softly as she clung to him. "My poor Bravo, to have your father taken from you so prematurely."

Bravo kissed her tenderly, then pulled away, too slowly by Jenny's estimation. But before he could extricate himself entirely, she cradled his jaw in her hands.

"What happened to you? What terrible trouble did you run into?" The concern in her voice was palpable, grating on Jenny's nerves.

"Not here, not now," Bravo said with an abruptness that appeared to disturb Camille.

Instead, he made the introductions. "Jenny Logan, this is Camille Muhlmann, Jordan's mother."

"So you're Bravo's new girlfriend," Camille said.

Bravo frowned. "Camille, I told Jordan-"

Camille held up a hand and as she studied Jenny's face. "You're so lovely. We must find the ways to heal your wounds as quickly as possible, n'est-ce pas?" She squeezed Jenny's hand with an intimacy Jenny's found startling. Then she turned to Bravo. "I quite approve of her, my dear."

She laughed, linking her arm through Bravo's. "I hope you don't think me too forward, Jenny, but when it comes to Bravo I'm inordinately protective. I can't help it, you see, he's my son's best friend and is dear to my heart. He is family, you understand."

"Of course I understand, Madame Muhlmann."

"On such a journey we must dispense with formalities, Jenny. Alors, you must call me Camille."

Jenny smiled through clenched teeth. It appeared as if Camille had deliberately matched her stride to Bravo's, and with every step they took her hip brushed against his. What annoyed Jenny most of all, however, was how much Bravo seemed to enjoy being the center of Camille Muhlmann's attention.

"Luggage, non?" Camille ran the tip of her forefinger along Bravo's jaw. "Ah, you left Washington in such a rush it's a wonder you had your passports."

"Neither of us is ever without them," Jenny said.

Camille swung around, smiling easily. "Yes, and what is it you do, Jenny?"

"I'm a consultant to companies in developing nations," Jenny said without missing a beat. "I help them conform to the standards laid down by the World Bank and the World Trade Organization for international commerce."

"And yet you're here with my Bravo."

"Friendship is as important to me as it is to you, Madame Muhlmann."

Again she took Jenny's hand in that curiously intimate gesture. "Camille, please."

By this time they had reached the car park. The Parisian sky was full of slate-gray clouds, and the morning was already hot and sticky. A low ramble of thunder cut through the traffic noise.

"Now, Bravo," Camille said, "you must tell me what it was you couldn't tell Jordan over the phone. What happened to you in America that caused you both such violence?"

She stopped beside her car, a new dove-gray Citroe"n C5 sedan.

"You haven't rented us a car?" Bravo said.

"I'm driving you myself." When Bravo began to protest, she held up a hand. "These are Jordan's orders, my love. You must see the logic of it. Wherever you need to go, I can get you there faster and more securely. A rental car is identifiable by its license plates-n'est-ce pas?-and will therefore draw attention to you. It is not secure, yes?"

Bravo glanced at Jenny and, ignoring the brief negative shake of her head, said with a smile, "Jenny and I thank you, Camille. You're most kind."

"Bon, that's settled." She opened the car door. "You must be famished, and then we must get you some clothes, the two of you look positively bedraggled." She gestured for Bravo to get in. "While I drive you'll tell me everything."

Bravo opened the back door.

"No, my love, I want you beside me." She turned. "Unless this is not acceptable to you, Jenny."

"Of course." Jenny put a smile on her face, though she feared it was so brittle it would crack at any moment. She hated the way Camille had put it to her, as if it would be her failing if she refused.

Camille slid her hand over Bravo's and her wide-apart eyes held his. They were standing very close. Were their hips pressed together? Jenny sensed Camille Muhlmann's smoldering sexual energy. As she looked at the older woman with the green eyes of jealousy, it seemed to her that Camille's musk swirled around Bravo like Medusa's locks.

As she clambered into the Citroe"n's back, Jenny glared at Bravo, but he had been struck by a sudden melancholy, and his gaze was lost to her. He looked around and realized that his father would never again visit him here, that the haloed lights along the Seine would never again fall on Dexter Shaw as the two of them strolled its banks amid bursts of strained and now longed-for conversation.

As Camille exited the airport, Bravo gave her a short, heavily edited version of what had happened after he had been released from the hospital. Camille made no comment as he described their escape from Jenny's house and the ensuing chase, allowing him to have center stage without interruption.

Bravo did not identify Ivo Rossi or Donatella by name. As for Jenny, he said she was a childhood friend of his from New York. "My sister had invited her to the July fourth dinner," he concluded. "She was detained and arrived after the explosion. When I woke up in the hospital hers was the first face I saw."

"How lucky for you," Camille said as her eyes met Jenny's in the rearview mirror.

"What can I say?" Jenny smiled what she imagined was the ghastly half-frozen smile she'd had plastered on her face ever since she'd met Camille Muhlmann. "I was born under a lucky sign."

Camille swung the Citroe"n onto the A11, heading north to Rouen.

"But, my love, who were these people following you and why?" Camille accelerated into the far left lane. "I must tell you that Jordan has a theory-he's convinced the Wassersturms are behind it."

"Wassersturms?" Jenny said.

"A business deal I was working on for six months." Bravo half turned his head toward her. "We wanted to buy a company in Budapest. Trouble was, there was already a deal on the table with a company from Cologne owned by the Wassersturm brothers. I did some research and found out that through a labyrinth of shell companies the Wassersturms were supplying the Russian mafia with illegal arms. I went to the board of the Budapest company with the evidence and within a week we had the deal."

"Revenge." With an angry shriek of the Citroe"n's horn, Camille raced past a vehicle moving too slowly for her. When she returned to the left lane, she accelerated even more. "The Wassersturms were in a rage when their deal was terminated. Jordan's worried that they're out to take their revenge on you. What's gotten him so upset is that he spent three days in Munich working on another deal with them simply to calm them down."

Bravo frowned. "He shouldn't have done that; there's no reason to trust them."

Camille laughed. "You know Jordan," she said lightly. "If he can get his terms, he'll make a deal with the devil."

"Well, he's wrong about this particular theory. The brothers may scream but I seriously doubt they have it in them to authorize a violent act."

"I take it, then, you have your own theory," Camille said.

"I suspect these attacks have something to do with my father's death," Bravo said after some hesitation.