Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 32

32

Ry

H ugo muscled his way around two gendarmes to get to Ry’s desk. In his fist, he clutched a crumpled sheet of paper.

“It wasn’t about her,” he growled, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“What do you mean?” Ry asked, listening to his own voice as if from far away. He blamed the sound effect on his jittery nerves. He’d been drinking coffee non-stop to buy himself a few extra hours, as his body reached its last reserves. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go to sleep. If a breakthrough came—and they needed a breakthrough or a miracle at this point—he had to be there.

“Ry? Are you listening, man?” Hugo said, finally noticing Ry hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “I’m telling you, we’ve been looking at this all wrong. We thought this was about Isla and Laura, right? But we couldn’t find anything in their pasts that would motivate someone to take them.”

“Get on with it, Hugo, what did you find?” Alex asked, with uncharacteristic impatience.

We’re all exhausted.

“Right,” Hugo said quickly. “Well, it’s not about Isla. It’s about you.”

Me?

“Me? What do you mean, me?”

“The sedan we found, the one caught by the speed cameras in the tunnels. It’s registered in Paul Getty’s name.”

“I don’t know any Paul—“ The words died in his throat. “Did you say Getty?”

Alex made as if to open his laptop, but Hugo waved him aside. “I already checked. Paul Getty is Miles Getty’s uncle.”

All the coffee he’d consumed soured in Ry’s belly, making him retch.

My fault. I brought this on Isla.

“I’m—“ He looked around at the growing circle of people around them.

“Sit down,” Beau said. He was one of the new arrivals. “Sit before you fall down. You’re looking yellow.”

Ry was feeling all sorts of colors. The world around him receded, leaving him alone. Completely alone. It was getting colder, too. He felt someone push him gently onto a waiting chair, and let it happen. He let it happen, because he couldn’t move, he couldn’t?—

Someone placed a waste-paper basket in front of him, just in time for Ry to vomit an ocean of murky dark liquid. When he was done, Alex handed him a napkin and a glass of water.

“Snap out of it, Ry. Isla needs you now, more than ever.”

Isla needs me … The words burned and ripped through his mind. “Isla needs me? I fucking brought this on her. On them.” His lungs burned, and he pulled in some air. “I fucking did this.”

“Okay. Enough whining.” That voice could only be Beau. Only Beau would speak that way to him. But the words had their intended effect. Ry looked up. And he was back in the office again, no longer standing outside, no longer alone. He was in the office, surrounded by his team, surrounded by the only people in the world who could help him get Isla back.

For the first time since he’d heard the name, a sliver of hope rushed through him. It was enough. Ry stood to his full height. “You’re right. I’m here.” He didn’t apologize. He knew his friends didn’t need an apology. “What else do we know?”

“Not much else,” Hugo said, frowning.

“Yet.” That came from Alex, who was already typing furiously on his laptop.

There was steel in Beau’s voice this time around. “We need all of Vincent’s team on this.”

Tristan took a step forward. “I’m on it.”

Twelve p.m. Fuck . Another day half-gone. But he would not allow himself to focus on that. He couldn’t turn back time. All he could do now was focus on the future.

“Forget the how . We can worry about that later. Focus on the where ,” Beau said. “We need to know everything about this man. Bring out his file. Even better, get his fucking lawyer up here. I want to know everything he’s done since he stepped out of this office the day his complaint was thrown out. I want to know where he’s slept, what he’s bought, what he’s eaten.”

Lorenz stood up. “I have a good friend at the police nationale who might help.”

“Call her.”

“His friend. We need to look at his friend as well. The other hiker,” Hugo said.

A voice inside whispered in Ry’s ear. Your fault . But this time, he didn’t let it pull him down. He shoved the voice in a tight corner of his mind, where it belonged until they got Isla and her friend back. He’d have plenty of time to wallow in his guilt after. After they got them back.

Please let them both be safe. That was the only thing that mattered now.

“I have an address,” Alex said. “In Les Tines.”

Ry swallowed back his disappointment. Les Tines was a small hamlet between Chamonix and Argentière, miles away from the tunnel where Miles’s car had been seen. Les Tines was a residential area—not crowded, by any means, but not a place where one could stash two women against their will without neighbors hearing anything.

Beau stood up. “Tristan, you’re with me. Let’s go check it out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ry said, daring his boss to refuse him. Ready to fight, if necessary, because he was fucking well not staying here. Not if there was a chance Isla was there.

Beau nodded coolly. “Good.” He turned to Hugo, Alex and Lorenz. “Tell Vincent to hurry. We’re not waiting for him.”

In the end, Vincent and his team arrived at the same time as they did. As they all exited their vehicles, a few neighbors stepped out of their houses to stare at the six large, uniformed men. Ry knew just how out of place they looked.

They walked past the small chapel to Saint Theodule. Ry had been told it marked the spot where, in the seventeen hundreds, the plague had stopped its spread into the Chamonix valley. Ry had paid little attention at the time, but he was paying attention now. He’d never needed a miracle as badly as he did this moment.

“This is the one,” Beau said, pointing at a nondescript ground-floor apartment with red flowers on the window sill. Red flowers . None of this was adding up.

“Stay behind us,” Vincent growled. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

Vincent raised his huge fist to knock just as the apartment door opened. The gendarme’s hand went to his belt, then froze, staring at a tiny woman who seemed as surprised to see them as they were to see her. Her eyes were dark pieces of coal on her pale face.

“ Bonsoir , Madame,” Vincent began.

“ Que se passe t’il? ” she asked, not bothering with any pleasantries, her eyes and mouth both round with worry.

“We’re looking for Mr. Getty.”

“Miles?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Vincent’s expression grew stern. “How’s that? Doesn’t he live here?”

“He used to,” the woman said, sighing. “We broke up. I couldn’t … I couldn’t deal with his behavior anymore.”

Ry looked over the woman’s shoulder and into the house. She sounded sincere enough, but he’d learned long ago people could lie.

“Mind if we come in, Ma’am?” Beau chimed in. Ry shot his boss a grateful glance.

“Sure,” she said. Though still reluctant, she eased her body away from the door, making space for them to walk through. “But if you’re looking for Miles, he’s not here.”

They spread out in pairs, clearing each room in the small, cluttered apartment before meeting back in the living room two minutes later.

“Happy now?” the woman asked, looking in irritation at the tracks they’d left on her old beige carpet. “I told you he wasn’t here.”

Vincent’s tone turned apologetic. “Apologies, Madame …”

“Adeline. Adeline Racine.”

Vincent didn’t take his eyes off her. “Sorry again for the inconvenience. It is very important that we find Mr. Getty.”

Adeline gave a very unladylike snort. “Right. What has Miles done now? Has he swindled someone? I’m surprised he still has enough brain cells left for that.”

“Why would you say that?”

Adeline’s dark eyes went liquid with unshed tears. She waved her hands at Vincent’s uniform. “I don’t know if I should be talking about it.”

“We don’t care about the drugs,” Ry said, hoping he was interpreting her worried look correctly. At least, he didn’t give a shit about the drugs. All he wanted was to find Isla and Laura. “But we do need to speak with Miles. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Adeline’s shoulders hunched up. “He didn’t use to be like this. He was so sweet when I met him. But that stuff he started taking … I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is.”

“Please think, Mademoiselle . Anything you can tell us, would help,” Ry insisted, forcing himself to keep his voice steady, when all he wanted to do was drive his fist through the paper-thin wall separating them from the next-door apartment.

Stony silence met them. Ry sighed, looking around the cluttered living room. This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. They were still wasting time—time that Isla and Laura didn’t have.

His eyes hit on a group of pictures on the side table next to the couch. One of them grabbed his attention, as he realized he knew three of the people in the picture. A younger Adeline, standing in front of Miles Getty, the big man’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Beside them, Miles’s buddy, whom he’d met on the mountain, his arms around an unknown blonde woman. But what caught his attention, even more than the people in the picture, was the mountain hut they were standing in front of.

“Where is this?” he asked, his voice tight.

Adeline took a long moment to respond. “That’s Miles’s uncle’s place, in Saint-Gervais-les-Bains. It’s the reason Miles came out here. His parents used to send him here to spend time with his uncle every year.”

Saint-Gervais-les-Bains was further down the valley. Past the tunnels . A spark of hope lit up inside Ry.

“Is his uncle there now?”

Adeline shook her head. “He passed away last year. He left the house to Miles. I kept telling him he should sell it. It’s falling apart, and he doesn’t have the money to renovate it. But he wouldn’t listen to?—“

“Do you know the address?”

“Uh, no. But it’s easy to find once you get to Saint-Gervais.”

“Can you take us there, Mademoiselle ?” Vincent asked with thinly veiled urgency.

Isla

Sitting there in the dark with a ball gag in her mouth, with Laura’s shivering body lying next to her, Isla had made three important decisions.

We’re not going to die here .

That was the first big one. Somehow—she hadn’t quite figured that bit out yet, but she knew time was running short to execute on it—she was getting Laura out of here.

She was going to find time for Ry .

That was the second decision. She’d done a lot of soul searching, and while her studio was as important to her as it’d ever been, so was Ry. She wasn’t going to relegate him to dinner once a week, or whenever the stars in their schedules aligned. She was going to tell him how she felt and she was going to?—

The noise outside interrupted her train of thought.

You won’t be saying anything to Ry unless you find your way out of here .

The third big decision—or maybe it was a subset of the second decision—was that she was going to do whatever it took to get the men to let them go.

Whatever it takes .

She was ready to beg, grovel, maim, or kill. Whatever looked like the best option to get them out of here. Her heart fluttered inside her chest. She was terrified. She’d never been this afraid before. But she couldn’t afford to let that stop her, because this was two lives she was fighting for. Her life and Laura’s. And she would not let her best friend die at the hands of a madman.

Her frozen hand shook around the spoon in her hand. She’d read stories where impressive feats had been accomplished with a mere spoon. But she wasn’t going to be able to dig her way out of this. No. The spoon was a weapon. Given half the chance, she was going to stick this spoon through his neck. She clutched it tighter in her hand. There was no other choice.

She could hear noises on the other side of the door. The two men were there, talking loudly.

Please let only one of them come inside .

When the door finally opened, she held her breath. Yes. This was her chance. Except it wasn’t, because both men walked through the door at the same time. Or rather, Getty shoved Richard through the door.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Miles bellowed. Anger reddened his face, and his blue eyes bulged in a way that made him look inhuman.

He’s taken something.

“I didn’t call anyone, Miles. I swear.” In his trembling hand, Richard still clutched a phone.

Miles took a threatening step forward and swatted the phone away, where it clattered onto the hard stone ground. Isla followed it with her eyes. She needed that phone. “But you were thinking of it. I can tell. I can fucking tell just by looking at you.”

Isla wanted to throw herself on the floor after that phone, but some instinct told her to stay put. There was no way she was getting to that phone before Getty saw her. All she’d be doing was calling attention to herself.

“Come on, Miles,” Richard sobbed. “We don’t want to hurt them.”

“We don’t want to hurt them?” Miles mocked, his tone incredulous. “What the fuck did you think we were going to do with two women in our trunk?”

“I thought we were going to give the guy a fright, that was all,” Richard sobbed. “But I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” He pulled at his thin, ratty hair. “Let’s send them back.”

“Are you an idiot? This one has seen our faces.”

And just like that, both men turned towards her. So much for remaining invisible .

Richard’s tongue came out to lick at his chapped lips. “I’m sorry, Miles …”

Getty made a clucking sound with his tongue that Isla supposed was meant to sound soothing. “You know what? You’re right, Richard. You’re right.”

Richard’s chin shook weakly. “I am?”

“We don’t want to hurt either woman. We’ll get them both back in the car and let them out close to town, close enough so they can walk home.”

“You’d really do that, Miles?”

“Of course. Why don’t you take off her gag first, though?”

Richard turned towards her eagerly. Isla shook her head, willing Richard to read her eyes—because there was no way Getty was letting anyone go.

“It’s okay,” Richard said. “We’re going to let you go. We’re going to—“ Isla shouted out a pointless warning against the ball gag in her mouth as Getty’s huge form rose from behind. Then his fist crashed on Richard’s temple, felling him like a tree.

It was only the start. Miles jumped on Richard’s back, slamming his fist down on his head, again and again, until blood spurted from his forehead, nose, and mouth. So much blood . Isla screamed behind the ball gag. And still Miles kept hitting, long after Richard had stopped moving.

The coppery smell of blood assaulted her senses. Isla knew, without needing to get any closer, that Richard wouldn’t be moving ever again. She’d just watched a man die. Her knees shook. She wanted to curl up on the floor, close her eyes, and?—

“There,” Miles said, sounding satisfied and slightly out of breath, like a man who’d been out for a morning jog. He looked up at her from his position, still on his knees beside his friend’s bloodied body. “Ah, well, he didn’t understand.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans, leaving rusted stains, then picked up the phone and placed it in his pocket.

“Please,” she begged, the sounds indiscernible, her tongue thick against the rubber ball. “Please let us go.”

“Now we can have some fun together. Take off your top.”

Isla’s body shook so badly, she had to steady herself against the wall. The cold from the stone seeped into her body, so that she didn’t know how much of the shaking was from cold and how much from fear.

“Take it off. Now,” he snarled. “You won’t like it if I have to do it for you.”

Isla clutched the spoon behind her back. She couldn’t let him see it. She couldn’t let him take it away from her. She placed it surreptitiously inside the elastic of her thong, praying it would hold. It took every ounce of self-control she had to undo the bra clasp behind her back. Such a thin, light material, but it was the only protection she had left. And now she was removing it.

She kept her gaze down, not wanting to see his expression, but wasn’t able to stop herself from hearing the horrid smacking sound as his top and bottom lips came together.

“Now this was worth waiting for.” She felt his shadow loom closer, and then his hands were on her breasts, his touch clinical at first, measuring the weight of first one breast, then the other. “I love these. I fucking love these. First, I’m going to lick them, and then,” he said, tugging gently at first on her nipple, then harder and harder, “when I’m good and ready, I’m going to rip these little bars out with my teeth.”

Tears filled Isla’s eyes, and she had to clench her teeth hard against the rubber ball in her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Because she knew her fear would only turn him on more.

“But first,” he said, finally, blessedly, letting go, “first I need to take out the trash. Before it starts to smell.” He moved backwards to his friend’s body, giving it a careless kick as he reached it. “I’ll be back, kitten. You wait for me and get wet thinking about me, okay? And don’t even think of putting that on again,” he said, pointing at her bra as he lifted his friend’s legs and dragged him out of the room.

The locks clicked in place. Isla’s eyesight clouded over. As if from a distance, she felt herself sliding down onto the ground, which no longer felt cold. It no longer felt anything. She looked over at Laura’s unconscious form—reminded herself she had to be strong. But the fear and the blood and the smell of the rubber against her tongue all made her realize how futile her resistance was. He was coming back, and when he did, nothing would save her.