Read Online In Their Footsteps & Thief of Hearts by Tess Gerritsen - Free Book Online
Authors: Tess Gerritsen
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her face. He didn’t pull away.
Even as she felt his whole body grow tense against her, he kept her firmly in his embrace. His lips glided to her ear.
“Start walking,” he whispered. “Toward the Concorde.” 68
Tess Gerritsen
“What?”
“Just move. Don’t show any alarm. I’ll hold your hand.” She focused on his face, and through the shadows she saw his look of feral alertness. Swallowing back the questions, she allowed him to take her hand. They turned and began to walk casually toward the Place de la Concorde.
He gave her no explanation, but she knew just by the way he gripped her hand that something was wrong, that this was not a game. Like any other pair of lovers, they strolled through the garden, past flower beds deep in shadow, past statues lined up in ghostly formation. Gradually she became more and more aware of sounds: the distant roar of traffic, the wind in the trees, their shoes crunching across the gravel…
And the footsteps, following somewhere behind them.
Nervously she clutched his hand. His answering squeeze of reassurance was enough to dull the razor edge of fear. I’ve known this man only a day, she thought, and already I feel that I can count on him.
Richard picked up his pace—so gradually she almost didn’t notice it. The footsteps still pursued them. They veered right and crossed the park toward Rue de Rivoli. The sounds of traffic grew louder, obscuring the footsteps of their pursuer. Now was the greatest danger—as they left the darkness behind them and their pursuer saw his last chance to make a move. Bright lights beckoned from the street ahead. We can make it if we run, she thought. A dash through the trees and we’ll be safe, surrounded by other people. She prepared for the sprint, waiting for Richard’s cue.
But he made no sudden moves. Neither did their pursuer. Hand in hand, she and Richard strolled nonchalantly into the naked glare of Rue de Rivoli.
In Their Footsteps
69
Only as they joined the stream of evening pedestrians did Beryl’s pulse begin to slow again. There was no danger here, she thought. Surely no one would dare attack them on a busy street.
Then she glanced at Richard’s face and saw that the tension was still there.
They crossed the street and walked another block.
“Stop for a minute,” he murmured. “Take a long look in that window.”
They paused in front of a chocolate shop. Through the glass they saw a tempting display of confections: rasp-berry creams and velvety truffles and Turkish delight, all nestled in webs of spun sugar. In the shop, a young woman stood over a vat of melted chocolate, dipping fresh straw-berries.
“What are we waiting for?” whispered Beryl.
“To see what happens.”
She stared in the window and saw the reflections of people passing behind them. A couple holding hands. A trio of students in backpacks. A family with four children.
“Let’s start walking again,” he said.
They headed west on Rue de Rivoli, their pace again leisurely, unhurried. She was caught by surprise when he suddenly pulled her to the right, onto an intersecting street.
“Move it!” he barked.
All at once they were sprinting. They made another sharp right onto Mont Thabor, and ducked under an arch.
There, huddled in the shadow of a doorway, he pulled her against him so tightly that she felt his heart pounding against hers, his breath warming her brow. They waited.
Seconds later, running footsteps echoed along the street.
The sound moved closer, slowed, stopped. Then there was 70
Tess Gerritsen
no sound at all. Almost too terrified to look, Beryl slowly shifted in Richard’s arms, just enough to see a shadow slide past their archway. The footsteps moved down the street and faded away.
Richard chanced a quick look up the street, then gave Beryl’s hand a tug. “All clear,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turned onto Castiglione Street and didn’t stop running until they were back at the hotel.
Even as she felt his whole body grow tense against her, he kept her firmly in his embrace. His lips glided to her ear.
“Start walking,” he whispered. “Toward the Concorde.” 68
Tess Gerritsen
“What?”
“Just move. Don’t show any alarm. I’ll hold your hand.” She focused on his face, and through the shadows she saw his look of feral alertness. Swallowing back the questions, she allowed him to take her hand. They turned and began to walk casually toward the Place de la Concorde.
He gave her no explanation, but she knew just by the way he gripped her hand that something was wrong, that this was not a game. Like any other pair of lovers, they strolled through the garden, past flower beds deep in shadow, past statues lined up in ghostly formation. Gradually she became more and more aware of sounds: the distant roar of traffic, the wind in the trees, their shoes crunching across the gravel…
And the footsteps, following somewhere behind them.
Nervously she clutched his hand. His answering squeeze of reassurance was enough to dull the razor edge of fear. I’ve known this man only a day, she thought, and already I feel that I can count on him.
Richard picked up his pace—so gradually she almost didn’t notice it. The footsteps still pursued them. They veered right and crossed the park toward Rue de Rivoli. The sounds of traffic grew louder, obscuring the footsteps of their pursuer. Now was the greatest danger—as they left the darkness behind them and their pursuer saw his last chance to make a move. Bright lights beckoned from the street ahead. We can make it if we run, she thought. A dash through the trees and we’ll be safe, surrounded by other people. She prepared for the sprint, waiting for Richard’s cue.
But he made no sudden moves. Neither did their pursuer. Hand in hand, she and Richard strolled nonchalantly into the naked glare of Rue de Rivoli.
In Their Footsteps
69
Only as they joined the stream of evening pedestrians did Beryl’s pulse begin to slow again. There was no danger here, she thought. Surely no one would dare attack them on a busy street.
Then she glanced at Richard’s face and saw that the tension was still there.
They crossed the street and walked another block.
“Stop for a minute,” he murmured. “Take a long look in that window.”
They paused in front of a chocolate shop. Through the glass they saw a tempting display of confections: rasp-berry creams and velvety truffles and Turkish delight, all nestled in webs of spun sugar. In the shop, a young woman stood over a vat of melted chocolate, dipping fresh straw-berries.
“What are we waiting for?” whispered Beryl.
“To see what happens.”
She stared in the window and saw the reflections of people passing behind them. A couple holding hands. A trio of students in backpacks. A family with four children.
“Let’s start walking again,” he said.
They headed west on Rue de Rivoli, their pace again leisurely, unhurried. She was caught by surprise when he suddenly pulled her to the right, onto an intersecting street.
“Move it!” he barked.
All at once they were sprinting. They made another sharp right onto Mont Thabor, and ducked under an arch.
There, huddled in the shadow of a doorway, he pulled her against him so tightly that she felt his heart pounding against hers, his breath warming her brow. They waited.
Seconds later, running footsteps echoed along the street.
The sound moved closer, slowed, stopped. Then there was 70
Tess Gerritsen
no sound at all. Almost too terrified to look, Beryl slowly shifted in Richard’s arms, just enough to see a shadow slide past their archway. The footsteps moved down the street and faded away.
Richard chanced a quick look up the street, then gave Beryl’s hand a tug. “All clear,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turned onto Castiglione Street and didn’t stop running until they were back at the hotel.
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