Page 43 of A Mother’s Love
Bart left the house with Halley when she went out the next day to go to St. Ouen.
Something had subtly changed between them.
A barrier was down. Halley felt closer to Bart than she had felt to anyone in years, and she felt better able to face what she knew she had to do, because he loved her.
Everything had happened so fast between them.
But what they had experienced since they’d met was intense.
And the danger she was facing made his feelings for her even stronger.
He wished that he could go with her. He had said it several times, but Major Leopold had been adamant, and Bern Dexter agreed.
Bart’s being there with her might somehow alert the thief that there were people at the flea market observing him.
Bart didn’t want Halley to feel alone in St. Ouen, but he didn’t look like someone who would be cruising the stalls at the flea market looking for buried treasure.
He didn’t look like an antique dealer, or a merchant.
He looked like an American businessman, and Halley loved his strong masculine looks.
They had made love again that morning before they left the house.
New doors had opened to them, and they had a whole world to discover together.
It was a fresh start for both of them, and now all Halley had to do was get the bag incident behind her, and prove to herself that she could do it, and that Tomás Maduro couldn’t intimidate or control her.
She didn’t want to be ruled by fear and threats anymore.
Bart left her on foot when she left the house, after kissing her one last time, and headed back to his son’s apartment. He knew that Ryan and Véro were home, and Bart was sure he was in for some teasing when he got there, for sleeping out. It had been well worth it. Halley was an amazing woman.
While Bart walked the short distance to Ryan’s apartment, Halley was driven to Saint Ouen in an unmarked car, by an undercover FBI agent.
Major Leopold’s officers were already in place all over that one section of the flea market, where the vintage game machines were.
The agents were carrying furniture, or working in a rug stall, while two were in the antique silver stall next to the vintage game machines.
Others, in overalls, posed as telephone line repairmen.
Halley couldn’t tell who any of them were, as she waited in the car for half an hour, and then strolled into the alleys chock-full of stalls selling vintage clothing, furniture, lace, antique military uniforms, every imaginable kind of object.
She would have enjoyed it if she hadn’t been on a frightening mission.
She knew she was surrounded by police on all sides and had nothing to fear from the bag thief.
He was outnumbered. Between the S?reté Territoriale and the FBI, they had twenty operatives in place, more than enough to subdue one man when they needed to.
But they had to let Halley play her part first. She could feel her knees shake as she walked deeper into the maze of stalls, and saw the vintage game machines, and a flock of young people pressed around them.
She didn’t see anyone who looked like the photos she had seen of Maduro.
She didn’t recognize him at first when she saw him in a beanie, a leather jacket and pants, dark glasses, and motorcycle boots, standing in the arcade game stall.
He had obviously come on a motorcycle for a fast getaway.
And then she saw that he was carrying something in a brown paper bag.
It was concealed by brown wrapping paper, and she knew instantly what it was.
She looked at his face and recognized his eyes, when he removed his dark glasses.
His eyes were deep and dark and they bore right through her like lasers.
She walked toward one of the game machines, ignoring him, and he followed her.
Her whole body was trembling as she stood there and paid no attention to him.
She took the large envelope of cash out of her bag, the police had given her marked bills.
She stood close to him, and handed it to him without looking at him.
He slipped it into his leather jacket. She thought he would leave her then, but he stood watching the scene around them, to make sure the way was clear.
His motorcycle was parked near the flea market.
Maduro glanced at a moving man carrying a chair, spotted a clumsy object strapped to his leg under the overalls, and knew immediately that he was heavily armed and surely an undercover agent.
Maduro turned and looked Halley dead in the eye, and spoke under his breath in the voice she recognized, which sounded distinctly more Spanish than French now.
“You told the police, you bitch,” he said, and with a single gesture he grabbed her hair, in a long ponytail, and he dragged her into the next stall, selling antique silver.
He had no way of knowing that the owners had been replaced by expert marksmen, all watching him.
He dragged Halley into the stall backward, pulling her hard by her hair, and holding it tight in a death grip as she stumbled backward with him.
She saw a flash of something come out of his pocket.
It was the hunting knife he had talked about and when she looked across the alley to the stalls on the opposite side, she saw Bart, in jeans, a heavy fisherman’s sweater, and cowboy boots.
She had had no idea he would be there, but he couldn’t keep away.
He was watching them intently and saw the knife come out of Maduro’s pocket.
“I’ll kill you now,” Maduro said to Halley, sensing danger all around him.
“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” she said in a low voice.
She didn’t even have time to think or react.
The crowd of people watching them backed away when they saw him put the knife to Halley’s throat, and the only people left in the area were undercover agents in a variety of uniforms and rough work clothes.
Maduro tightened his grip on Halley, as she saw Bart stare at them.
The undercover agents stood still. No one moved for a moment.
They froze, as he pressed the knife against her skin.
He shouted to them, knowing full well they weren’t innocent bystanders.
No one wanted to put Halley at risk, and the man in the motorcycle gear with a knife to Halley’s throat didn’t flinch for a moment.
His freedom was on the line now, and his life, and so was hers.
She was his prisoner now. Halley thought he would make a run for it, to escape, but he didn’t.
He just pressed the knife closer to her throat until she hardly dared to breathe.
The knife had a long, sharp edge, which he kept pressed against her throat.
He looked as though he was going to decapitate her any minute, and a few random people were watching them in horror, from the distance.
Halley was watching Bart to see what he was doing, while the undercover agents kept their eyes on her. No one dared move, fearing for her life.
“If any of you come any closer, I’ll slit her throat!
” Maduro shouted at the assembled group.
He correctly assumed that only the police were left.
Everyone else had run away from the stall and were watching from a short distance down the alley, afraid to get caught in any crossfire if weapons were drawn.
Some of the merchants were crouching behind large pieces of furniture, as the thief yanked Halley’s head back further, and held the knife even closer.
She didn’t make a sound as she waited for someone to stop him, but none of them dared make a move for an instant, and then eight men in the crowd with their eyes on him drew their guns and aimed at him.
If he had a gun, he couldn’t reach it and keep the knife at Halley’s throat, so he was at a disadvantage momentarily.
“You’re a dead man,” the chief agent said, as he moved forward at the edge of the crowd.
Halley could see Bart clearly then. Their eyes met, and another man in painter’s coveralls appeared holding a machine gun on her attacker.
Within seconds another dozen men were holding weapons aimed at Maduro, just as Bart knocked over an enormous Chinese urn, which shattered into a million pieces as it hit the ground.
It was like the sound of an explosion, just long enough for the thief to be startled and loosen his grip on Halley.
Suddenly all the images and memories of her childhood rushed through Halley’s mind, the endless beatings by her mother that she didn’t deserve, the betrayals by her father.
The blows and the injuries, the terror she had lived with and no one stopped.
And this time, only she could stop it and save herself.
With every ounce of strength she had, and her full weight, she kicked her attacker in the shin, and smashed her fist backward into his groin, as the knife clattered to the ground, and the agents rushed forward and had him face down on the cement within seconds.
Two of them pressed him down while another agent handcuffed his hands behind his back, and another agent put a heavy boot on his back to immobilize him, as Bart rushed toward Halley.
“Are you okay?” He looked at her intensely. He was out of breath from the sheer terror of what he’d seen, as one more agent picked the knife up as evidence, wearing latex gloves.
“I’m all right,” she said, her voice shaking. She was deathly pale and her heart was racing as plainclothes agents cleared the area, guns in hand, while others searched the crowd for any accomplices lurking near the scene. They found none.