25

Lena

S omething was wrong.

Tristan hadn’t said a single word since they got into the car, and that wasn’t like him. But she didn’t know him well enough—not yet—to know whether to push.

Every minute that passed tightened the knot in her chest.

In the end, she spoke up because she needed to. Because if something had happened on his first day back at work … it mattered.

“Did something happen today?” she asked quietly. “Is your side hurting?”

A beat of silence. Then another. She began to wonder if he’d even heard her. Finally, he shook his head.

“No. I’m good.” He paused. “We’re no closer to learning why your father’s house was broken into.”

“He told me nothing was missing,” Lena said. “At least from his things. I haven’t been back to check on mine.”

“Good. Your father wants you to stay away for the time being, and I agree with him.”

Lena blinked, not liking where this was going. “Glad you both agree on something. Is that why you’re suddenly acting like my bodyguard?”

Tristan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t think you’re in any danger, Lena, but it’s better to be safe.”

“And my father? Where’s his bodyguard?”

“Your father can take care of himself, Lena.” He let out a breath. “Before you say anything, I know how that sounds. I don’t mean you can’t take care of yourself. I just mean … it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“There it is,” Lena said, pointing at a black and gold sign ahead. She’d walked past this gallery countless times, but had never dared to imagine her work might be there one day.

It’s just a meeting. Don’t start counting your chickens.

She grabbed her laptop bag. She hadn’t been allowed back home to grab her physical prints, but thankfully she was manic about organizing her work, so it was all accessible on her laptop, in case the gallery owner wanted to look at anything specific.

Tristan parked the car and turned to her. “Good luck, Lena. I know you’re going to wow them.”

“Should I call you when I’m done?” she asked uncertainly.

“No need. I’ll wait for you here.” He paused and pulled something from the side of the door. “I brought a book.”

Lena nodded. He would. It was strange, trusting someone this much. And it suddenly struck her, that Tristan wasn’t here because he and her father had decided she needed a bodyguard. She heard, in his silence, all the things he wasn’t saying. And it wasn’t just him—there were things she hadn’t said, either. But she would. They would talk about this tonight. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, stepping out of the car and straightening the black blazer she’d pulled on over blue jeans.

T he door to the gallery was ajar. Lena hesitated, then pushed it open wider, stepping into the dim space.

Why are the lights off?

“Hello? Madame Guillaume?”

She’d spent the morning researching the gallery owner—an elegant older woman who owned three galleries, in the three places she loved most in the world: Paris, Chamonix, and Tokyo. Lena had allowed herself a brief, reckless thought— What if my work ended up in Tokyo? But she’d quickly closed that thought down. Step by step.

Her black ankle boots echoed against the hardwood floor.

No soft classical music. No faint hum of climate control. No voices.

She thought of everything else she’d learned about Madame Guillaume. That she’d once thrown a famous critic out of her space for daring to touch the glass on one of her paintings. That she had a reputation for being formal and meticulous.

Not the kind of woman to forget an appointment.

But the gallery space was large. It was possible she was in one of the back rooms.

Lena tried again.

“Madame Guillaume?” Her voice echoed faintly across the exposed brick walls and polished concrete floor. No answer.

Lena took in the half-finished displays, the ladder leaning against the wall, floor littered with stray paper corners and packaging tape. Her fingers hovered near the strap of her bag, her instincts prickling.

She turned back toward the door—and froze.

A familiar figure blocked the exit, casting a long shadow on the floor.

“Lena,” the man said, smiling widely.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “André.” She paused. “Where’s Madame Guillaume?”

“She’s on her way. She called to say she was a few minutes late.”

“It’s dark.” Way to state the obvious.

He must have pressed a switch, because the gallery lights suddenly hummed to life overhead.

Lena squinted, looking at André. He looked … awful. Pale, red-rimmed eyes. Skin sallow. Like sleep had stopped being a priority weeks earlier.

“Let’s sit while we wait,” he offered, pulling out a couple of chairs near the wall.

Lena didn’t move. The sudden light hadn’t chased away the unease—if anything, it had sharpened it.

“Are you feeling okay, André?” she asked, stalling. Her memories flashed back to when they’d been in school together. André had been clever. Charming. Just ruthless enough to keep people at arm’s length. She hadn’t liked him then. She liked him even less now.

Lena shook her head, but she couldn’t rid herself of the bad feeling. She mapped out her pathway to the door, knowing Tristan was on the other side of that door.

“Do you have the pictures?” he asked, tone low, casual.

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She nodded, slow, cautious, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag.

Julien’s eyes flicked to it. “Good. Show me.”

Lena took an unconscious step back. “Maybe we should wait for Madame Guillaume.”

The pause that followed was too long. Painful.

Then the smile vanished from his face, as if someone had flipped a switch.

“I don’t think so,” he said flatly.

Lena's stomach dropped. She already knew the answer, but asked anyway. “She’s not coming, is she?”

He shook his head slowly. “She’s not even in town. Hence why this place was perfect.”

She took another step back. This time, deliberately.

His posture shifted. “Don’t make this difficult, Lena,” he said, and the change in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Open your laptop and show me the photographs you took that day.”

That day .

“What photographs?”

“Don’t play dumb, Lena. I need to see the photographs you took that day, up in the mountains. All of them .”

“That’s why you reached out to me, after all this time. You weren’t writing an article about the skeleton.”

“Brilliant deduction. Stop wasting time. I know your boyfriend’s out there waiting for you. We don’t want him to come here looking for you, do we?”

Don’t we? That was exactly what Lena wanted …

Or it was, until the pistol appeared in André’s hand. It was old, the metal dulled with age, but no less dangerous for it. And it was pointed straight at her.

Lena felt her breath shatter. She was French—soldiers patrolling around airports or public spaced often carried weapons much bigger than this one. But they’d never pointed them at her. And André wasn’t a soldier. André was?—

“Now, Lena,” he said quietly, gesturing with the pistol. “Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She was calculating the distance to the door, whether she could make it—but he was blocking the way, and she knew she couldn’t.

“You’ve already made things hard enough for me. I went to your house to look for the photographs—found nothing, and almost got caught by a nosy neighbor. I’m out of patience, Lena,” he threatened.

The break-in. It was him .

“I don’t have them with me.” A lie. Not a great one. She just wanted to buy time. Time to think. Time to figure out what this was about. But her brain had turned porous, and she knew time was one thing she didn’t have.

“Show me the photographs, Lena. Now.”

She pulled her laptop out of the bag and set it on the table, hands shaking so hard she had trouble finding the power button. As she typed in her password, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Yes. She was. She was stalling. She was keeping André away from Tristan. And maybe—just maybe—if she waited long enough, Tristan would figure out something was wrong and call for help.

She navigated to the right folder, her fingers trembling slightly on the trackpad, and opened up the first image.

André snatched the computer roughly from her, his grip jerking the screen sideways as he yanked it toward himself. His eyes flicked manically between the laptop and her, then back again, pupils darting as he clicked through the photographs in rapid succession.

But the pistol—it never wavered. It remained steady, its dark barrel fixed on her with a focus that sent ice-cold shivers down her spine.

Lena kept her breathing slow, deliberate. She could hear the rush of her own blood roaring in her ears.

“I don’t understand,” she tried again, voice soft, coaxing. “You’ve seen them before, André.”

“Shut the hell up.”

The snarl in his voice was sharp, edged with panic. He clicked faster, more frantically, his mouth tightening with each image that flicked by. The whites of his eyes showed too much. His breathing grew uneven, shoulders hunched over the laptop like a man searching for something in a dark tunnel.

“Where is it?” he spat out.

“What?” Lena asked carefully, watching him—not just the gun, but the sweat starting to bead at his temple, the tremor creeping into his jaw, the way his hand twitched over the keys.

“It’s not here.” He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair, disheveling it further. “It’s not fucking here.”

“André, listen to me?—”

“Don’t,” he hissed, his hand jerking up, the gun swinging a little too wildly now. “You don’t get it, Lena. This—this was supposed to fix everything.”

Her mouth was dry. She fought to keep her voice steady. “Fix what?”

Keep him talking . That seemed safer than the alternative.

But he didn’t reply. All at once, André slammed the laptop shut with a sharp snap that made her flinch.

He stood abruptly, pacing two steps before whipping around to face her, eyes wild.

“Did you take it?” he snarled. “Did you and that boyfriend of yours take it?”

Lena took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tristan. We didn’t take anything.”

He nodded. “Okay. I believe you, Lena. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“You’re going to … let me go?” she asked. Despite herself, hope rose inside her.

The sound of his soft sigh was scarier even than his early rantings. “I wish I could, Lena. But if you didn’t take it, then it’s still up there.” He gave a determined nod. “So that’s where we have to go. To the cave.”

No. No way . She hadn’t been back to the mountains since the day she’d been rescued. She knew she’d have to go back out there soon. She couldn’t let her fear fester. But the thought of going up there with André ... No .

“There’s nothing up there, André. The forensic scientists took the body away.”

“It’s still up there. I would have heard if they’d found it. It’s still up there. Waiting for me to find it.” He waved the weapon around—the moves haphazard. Dangerous.

Lena swallowed hard, forcing herself not to recoil. “André… you need to calm down.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. His face twisted. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break through her chest. She eyed the exit, wondering if she could make it. Thinking now, it had to be worth the risk.

She’d barely taken one step by the time he grabbed her. He pulled on her arm—roughly, painfully. The metal of the gun brushed her ribs as he guided her toward the exit.

She didn’t want to go. Because if she did, she’d be walking straight toward Tristan.

She tried to pivot, angle herself away, but it was too late.

Tristan was there. Standing next to the car. His eyes locked on hers, instantly reading the situation. She saw it in the flicker of his expression—the shift from surprise to controlled focus.

André stopped. “Get in the car. Or I will shoot her right here.”

His voice had dropped low—no more ranting, no more spiraling. Just a cold, shaking resolve that was even worse. Even more frightening.

Tristan didn’t move at first, his hands loose at his sides, jaw tight. His bright blue gaze flicked over André’s grip on Lena, the angle of the gun, the pressure in her pale fingers where they clutched her bag. Calculating.

“Okay,” Tristan said calmly, voice measured. “I’m getting in. You’re the reporter, aren’t you? André.”

Lena’s breath hitched.

No . Don’t get in the car.

She felt André’s grip tighten painfully on her arm as Tristan eased toward the driver’s door. His eyes met hers briefly—just long enough for her to read the silent message there: I’ve got you. Hold on .

She’d thought she’d been scared a few minutes earlier, inside the cool gallery, but this … this was much worse. She had brought danger to Tristan. André was crazy. If he got them in a car, who knew what?—

André yanked Lena toward the passenger door, shoving her in roughly before sliding in behind her. The gun stayed out, stayed steady, the barrel now pressed against her neck between the seat and the head-rest as he barked at Tristan, “Shut up and drive. No games. Remember, she doesn’t have her seatbelt on.”

“Where would you like to go?” Tristan asked, his tone cool.

“The cave. Where you found her. But first, give me your phone.”

Lena’s stomach lurched. For an instant, she thought she might lose her lunch. André had already taken her phone. If he took Tristan’s phone as well, there would be no chance of calling for help. No chance at all. A soft whimper escaped her throat. Tristan handed his phone backwards, into André’s greedy hands. Then his gaze flicked sideways, catching her wide, panicked eyes. He gave the smallest shake of his head—barely there.

Stay calm. Stay here .

But he didn’t know André. He didn’t know how crazy the man was.

André jabbed the gun harder against her, but his words were for Tristan. “Move.”

“Sure,” Tristan said easily. “But why don’t you let Lena out? You don’t need her. I’ll take you where you want to go.”

André gave a loud cackle. “I don’t think so. We are not negotiating, asshole. Start the car now or I will start shooting.”

Tristan pulled the car into gear, the tires crunching over the gravel. Lena’s mind raced. She could feel the heat of André’s arm against her, his unsteady breathing. He was spiraling, he was armed, and they were trapped here with him.

But, beside her, Tristan was cool. She tried to gather courage from that. If he was this calm, he must have a plan. He must have?—

“The car will only get us half of the way. We’ll have to hike the rest of the way in the dark.” Tristan said.

“Fuck,” André said. His knee—or what she hoped was his knee, and not the pistol—jittered against the back of her seat.

Tristan clenched and unclenched his jaw. “But there may be a better alternative, André.”

What was Tristan doing? Whatever it was, Lena didn’t think it could end well. “Don’t,” she begged. “Please don’t.”

“Shut up, Lena. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“I can offer you a better transportation system,” Tristan continued. “A helicopter.”

André hesitated. “You have a helicopter?”

“I have access to one. I’m a pilot. My wallet is in my jacket, right beside your seat. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

Lena could hear rustling behind her as André clearly checked out Tristan’s ID. She couldn’t turn around, but she felt the moment his greed and desperation caught on the bait Tristan was offering.

Except she didn’t want him to offer himself as bait. Because André was clearly unhinged. And if André found whatever it was that he was looking for … then he wouldn’t need them anymore.

“Okay, Lieutenant Devallé. So you’re not just her boyfriend. Where’s this helicopter?”

Tristan kept his voice steady, almost casual. “The PGHM helipad is a few minutes away. It’ll be closed now, but I have access. I can fly you to the ridge and land near the cave. No hiking. No risk of being caught on the trail.”

André’s grip on Lena’s arm tightened so hard it made her gasp. “If you’re lying, I’ll shoot her in the stomach. You’ll watch her bleed to death.”

“I’m not,” Tristan said evenly.

“And you’re just offering to fly me there? Just like that? No strings attached?”

“No,” Tristan said. “There’s one condition. We’ll leave Lena at the hangar. I’ll tie her up so she can’t call for help until we’re back.”

André’s breathing quickened. “I don’t like it.”

That makes two of us . She didn’t like it either. Because she understood now why Tristan was offering this. She understood, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Tristan’s voice turned to steel. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. I won’t fly you anywhere if she’s with us.”

“How do I know you won’t crash the helicopter, then?”

Tristan laughed. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Helicopter accidents are almost always fatal. And I happen to enjoy my life. I’ll fly you to the cave to look for whatever it is you’re looking for, and I’ll fly you back into town. Then you let us both go free.”

André’s breathing quickened, and Lena felt the gun shift slightly behind her. She risked a glance at Tristan. He wasn’t looking at her—his gaze stayed fixed on the rear view mirror, locked on André—but she could see the tension in his jaw, the careful balance he was walking between challenge and control. Her pulse was pounding so hard she thought she might pass out.

As the car sped forward into the deepening dusk, Lena kept an eye out for other cars. If she could only signal to someone … but they were completely alone on the road.

“We’re reaching the turn,” Tristan said. “Let me know what you want me to do, André.”

André leaned forward slightly. Lena felt the cold press of the gun barrel shift, graze her collarbone.

“Don’t try anything clever.”

“I won’t. But move that weapon away from Lena. It’s a gravel road from here on out, and we don’t want any accidents.”

Lena’s fists clenched in her lap. She forced herself to keep breathing, to trust Tristan’s steady voice, his controlled movements. But he didn’t know André like she did. He couldn’t know how crazy the man was.

“I’m sorry,” Lena whispered in a low voice.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” Tristan replied, his eyes on the road ahead of them. “You know I love you, right?”

He said it in a casual tone, for André’s benefit, but there was nothing casual about it. It wasn’t something he’d ever said before. And yet, Lena had already known. And she wanted him to know she felt the same way. Just in case .

“I love you too, Tristan,” she said, biting her lip to stop herself from saying anything else. Because anything else she said would be tainted by fear.

“No more talking,” André said gruffly. “Just remember what happens if you lie to me.”