Safe and Sound (The Safe House Series Book 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Leslie North
wallet back to Max without refolding it. Max was treated to the six laminated portraits of Lola Reyes' cat menagerie, up close and personal. None of them looked attractive enough to be anything but rescues. He was starting to form a picture of the woman tied up in his kitchen, and it didn't bode well for them.
At this point, Max would have preferred an assassin to the innocent woman against whom he had committed the crime of false imprisonment and, quite possibly, traumatized for the duration of her tedious, cat-hugging, alphabet-teaching, intestine-weary life.
Chapter 4
Lola’s phone had been ringing incessantly since the French man—Baudin—had brought her purse into the kitchen. She watched helplessly as McGinger —Max Sterling, she had pieced together—crossed his thick arms and craned to look at the screen once more.
"Eugenia again," he said. "But it's an overlapping call with your brother."
" Mademoiselle is popular," Baudin said in a complimentary tone.
"No," she stressed. "I'm not popular. Far from it, but that's beside the point. Look, there are a lot of people who need me, so if we're done here I really should get back to—"
"We're not finished," Max interrupted.
From his roost atop the kitchen counter, Baudin shot the man a puzzled look. "We aren't?"
"No.” He addressed Lola again. “I'm still not buying your story. Not all of it."
“Which part? The part where I wrapped my car around your tree? The Dr. Seuss part? I can recite for you, if you wish.” She was done being teacher of the year, PTA board member, afterschool care for zero money Lola. For once, she was done.
“ Por Favor ,” said Baudin.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain, but down here below, we are feeling great pain.” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I know, up on top you are seeing great sights, but down at the bottom we, too, should have rights.”
Her voice broke on pain and rights , trapped half-way between sing-song and tears. She looked away, at a distant window, her jaw set, quivering.
Baudin clapped with acerbic sarcasm.
Max looked over at him. “You’re an asshole.”
A knee-jerk response, but something had shifted in Max’s head. Before, he could nail her to the wall with his stare. Now, he struggled to make eye contact.
Baudin’s laugh was sharp, caustic. “So they tell me.”
Max refocused on Lola. “Did you fall asleep at the wheel?"
His tone was different. Intimate. Almost a whisper. Again, she glimpsed the man who pulled her from the wreckage. She wondered how many facets Max Sterling had. If any of them were deadly.
"I don't know how I crashed," she said. "It felt like my brakes failed. I've needed to get it into a shop for a while, but…" Lola exhaled, and tried to ignore the fact that the man sitting across from her looked supremely interested in what she had to say. "A first grade teacher's salary doesn't exactly allow for immediate automotive repairs. Believe me, if I had known it wasn't road-safe, I wouldn't have driven it at all."
"Don't you see that is the problem, chéri? He does believe you."
Lola blinked. With a creak of her restraints, she shifted to look at Max.
"Is that true?" The claim made absolutely no sense, but she saw nothing in her captor's face to refute the statement. "If you believe me then why don't you let me go? Obviously there's been some mistake. Obviously you're keyed up about something, or someone, but you can see now that I'm definitely not the kind of person you need to be worried about. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t say a word. Whatever you've got going on around here, I want no part of it, believe me—"
"Baudin," Max interrupted. "Outside. Now ."
The two men exited the room, leaving Lola alone and almost within reach of her weapon and cell phone. She lurched forward, scraping the chair along the floor of the kitchen, but it was no use. Her arms were expertly, and hopelessly, bound
At this point, Max would have preferred an assassin to the innocent woman against whom he had committed the crime of false imprisonment and, quite possibly, traumatized for the duration of her tedious, cat-hugging, alphabet-teaching, intestine-weary life.
Chapter 4
Lola’s phone had been ringing incessantly since the French man—Baudin—had brought her purse into the kitchen. She watched helplessly as McGinger —Max Sterling, she had pieced together—crossed his thick arms and craned to look at the screen once more.
"Eugenia again," he said. "But it's an overlapping call with your brother."
" Mademoiselle is popular," Baudin said in a complimentary tone.
"No," she stressed. "I'm not popular. Far from it, but that's beside the point. Look, there are a lot of people who need me, so if we're done here I really should get back to—"
"We're not finished," Max interrupted.
From his roost atop the kitchen counter, Baudin shot the man a puzzled look. "We aren't?"
"No.” He addressed Lola again. “I'm still not buying your story. Not all of it."
“Which part? The part where I wrapped my car around your tree? The Dr. Seuss part? I can recite for you, if you wish.” She was done being teacher of the year, PTA board member, afterschool care for zero money Lola. For once, she was done.
“ Por Favor ,” said Baudin.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain, but down here below, we are feeling great pain.” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I know, up on top you are seeing great sights, but down at the bottom we, too, should have rights.”
Her voice broke on pain and rights , trapped half-way between sing-song and tears. She looked away, at a distant window, her jaw set, quivering.
Baudin clapped with acerbic sarcasm.
Max looked over at him. “You’re an asshole.”
A knee-jerk response, but something had shifted in Max’s head. Before, he could nail her to the wall with his stare. Now, he struggled to make eye contact.
Baudin’s laugh was sharp, caustic. “So they tell me.”
Max refocused on Lola. “Did you fall asleep at the wheel?"
His tone was different. Intimate. Almost a whisper. Again, she glimpsed the man who pulled her from the wreckage. She wondered how many facets Max Sterling had. If any of them were deadly.
"I don't know how I crashed," she said. "It felt like my brakes failed. I've needed to get it into a shop for a while, but…" Lola exhaled, and tried to ignore the fact that the man sitting across from her looked supremely interested in what she had to say. "A first grade teacher's salary doesn't exactly allow for immediate automotive repairs. Believe me, if I had known it wasn't road-safe, I wouldn't have driven it at all."
"Don't you see that is the problem, chéri? He does believe you."
Lola blinked. With a creak of her restraints, she shifted to look at Max.
"Is that true?" The claim made absolutely no sense, but she saw nothing in her captor's face to refute the statement. "If you believe me then why don't you let me go? Obviously there's been some mistake. Obviously you're keyed up about something, or someone, but you can see now that I'm definitely not the kind of person you need to be worried about. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t say a word. Whatever you've got going on around here, I want no part of it, believe me—"
"Baudin," Max interrupted. "Outside. Now ."
The two men exited the room, leaving Lola alone and almost within reach of her weapon and cell phone. She lurched forward, scraping the chair along the floor of the kitchen, but it was no use. Her arms were expertly, and hopelessly, bound
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