Free Phoenix Rising by Heather R. Blair Page A

The day was clear, there was only the barest breath of wind. And Pont Neuf was the oldest bridge in Paris, it had stood for nearly half a millennium...!
    There was a deafening rumble of something heavy crumpling. Kelsey's stomach dropped to her toes as they slid toward the low, curved wall of the bridge. The car's high center of gravity was their undoing as she felt her body careen toward the passenger door.
    The vehicle flipped sideways and dropped into the Seine like a stone.
     
    Miles was restless. He stood in front of the high arch of his study window looking out over the Loire Valley, its verdant green expanse smudged blue as the last dregs of twilight drained into night. He'd slept little today, but prowled the rooms of his estate like a caged panther, trapped by the sun and memories.
    He could close his eyes and see Kelsey in this room, laughing with a glass of wine in hand. Tossing her night black hair over one shoulder, those golden eyes flashing at him like a dare he could never resist…
    He growled and tossed the book he'd been holding onto the cushions of the azure silk of the divan with an oath.
    Chance is a word void of sense; nothing can exist without a cause.
    Blah, the man was nothing more than a failed politician.
    Or was it just that Voltaire was a poor choice for his mood tonight? Knowing Kelsey was in Paris right now. On her way here at this very moment. Not chance that, but murder was the only cause . There was nothing more.
    When the murders were solved and he had the bastard, or bastards responsible in hand, Kelsey would leave. And he would never see her again. Which is how he wanted it.
    Didn’t he?
    Miles sighed and slipped from the study almost faster than his own shadow, but the memories were unescapable. Memories of her. In every room of the house.
    He cursed, as he passed the spot where they'd first spoken, long void of Degas’s red-headed wench. He'd ordered the painting hidden away the day he'd had her thrown from the estate and he'd never looked at it again.
    In a dark temper, Miles flung open the door to his bedroom.
    It was worse here. Here she was everywhere. He would swear he could still smell her in his sheets, except he knew that was impossible, even for his powers. He could see her falling back into the massive four-poster bed, her hair tumbling about her face, her laughter ringing through the room.
    Miles hadn’t realized he’d loved her until he was told of her betrayal. Hadn’t faced it until the instant it was taken from him. In this very room.
    A quoi bon mean.
    That was a scene he would never forget, even if he lived to see the end of another millennium. Justin, his head of security, had come to him that day. Any other man would have been terrified, but Justin would do his duty always, damn the consequences. He had handed Miles the papers that proved Kelsey’s duplicity. Miles could still hear the ring of the man’s delicate opening words.
    “My lord, I have some disturbing news....”
    Miles closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool, roughness of one high bedpost. The knock on his door didn’t stir him.
    “Entre,” Miles cracked his eyes as the door opened and felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
    It was only a little unassuming man in an elegant pin-striped suit, but suddenly the past was all too close.
    Justin.
    When the security agent’s mouth opened, the overwhelming rush of deja vu made Miles’ vision ripple, but this time the words were different.
    “Lord Saintonge , I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

Chapter 8
     
    ‘At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone .’~TS Eliot
     
    It was a testament to Miles' power and influence that within thirty minutes of Justin's announcement they were standing on the remnants of the Pont Neuf's east side, looking out into the muddy Seine.
    A dripping and twisted hunk of metal was resting insidiously in the blinking lights on the banks of