Mona Lisa's Room

by Vonnie Davis

  “I need to get some laundry done or buy new clothes.” Aly sifted through the pile of soiled items. Few could go into a dryer, which meant a long time drying on hangers or the shower rod. “Gwen, you feel like shopping?”

  “Always.”

  Her dad was unbuttoning his shirt and scratching his belly. “I ain’t so sure I like the sound of that. You two girls be careful.”

  “Look, Dad, no one knows we’re here. We just arrived. Besides, my name isn’t on the hotel registration. I’ll need cash, though, or a credit card. I can’t use mine. It’ll be traced. I’ll pay you back when we get home. You know that.”

  He reached for his wallet. “Yeah, I do.” He handed her a wad of Euros. “I came well-prepared, but use some judgment. Ya hear?”

  “We won’t be long. Have a good nap.”

  She and Gwen hurried up the street. “We need to buy you heels.”

  Her sister glanced at her. “Heels?”

  “Yes, French women wear heels even with jeans and capris. They make a woman’s hips sway.” No sooner had her repetition of Niko’s words escaped her lips than the tears started. She swiped at her damp cheeks.

  “Who are you and where has my sister gone?”

  “I don’t know, Gwen. I’m so confused I don’t know who I am anymore. Damn Niko Reynard to hell for that.” She fought her tears and drew on her anger. “Here’s a shoe store. We both need good heels. You need to ditch the white sneakers here in Europe.”

  In a little over two hours, they made quite a dent in her dad’s stash of Euros and swiped Gwen’s credit card until it was smoking.

  They tossed their bags onto the bed when they returned to their suite. “Now I know what it’s like to shop Parisian style. Whew, you’ve developed some new tastes here in Paris.” Gwen flipped the lid off the shoebox and pulled out a pair of red and black stilettos. “Where will I wear these back home?”

  Aly laughed. “One wears them anywhere. To create the mood, to feel sensual. Or so a saleswoman told me when Niko took me shoe shopping.”

  “He went in the store with you? A man who shops?”

  “Oh, more than that. He pushed the saleswoman aside and tried the shoes on me.”

  Gwen collapsed into a gold velvet chair. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. We’d only met a few hours before, but he slid his hands up my calves in the most suggestive manner. He kept his dark eyes locked on mine as if making love to me right there in the store.” Pain squeezed her heart. Such special memories to live a lifetime on. Memories and betrayal. “I can’t talk about him right now. My feelings are too raw.”

  “You had a hot affair with a young Frenchman. Can you ever forget?”

  “No. I can never forget. Knowing Niko changed me in many ways. Ways I can’t begin to describe.” Aly opened the box containing a wig. “Finding that wig shop was a Godsend. If I dye my hair one more time, it’ll probably fall out.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “Look, it’s either that, or I break down and cry again. What purpose would that serve?” She tugged on the wig of long brunette hair styled in gentle waves. “I haven’t worn my hair this long since college.” She glanced from side-to-side in the mirror. “No one will recognize me now, especially Niko. If he even bothers to look.”

  ****

  Niko had been at his desk in the unit for less than two hours when Henri limped in, his cane creating a cadence in the quiet office area. “What the hell are you doing back already? Thought you were taking a couple weeks off.” He groaned when he settled in a chair across from Niko’s.

  “How did you know I was back?” He spared his boss a glance before turning his attention back on the images on the three screens at his workstation. His gaze systematically went from one screen to the next, comparing, analyzing.

  Henri was probably pissed he had to deal with his presence. This was another problem Niko would have to resolve soon. Not now, though. Now was devoted to finding Hae-Won.

  “Security tells me as a matter of routine when someone with scheduled time off enters the office area.”

  “So your security experts are kept under security, is that it?” Watching others was his job, yet feeling like he was being watched galled him.

  “No need to get your back up. I am just concerned. What’s going on?” Henri crossed his forearms over the handle of the cane and leaned forward, his eyes intent on Niko.

  This was not going to be easy. Admitting a woman sucked him in, duped him and successfully faked her death for two years didn’t speak well for his level of professionalism. However, it had to be shared with this man. A man who, once he smelled blood, never failed to go for the jugular.

  Niko looked away for a beat and gathered his resolve. “Do you remember Hae-Won, a photojournalist I dated a few years ago?”

  “The one captured by The Red Hand? Yes, I remember her. Controlling young woman, as I recall.”

  “The recent attack on my family may be connected to her.”

  “How so?”

  Now came the sticky part; keeping Aly out of the conversation since he falsified her death to keep her safe. Hell, everyone—Dembri, Hae-Won and he—were doing it, like some kind of bizarre fake-a-death fad.

  “As you’ll recall, there were two gunmen who broke into my home, a male and a female. My mother and sister described the female as having the same build as Hae-Won. Earlier today I was looking at an old video I had of Hae-Won and me in Spain on vacation. They said her voice sounded like the female gunman’s. Jean-Luc was there. He reminded me we never saw Hae-Won’s body. After a heated discussion, I came back to the unit to search through some old tapes and photographs.”

  Henri’s beady eyes never once blinked. They just stared at him. “And?”

  “She may still be alive. What’s worse, what makes me feel like an ass—and an incompetent ass at that—is if she indeed is alive, then she’s part of The Red Hand organization.”

  The older man’s eyes closed for a fraction, an imperceptible movement few people would notice, but Niko did. “Show me the evidence. Put the pictures up on the wide screen and list the facts.”

  Jean-Luc, one side of his face puffy and sporting a black eye, came in carrying sandwiches and drinks. “Traffic was a bitch.” His steps halted when he saw his boss. “Henri, if I had known you were here, I’d have gotten something for you.” He set the food on Niko’s large desk.

  “What in God’s name happened to your face?”

  Jean-Luc jerked his chin in Niko’s direction. “I ran into a fist.”

  Henri’s head swiveled toward Niko. “That heated discussion you mentioned?”

  “Yes, sir. Jean-Luc and I have a history of beating up on each other when one of us is stressed. Coming to grips with my stupidity was not an easy process.” He bit into his sandwich. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast in Villerville and he was starving.

  His superior aimed a glare at Niko. “You two are a strange pair. When I found out you were coming to work for me, I was not pleased with your demand Jean-Luc come, too. I do have to admit he’s shown himself to be a valuable asset to our department. I’m going into my office and elevate my foot. It thumps with pain. Looks like I better call Marie and tell her I’ll be here for a while.”

  Henri shook his head in his typical philosophical manner. “Women do complicate a man’s life. Which is why choosing a good one is so wise. You’ll choose more wisely the next time. A man’s head is often turned by a fine figure, especially if that figure is easily available. Hae-Won was those things. She was also a manipulating, whining bitch. What surprised me was how easily you were ensnared in her sexual web. You thought with your dick instead of your brain. As a result, you brought The Red Hand into our midst. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Niko winced. He didn’t handle criticism well. Never had, specifically in relation to his job performance.

  “Call me when you get your presentation ready. Just don’t keep me waiting long. Pain is not a go
od companion.” Henri stood, flinched and hobbled toward his office.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Your ass is in hot water, buddy.” Jean-Luc sipped his drink. “We better dazzle the old man with our evidence and data.”

  Niko nodded as he chewed another bite of his sandwich. “Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work. Maybe I’m too susceptible to the allure of a female. Maybe I’m not as sharp as I thought I was.” Finding out Hae-Won was alive shook him to the core. Not only had a member of The Red Hand wormed her way into his life and his heart, but she deceived him on every level. For two years he mourned her and bore the guilt of walking away with those files still on his screen.

  “You and your ‘maybes.’ Get over yourself. Let’s get this bitch and put her where she belongs.”

  Niko crumpled the paper from the sandwich, tossed it in the trash can and approached Jean-Luc’s desk. “I should have suspected Hae-Won when I found this picture of Aly and me in Qimat’s pocket.” He slapped the picture on Jean-Luc’s desk.

  His friend examined it. “This was taken downstairs in the garage.”

  “Turn it over.”

  Jean-Luc read the information written on the back before raising his gaze to Niko’s. “Your height is given in both metric and English measurements. Alyson’s is not. Only those close to you know you sometimes joke about only being five feet eleven and a half inches.”

  Niko sat on the edge of Jean-Luc’s desk and fiddled with his friend’s prized piece of the Berlin Wall. “That mention of my height bothered me. I figured it was written by someone here in the unit. Have to tell you the thought of working with a traitor bothered me, but so did something else. Just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  “Have you figured it out?”

  Niko ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m embarrassed to admit it. I watched her, one day, print notes on the backs of photographs she took the day before. She used a Sharpie just like the ink you see right there. Same neat printing on an angle.” He exhaled a long sigh. “If I had been more alert, I could have apprehended her earlier. Aly wouldn’t have been shot.”

  “No one expects to see a dead woman’s printing, especially after two years.”

  “I’m not just anyone. I’m in a position that requires me to question everyone and everything. I failed.”

  Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair and pointed to the photograph. “So you thought this was written by someone in the unit? Who did you suspect?”

  “Everyone except you.”

  Jean-Luc grinned. “You bastard, you did think it was me.”

  “No, never you.” There was no other man he trusted as much as his childhood buddy.

  “So, you have no qualms about hammering my face until it looks like raw meat, but you would never accuse me of betrayal?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Jean-Luc laughed. “Liar. Oh, just got some chatter I want you to hear.”

  “First let me arrange for someone to take Aly and her family to the safe house. Looks like I’ll be here for several more hours.”

  “Send André. He’s young and appealing to the women. Maybe Gwen will take her eyes off me and focus on him. The woman looks at me like she hasn’t had a piece of meat in years, and I’m the last filet mignon left in the market.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Gwen. The woman’s just lonely after losing her husband in Iraq.” He ignored Jean-Luc’s snort, picked up the phone and dialed a number. “I’ll bet a woman like her could straighten out your mangy ass.”

  His friend extended a finger.

  Niko had no sooner sent André on his errand when Michelle, the unit’s forensic phonetician, approached holding a file and wearing her typical General-Grim expression. The woman loved her job and excelled at wringing every possible detail from a taped phone conversation, but she was short on personality.

  “I have a match, several in fact. Having your DVD to use as my baseline was a tremendous help.” She removed a sheet of graph paper from a file and slapped it onto Niko’s desk. “Here is the graph showing the amplitude and strength of sound of Hae-Won’s voice as taken from your DVD.” Michelle spread out three more pages. “Here are the graphs from those three phone conversations you taped.” She pointed to several peaks and valleys on the computer generated graphs. “Exact matches, all of them. Hae-Won was the speaker.”

  It was unusual for Michelle to smile. She was a serious person, but the corners of her mouth tilted up slightly.

  “There’s more?”

  “On two of the phone conversations, this one from a year ago and this one a mere three weeks back—” she tapped her fingernail on two graphs “—Hae-Won was talking to a male. Same man. Iranian. From the northern part of the country. Mid-twenties. Uneducated. Highly nervous.”

  Niko glanced at Jean-Luc and smiled. “Isn’t she the greatest?”

  Her expression now was absolutely smug. “There’s more. Church bells ringing in the background.”

  “Really?’ Niko leaned forward in his chair. He would see Michelle got a raise; she was top-notch at her job. “Can you indentify the bells? Notre Dame?”

  She shook her head and slipped her hands in the pockets of her pants. “St. Germaine des Prés. I would say no more than six blocks away. No less than four.”

  Niko tapped computer keys on one of his three keyboards. A screen with a detailed map of Paris slid down from the ceiling. He punched in the address of the church and zoomed in to areas within a seven block radius. He opened his drawer, removed a laser pointer and handed it to Michelle. “Show me.”

  ****

  Alyson took a shower while her dad and sister slept. Both were suffering jet lag and lack of sleep. She dressed in the khaki linen pantsuit she found on sale on her shopping trip with Gwen. After putting on her wig, she stepped into taupe heels. She wrote a note explaining where she went to eat, grabbed her shoulder bag and headed out the door.

  The Café de Flore was a few blocks up the street. Once the meeting place of philosophers and artists, it was now a stopping place for tourists looking to have a drink where Picasso, Hemingway, John Paul Sartré and other notables once argued philosophy and art trends. The lovely building graced a corner like a queen on her throne. Awnings reached out to give protective shelter for its sidewalk tables. Above the awning were wrought iron balconies festooned with lush ferns, draping across the tops of the awning, lending a whimsical air to the building.

  An empty bench across the street beckoned. Alyson sat and removed her sketch pad from her yellow leather shoulder bag. Quickly she sketched the skeleton of the building, adding windows, balconies, ferns and awning painted with the name of the famous café. Time passed and, if her grumbling stomach hadn’t reminded her it was past time for a meal, she could have spent hours sitting there drawing.

  Whispers of history and artistic charm flowed from the Jewel of the Seine to her fingertips. The allure of Paris rekindled Alyson’s joy of sketching, an enthusiasm she never should have abandoned, being an art teacher. Life, it seemed, dimmed her passions. She stood and smiled. No more. Being here taught her a lot about her spirit—and her heart.

  Alyson moved across the street to the Café de Flore when she saw a couple stand and vacate a sidewalk table. After ordering wine and a salad, her attention was drawn to an older couple at a nearby table, heads close and hands entwined while they murmured to one another. Alyson set her bag on the empty chair at her table and pulled out her sketch pad and charcoal pencils. Within minutes she was engaged in capturing the enduring love of the silver-haired couple. What delightful, heart-touching expressions they had.

  A voice fractured her concentration.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  Her breathing hitched.

  Slowly she turned toward the agitated voice and came eye to eye with Hae-Won. Oh, good Lord! The woman’s hair was much shorter than in Niko’s video; it was chin length now. The angry expression and the annoyed voice were the same. Alyson quickly turne
d her head, acting as if she were once again focused on her sketching. What should I do? Run? Stay and pretend she didn’t notice? She was wearing the wig, after all. Surely she wouldn’t be recognized.

  She flipped the page she was working on until she found a clean one. Watching Hae-Won out of the corner of her eye, she began sketching her nemesis. Maybe if she drew it well enough and showed it to Niko, he would believe Hae-Won was still alive. Her wrist flexed and twisted as she drew what she saw out of the corner of her eye.

  When Hae-Won’s voice indicated she’d probably be looking at her male companion, Alyson would take a quick studying glance at her. Her sketch was almost completed when someone grasped her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Nice likeness. Do you think it captures my spirit?”

  Sweet Jesus, help me!

  Alyson shifted slightly and stared into Hae-Won’s hate-filled eyes. Cold dread gripped her. Hae-Won’s hold on her shoulder tightened, but she refused to wince.

  “We meet again, Alyson. Instead of spending money on that wig, you should have bought a new purse. That ridiculous yellow bag is quite distinctive.” Something round and hard jabbed into her waist. “Do anything wrong and I’ll shoot you again. This time, I’ll kill you.” Hae-Won jerked her head toward the older couple. Her companion stood behind the man and woman, who were blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding around them. The young, dark-haired man watched as if waiting for a command. “After my lover kills those two over there. You want to watch them die, bitch?”

  Alyson swallowed, hoping to force back the bile rising in her throat.

  The young man removed a latex glove from his pocket and slipped it on.

  Her mouth was too dry to respond. Alyson merely shook her head. Josette died because of her impetuousness; she couldn’t allow anyone else to suffer the same fate. She stood and permitted Hae-Won and her lover to lead her away.