by M. C. Adams
Alexa took another sip of her tea, unaware of the man next to her until he put his hand on her shoulder. The touch sent a shock from her head to her heels. The hand gripped tightly. Another hand pulled back a tan blazer to reveal a handgun in a holster mounted to the man’s side. Too distraught to look at his face, she sat unmoving, refusing to believe that she had been found. Her plan to escape would never materialize. She would never run away as Elizabeth Fuguay. It can’t happen this way. Not here. Not in our place, our café in Paris filled with beautiful and perfect memories of Britt! Those memories were ruined now, forever tainted by the new memory of a man revealing his gun and filling her with fear.
“You’ll want to stay where you are, Miss DeBrow.”
She’d heard that voice before. She looked up at the man and saw a face she didn’t recognize. But that voice, I know that voice.
“Charlie Mac.” She said it casually, like two old acquaintances running into one another in a restaurant. Their eyes locked. She had thought of him as a confidant, but now he was giving her orders like a prisoner.
“We meet at last, Miss DeBrow. Funny, I didn’t think it would happen this way.” He softened his grasp on her shoulder and pulled up a chair with the other hand. He sat close to her. She looked at his pale gray eyes. Shallow crevices formed at the corners of his eyes and spread across his forehead.
“I’m afraid you broke the nose of one of my co-workers, Miss DeBrow.” Alexa arched an eyebrow, satisfied in knowing she had broken the nose of her assailant.
“I trust you’ll be more well-mannered in dealing with me.” He paused for her response, but she said nothing. “All right, Miss DeBrow, gather your things. We are going to take a walk.”
Suddenly terrified by his demeanor, she blurted out, “Why are you here?” Are you going to take me somewhere private where you can make me disappear? He was already standing, but her tone stirred the attention of onlookers. He pressed his gray houndstooth trousers flat and sat back down.
“Mohammed Ahmed is dead. This is old news to you. After your phone call to me, things happened rather quickly. My men went to the location you gave me and made several arrests. They found Mohammed’s pretty pink body. He looked like a Muslim cherub, Miss DeBrow.”
Alexa couldn’t hide her faint smirk.
“His allies are being held for questioning. Most of them aren’t talking. Some are.” His stern look softened for only a moment. “All of this happened because you called me. Now I need to question you.”
“I’m sure you know more than enough about me, Charles. There isn’t much to begin with. You know my history, you told me so. I was a doctor. They tried me for murder. But they released me . . . and now I’m here.” Her voice faded into nothingness, like she had somehow lost track of her life along the way.
“Why are you here, Miss DeBrow? Why did you decide to kill Mohammed Ahmed? Why did you call me? You involved me in this situation. I’m here because I couldn’t ignore your phone call that day. So tell me, why did you call?”
She bit her lip while she hesitated. The difficult conversation required delicate word choices, and she never chose her words wisely enough. She stared at the well-dressed man in the Kenneth Cole wool-blend blazer across from her and felt like she was on trial all over again.
“Let’s go for that walk, Charles. I don’t want to taint the air of this place with this kind of talk.”
He stood and took her arm in his. Charles dropped a couple of euros on the table, and they walked outside. Alexa didn’t want to talk about it; the emotions she felt were too overwhelming to explain. But she didn’t have a choice. She fought hard to find the words.
“Why did I kill Mohammed Ahmed?” She directed her speech into the empty space in front of her. “Because I believe the world is safer without him in it. I believe justice is the death of a man who is a murderer a hundred times over. I think it was the right thing for me to do — in spite of how wrong I know it sounds.” Her words evaporated. She was still making sense of it herself, and she couldn’t put her thoughts into words in a manner that formed a convincing argument.
When Charlie lit a cigarette, she saw the pale circle around his left ring finger and wondered how long he had gone without his wedding band. Are you married to the job, Charlie? She reached down and rubbed her own bare ring finger.
“I’m not here to judge you, Miss DeBrow. The majority of my business doesn’t involve doing what is right. My job is to benefit the cause. The cause for our country is determined by the minds of a few choice military and political authorities. I’m not to give my opinions or deem what is necessary. My job is to carry out the wishes of those above me.” She avoided his glance, keeping her gaze on the pavement. “It just so happens that my superiors wanted Mohammed Ahmed dead, and his confidants captured. With your help, we were able to attain that goal.” He tossed his cigarette on the pavement and snuffed out the fire with his Italian loafer. “That’s why I’m here, Miss DeBrow — because your decision to kill Mohammed has summoned my appearance.”
Summoned? Like a genie in a bottle? When do I get my three wishes, Charlie? I wish to disappear.
He continued, “Now that I’m here, I need to evaluate your character. I need to see if this delicate sort of information is safe with you, and I need to see if you can be of any additional service to me.”
His words rang with casual threats. She feared a slip of the tongue now could cost her her life. And if you decide you can’t trust me? I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep me quiet. She feared his strategy would require the use of a bullet rather than a muzzle.
“What do you want from me?”
“I have a proposition for you, Miss DeBrow.”
“What proposition of yours could interest me?” Her tone came off defiant.
“You have managed to impress a few of my colleagues. Not because you were sly enough to slip a drink into Mohammed Ahmed’s willing hand. Not because you are lovely enough to capture his eye. And not because you were cunning enough to plan it so carefully and pull it off — but because you knew the risk involved and proceeded despite it. That’s what makes for successful careers in my field — a willingness to put your life on the line for the cause. That’s why I’m here. I need to know if you would be willing to put your life on the line for the cause, if such an opportunity arises in the future.”
“What do you mean, exactly?” she pressed.
“Why don’t you tell me how you convinced Mohammed to drink from that glass? Bodyguards surrounded him. Not one of them tried to stop him?”
She shrugged.
“I drank from the glass first. I had to convince him that it was safe.”
“You drank the poison. How?” He sneered.
“I took the antidote. I attached it to an IV. I took the antidote right when swallowing the poison. It made him to trust me.” She blinked.
“I see.” Charles sighed a long, deep sigh. “That’s enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to offer you a position, Miss DeBrow. I want you to consider a job with me. I realize you are a layperson. You would require training of sorts. Any training you require would be offered on a case by case basis.”
Alexa interrupted. “I’m sorry, didn’t we already have a business agreement? One million dollars for the death of Mohammed Ahmed?” She was more than a little disgruntled by the fact that he hadn’t yet mentioned this.
“Yes. We have an agreement. All of that will be settled. I will need an account number. I’ll have the money transferred to your account, tax-free. Everything will be arranged shortly. I have other matters to discuss with you. I want you to consider an indefinite position with my department. I think your skills and accomplishments thus far make you an ideal candidate for such a position. You assassinated one of our most wanted criminals, you averted capture by Agent Harrison, and even managed to break his nose. I’m convinced we can use you, Miss DeBrow.”
Putting a name to the man with the broken nose sudde
nly made Alexa feel guilty, but she pushed the feelings aside, along with all of the other ones she’d buried. “You want me to work for you? As in, FBI or CIA or something of that nature?” He nodded in response. “I’m not sure. I don’t know that I’m interested. I was ready to head to the south of France and relax for few days.” She didn’t care that she was digressing; his questions seemed unfathomable.
“Take a few days. I don’t mind. We’ll be in touch.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. She figured he wanted to take her number to reach her. Instead, he handed her the phone. “Take this. I’ll call you when I need you.”
Alexa reached out, then stopped and shook her head vigorously.
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s my way of getting a hold of you.”
“No. It’s your way of knowing where I am. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.”
He chuckled lightly. “All right, Miss DeBrow, have it your way. I admire your spirit. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“What if I’m not interested?”
He shrugged. “Then you’re not interested.”
“There’s no penalty for refusing?”
“None that I’m aware of. You should know, however, that you’ve gained the attention of my agency. It’s unlikely you will lose their attention in the near future.”
“You’re telling me I’m being watched?” The idea disgusted her.
“Not watched, necessarily. Monitored. Your recent actions have made you a relatively high-risk individual. It’s going to take some time for that kind of attention to die down.”
Alexa sighed heavily.
“You are currently under surveillance. You should know, Miss DeBrow, I don’t need a device to track your whereabouts.”
Like you tracked Mohammed Ahmed? Alexa questioned with a hint of sarcasm.
“What do you suggest I do, Charles?”
“Do whatever you want. You’re still free to decide — only your options are weighted on each end.”
“What’s it like to work for you?”
“You wouldn’t be working for me. Let’s clear that up right away. You would be working with me. It’s a kind of business I used to participate in. Frankly, it’s not much different than what you did with Mohammed. You persuade people. You lie to people. You live a false identity. You gather information from those around you. Sometimes you kill, but you always avoid being killed, whatever the cost.” He pursed his lips tightly.
“And you find satisfaction in that?”
“Didn’t you find satisfaction in poisoning Mohammed?”
Alexa blushed. “Yes. I did. I’m not sure if I should have, but I did.”
“Don’t fret one moment for Mohammed’s death. We both know he deserved far worse than what he got. Truth is, there are a lot more out there just like him. They deserve what they have coming to them, as well. I’ll give you a few days. Take your money, go to the beach, and indulge in French wine. Just know I need to get in touch with you soon. I’ll give you ten days. Then, you call me. That’s the best I can offer you.”
“And if I decline?”
“Suit yourself. But I suggest that you lay low for a while. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself.”
Like flee the country under a false identity?
“And if I accept?”
“I don’t think you’ll have any regrets. You’re not the type to regret killing monsters, are you?”
Alexa shivered. She knew he was referring to Jamar now, not Mohammed.
“Goodbye, Charles.”
He put out his hand and slipped her fifty euros.
“It’s your cab money. Least I can do after what we put you through today.”
He turned around and hopped into a black Mercedes idling just a few feet behind them in the street. Funny, she hadn’t noticed the car while they were walking. She scolded herself for missing this important fact. That’s not the kind of thing an undercover agent would miss.
CHAPTER 23
Alone on the street after Charles MacDonald’s black Mercedes sped away, she wondered, what now? She’d spent the last several hours convincing herself that Alexa DeBrow would have to disappear indefinitely and let Elizabeth Fuguay step into the forefront. Now that idea seemed impossible. She wasn’t sure if Charlie knew about her alias, but given the type of surveillance he spoke of, she knew assuming an alias would be frowned upon. I’ll have to remain Alexa a while longer. She needed to check out of the boutique hotel where she’d registered under the alias. I must keep Elizabeth Fuguay hidden as long as possible, and maybe someday I can safely assume my new identity. She walked several blocks before she came across a cab to hail back to her hotel.
After a quick shower in her room, she gathered her things and discreetly checked out. She hauled her belongings to the nearby train station. I’m going to the south of France, to Nice. She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Serge. They’d split on bad terms, and she wasn’t ready to speak with him again. I’ll call him from Nice and invite him to stay the weekend, knowing he’ll decline. The friendship had ended, and the closing remarks were a mere formality.
She bought her train ticket and perched on a bench inside the station. She had an hour wait, so she curled into a ball and laid her head on one of her bags and latched her feet around another. Her purse fit snuggly under her arm, and she closed her eyes to rest.
A stench hung in the air that smelled like the river. Is that remnants of the water in my hair or something else? Her olfactory nerves detected ammonia — the smell of old urine. Someone had urinated on a nearby bench, and the smell permeated her nostrils. Trying to ignore it, she breathed through her mouth. She closed her eyes tighter and saw Britt.
Her mind drifted to the night of their first kiss. The happy memory found its way into her heart. Two days after they first met on that afternoon run, he invited her for tapas and mojitos. A simple first date. They shared chicken skewers, hummus, meatballs, and apples with Brie. Through smooth, lively talk he shared his novel ideas, opening himself up like a book. The words he spoke were the feelings she held silently inside herself and never confessed to another. Their similarities made her smile, and she became intoxicated with him.
Then the center tables of the restaurant were cleared away, and a small band and a dance floor appeared. The rhythms of their heartbeats and the music collided, and they found themselves holding one another while moving to the music. As their bodies moved in harmony, his chest brushed against her bosom. His chin hovered at the level of her brow. Britt sniffed her hair and nuzzled his lips up close to her forehead, while reaching down to place his hand on the small of her back. He pulled her close until their pelvises united. His arms fell to her waist while she wrapped hers around his neck. Strong arms eased her toes off the floor. Their lips met. She melted. Her heart stopped, as she fell into a serene oblivion. She loved him, and he let her.
The screech of train brakes roused her from her peaceful sleep. She took a moment to be thankful for the pleasant dream. They were few and far between, and she didn’t want to take it for granted. Her train had arrived and was accepting passengers. She climbed aboard, looking forward to seeing Nice. As other passengers settled in, Alexa acknowledged the many single male faces and wondered if any of these men worked for Charles MacDonald as her surveillance team. She yearned for her freedom, so she forced the dismal thought out of her mind.
She remained uneasy until the train reached its destination. Then, the beauty of Nice drowned all other thoughts from her mind. The vibrant colors of the landscape were livelier than a Van Gogh. Deep blue skies, white washed buildings, terracotta roofs, vivid greens, and so many flowers. Alexa gathered her bags and stepped off the train, letting the sun pour onto her shoulders and warm her skin to her soul. She breathed a little easier for the moment. Nice was so much more colorful than Paris. She hadn’t realized Paris was lacking anything while she was there. She had been too mesmerized by the city of lights to see beyond it. T
he small town on the coast had enchanting views of the sea and she wanted to find a hotel with an ocean view. I owe myself that much.
She found a small hotel that served breakfast daily. The cheap room had a twin bed and lacked enough wattage to run a blow dryer. Nothing glamorous enough to attract standard tourists, Alexa saw it as a hidden gem. She checked in under her old identity with a sigh: Alexa DeBrow. After everything she’d suffered, nothing had changed. She was still trying to run away from a past that haunted her.
The small room lacked a balcony, but she opened a large window to let in the sea breeze. It was enough. She made her faux invite to Serge via a voicemail she left on his phone. It took until late the next evening for him to return her call. Was he purposely avoiding her, or did he sleep in late after staying up into the early hours? She wasn’t sure which. He countered her offer to come to Nice with an invitation to another Parisian party. She gave a dry response.
“I’m not sure I can handle another party of yours, Serge. Your last party was too much for me. I need some fresh air.”
He seemed bored with her answer. “That’s fair. Enjoy the sea views. Perhaps we meet again sometime.” It was their last correspondence.
Alexa tried to find peace in Nice. She drank wine and swam in the ocean and napped on the beach. She ate hearty salads and fresh ocean fish. In the evenings, she melded into the serenity of the orange and pink and purple sunbeams setting into the sea. Her body felt rejuvenated, but her mind became stir-crazy. She carried on as such for five or six days before she lost count. More than once, she thought about calling Charlie Mac, but she shook the thought off each time. Calling Charlie means giving up my freedom.
With time, however, freedom settled into boredom. She needed something to occupy herself. She needed a challenge, something thought provoking to stimulate her mind from this state of idleness. She needed obligations back in her life.
She didn’t have to succumb to Charles MacDonald; he contacted her.
The call came directly to her hotel on a weekday afternoon while Alexa was lounging by the pool. The bartender who staffed both the pool bar and a small patio restaurant told her she had a phone call. She followed him to the hotel front desk, and he handed her the receiver.
