by L. T. Ryan
After a silent pause, Jack said, "What do you want?"
"Want?"
"What the hell you are you doing here, Charles? Last time I saw you, we were trying to kill each other. I haven't forgotten that you put a damn hole in Clarissa. I'm sitting here, and I'm questioning why I haven't shot you yet."
"Bygones, Jack. Let them be. I have."
"So cut the shit, then, Chuck. Or get out of my apartment."
"Where you headed dressed like that?"
Jack said nothing.
"Vacation? Looks like you're going on a vacation. Dressed like a bum, and all."
Jack said nothing.
"OK, I'll get to it." Charles leaned forward. Hands on knees again. "I have a proposition for you."
Jack shook his head. "I'm out of the game now."
"Well, this might be one of those, I help you, you help me situations."
"There's nothing you can help me with."
"I beg to differ." The smile plastered on his face was genuine, but he wasn't smiling with or for Jack. Charles had something planned here.
"What'd you do?"
"Imagine a plane, Jack, flying over the Atlantic. Hugging the coast of France. Slipping off to a place called Tenerife."
Brandon had said someone had accessed Erin's travel information. How had Charles gained access like that? In a fluid motion, Jack lunged forward while reaching behind his back and retrieving his pistol. He stopped a few feet short of Charles, arms extended, Beretta in hand, aimed at Charles's head.
The guy didn't budge. "I die, so do they."
Jack held firm, index finger lightly tapping the trigger.
"You hear me?" Charles said. "I die, and they do too. Right now, there's a man seated in coach, about twenty rows back. He's got their names. He knows where they're going after they land. He's gonna hang back, for now. But one call is all it takes. More to the point, one missed call at a predetermined time is all it will take to spring that man into action. And he's a bad dude, Jack. Badder than you. Former Army Special Operations. Time with the CIA. Highly trained and skilled. Ice-cold killer. Would slit his mother's throat and watch her die if you paid him enough. And let me tell you, he's getting paid well to babysit right now. You wanna keep it that way? Then you do what I say."
Chapter 22
Nice, France.
BEAR AND MANDY had left Paris early Saturday morning on the first train with seats available. They'd relocated to a hotel closer to the station. Cheaper in many regards. Bear slept better that night than any other in Paris after making one too many house calls that led him to another location. If Pierre and Kat weren't in Nice, he'd have to abandon the search. Otherwise, the risk of alerting someone to his presence increased.
The train rocked along the track with a distinct rhythm. The scenery blazed past. Beautiful French countryside. The kind of place he and Mandy could disappear into. They entered the final leg of the six-hour train ride. The lush landscape gave way to the Mediterranean climate, and finally, the cityscape.
Bear used his phone to bring up a map of the area, then charted the route to the address he found in the photo album. Only a mile, give or take, from the train station. They could walk. That'd give him a chance to recon the area and plot their escape route. If it came to that.
Since it often did.
As they stepped off the train, Mandy stared up at the myriad of glass panes that allowed natural light to flood the platform area. Bear placed his hand on her back to keep the girl moving. From the station, they headed toward the coast. The streets and sidewalks were packed thick with tourists and locals. Families meandering. Women in bikinis. Men in suits. Although why they wore suits on a hot Saturday afternoon was lost on Bear.
The coast drew near. Foot and auto traffic thickened. The blue waters of the Med were visible at the other end of the narrow asphalt corridor.
He spotted the ornate white building on the corners of Rue du Congres and Rue de France from a block away. The address matched the paper that had fallen from the photo album, and the address Bear had entered into his phone. Bear took note of each store, sign, and face they passed on that final stretch.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
"What is it?" Mandy asked.
He jutted his chin toward the building. "That's the place."
"Want me to wait across the street again?"
He glanced down at her. "Nah, you can come up with me. Things are different here."
They were. More luxurious in some ways. Seedier in a lot of others. Fewer shadows were present in the town. The criminal element was greater. And more organized.
Together, Bear and Mandy crossed Rue de France and entered the apartment building at the corner. An expansive lobby opened up to them. The door was unmanned, as was the front desk. On break, maybe. A place like this should have someone available, Bear thought. Easier this way.
He ushered Mandy past the elevators and into the stairwell.
"What floor?" she asked.
"Fourth."
"I don't want to climb all those stairs, Bear. Can't we take the elevator?"
"We risk being spotted if we do." He looked down at her and shook his head. "You're young. Suck it up."
She did, somehow managing to keep up with Bear as he bounded up the stairs three at a time at a sprinter's pace.
On the fourth floor landing, he turned to her, said, "You need a rest?"
She shook her head and said nothing. Her cheeks were red and she breathed quicker than normal.
"Let me do the talking up here. Got it?"
She nodded.
"There's a chance he'll react negatively to my presence. He won't do nothing, though. I know his secrets, and that should be enough to settle him down." He peered down the hallway, mentally calculating the apartment numbers until he determined Pierre's. "OK. You ready?"
"Let's do this."
He smiled. "As they used to say, you got moxie kid."
The left side of her face scrunched together. "What the hell is moxie, Bear?"
"I really need to watch my mouth around you. Come on."
She rolled her eyes. He turned away. Together, they exited the stairwell and headed down the bright corridor.
Bear stopped short of the apartment. The hum of a vacuum cleaner slipped past a door. Pierre's? He took a few steps closer and the sound faded.
They'd reached the point of no return. One more step, and there was no turning back. His heart said, take the next step. His mind said, leave things be. For two months, he'd tried to accept that advice. At war with himself and over a woman. No matter how he tried to accept what the rational side said to do, every move they made brought him closer to this moment. If he didn't find out now, he might go on the rest of his life wondering what if.
"This is stupid," he muttered under his breath.
"What's stupid?" Mandy asked.
"At least we don't need your ears checked."
"What?" She shook her head. "Are we gonna knock, or what?"
He considered or what. Instead, he rapped on the door and waited while the floorboards beneath him vibrated as someone approached.
The door swung open.
Kat's face froze somewhere between a smile and asking what the hell he was doing there.
Bear's words were trapped in his throat.
Mandy nudged him.
"Kat," he said.
"Riley," she said. "It's been a few months…"
He nodded. "Since before Pierre…"
"I remember." She glanced back, stepped forward, pulled the door tight behind her leaving it open a few inches. Bright light wrapped around the loose strands of her dark hair. "What are you doing here?"
"We came to see Pierre," Mandy said.
Kat leaned forward, smiling. "And who might you be?"
Mandy looked up at Bear. He nodded. She said, "Mandy Logan."
Kat's gaze swept upward toward Bear. Her dark eyes leveled him.
"She's your daughter?"
; "Long story," Bear said. "I'm her guardian."
"So is it true that you are here to see Pierre?" She drew the right side of her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down.
Bear nodded. He had a hundred things to say to her, but not a single word would emerge at that point.
"He's inside." She stepped back and pinned the door against the wall. "Please, come in."
Bear ushered Mandy through, then turned sideways and took a step in. He stopped in front of the Frenchwoman. Inches separated their bodies. Her chest heaved toward his. She looked up at him. He, down at her.
"Please," she whispered, "speak with me alone before you leave."
All he could do was nod.
Kat slipped past him and headed in the direction Mandy had gone. Bear followed. The hallway opened up to a large, open living space. Floor to ceiling windows lined the squared back wall. They provided an encompassing view of the city.
Pierre sat at a circular table. Spoon in one hand. Newspaper in the other. White cords dangled from his ears and disappeared beneath the surface of the table.
"I thought you were dead," Bear said loud enough for his voice to echo through the room.
Pierre looked up, dropped both items in his hands. His eyes narrowed at first, then a warm smile spread across this face. He pulled the earbuds free, rose and walked toward Bear.
"It takes a lot more than an assault rifle to get rid of me, my friend." He extended both arms and embraced Bear. Kissed his cheek. "And this little one. Mandy, how are you, my dear?"
She glanced away at first, then smiled and held his gaze. "Fine."
Still a girl in a few ways. Fading fast, though.
"What brings you to Nice?" Pierre asked.
"We were up in Paris, looking for you. Hospital gave up your address. New tenant in your old apartment had a photo album that contained this address."
Bear tensed. He hadn't told Mandy to keep the first leg of their journey, the visit to Kat's, a secret. Perhaps the girl understood because she didn't add that detail to the conversation.
Pierre glanced down at the girl, smiled, said, "Why don't you go with Mademoiselle Kat. She'll show you to your room."
"That's not necessary," Bear said. "We're not staying the night."
"I insist." The smile left Pierre's face. Urgency shone through in his stare. "Let her go get settled."
The men waited until Kat and Mandy disappeared from sight.
Pierre glanced around the room. "Perhaps we should take this conversation out to the terrace."
The balcony wrapped around two sides of the building, providing a view of Rue du Congres and Rue de France. Bear looked south, down the street, and saw white sands and the blue sea. Pierre stood at the corner. He stared up and down one street, then the other.
"Did you notice anyone following you?" he asked.
"No," Bear said. "I checked out everyone I could on the train, then on the street."
"Are you sure?"
"I told you no, didn't I? You know me, man. If I'm being followed, I know it."
Pierre nodded tensely. "They were watching me, Riley. From the moment I left the hospital, I saw them outside my apartment building, at the restaurant Kat worked at, everywhere, it seemed. I think I've spotted one down here, too."
Bear's gaze followed Pierre's to the street below. "Who?"
"I don't know. No one I recognized. I don't think they are French, either. Every time I spot one, the face changes. I've checked with DSGE, but no one is aware of anything." Pierre pulled a pack of cigarettes out and turned as though lighting one. When he spun back around, he held a pistol at his waist, shielded from view of the street and aimed at Bear. "So, you can understand how highly suspect I am that you've showed up at my home unannounced."
Bear reached for a pistol that wasn't holstered. The problem with traveling legit, it seemed.
"You and I both know you're not going to discharge that weapon out here," Bear said.
Pierre shrugged. "That's why we're going inside."
"I'm not moving."
"Then I will, and I'll get the girl." The Frenchman grabbed the knob.
"Put that shit away."
"Give me a reason. Why should I trust you?"
"You betrayed me and Jack. Twice, at least. Why would I come here now, of all times, to do something? Think about it, you French prick. I could have left you to die in that hallway in Paris."
Pierre lowered the muzzle an inch.
"I'm not… I'm not here with anyone who's been watching you," Bear said. "I can make a few calls and see if anyone knows the who and why of it all."
Pierre nodded as his gaze drifted to the left, past Bear.
"What is it?"
"They're here. That, or someone followed you, and they aren't alone. We need to get inside."
Bear looked back and scanned the crowd. Tourists, locals, they blended together into a mass swarm heading to and leaving the beach, stopping in and exiting restaurants and shops. But two men stood out. They dressed casually, but their actions were not the same as the others wandering around in paradise. The men avoided looking up. They did their best not to react when spotted. And as Bear moved toward the apartment door and threw one look back, the men were gone.
"Kat," Pierre called out.
The woman ran from the hallway, hand on her chest. "Jesus, Pierre. You scared me. What is it?"
"Take the girl and use the emergency stairwell to the parking garage. Stay out of the elevator. Don't think about going to the main lobby." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to her. "I want you to take the Audi. There are a couple scarves in the glove box. Wrap your heads for the first few miles. Go to your mother's place. OK?"
"What's going on?"
"No time for questions, Kat," Pierre said, handing her a pistol. "Go, now."
Mandy emerged from the hallway. She ran up to Bear. "What's happening?"
Bear glanced at Pierre, then Kat. She tried to smile and offer comfort, but her fear was evident.
"Listen, Mandy. You're gonna go with Kat for a while, OK? Seems someone followed us." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Now, if something happens to you along the way, what do you do?"
She brushed away a tear. "Get to cover, whether a building or the woods. Get off the street and out of sight. If I see a delivery truck, hop in the back. If I see a bike sitting there, take it and use it to get away faster. Don't accept help from anyone not approved by you. Once safe, call you on your secure line. If I can't reach you, call Jack. If I can't reach him, call the police."
"They have to go, Riley," Pierre said.
Bear leaned over and hugged Mandy. He wanted to do the same to Kat, but settled for a nod and a shared stare.
"I'll call when we're in the car," Kat said.
"We should keep an open line," Bear said.
"No," Pierre said. "They could be monitoring. Just let them go. The emergency stairwell can't be accessed from the main floor. They'll go down as the men come up. And even if those guys wait outside, they'll be by the entrance. Not the garage exit, which looks like part of another building."
Bear watched Mandy and Kat leave the apartment.
"Trust me, my large friend," Pierre said. "This is for the best."
Five tense minutes passed. Bear moved from window to window, staring down at the street. He didn't see the men. They could be next to the building. They might've left. He had no way of knowing. Had they followed him, or were they already in place? There's no way he wouldn't have spotted a tail from Paris to Nice. Not one as obvious as the men he saw on the street.
Or had he been so distracted by the thought of Kat that he hadn't noticed?
Shit.
What if he'd brought trouble upon the woman who now lived in Pierre's old apartment? He had to fight the urge to grab his phone and check the news.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Why hadn't they called yet? How long did it take to get to the garage and leave?
As he b
egan to raise the question with Pierre, the phone rang.
The Frenchman answered and placed it on speaker.
"We're out. Getting on the motorway now. No one is following us."
"Leave the scarves on for a little longer. Call me if anything changes. And whatever you do, don't stop for anyone."
"Now what?" Bear said.
Pierre walked to his desk, slid open several drawers and began pulling out a cache of arms. "Now we wait for these assholes to make their move."
Chapter 23
Over the Atlantic.
THE SUDDEN CHANGE in altitude jarred Brett Taylor from his slumber. After stretching his arms overhead, he adjusted his seat forward and lifted the window cover. Blue ocean swirled below. Nothing else from wing to horizon. The plane continued to drift downward. Perhaps he'd missed an announcement while sleeping. He stopped a passing flight attendant. She confirmed they were on approach, but the pilot had not yet been cleared. They'd land within twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes didn't bother him. The fact he'd been able to get a seat on the flight, first class nonetheless, had been an act of God. No other way to explain it. At least to those who didn't know what he did and who he worked for on occasion. Anything could be arranged.
The downside to air travel was that he had to give up his pistol. For most places he flew into, landing unarmed wasn't an issue. He'd have something in his hand within an hour. But Brett had no contacts in Tenerife. As of yet, he was unsure whether his contacts had contacts on the island, which left him in a precarious position. A Smith & Wesson tactical pen was his only defense. And that was useless against a skilled opponent.
There was no point in worrying until he made those first couple calls and had a better grasp on his situation. So he turned toward the window and gazed down at the expansive Atlantic.
A couple minutes later, the pilot made an announcement in Spanish, then French, then English. Brett understood all three. They were making their final approach and should be on the ground within ten minutes.
The plane banked left. The island appeared. It grew larger with every passing second. They continued descending. Ground rushed up. The tarmac came into view. The plane banked again. Brett leaned back in his seat and waited for the screeching of the wheels touching down on the runway. Roaring ensued as the flaps and the brakes did their job and slowed the plane to a halt.
