And Dave was starting to shake, too. He knew what a torpedo was. A hired killer. And for the Russian mob?
From the couch the big man named Grigori grunted in agreement. “When they asked me to barter children in the slave trade, I drew the line.”
“You see? He has scruples. But they will not let him out. And so he needs a new identity,” the tall man said. “A new country. A new life. And for that he needs money.”
Odette was still fighting for self control, as she raised an indignant brow. “And what about you? What do you want?”
“Moi?” the tall man chuckled. “As I told you in Joyeux, I am like you. I know what it is like to work for years and years. To put yourself through hell, to risk your life over and over. And what is your reward? Your promotion, the job you long for, goes to another man. I want what is due me.”
“I—I can give you two thousand each. Possibly twenty-five hundred. But that is all I have. My uncle does not pay exorbitantly.”
At this, the tall man tossed his head back and laughed. After he’d enjoyed whatever the joke was, his eyes narrowed on Odette again, a question in them. “You really do not know, do you?”
Her breath came out in a wheeze. “Perhaps I could answer that if I understood what you were talking about.”
At last the man dropped his arms and stepped away. “As you well know Paris is a city filled with the wealthy. Especially on the right bank. The financiers, the powerful, the beautiful. They frequent high-end dress shops. High-end apartments. High-end restaurants. Tossing away their money like so much trash. But at a young age I learned from my father that the wealthiest here are not the bankers or the politicians or the famous. It is the restaurateurs.” He turned and looked at Odette as if she were a piece of moldy cheese. “And the wealthiest of all is the Amando family.”
She looked dizzy as she stared at him. “You are wrong. We are hard working people. We do not have wealth.”
Once more the man tossed his head back and his laughter echoed in the room. They must be far enough away from the city to be certain no one would hear him.
“Your family is swimming in wealth.”
“Conneries,” she spat. Rubbing her arms, she moved away from the wall and to the stove.
Before she could check on her dish, the tall man grabbed her arm. “Your uncle has a secret vault. It contains decades of the family’s savings. I want it.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “You are mistaken. There is no such vault. He would have told me about it.”
“I believe you do not know. You are an ignorant girl. You have a bad temper. Your uncle is too wise to tell you of this secret.”
With a sneer, she pulled out of his grip. “Even if it were true, if my uncle will not give me my job back, how could I make him turn over all this money?”
A corner of the tall man’s lip turned up. He leaned toward her and placed a single kiss on her neck. “You cannot,” he whispered. “But I can.”
She spun around, the frightened look back on her pretty face. “What do you mean?”
Dave’s skin started to crawl. He felt his own blood pounding in his temples.
“This is the reason I accepted your proposal and asked Grigori to join me. I was willing to let you think you were in charge for a while. It was amusing. But it is obvious you do not know what you are doing. You did not give your uncle a deadline. You did not tell him how to contact you.”
She pointed at Dave. “We will contact this man’s wife.”
The tall man let out a short hiss. “And give the authorities another chance to locate the cell tower?” He turned to the counter near the sink. He picked up the cleaver Odette had used on the chicken and wiped it clean. With the cloth in hand he pivoted and faced Dave.
His eyes were the coldest Dave had ever seen. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
Then the man began to walk toward him. “I will send your uncle a message he will not forget. What is the line from the American movie? ‘An offer he cannot refuse.’”
Dave swallowed hard trying to moisten his mouth enough to speak. It had gone dry as vermouth. “I—I—I,” he stammered. Pull yourself together, he ordered himself. “Uh, hey. Maybe I can help. With that cell tower, I mean. I can scramble the signal. I’m a pretty good hacker.” He tried to smile but it came out in a weak, wimpy laugh.
“And let you tell your wife and her two friends where you are?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“But if you are a hacker as you claim, how would I know you weren’t passing some sort of signal?”
Good point. “I promise I won’t. I just want to go back to my wife. I won’t tell anybody what you’ve done. Really.”
The man smiled down at him and the condescension in his expression was so thick it turned Dave’s stomach. “Grigori.”
The big guy got to his feet. “Yes?”
“Hold him.”
Again Grigori’s work boots sounded against the old wooden floor. Dave thought his heart was going to stop.
Once more he licked his lips so he could speak. “What are you going to do?”
“Oh, nothing too drastic. Not yet.” He cocked his head, studying Dave as if he were a stone to be sculpted. “Let’s start there.” He made a gesture. “Untie one arm.”
The big man disappeared behind him. Dave felt his large hand clamp down on his wrist. Automatically he twisted in the chair. “No. Don’t. Please.”
Grigori worked at the ropes. His hand came free.
He twisted again. The chair fell over with a loud clatter.
“Don’t let him go.”
“I’ve got him.” The big man stretched out his arm flat against the floor.
“This ought to do.” The tall man knelt down. He pressed his hand over Dave’s fingers, spread them out, and raised the cleaver over his head.
Dave’s vision blurred. He could smell the chicken burning in the forgotten pot. He would be just like it in a minute.
The woman was screeching in her French accent, “What are you doing? What are you doing?” But she sounded far away.
“No, no, no,” Dave whimpered like a puppy.
He hated himself for it. What a wuss he was. What would Steele think of him? What would Mr. Parker say? But suddenly that didn’t matter.
Joanie!
The next instant the blade came down, slashed through flesh and bone as his jaw opened wide in a blood curdling scream.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Miranda fixed the meanest gaze she had on the woman across the counter of the bar.
She was a heavyset broad of maybe fifty with a leathery complexion. And short. The top of her frizzy red hair came up to Miranda’s nose. The usual dark clothes and white apron she had on should have given her a deferential air. Instead her tight lips showed only belligerence.
The bar’s green globe lights reflected against whiskey bottles and the red tiles on the wall. In the golden glow they glared at each other.
The barmaid broke first. “As I have told you several times, madame, I know absolutely nothing about this man or his companion.”
She shoved Parker’s phone with the photos of Odette and the Jacques du Coeur scene back across the bar.
Miranda studied the long list of food and drink choices scrawled on a blackboard against the wall. She considered yanking the board off its hooks and smacking the barmaid over the head with it.
Parker must have read her thoughts. He picked up the phone and slid his card across to the woman. “If you do remember anything, please give us a call.”
Miranda felt his hand against her back, signaling her to give it up. Yeah, he was right. They weren’t going to get anywhere with this bitch.
She let him lead her out of the place.
Out on the street again, Miranda waited on the walkway near a row of rent-a-bikes. “She knows something. I can feel it.”
Parker nodded as Nadeau drove up in the Audi. He opened the door and Miranda slid into the backseat.
> “Anything?” Nadeau asked.
“Nada,” Miranda said as Parker settled in beside her.
It took the g-man a moment to understand what she’d said, then he shook his head and drove off with a disgusted look replacing his former cocky air.
They’d lost him when they’d followed Beaknose down into the Metro. He’d tried to call for backup, but the route had several connecting lines and he couldn’t find them again. After he’d finally located them again outside the Eiffel Tower and discovered the suspicious-looking man who’d been watching them had disappeared south, he’d been kicking himself.
There were agents on the street in the Latin Quarter now, searching for a man with Beaknose’s description. No guarantee anyone would find him though. This guy seemed to know how to become invisible.
Suddenly, Miranda’s memory kicked in. “I saw that guy in the marketplace this morning.” A chill went down her spine. “He must have spotted us with Fanuzzi and Chef Emile.”
Parker nodded. “Checking on her progress with Odette’s uncle.”
Which was nil. Nerves tingled in Miranda’s stomach.
“No word from the Directeur, yet,” Nadeau told them grimly. “Where to now?”
As the words came out of the driver’s mouth, her cell buzzed. She looked at the screen. Speak of the devil.
Class is over. What now?
“It’s Fanuzzi.”
“Let’s go pick her up,” Parker said. “And have some lunch.”
Lunch. Oh, yeah. There was such a thing as food. “Okay.”
###
They picked up Fanuzzi along the same quaint little street where they’d talked with Henri that morning. She tried to put on a hopeful face but she looked more haggard and worn out from worry than ever. She told them Chef Emile had tried to call Odette at least five more times.
Still no answer.
Parker introduced Nadeau in surreptitious terms, ensuring the poor woman there were people on the case now.
Staring absently out the window, she nodded.
They found a quiet corner bistro and wolfed down a flavorful tomato basil soup, and a hearty salad with ham, cheese, potatoes and a hard-boiled egg. Nobody wanted to eat but they were all too hungry and spent not to.
The four of them munched away while Fanuzzi rattled on about the lemon tart the class made today. “It’s really important to get the butter at just the right temperature.”
“Uh huh,” Miranda replied and stuffed a piece of egg into her mouth.
Fanuzzi waved a hand in the air. “And the lemons can’t be too ripe. And you can’t under bake the crust—or over whisk the filling.”
Miranda nodded. “Very important.” She’d never learned to cook. She was more of an eater.
“And Chef Emile told us the blueberry garnish we made today had to be both tasty and original.”
“Did he think yours was the best?”
Fanuzzi blushed and nodded with a shrug. “Yeah.”
She deserved it. She was good at what she did. And Parker was brilliant for distracting her with the cooking thing.
Glad her friend could have some relief, Miranda reached for her water glass.
And then it was a slam back to reality as Fanuzzi spotted what was under her jacket.
“You’re carrying,” she whispered, her eyes twice as big as the plates they were eating off of.
Miranda just gave her head a slight shake.
Thank God, Fanuzzi got the unspoken message and nodded back. But she turned two shades paler.
Back in the car, Parker checked with Haubert once more, and when there was no news, suggested they head back to the hotel for a breather.
Since they couldn’t think of another angle to pursue, a break sounded good to Miranda.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In front of the hotel they let Nadeau go to check on some ideas he had back at headquarters and trudged inside with heavy hearts.
As she crossed the old-fashioned checkerboard floor to the lift, Miranda heard the concierge call out to them. “Monsieur, Mesdames. Wait one moment.”
Parker turned around. “What is it?”
“I apologize for disturbing you, but a package has arrived for Madame Becker.”
Parker’s brow rose in perfect synch with Miranda’s.
“A package?” he said.
“Oui. It was delivered about half an hour ago.”
She followed Parker back to the polished reception desk, Fanuzzi close beside her.
“Here it is,” the concierge sang out as if it were a party, and pushed a small square box with a pretty bright red bow on it across the surface.
“It’s Dave’s surprise.” Fanuzzi’s voice sounded far away as she reached out for it.
Miranda blocked her arm at the same time Parker did. “Don’t touch it,” they said together.
Fanuzzi frowned at her, then at Parker. “Why not?” And then she realized the answer and dropped her arm. “Oh.”
“Is there something the matter?” the concierge looked worried they might give him a bad review on some travel website.
“You do know that Madame Becker’s husband is missing?” Parker said, authority in his tone.
The man’s eyes went round. “Oui, but I thought he had returned. He has not?”
“He has not,” Miranda said flatly.
“I am so very, very sorry, madame.”
Parker reached into his pocket, handed the man a tip, then drew out a hanky. The same one he’d used in Odette’s apartment. Gingerly he draped it over his hand and lifted the package.
What were they going to do with it? Miranda wondered.
“Let’s go up to the room,” Parker said.
As good a place as any. It looked too small to hold a bomb. She nodded and they headed for the elevator.
###
In the room Miranda closed the door as Parker set the package down on the small desk while Fanuzzi pranced around nervous as a cat.
“What is it? What do you two think is in there?” Fanuzzi’s eyes were starting to fill.
“We’re simply taking precautions,” Parker told her.
Precautions her ass, Miranda thought. But she didn’t dare say it out loud or her friend might go through the roof.
“We should get Nadeau back here,” she told Parker. “Get someone from Intelligence to process that thing before we open it.”
His jaw tight, Parker considered the idea for a moment, then shook his head. “It would take too long for them to get there. This could be a message.”
A message telling them what to do next? Or where to find Dave? Alive she hoped. But he had a point.
“Okay. But be careful.”
The corner of his lip turned up in a bitter smile. “You know I’m always careful, my dear. As are you.”
Yeah, right. She started to give him a scowl then stopped herself. Fanuzzi looked like she was about to pass out.
“Are you going to open it or are we going to stand here ’til Christmas?”
Without answering, with his hands still draped in his handkerchief, Parker gingerly pulled the bow apart. It untied easily and fell around the box. It looked like a small pastry box with a flap on the top.
Parker pressed it and the lid flipped open.
He peered inside. Miranda watched his face turn pale. “Dear God.”
“What is it?” She lurched forward at the same time as Fanuzzi.
“Stay back.” Parker turned and caught their friend in his arms. “You don’t want to see that, Joan.”
She fought him, not hesitating to use her tough Brooklyn moves. “I have a right to see it. It was addressed to me.”
As the two of them struggled Miranda stepped around to peek inside the container. Oh, Lord. A sharp stab of nausea twisted her insides like a dirty dishrag rung out by a strong man.
Her pulse quickened, and suddenly the room seemed too warm.
Dizzily she stared down at the contents of the box
The nail with the dried b
lood under it. The bluish color of the skin. The jagged edge where it had been lopped off, so it appeared.
The end of someone’s pinky finger. Had to be Becker’s.
She didn’t get queasy very often but right now, she thought she might barf.
Then she heard the high pitched shriek beside her that sounded like a fire siren.
Miranda turned to look at Fanuzzi and her heart broke in two. Her friend’s normally dark toned skin was a ghostly gray. Her eyes were sunken and wide open, as was her mouth in a twisted circle of horror. She looked like she was about to faint.
Miranda reached for her but she shook her head, spun around and ran for the bed.
She threw herself on it and began to wail into the pillow. “My Dave. My Dave. What are they doing to him? What have they done to him?”
Parker touched Miranda’s arm and spoke in a low whisper. “I’m calling Rene for a team to come and process this right away.”
She nodded. “I’ll take her to our room. She doesn’t need to be in here for that.”
“No, she’s seen quite enough.” His voice was hollow. Miranda knew he felt the pain almost as keenly as Fanuzzi did.
She crossed to the bed, sat down next to her friend and touched her back. Her body was still heaving with sobs. “C’mon, Fanuzzi. Let’s go to my room.”
She twisted around, face swollen and red with tears, streaks of makeup running down her cheeks. “Why?”
She looked terrified. And so miserable all Miranda could do was sink down on the bed beside her and pull her into her arms.
For several long minutes she sobbed against her shoulder, drenching Miranda’s blouse. And she didn’t care a bit.
“What am I going to do, Murray? What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to have a good cry. Then you’re going to pull yourself together. We’re going to get him back, Fanuzzi. You have to believe that.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. She’d never been much of a counselor before.
Fanuzzi sat up, reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blew her nose. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Sure you can. You’re tough. You’re from Brooklyn. And so is Becker.”
Zero Dark Chocolate (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 5) Page 11
