Coda? (Mercenaries Book 4)

by Tony Lavely

  “Probably. Solène came over to our hotel, what, this morning? Yeah…”

  Solène had nodded, then said, “We’re supposed to leave tonight, but he didn’t say where we were going. I just assumed…”

  Beckie nodded. “They’re supposed to leave tonight, but since she’s hiding here with us, that’s probably not happening.”

  “Keep your head down and don’t do anything too rash. I’ll call you in the morning, after I think what options we might have.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Be safe. My best to all of you!”

  Before she reached the end call icon, Solène shouted again, “Kill him!”

  “Hey, Solène, don’t hold back,” Mike said. “Let it out.”

  “Damn you, Mike!” Solène ran at him until Devon caught her. “This is important! Even if Bakir goes away, why do you think he won’t make another deal: My body for more oil? Or money? Or a girl he can fuck because she’s not his daughter?” She twisted away from Devon and ran out of the room crying.

  Beckie didn’t break the silence in the room, but she gave Mike a look: Better think about what you say, little brother. His chagrin didn’t help her any more than it did Solène.

  Before anyone could even move to comfort the girl, a knock at the door warned of Pierre’s return.

  “The police are underway to the house you described. The local authorities know of Monsieur Bakir, and his… proclivities. They hope you will be able to support what legal action they can bring, although at the least, he should be deported and returned to, I think, either Bahrain or Qatar. If they will have him.” He sighed and reached for the bottle of red wine on the sideboard. “It will require time.” He drank and refilled the glass.

  Another knock sounded; Devon went to the door. “Inspector? Gene would like to speak with you.”

  The Frenchman slipped through the door without a word. Before anyone could react, he opened the door and waved Beckie to him. “Monsieur Dalila is outside and wishes to speak with you.” His voice was low enough that Solène especially wouldn’t be able to overhear. She nodded and called Derek to join her.

  Outside the room, she said, “I hope Derek and I will be able to speak with him first, alone.”

  “May I ask why, Madame?”

  “So I can make threats that you will not feel honor-bound to carry through on. Keeping the police out of the picture as far as he’s concerned will allow me more freedom, and I don’t believe he’s violated the letter of any French laws.”

  “Hmm. That last is probably accurate. Very well.”

  In the lobby, Gene pointed to the door of the private room Dalila had used before. Derek knocked twice, sharply, and opened the door, allowing Beckie to precede him.

  “Madame, a good evening to you. I trust all goes well?”

  I don’t believe him. Beckie glanced at Derek, who seemed to maintain his composure. That would be good for you too, Beck. “For being kidnapped and traipsing through the French countryside in the rain and mud, yeah, I guess okay.” She stamped across the room to stand before him. Derek came up behind her.

  Dalila’s face was a picture of confusion. “I don’t understand; what do you mean, kidnapped? Who could do such a thing?”

  “I suspect the answer would not surprise you, but given your confusion… it’s of no consequence. How may I help you?”

  He relaxed into his chair again. “I seek Solène.” He put the tips of his fingers together, doing a little exercise: in-out, in-out. “She was to have come to discuss how she might earn a… less-provincial, more wide-ranging education. We hoped you might have valuable suggestions. Since she has not returned, I came to find her.”

  Beckie swayed; Derek’s hand steadied her hip. If he’s selling her off, what does he care about her education? That doesn’t make sense. Unless… unless she asked him, and he’s palliating her… fears? Worries? Have to ask her that. Or maybe someone else is interested, and heading off to school would make her more valuable?

  “We did talk about her schooling, since we had her study at the Nest. Her ability appears first rate, though she hasn’t been challenged much in the past. I’d like to see her in a school where they make her work.

  “That’s neither here nor there, though. Since I was kidnapped…” Do I lie straight out to him? No, no need. “Your business partner kidnapped my brother and I last evening, ruining our dinner—and damn, they never got paid, either!” She took a breath. “Would you like to guess his stated reasons?”

  “My ‘business partner’?”

  “Sheikh Abdul Bakir. The same one who I had the opportunity to shoot in Syria a month or so ago, but chose a warning shot instead. Who claimed he was after Solène. That business partner.” He’s somewhat paler now. Maybe he guesses why?

  “I cannot imagine what interest he would have in your brother and you.”

  “He had very little interest in Mike. Me, however… He claimed to have struck a deal with an unnamed party to sell me and my unborn child.” She patted the baby. “I wasn’t in a position to demand more details, and frankly, I didn’t care.

  “That’s because first, he told me he required me to return Solène to him, per the terms of the contract that he waved under my nose. Do I need to tell you what that contract read?” He had gasped and stiffened in his chair. “Guess not. Want some water?” She turned to Derek. “Can you get a glass of water, so he can delay a second longer?”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Leave the door open so Gene can race in… though I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

  Derek was quickly back; he offered the tumbler to Dalila, who took it and drank.

  “I don’t read Arabic, and of course, an agreement as he described is illegal and unenforceable, probably even in Syria. Qatar, too, so I thought he was lying, trying to bolster his untenable position, thinking of me as he does all women: stupid, uneducated and good for nothing except cooking and fucking.” Beckie ambled around the chair to end at Dalila’s right side. “While I’m still sure he believes that, Solène does read Arabic. You can guess how she felt, seeing your name at the bottom of the paper.

  “I’m taking her with me. If you attempt any retribution, that contract will be published world-wide, with localized translations.” She turned and hurried to the door. “She’ll be happier than she would with Bakir, or the next guy you try to sell her to. People aren’t fucking chattel!” Derek let the door swing shut behind him.

  Beckie stomped though the lobby to the chair where Pierre was waiting. She dropped into the seat beside him. “Thank you, Pierre. I hope he causes no difficulty, but while I have Derek, I’d appreciate the continued loan of Gene and Michel…” She pointed in their direction. “… for a couple of days, until we clear out of here. But our flight’s not til Monday, I think.”

  He smiled, more sympathetically than she’d expected, but before she could ask he said, “I will confirm, but for now, that will be fine. My men report that Monsieur Bakir has been taken into custody.”

  “Good! Again, I owe you my thanks.”

  Her room was quiet, not at all jovial. The only sound was Solène, still crying softly.

  “Where have you been?” Mike said. Beckie started at the note of fear in his voice. “We turned around and you were gone. Derek, too…” Derek followed her in.

  “Sorry.” She ran across to hug him. “I had something to do. Can you do me a favor? Go to the restaurant we were at last night and pay the bill? At least, I can’t imagine anyone came back to cover it.”

  He agreed, and said, “Devon, want to take a ride?”

  “No, leave Devon here. Derek, would you go along, please?”

  They grabbed jackets and left.

  “Why me?”

  “I’m not sure.” And I’m unwilling to say I trust Derek more if something happens. “If… Can you be a neutral observer, if either one of us goes nuts?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  Good. That’s an invitation to make you wonder. “Com’on… No, wait in t
his chair, please?”

  Solène’s eyes followed her as she left Devon and crossed the room to the sofa. She slid along the seat to allow Beckie room, but Beckie dropped down against Solène’s hip. The girl snuffled. “Devon, can you pitch us a box of tissues, please?”

  After Solène had wiped her nose, then her cheeks and then her nose again, Beckie put an arm around the girl and gently but firmly pulled her into contact.

  “I told him I’m keeping you.” Beckie whispered, though loudly enough for Devon to hear. And based on that smile, he did. Closer to her cheek, however, Solène was crying again. Not from unhappiness, Beckie guessed; the girl was crushing herself to Beckie’s chest, shaking, then stroking Beckie’s hair.

  Beckie pulled away an inch or two, just enough to see Solène’s face. Her eyes were still red and her nose was running again, but her lips curved upward and the pink tongue slid across her white teeth. Whoa! Hero worship might be too much.

  “Relax, Solène.” You, too, Beck.

  “I’m, just… Thank you so much. I was sitting here knowing you couldn’t do anything even if you wanted to, and I was going to be raped and… and… I’d kill myself and there was no way out of that and you and Shalin and everyone are so nice and… I couldn’t deal with losing that—”

  “Pardon me,” Beckie said over her, and placed her lips over Solène’s.

  The maneuver was effective: Solène’s eyes shot open and she pulled back. “I thought you said…”

  “I did. Still, it broke your train of thought, right?” Solène nodded. “Shock therapy. Works, sometimes.”

  Devon was now laughing aloud. He got out of the chair and approached them. “If I may?” He held out his arms and first Solène, then Beckie allowed him to embrace them.

  That lasted a bare moment before Beckie gently disengaged. When she did, Devon and Solène followed.

  “You’re serious, right? You’re not kidding me?”

  Beckie took Solène’s hands. “No. Like I said, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go back to that. Still, I have no clue how I’m going to deal with you from now on. Not that that bothers you, I can see.” She giggled at the happy look on Solène’s face, then rubbed some of the tear tracks away. “Okay. Devon, when Mike and Derek get back, you and Mike should head home, wherever that is. I don’t think you’re at any risk, but tell Gene or Michel and let them decide. Come back in the morning; we’ll talk. And thanks for being here.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” His protest wasn’t for show, she decided.

  “I know you don’t think so, but I don’t agree. We’re gonna turn in, so… scoot!”

  She stood and helped Solène up. “To the shower with you, girl.”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  “We’ll take care of that. Go.”

  Beckie was sure the king-size bed was sufficient for them both—and ten of our closest friends! While she finished washing her face, Solène claimed the side closest; Beckie slipped between the sheets opposite and started to say “Good night.” She was sure that was her intent.

  In the morning, the sun was bright. Not warm, but bright. Beckie pulled herself up to sit against the headboard. Have to find out what’s on Devon’s mind today. And later, Solène and I will call Shalin and Rou to get some ideas what to do with her. If we keep her at the nest, she’ll turn out like Amy, needing socialization, so… we oughta get that started sooner. Solène had worn one of Beckie’s tee shirts to sleep in; it was too short to begin with, and had pulled up under her arms as Solène thrashed around. And this bed is so big, I didn’t even notice. She slid off her side, went around the foot and gave Solène a smart smack on her butt.

  “Oow! What was that for?” Solène rubbed the spot.

  “It’s after nine. Time to be up and about. Or up, anyway. Get dressed and we’ll eat, then see what clothing stores are open early.”

  Derek had taken the room that Willie used earlier; he met Beckie and Solène as they pushed open the door. Beckie was so happy to smell breakfast that she did a little dance, bringing giggles and chuckles from Solène and Derek respectively. Before Beckie’s cup of coffee vanished, Mike and Devon had knocked and been admitted. They didn’t look as chipper as Beckie felt; Mike explained they’d been awake somewhat later, but not why.

  Devon did say their guards were still in place, though Gene and Michel had been relieved by Dominique and a different Pierre.

  When she finished breakfast, Beckie put her plan for the day in motion: “Solène needs some clothes, and Devon and I need some time alone… to talk, I think.” She grinned, sure that the smile she intended to be wry, thinking of Solène’s needs, had morphed into uneasy, thinking about Devon. “Solène needs clothes from the skin out, so my suggestion—which can certainly be changed—is that, guessing none of you guys would be comfortable helping a fifteen year old with undergarments, she and I take care of the ‘skin’ part, the lingerie. I ask that you gentlemen accompany us, because once those purchases are complete, I’ll ask Mike to step in while she picks out pants, shirts, a skirt or two, items more suited to the Nest. Derek, if you’d stay with them, please?”

  “Right,” he said. “Dominique will join us, at a distance, and Pierre will stay here to make sure the rooms are safe.”

  “Cool. Devon and I will wander away where no one can find us… maybe the Eiffel Tower? Somewhere where two American tourists won’t be unusual.” She glanced at Devon; he nodded his agreement. “I’ll have my phone; we’ll be in touch.”

  Derek didn’t seem as happy with this part of her plan. “You sure about that, love? Someone ought to be closer than that…”

  “We’ll be okay, I’m sure, with Bakir in custody and Solène’s dad with the fear of God in him. Or of Allah, maybe.” She gave him a little smirk.

  “If you’re sure, love?” Derek clearly was not.

  Beckie smiled and stood to enfold him in a gentle embrace. “I’m sure, Derek, thanks.” She heard an intake of breath as she spoke. When she straightened and looked around, Devon had a strange look on his face, and his tongue wetted his lips. Wow, will Devon be okay? Should I take Derek up… No, we’ll be okay.

  Devon

  The concierge suggested Au Printemps or Galeries Lafayette as stores where Beckie’s credit card could take a beating on Solène’s behalf. She began to add to her list, but Beckie held up her hands. “Thanks. Those two will take all the time we have available today.”

  Beckie’s plan began as well as she could have hoped. She and Solène left the three men in the Printemps Brasserie and worked their way through the various lingerie departments before finding the one that suited Solène’s junior figure best.

  Ninety minutes later, Mike’s number showed in Beckie’s phone. “Ooops,” she said. “We better get back.” She answered and told him they’d be there in the next elevator. They found the service desk; the packages they’d already collected would be delivered to the hotel, and Beckie sent Solène off with Mike and Derek. Bet she has fun with that. “You behave yourself,” she whispered to the girl. “I will get a report, and your immediate future will very much depend on it.”

  The half-smile Solène returned might auger well for her behavior… or not, as Mike laughed at something Solène had said with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating Beckie.

  She grabbed Devon’s upper arm. “I hope you’ve had enough coffee. We’ll walk. It’s right up Boulevard Haussmann.”

  “What is?”

  “The Arc de Triomphe. Half an hour, about.” She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button, then yanked Devon through the slowly closing doors. “What? You’re afraid?”

  “No! No, no way. But confused? Yeah, I could admit confused.”

  “Relax. Have you ever been here before?” He shook his head. “So, today looks like a much better day than yesterday. Look at that.” She pointed to the sun-lit street scene; the pedestrians were bundled against the breeze and the low forties temperatures, but the blue sky was cloudless whe
re it showed between the buildings.

  “Yeah. The weather is far better,” he said.

  “More importantly for me, the company’s a lot better.” She hugged his arm to her, then dropped it and pulled her jacket together. “A lot better!”

  The walk was pleasant; they passed the hour reminiscing about the end of high school and what Devon had been doing for the past four years. He described his first attempts at marathon running, and then founding the company to provide goods and services to runners.

  “Kind of a niche market, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but parts of it are badly underserved, especially in the service end. Products, like shoes and gear, I decided to offer those as a convenience, so you’d be able to do everything at one site.”

  “All web-based?”

  “Mostly, but three actual stores. Berkeley, Boston and Miami.”

  Beckie allowed that conversation to trail off as they dodged traffic to cross Place Charles de Gaulle, but, Miami? Why? Not just to audit classes at Miami University.

  Inside the monument, she allowed Devon to pay the twenty euro admission, then led him to the elevator. At the top, she bypassed the museum and climbed the forty-six steps to the roof.

  The brisk wind and temperature had kept the number of tourists down, but Beckie was happy to see there were still a few enjoying the vistas of Paris spread out around the arch. She found a spot at the center structure, leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the view while she waited for Devon.

  He was moments; the vista toward the Eiffel Tower was amazing and she grinned as he stopped to enjoy it.

  “I could stand in front and block the wind,” he said as he approached.

  She patted the stone beside her. “You okay up here? Not too cold? Or too noisy?”

  “I’m fine. Till the sun goes down anyway.”

  “Okay.” She stared out at the angular buildings surrounding the unembellished white marble of La Grande Arche at La Défense. “Why are we here, Devon?”