Viktor’s driver pulled up in front of Ghislain’s apartment building in a tank. A Mercedes, glossy black and ridiculously luxurious, but still a tank. It was one of those enormous cars favored by third-world dictators and…and Russian oligarchs.
The uniformed driver looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger back when he was playing barbarians. But bigger. He opened the back door with a hand the size of a dinner plate and Thor bundled me inside. Viktor climbed in behind me.
Thor took the front passenger seat and the driver pulled into traffic on the Quai Henri IV.
On our right, the Seine flowed in black and gold ribbons.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. We were fine. Thor was just nervous because of what had happened at Antoine’s. We were fine. If I kept repeating that, it would be true.
Thunk!
I looked over my shoulder. “Wha—”
“Get down!” Thor held a gun in his hand.
Viktor grabbed my wrist and pulled me off the seat and onto the floorboards.
Thunk, thunk, thunk!
“Bulletproof glass,” said the driver as he swerved around a slow-moving car.
I lifted my head high enough to see out the window.
“Stay down!” Thor barked.
“Bulletproof glass,” I barked back. Besides, I was a government agent. Government agents didn’t cower on the floorboards when they were attacked. They grabbed a gun and shot back.
I didn’t have a gun.
Gun or no, I wouldn’t cower. I lifted my head and glanced through the windshield.
Viktor’s driver yanked the wheel to the right, missing a Mini by only an inch or two.
I raised my head a little higher and looked through the rear window.
A car every bit as enormous as Viktor’s clipped the Mini. The little car spun in a circle and crashed into a streetlight.
The big car kept coming.
“Get down!” yelled Thor.
“You’re very bossy.”
“It’s my job to keep you alive.” Thor sounded as if he were reconsidering his career choices.
Thunk, thunk, thunk!
More bullets.
“Why do they keep shooting?”
“Because sometimes, if the gun is big enough, the glass breaks.”
So, only bulletproof to a point. Good to know. I lowered my head.
Thor leaned over the backseat and glowered at me. “Stay down.” He glanced out the back window and his jaw slackened. “Turn. Now!”
The car careened and Viktor tumbled onto me.
The light outside the car went from gold to orange and the car shuddered.
I lifted my head and peeked. I had to. We were crossing the Seine. Behind us a cluster of destroyed trees were on fire. Ahead of us lay Les Jardins des Plantes. That meant we were on the Pont d’Austerlitz.
“Right!” Thor shouted.
The driver completed another gut-wrenching turn and the Seine was on our right again.
The car flew down Quai Saint-Bernard, weaving between cars, honking, and even nudging a slow-moving vehicle with its front bumper.
The other car was still behind us.
Viktor was still half on top of me.
“What did they shoot at us? I demanded.
Thor didn’t answer me. Instead, he spoke to the driver. “Can this car go any faster?”The driver took Thor’s question as an invitation to floor the accelerator. The car shot forward.
I pushed Viktor off of my chest.
The driver swerved and Viktor fell on me again. His elbow landed in my gut.
“Ooof!”
“Stay down,” Thor growled. “Please.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk!
“Putain de merde.” The driver had a way with words.
I didn’t bother pushing on Viktor, he’d just fall on me again.
“Where are we going?” I was proud my voice didn’t waver. “What’s your plan?”
“My plan?” Thor replied.
Of course he had a plan. He had to have a plan.
Thunk, thunk, thunk!
The driver swerved right. The car popped a curb. And we sped forward at an angle.
Outside, someone shrieked, and I imagined some poor woman out for a late evening promenade diving out of the way.
The driver glanced over his shoulder. “Merde.”
Hopefully that didn’t mean the screaming woman was shot or run over or dead in the street. “Can we get to the American embassy?” I squeaked.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Or the Russian embassy.” Viktor’s squeak was higher.
“Where’s a police station?” I demanded.
“Quiet!” Thor yelled.
“He’s very bossy,” I told Viktor.
“Dammit, Poppy. Stay down and shut up.”
Rude!
The driver swerved left.
Viktor’s elbow pushed every last bit of air out of my body and I gasped.
At least all four tires were on the pavement again.
Car chases in the movies looked exciting. Guns and the crunch of metal and high-octane speed.
We had all those things, but exciting wasn’t the word I’d use to describe the experience. Sickening was a much better word. The few nuts I’d eaten at Ghislain’s gurgled in my stomach. It would be better if I could see what was happening.
Thor put down his gun and put his phone to his ear. “We’re in trouble. We’re on the Left Bank next to the Seine.”
I peeked out the window. “We’re just passing Place Maubert.”
“Get down!” Thor barked. “Did you hear that, sir?”
He listened for a few seconds.
“No, sir. This doesn’t feel like a kidnapping attempt. This feels like an assassination attempt.” He listened for a few more seconds, dropped the phone into his lap, and picked up his gun.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
He leaned over the seat and looked down at me. “Help is coming. We just need to hold out for a few more minu—” He glanced out the rear window and his eyes widened. “Get down.”
I couldn’t go any lower.
Boom!
The car shuddered, the rear end lifted off the pavement, and a blast of heat washed over us.
My heart relocated to my throat.
The car’s back wheels slammed onto the pavement with bone-jarring impact.
The driver let loose a stream of curses that would do a sailor in Marseilles proud.
Viktor whimpered.
We skidded to a stop.
“Are you hurt? Are you?”
It took a few seconds to realize Thor was yelling at me.
“I’m fine.” If shaking and terrified and angry counted as fine, I was definitely fine.
“C’mon.” He jerked his head toward the door. “We need to move. Now.”
Gunfire erupted outside the car.
I lifted myself off the floorboards and peeked out the window.
The men in the car behind us weren’t shooting at us. They were shooting at someone else. Someone behind them.
“C’mon!” Thor wasn’t wasting the opportunity for escape.
I crawled over Viktor, who seemed almost catatonic, and opened the door. “Are you coming?”
The Russian didn’t move—didn’t answer.
Thor’s hand braceleted my wrist and he pulled me out of the car. “We need to move. Now. Run.”
“No. We can’t just leave him.” With my free arm, I tugged at Viktor. Adrenaline gave me unexpected strength and I pulled his torso free of the car.
Viktor’s eyes fluttered open. “They’re after you?”
“Yes!” Thor pulled at me. “Poppy, c’mon.”
I resisted. “We have to get Viktor out of the car. What if it explodes?”
“Go. Nicolas will protect me.”
The driver, holding an enormous gun and looking more barbarian-like than ever, had crawled out of the car and stood in the street looking for someone to shoot.
“C’mon.” Thor pulled me toward the winding roads of the Latin Quarter.
Still, I resisted. “No.”
“Fine.” The look Thor gave me promised hell to pay, but he helped me pull Viktor free of the car. Together we half-walked/half-carried him to a recessed doorway.
“Are you all right?”
Viktor nodded. “Go.”
I released my hold on him and, with one last look at the destroyed Mercedes, I let Thor pull me away.
We ran. Left, then right, then left again. We ran until we were hopelessly lost in the maze of the Latin Quarter. Cobblestone streets too narrow for cars twisted every which way. Tiny ethnic restaurants and grocers nestled next to crêperies. An unlikely mix of scents—Chinese 5-spice and warm Nutella—filled my nose.
“Stop.” There was a stitch in my side, I was gasping for breath, and my legs threatened complete collapse at any moment. Maybe Thor could run laps after a near-death experience, but I couldn’t. “Please, stop.”
He stopped, his face a mask of concern. “What? Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. We’re running in circles.”
“We are not.”
“We are,” I insisted. I pointed at a seedy café. “We’ve passed that café already.”
“We have not.”
“Yes—” I planted my hands on my hips “—we have.” We totally had. “What are we doing?”
“Escaping.”
“Really? Cause I thought we were running around.” Not the nicest way to talk to a man who was trying to save me, but we’d been running in circles and I needed to sit. Preferably in a comfortable chair with my feet up and a glass of wine the size of a goldfish bowl in my hand.
Thor’s answering scowl was thunderous. But, even with an expression that promised my impending doom fixed on his face, he scanned the people around us for threats.
“Look—” I tried for a reasonable tone “—we’re only a few blocks from Boulevard St. Germain. We can get a taxi. You pick the destination. I’ll go wherever you say and I won’t argue.”
“Fine.” He turned his back on me and took a few steps.
“Mark.”
My voice stopped him.
“Boulevard St. Germain is that way.” I pointed the opposite direction.
He breathed fire through his nose.
Not really.
Almost.
He followed me to the corners of Boulevards St. Michel and St. Germain and waved down a taxi.
“Où allez-vous?” asked the driver.
I waited for Thor’s answer, but my bodyguard was staring out the window.
“The Ritz, s’il vous plaît.”
The driver pulled into traffic.
“We can’t go there,” said Thor. “They could have someone waiting.”
I desperately wanted to argue. Too bad I’d promised not to. Instead I said to the driver, “Pardon, monsieur.”
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Oui?”
“S’il vous plait l’hôtel Shangri-La. Il est situé sur l’Avenue d’Iena.”
“The Shangri-La?” asked Thor.
“It took four years to refurbish the Ritz.”
“And?”
“When Chariss and I came to Paris when the Ritz was closed, we stayed at the Shangri-La. It’s the first place that came to mind.”
He nodded. Then, without another word, he turned in his seat and looked out the rear window.
“Are we being followed?” I whispered.
“No.”
The night manager at the Shangri-La, Monsieur Guillaume, recognized me and emerged from behind the discreet reception desk. A furrow darkened his brow. “Mademoiselle Fields, qu’est-ce qu’il passe? Ça va?”
“Ça va. Avez-vous une chambre?” If the hotel was fully booked, I’d manufacture some tears. I needed rest. I needed a meal. I needed a drink.
“We have only the Suite Shangri-La.”
“We’ll take it.” At that point, twenty thousand dollars for a place to rest seemed like a bargain. “Also, we’ll need a bottle of wine, some sandwiches—you know the ones I like, and—” I looked at Thor and guessed “—a bottle of bourbon.”
“Of course.”
“May I fill out the registration in the morning? I’m dead on my feet.” The hotel’s tile floors seemed to be rising up through my heels. Parts of me I didn’t know existed ached. Thor’s hand on my elbow was the only things keeping me upright.
Monsieur Guillaume rubbed his chin. “I saw on the news that someone shot at you last night. Outside the Ritz.” His tone suggested the Ritz was responsible.
I nodded. “I’d just as soon no one know I’m here until tomorrow.”
“Zut.” He shook his head sadly, a French reaction to the sorry state of a world where women were shot at in the first arrondissement. His expression said such things would not happen in the sixteenth. “Give me five minutes. Cinq minutes.”
Getting us checked in anonymously took him less than three minutes. He returned to where we waited in the elegant lobby and presented me with key cards. “We miss having you here. Tell your mother to return to us.”
“I will.” Because he had been so kind I added, “The Ritz has her in the wrong suite.”
Monsieur Guillaume grinned. “That would never happen here.”
“Thank you.” My fingers tightened around the keys.
“Room service will arrive within a few minutes.”
“Merci.”
Thor and I rode the elevator to the penthouse suite. A wall of windows offered the best views of the Eiffel Tower in all of Paris. With its lights on, it looked cast in gold.
“Wow,” Thor murmured.
“I know, right?” I collapsed onto a velvet couch.
Thor opened the glass door and stepped out onto the deck.
I closed my eyes, flexed and released my toes, and concentrated on breathing. Each breath was reason for gratitude.
Thor’s voice drifted through the open door.
“Major firepower, sir. They took out Yurgi Prokorhov’s Mercedes.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Viktor Prokorhov offered her a ride, sir.”
More silence.
“She met him at the Ritz and he was at Lambert’s party tonight.”
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“I’m pretty sure it was a coincidence.”
It was nice of Thor not to tell John Brown I’d knocked Viktor down.
“She’s resting, sir.”
It was too much effort to turn my head or open my eyes. There was no way I could talk to John Brown tonight.
Tap, tap.
“Entrez,” I called. I opened my eyes, but otherwise didn’t move.
Thor bounded inside from the terrace with one hand on his phone and the other on his gun.
The waiter, who was depositing a tray of sandwiches and two bottles on the dining table, almost dropped the bourbon. The Blanton’s bottle slipped through his fingers, but he somehow caught the jockey-on-top cork.
“Apologize to the nice waiter.”
The look Thor gave me would have turned most women to stone. I yawned.
“I’ll call you back, sir.” Thor thrust a handful of euro at the waiter. “Sorry about that.”
The pale and shaking waiter accepted the bills and melted out of our suite.
There was food waiting for me. Only a few feet away. All I had to do was stand. But I lacked the strength.
“Can I get you something?” Thor slid his gun into its holster and walked over to the table
I could have kissed him. “There should be some ham and cheese sandwiches. One of those and a glass of wine, please.”
He opened the wine, poured me a filled-to-the-brim glass, and brought me a sandwich.
I took a bite and moaned softly. “You should eat something.”
He stood staring at me—still as a statue in the Louvre. “I will in a minute.”
“You look as if you have important things to say.” I spoke around a mouthful of ham and cheese.
He sat on the chair across from me. “We need to talk.”
Nothing good ever came of that sentence. “Not now.”
He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “It’s important.”
“I’m hungry.” I held up my sandwich. “I need a drink.” I held up my half-full wine glass. “And I don’t want to think about anything more serious than the temperature of my bath.”
He blinked. “Your bath?”
“My bath. That’s what I’m doing as soon as I find the energy to get off this couch.”
“We need to talk.”
“You already said that.”
“You’re in danger.”
“I was in danger before.”
“This was a bold attack.”
“Bof.” I gave him my best impression of a Gallic shrug.
There was that thunderous scowl I was coming to know so well. “I’m serious.”
I was too. I took a giant sip of wine. “We’re safe right now. I’ll worry about being in danger in the morning.”
“But—”
“We both need to recharge. If I was wrong about the bourbon, order whatever you want.” Clutching my sandwich and my wine, I hauled myself off the couch and stumbled toward one of the bedrooms. I reached the door and looked back at Thor. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For protecting me.” Then, before he could say something stupid like it’s my job, I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door.