Page 79 of Dagger’s Shield

“He’s been saying that for days,” the woman at the table said. “The registry closed, not the cafés.” She rose and extended her hand. “Parker Mills. Cassidy.”

“Sundance’s twin,” I said.

“Which clued you in? Code name or Mills?”

I chuckled. “Neither.” I shook her hand. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“All true,” she said, laughing too.

“Shall we get to it?” Preacher asked, motioning to his open laptop.

I checked the time. It was fifteen hundred on the dot.

Maëlle brought the team up to speed in under three minutes. She covered the invoices, the union deal, the bonuses, that Rémy was warned and likely scrubbing the books since breakfast, the copies of everything already in our files, and the coup de grâce—tomorrow’s VIP guest.

“Géraud?” Beacon asked.

“That’s who we’re anticipating,” I said.

“One rule above everything,” Beacon continued. “Do nothing that makes him look at either of you twice for the wrong reason. If he leaves that party comfortable, we keep every advantage we have. If he leaves it suspicious, we lose them all.”

“Understood,” I said.

“Preacher and Cassidy—you’ll remain in France until this is finished,” Blackjack added.

“Roger that,” they both responded as the videoconference ended.

Maëlle laid out a schematic of the cuverie, marked their positions upon arrival, and added all door codes.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“All good,” said Cassidy.

“Deployment time?” Preacher asked.

“In position by nineteen hundred,” I answered.

After testing the comms, Maëlle and I stood.

“One more thing,” she said. “My duress word is Provence.”

“Copy that,” said Preacher. Cassidy nodded.

Dinner that night was quieter than it had been since Maëlle and I arrived. Bertrand held Chantal’s chair, filled her glass before his own, and asked twice whether she was warm enough.

“Who are you?” Chantal teased. “And what have you done with my husband?”

He didn’t answer. Maëlle, who was seated across from me rather than next to me, caught my eye across the table but didn’t speak.

Later, once we were in bed, she fit herself against my side.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“I am, as are you.”

“I don’t know how I’ll stand next to my father for four hours and smile,” she confessed.

“Sure you do. It’s an op, Maëlle. Look at it that way instead.”