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I pulled out my burner phone.

One message.

Unknown number.

But I already knew who it was.

I opened it.

Delacroix Cathedral tomorrow at 11 pm.

I sighed quietly before I locked the phone and set it down.

We’d deal with that tomorrow.

Right now, I need a shower.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out clean and refreshed.

Brushed my teeth.

Dried off.

Put on some oil so I wasn’t ashy.

Pulled on gray sweat shorts and my Gucci slides, no shirt, no jewelry.

When I walked back into the penthouse, Azaria wasn’t in the living room.

But I could hear water running somewhere down the hall.

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and stepped onto the balcony.

The Paris air hit different.

Cool.

Alive.

I turned on some oldies through the outdoor speakers.

The Isley Brothers came on. Low and soothing.

From my duffel bag, I pulled out the jar and started rolling a blunt.

This was the first real one I’d had all day.

Whiskey in one hand.

Blunt in the other.

Paris in front of me.

For a few minutes, I just stood there smoking and letting the night settle.

The balcony door slid open behind me.

I turned.