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Mouse’s gaze darted between me and Desmond, his blue eyes going wide. “Okay, okay. No money. Just don’t tell anyone you got the info from me, okay? Jesus.”
Well, that had been easier than I anticipated. Of course I wouldn’t have killed Mouse or sold him up the river. I was an assassin, not a complete monster.
He went on. “Near the Alma-Marceau metro station you can get access to the sewers. He’s not in the touristy part.”
“There’s a touristy part of the sewers?”
“Yeah, there’s a museum. You don’t want to go there. There’s a section that’s really badly flooded most of the year. Even though they try to keep it drained, it’s not much good. You can get to it from one of the metro access tunnels. Once you get through the watery section, he’s in there.”
“In the sewers.”
“Yes.”
Why couldn’t rogue vampires hang out in moldering old castles or rent penthouse suites at the Ritz? Too obvious? Too clichéd? I didn’t relish the idea of wading through the muck of the Paris sewer system to find Peyton.
“Are you bullshitting me? Because if you are, I will seriously ruin your life.”
He shook his head so hard I thought his brain might be rattling. “That’s where he was as of Thursday. I know someone who’s running supplies in. He hasn’t seen the lair itself, but there’s a drop point about a half mile past the access tunnel. They leave cash, he leaves the goods.”
“I thought you said no one came out alive.”
“Yeah, well, vamps can’t exactly take out an ad in the paper asking for reliable delivery boys, know what I mean?”
“Good help is so hard to find,” Desmond added.
“And I helped you. You’re gonna let me go now, right?”
I engaged the safety clip and holstered my gun. “If I find out you lied to me… If I go wandering around in the wet sewers and find nothing? I’m going to come after you, Mouse, you understand me? And don’t think I won’t find you, because I will. You’re a hell of a lot easier to track than he is, and a hell of a lot easier to kill. So I’m going to ask you one last time: are you lying to me?”
“N-no, ma’am.”
“Then get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Four
Without more time to plan, going into the tunnels would be a fool’s errand, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to check them out.
Much to my chagrin, the fastest way to get to the Alma-Marceau metro station was to take the train. I wasn’t a fan of underground travel at the best of times, and being crammed into a car with dozens of other people while my tension was at an all-time high? It was a recipe for disaster.
Desmond and I emerged from the train onto the platform and were both immediately assaulted by the ammonia stench of urine. The station itself was in decent enough condition—well lit, minimal garbage on the ground—but the whole place reeked of piss.
I wrinkled my nose, trying to pretend the scene wasn’t making it hard for me to breathe. Humans would most certainly be able to pick up on the odor, but it was different for supernaturals. Both Desmond and I had a heightened sense of smell, and his was sharper than mine. I cut a glance sideways at him, and though his expression was stony, a sheen of tears dotted the corners of his eyes.
Yeah, he was definitely smelling it.
“Let’s make this quick,” he grumbled.
I smirked and jabbed him playfully with my elbow. “Hey, if Mouse’s tip pans out, you and I are going on an adventure in the sewers. Think of how nice those will smell.”
“I have to hope it’s better than this. It smells like forty-eight people pissed all over the floor.”
“Forty-eight is an oddly specific number.” I rubbed my nose, allowing my hand to linger so I could smell the soap from our hotel instead. Anything would be better than the piss. “You can’t actually discern forty-eight different kinds, can you?”
Desmond snorted. “No, thank God. Just one kind, and it’s awful. Can we figure out where this entrance is and get the hell out of here?”
“You don’t need to ask me twice.”
We wended our way through the sparse crowd. Due to the late hour, the train had been nearly empty. Even big cities like Paris and New York had quiet hours, stretches of time where a person could find themselves alone. For us, it was lucky we were moving around during the slowest part of the night. No one looked twice at the weapon strapped to my back, and I didn’t need to explain what Desmond or I were up to.
