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It happens in slow motion. Favreaux drags his knife across my throat. Warmth suddenly washes over my neck and chest, the smell of iron filling the air. I drive my elbow back, nailing Favreaux in the ribs as I attempt to throw him off. Dad charges forward to push Favreaux —hard. The momentum sends Favreaux over the railing. The last thing I see of him are his hands, outstretched, as he tries and fails to grab onto something before his inevitable fall. Nobody tries to save him.
Gabriel lurches forward to catch me as I go down, red stickiness soaking my shirt and staining my skin. There’s a ringing in my ears. I can see his mouth moving, but his words don’t quite reach me. He presses his big hand against my wound and applies pressure. I’m not sure if it’ll do much good. I can’t tell how deeply Favreaux sliced.
I’m cold and dizzy and confused and hurting. Is this what dying feels like?
No. I can’t die. Ican’t. What about our baby? What about Gabriel and Dad and Odette? I don’t want to leave them. My heart breaks at the thought of leaving them behind. I have so much life left to live, so much I still want to see and do.
Like tell Gabriel how I really feel.
I shakily grasp his shirt, surprisingly relaxed now that I’m cradled in his arms. “I… I love…”
Gabriel hushes me gently. “Save your strength, mon amour. Help’s on the way. You’re going to be alright, Raquel. I swear it.”
“I’m really tired…”
“Keep your eyes open, little bird. Promise me. You have to stay awake.”
“Are you okay?”
He nods, his eyes glossy with tears. “I’m fine. Totally fine.” He turns and yells at Klaus. “Where the fuck’s that ambulance?”
“One minute out!” I hear him reply somewhere off to my left. I don’t have the strength to move my head to check.
I can feel myself drifting. At least, IthinkI’m drifting. I’m stuck between two realms, reality and a waking dream. My eyelids are heavy. It’s really tempting to close them, go to sleep. My body is numb and heavy. I can’t draw in a deep enough breath. A metallic taste coats my tongue. Surely a tiny nap couldn’t hurt.
“I love you, Gabriel,” I murmur. “I love you.”
I black out before I get to hear his response.
Chapter 40
Gabriel
“Can I play with your gun?” Odette asks Klaus. The gruff man with a serious case of resting bitch face is surprisingly good with kids. He shakes his head with a small smile but offers her his Interpol badge to play with instead.
Anders enters with a tray of coffees. He looks refreshed and chipper, having swapped out his Kevlar vest for an obnoxiously bright yellow Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. He looks like he should be lounging on a beach somewhere, not waiting with us in Raquel’s hospital room.
She lies perfectly still in bed, strapped to various machines and monitors. The fifteen-minute ambulance ride here was the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I was over the moon when the doctors told me her injury wasn’t serious. Favreaux didn’t cut through anything important, though the doctor thinks Raquel passed out due to a combination of exhaustion, stress, and improper nutritional balance.
She woke briefly the night before, mumbled at us that she was fine, then promptly fell asleep again.
It’s the next day and all anyone in Paris can do is talk about her harrowing escape from a knife-wielding madman. There’s no shortage of first-hand accounts and footage. Raquel’s practically a celebrity. It looks like her life as an anonymous international thief might be over for good.
“Sleeping Beauty’s still not up yet, huh?” Anders jokes lightly.
“Let her sleep,” Chet says. “Poor girl deserves a break.”
I huff. “I couldn’t agree more. Any more news about Van Straus?”
Klaus nods. “Our team is processing him as we speak. He’s lawyered up, but with the amount of evidence you and Raquel managed to swipe, it’s going to be pretty damn hard to talk his way out of some serious jail time.”
“What about Lucius?” Chet asks.
“The police are still interrogating him,” Anders replies. “It looks like he’s refusing to talk, but they’ve pretty much blamed your Paris heist completely on him.”
Chet nods, though he looks grim. “I wish I could say I feel sorry for him.”
I shift in my chair, rolling my shoulders to stretch my neck. The metallic jingle of my cuffs reaches my ears. Chet’s in a similar position, seated next to me with his hands handcuffed behind him. Raquel has a handcuff connecting her to the hospital bed, too, even though the sedatives won’t allow her to run off any time soon.
