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I’m not sure if I’m pissed off or impressed.
Chapter 10
Raquel
Augustus Van Straus, the man who apparently stolebacktheVase of Aphrodite, isn’t exactly discrete.
He’s on several most wanted lists in a good handful of countries, but the cocky son of a bitch isn’t the type of arms dealer who hides. I figured it’s because of his ego. Too proud to run away and hide like a mouse. In his mind, he probably thinks himself a giant as most megalomaniacs are wont to do.
I’m camped out beneath the green awning of a bakery with my hood pulled down low over my face. The bakery is closed for the day, but the smell of peppermint and cinnamon linger in the air. Using Gabriel’s phone, I decide to do a quick Google search.
Do I feel bad about stealing from him? Of course. But I figure it’s alright because he wasn’t always a civilian. It’s a very grey area I’m operating in, but sometimes exceptions have to be made. Besides, seeing the grand size of his home and the pair of luxury cars, I figure Gabriel’s more than capable of buying himself a phone and wallet. That’s how I justify it, anyways.
I gingerly rub my throat while I wait for the browser to load. It all happened so fast. It comes with the territory of my job —a work hazard. Only I’m pretty sure OSHA doesn’t have anything in their handbook about being strangled to death by car-sized men in public.
My cheeks warm at the thought of Gabriel coming to my defense. If he hadn’t showed up when he did…
I shudder. A part of me was worried I might actually die.
Seeing Gabriel in action left an impression on me. I could tell he was big and strong. That much was obvious from his hulking frame and undeniable presence. But seeing him take my attacker down with such speed and ferocity —that waspower.
Power wrapped in a nice, tight suit.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat of his body beneath me. The sounds of his groans in my ear, the taste of his lips… I press my knees together and clear my throat. I’m burning up despite the cool November air.
The browser finally loads. Our buddy Van Straus has apparently made the news recently. I skim the first article that pops up, dated yesterday morning.
Van Straus Spotted Wooing Austrian Supermodel at Winter Home Near Central Alps.
I roll my eyes. Van Straus probably doesn’t know the definition of subtle. Luckily, his flashy lifestyle is my gain. With an official destination in mind, I make my way through Montpellier under the cover of night.
It’d be easier to catch a flight to Switzerland, but I don’t have my passport and I’m pretty sure I’d be spotted in an instant if I showed up at an airport. I could always steal another car, but thanks to my less-than-ideal run-in with Mr. Asshole Broken Nose, the police will likely be harder to avoid on the roads. Hitchhiking across the country is obviously out of the question.
Then an idea pops into my head. Planes and cars are all well and good, but then I rememberthis is Europe.
I smile to myself. I’ve always wanted to ride a train.
* * *
Saint-Roche is Montpellier’s largest train station conveniently located in the heart of the city. The thing about train stations is that they’re notassecure as airports, but that doesn’t mean I can waltz right through.
No, no. This is going to require a little finesse.
There isn’t a huge crowd this late at night, but this doesn’t lull me into a false sense of security. Walking with purpose, I head toward a side door that’s clearly marked for employees. Nobody stops me. Once again, it’s all about confidence. People don’t question you when you look like you know what you’re doing.
I slip into the room, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve managed to locate a locker room intended for train station employees. Several dull grey lockers line the walls, along with a couple of benches and a private bathroom off to the side. It’s empty, too, which is a massive bonus. There’s no time to linger, though. Loitering is bound to draw someone’s attention.
I walk over to the closest locker, gently grasping the combo lock that’s keeping it shut. It’s one of those cheap ones you can buy at any office supplies store. I don’t even need to pull out my tools to crack it. All I do is tug on the bottom to take most of the slack out of the shackle. Keeping a medium amount of tension, I turn the combination face clockwise until it snags on a sticking point —the first number in the sequence. I then rotate back counterclockwise and find the second sticking point, before finally turning it clockwise one more time until…
Pop!
The lock opens without a fuss, allowing me access to the contents inside the locker. There isn’t a whole lot inside —the employee probably took most of their belongings with them at the end of their shift— but I’m only looking for two things in particular. My eyes immediately fall upon the orange and yellow safety vest and the small ID tag attached.
“Bingo,” I mumble to myself.
I throw the vest on and head back out, headed straight toward the train platform. Nobody stops me. Heck, nobody evenlooksat me. I use people’s ignorance to my advantage and easily slip onto the platform without having to go through the rigamarole of providing a ticket and flashing my ID.
I hop onto the train headed for Bern and find myself an empty seat in one of the emptier cars. I shrug off my safety vest and toss it on the floor beneath the seat in front of me. It isn’t until the train’s horn sounds and I feel the hardker-klunkof the wheels rolling forward that I allow myself to relax. Tucking my knees up against my chest, I press my temple against the window and watch as the city pulls away.
