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“See you later,” she said to Jean-Michel with a cheery, very-Lainey wave.
I took off without waiting to hear his response.
I raced through Philippe’s apartment and down to the lower level. This time I didn’t dare create a disturbance to get through the locked door to the cells. I pressed my back to the wall and waited for the change in guards.
Five minutes that felt more like an hour ticked by. At last, a guard appeared and opened the door. I darted into the hall after him.
“Blaise.” The guard on duty nodded at his relief.
“Everything all right?” Blaise asked.
“Yeah. He’s been quiet.”
Blaise grinned and tapped a control, releasing Rafe’s door. “Let’s see if we can wake him up.”
The door swung open. Rafe lifted his head and squinted at them.
My stomach knotted. It was Jean-Michel all over again. The cuts and bruises from the fight had mostly healed, but the silver had eaten away at Rafe, turning him into a gaunt, underweight version of himself.
“Hey, pretty boy,” Blaise taunted in English. “How are those wrists?”
Both guards snickered as I ghosted around them into the cell.
“I’ve got it now,” Blaise told the other guard in French. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too.”
Blaise waited until the main door closed behind the other guard, then reached out a long leg and kicked Rafe in the chin.
The back of Rafe’s head banged against the wall. He hung there for a moment, breathing hard.
Blaise sneered. “Not such a smartass now, are you?”
Tarbanak.
Rafe lifted his head. “Go fuck yourself,” he said wearily.
I marked the location of the cell’s two cameras in my mind and waited for the power to go out.
Five seconds. Four. Three…
The cell’s tiny lights went dark. I dropped into the physical world, a stiletto in each hand, and exploded into action.
First the cameras. I shot back and forth in the pitch-black cell, smashing the camera lenses with the hard ebony handle of one of the stilettos. That should buy us a few minutes before security came to investigate.
The snick of a switchblade made me spin around. Blaise was close enough to feel his breath on my face.
I threw myself down and to the left. The lethal silver blade slicked past my right shoulder about where my chest would’ve been.
I landed in a crouch at his feet. I bounded back up, brushing his abdomen with the back of my left hand to orient myself. I followed that with a sharp thrust of the stiletto in my right hand, shoving it beneath his ribcage and into his heart.
His body jerked. He slashed out with the switchblade. I released the stiletto and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the sharp silver point.
Blaise let out a savage curse in French and crumpled to the floor. The switchblade clattered to the concrete beside him.
Behind me, Rafe snarled. “Who’s there? What the fuck’s going on?”
I didn’t reply. I crouched down and felt for the Bluetooth earbud hooked onto Blaise’s ear, smashed it beneath my heel, then jerked my stiletto from his chest and wiped it on his shirt.
