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“And you’ll remember your promise? I want to be there.”
“You have my word. And my dear? Don’t wait to leave Paris. Go tomorrow, while it’s daylight. In fact, leave France. You are in trouble, and it’s not just whatever’s led you to hide out in this cemetery. There’s a rumor circulating among my men that you’re a slayer.”
I went as still as the tombs surrounding us. “That’s a lie.”
Shrewd light eyes considered me. “Hmm.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he raised a hand, halting me.
“I prefer not to know. Just get out of my city before I have to do something about you. You have money?”
“I—yes, I’m good.”
“Good. I’ll deposit the sum I promised you to a Swiss account. The details will be sent to you. Memorize that number I gave you, then destroy it.”
And with that, the Primus of Paris faded back into the shadows.
20
ZAQ
On Sunday we took a train to Nice, then boarded a plane to Newark, New Jersey. As the jet took off, I let out a slow exhale. Beside me, Ridley relaxed, too.
She’d been jumpy and keyed-up ever since Friday night, and my neck had itched the entire time we were waiting for our flight. Frankly, I didn’t trust that bastard Moreau to let me leave France this easily.
We landed at Newark on Monday around noon and made our way out of the jet along with the other passengers.
Ridley had ditched the ugly brown wig in favor of a dark knit hat pulled down over her own hair. She wore a ribbed black tank, Army-green tactical pants and a pair of low, flexible combat boots. Add a little makeup and a change in how she carried herself—shoulders back, chin up, like a woman who knew her worth—and she was 180 degrees from the worn-down thrall who’d approached me in Charles de Gaulle.
I’d kept the scruffy beard and donned a blue Paris soccer cap that we’d picked up at a flea market. As we exited the plane, I amped up the glamour Ridley didn’t think I had, the one that instead of changing my appearance encouraged people to ignore me.
Ridley did a double take when she saw me with my head down and slightly forward, spine curved so my chest caved in. Her fine dark brows formed a disturbed V, but she waited until we were waiting in line for a taxi to say something.
“You look so human.”
Her tone implied my dialed-down appearance was some kind of a trick, but hell, I was supposed to be incognito.
I set my jaw. Ridley and I had arrived at an unspoken truce. I’d accepted that I needed her help to get to New York and figure out what the fuck was going on so I could save my brothers. And she’d accepted I was going to do this my way or not at all.
Yet she continued to examine everything I did for some dark, hidden purpose.
I gave her a hard stare. “Looking human is good, right? Unless you want my father to know I’m back in New York.”
“You’re right.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge and I’m not used to working with someone else. I have no social skills.”
Her frankness and woeful expression disarmed me. I found my lips quirking up. “Social skills are overrated.”
“Says the man who can talk to anyone.”
“I work with a lot of different people. You learn how to get along. Frankly, I’d rather you tell me what you’re really thinking.”
“It goes both ways, you know. I won’t lie to you if you don’t lie to me.”
Our turn for a taxi came. A yellow cab stopped at the curb. I opened the door and nodded at her to go first.
She didn’t get in. “Well? Are you lying to me? And after you.” She waited until I climbed inside, then followed.
She closed the door. I stretched my arm along the seat back and gave her a that-would-be-telling smile.
