AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sitting in the car,” Allan says. “Go sit with her in back. Poulliot needs to leave orders and I have to report to London. Then we can go back to Paris.”
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Cress
We’re finally back at the hotel, ready to decompress. I’m still trying to process all of this. Micki and JL have been sitting in the courtyard, waiting for our return. They jump up and hug us when we walk through the gate with Inspector Poulliot and Allan Mason as our escorts.
“Have to change,” I groan, brushing ineffectually at my fancy gown, the same one I wore for Brian’s birthday. Like the dress I wore to the consulate reception in Chicago, this one is unsalvageable. With this track record, I think I will stay away from formal affairs for a long time, maybe forever.
Poulliot bids us bonne soirée and takes off the car again parked on Rue St. Paul. The rest us pile into the elevator. “Come to our room after you change,” Micki calls out as we stand in the hallway as we prepare to go into our rooms. “We’ll order room service and chill.”
We agree to meet in half an hour. Max pushes our door open and I collapse onto the bed, ready to sleep without even taking off the ruined dress.
Time stands stills as I watch Max stand at the windows, staring out into the evening. The square is silent in the aftermath of the earlier horror. I get up and go to him, put my arm around his waist, rest my cheek against his bicep. His fingers stroke my hair. “I thought I’d lost you, la mia stellina,” he says with a sigh. “When the gun went off, I thought I’d died. But it wouldn’t have mattered, as long as you were safe.”
“Don’t you ever say that again, Max Grant. I can’t live without you. When I saw you, lying there, with Yavuz on top of you, all I could do was say, let him be all right, over and over and over again.” I pinch against his waist. “So don’t you tell me that everything would have been all right even if you had died. Because they wouldn’t. And I would have died too.”
He pulls me to him and drops kisses on the top of my head, then turns me around and unzips my dress, pulls it off, and tosses it into a corner. Then he strips off his tux and tosses it too.
“Even if these clothes were fit to wear, the memories would taint them.” He frowns at the pile. “I need to find somewhere to dispose of them. Having them in the room is unacceptable.”
I pick up the house phone and ask for housekeeping. When I hang up, I say, “They said to put them in the dry cleaning back and leave it outside the door and someone will come by and collect them.”
Max grabs the bag out the closet and stuffs everything from our underwear out, even our shoes. Then he slings it outside the door.
He sighs. “I really wanted to cuddle with you for a bit, but we’ll have to wait. Let me do a family text to set up a Skype call.” He drops a gentle kiss on my lips, moving away before I can react. “Put on something comfortable. Then we need to have our debrief.”
I root around in my suitcase and find a soft French terry pullover and matching pants. Before pulling my hair into a ponytail.
Max looks hot in a blue cashmere sweater that clings to his chest and softens his gray eyes. His jeans mold to his thighs. When he flips his wrist to check his watch, I’m mesmerized by the play of his biceps against the soft fabric.
He looks amused as he notices my longing gaze. “Sorry we can’t linger, la mia stellina. Ready to go?”
A pang hits my chest as we walk out the door. “I’d much rather stay here,” I murmur.
He threads his fingers through mine as we walk down to Micki and JL’s room. Allan is already taking his ease in one of the armchairs. Micki sits on the couch, curiosity gleaming from her eyes.
JL is fixing drinks and hands a whisky to Allan. Then he turns back to the temporary bar. “Anything to drink?”
Max finds an oversized chair and pulls me into his lap.
“A glass of water, thanks.” I want a clear head for the explanations. Plenty of time later to drink myself into a stupor. Max asks for a whisky.
Once we’re all settled, I can’t suppress an inappropriate bubble of laughter. Nothing is funny. Nerves, I guess.
Allan takes a big gulp of scotch, then coughs. “This is what we’ve been able to piece together.
“The terrorist cell planned their attack in London months ago. We had useful intel, but couldn’t unearth the location of the organizers. Yavuz had connected with them in prison, so for him it was a simple matter to persuade them to let him join in and add your street.” He runs out of steam, puts down his now-empty glass, and runs his hands through his sparse hair.
“Go on.” Max’s voice is quiet, his gaze is intent.
Allan nods. “When he left the restaurant, he met Tanik nearby. They used their mobiles to detonate the bombs and strolled off.” He stares off into space.
“And Paris?” I ask. I have to know whether Max was the target there, or if it was me. “Did anyone die?”
“Several people,” JL says. “The president of the society, but you saw that. Your agent, Cal, Cress. A few other guests. Some wounded, including Honor’s husband.”
I choke on my water. Poor Honor. And poor Hugh. “Is he ok?”
