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Clink. Clink. Clink. My fork hits the side of my cup in a staccato rhythm.
JL reaches over and takes it out of my hand. “Calm down, Max.”
Poulliot and Mason stare at JL as he puts the fork onto my saucer.
“What makes you think I’m not calm?”
He grins, tapping a finger against the fork. It flips onto the tile floor but we ignore it.
“Fine,” I grind out. Gutted, I’m still trying to get my head round this new information, knowing that Cress will insist on going to the dinner. My desire to find a flight, take her back to Chicago right now, wars with building rage to tear this city apart, find this asshole, and end him.
I swallow convulsively. “Is this a general threat, or is there a direct threat against me?”
Poulliot lifts a shoulder. “We can’t tell, but Monsieur Mason came to us about the potential threat against you, so I thought it was important to let you know.” He studies my face. “I understand you and your—”
“My fiancée.”
“Yes. Your fiancée. You cannot be persuaded to cancel for the dinner?”
I let out an involuntary snort. “No chance.”
“Une femme tetu?”
“Stubborn? That’s an understatement.”
Poulliot drains his coffee and pushes his chair back. We all stand. I finish my drink before holding out my hand. “Do we need to go visit the museum now?”
Poulliot is pulling on his jacket. “No need. We will take care of it.”
“Thank you for the heads up.”
“We will try to circumvent the terrorists’ efforts.” He moves toward the doorway. “Enjoy your time in Paris, messieurs.”
Allan sits back down. I follow suit, while JL gathers up the empty cups. “More?” We nod, and he moves toward the counter.
“I think we should look over the venue, anyway.” My eyes move restlessly toward the windows facing out on the green square. “It’s just down the walk.”
“Still think you’re better than the rest of us, Grant?” Allan exaggerates his London accent. “What do you think you can do? Leave it to the French police.”
“We’re not sixth formers anymore, Allan. Can’t you let things go?”
“Why should I? I’ve always been in your shadow. Even now, I’m the one who has to babysit you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“If Faez is really out to kill you, then you are our best chance of catching him.”
“Cheese in the trap, then. Not exactly babysitting on your part. And if you catch him, you win the cap.”
“And the sun shines on me. Finally.”
“How do you envision this playing out?”
“I’ll be the building, but not at the dinner, discreetly following you. So I’ll be there to pick up the pieces if he comes out of the woodwork.” Allan pushes back his chair and stands. “I don’t think I’ll bother with another cup. See you around.”
Eyes glued on his back, I watch him saunter out and out of sight.
And I wonder, does he care whether the cheese is eaten if he can catch the rat?
