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“Let’s go to Vancouver.” Then we walk back into the hotel to debrief with our friends.
I wonder what made her change her mind?
ChapterFourteen
The beginning is always today.—Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Micki
REBECCA: I know you’re planning on coming back, but don’t.
ME: What!!?? Why?
REBECCA: The partners will be out of the office on a retreat. Hayden is going as “assistant.”
REBECCA: Fred is practically dancing around the hallways. His gloat is epic.
A photo of Fred,feral smile, arms raised in a victory salute, accompanies the text.
REBECCA: A really great report on progress might help, eventually.
ME: I’m thinking about spending a little time in Vancouver?
REBECCA: Why not? As long as you have a connection, you can be anywhere.
REBECCA: I’ll let you know when everyone is back in the office so you can make a triumphant return with a report ready to go.
Yesterday I was involved in a terrorist attack, stayed up late while the event was dissected, heard another nail being hammered into the promotion coffin, and committed to meeting JL’s mother in Canada. Today, my feelings are bittersweet because this is our last day in Paris. I have mixed feelings about this city, and I’m not sure if I need to come back with a clean slate or never return.
Tomorrow we start a new chapter in Vancouver. I don’t know what JL has told his mother about me, and I’m afraid to ask. My brave facade has cracked and I’m not sure I can fix it. Life is a Tilt-A-Whirl, and I don’t know which end is up.
At the briefing last night, Max explained the supposed threat from Nasim Faez was fabricated by Yavuz, who wanted revenge for the death of his sister, Zehra, Max’s lover in Istanbul. He blamed Max for her death and plotted his revenge for ten years before being able to carry it out.
Hooking into an already planned attack at the Victor Hugo House was fortuitous, but I’m sure he would have found another way if that circumstance hadn’t dropped into his lap. He and his brothers all died in the showdown in Goussainville. No more threats from that source.
I sleep surprisingly well, maybe because JL has an arm around me all night. The sunshine encourages me up and into the shower, even though JL is still asleep. At least I think he is until he joins me, washing my hair and scrubbing my back.
We all want a change of scene, so we breakfast at Café Charlot on the Rue de Bretagne. Inside, the dark wood of the furniture contrasts with the white subway tiles on the walls. The weather is mild, and we sit outside under the big red, white, and black umbrellas. Max hovers, frequently looking over the top ofLe Mondeto make sure Cress eats all of her L’omelette de la Maison, stuffed with vegetables and a side of crispy fries. Insists she drinks the freshly squeezed fruit juice. Calls for more coffee when her cup is empty. Reaches to touch her between bites of his eggs Benedict and sips of tea. Too touchy-feely for me, but Cress probably needs the comfort right now.
I check my email and listen to the conversation with half an ear, while JL reads the satirical weeklyLe Canard enchaîné. I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing in the condo and whether they are looking for a temporary rental house.
Even with the mess at work, Sam’s threats are uppermost in my thoughts. I should just tell JL I have to go back to Chicago and sort out my life, but I won’t. Whatever job threat Hayden poses, at least he won’t murder me. Right?
“Are you enjoying your breakfast, ma chouette?” JL’s concerned expression makes me wonder what sort of faces I’m making while munching on pain grille with saumon fumé. He’s scoffing down a platter of charcuterie and cheeses. I am on my second grand crème and JL slurps café au lait while he folds up the paper to deal with work emails and one to his mother.
He checks his watch. “We have an appointment with Inspector Poulliot, then plenty of time to soak in the romance of the city of lights.”
“Cress,” I call over where my friend moodily pushes food around on her plate. Normally a hearty eater, I can see the shock of last night has killed her appetite. She looks up questioningly.
“Are you going with us to explore Paris after we talk to Inspector Poulliot?”
“We saw Poulliot at the crack of dawn. Now we need to do some quiet things,” Max says, “and pack for the trip to Venice. Taking a page from your book, we’re spending the day in Montmartre. Tonight, we have a reservation for dinner at Tour d’Argent. Our last memory of Paris needs to be a slap-up meal. I assume you’ll join us.”
“You’re sure?” JL is feeling him out to see if this is a genuine invitation or if they really want a romantic dinner alone.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”
I screw up my face in a wry smile. Paris is gray this morning, heavy clouds promising rain later in the day. “I think we’ll walk around the city.” JL nods his agreement. “Can we borrow an umbrella from the hotel if rain starts?”
