JP and Dominique come back a couple minutes later. He looks pissed; she looks pissed and dejected.They’re each carrying a couple of parcels wrapped in brown butcher paper. JP has a three-foot long one that might have conceivably held a giant bouquet of flowers. I didn’t notice them before because, well, I was more concerned about being caught having sex.They put the packages on the dining room table and rip off the paper. There are guns inside: two semi-automatic pistols, one assault rifle, plus six boxes of bullets.“That’s it?” Grant rages. “That’s all we get for ten grand?”“No, apparently you get to fuck on my canapé, too,” JP says in a surly tone of voice.Grant looks at him like he’s about to strangle him.JP rolls his eyes. “Calme-toi. He will get more rifles, and some explosives, but it will take time. Besides, these? These are very rare in France. Very expensive.”“If this is what five or six grand gets you, I don’t doubt it.”Grant picks up a pistol, pops out the clip, sla
After my sudden, glorious discovery of a clue, it’s almost immediately proved worthless. There’s no way to use the knowledge about the missing paintings, and nothing else in the police report is useful.At least the spaghetti is delicious. JP may be a slob in the housekeeping department, but he’s a damn fine cook.Things thaw out a bit as the wine begins to flow. There’s some reminiscing about the past, some jokes, even a little bit of speculation on how we can find Epicurus.Throughout, Dominique is pissy and refuses to speak. Which is A-OK by me.As the meal is wrapping up, JP gets a phone call. He talks in French a little, but mostly he just listens. When he hangs up, he looks the most depressed I’ve seen him since Grant walked in this morning and dragooned him into helping us.“Who was that?” Grant asks.“Mon ami de la police. ”“Why the long face? Did he not have any info?”“Au contraire. He had a great deal to tell me.”According to the mole, the police were tipped off last nigh
As far as national bugaboos go, most conspiracy theorists would list the CIA as the most threatening organization officially sanctioned by any government on Earth. Sure, true-blue American patriots might go with the KGB – but the KGB is gone, a relic of the Communist past, now rolled into some other agency. The CIA is still alive and kicking. In the last five decades, you’ve got multiple ventures to overthrow other countries’ democratically elected administrations… collusion with drug traffickers to fund arms deals for foreign paramilitary groups… and assassination plots up the wazoo. Not to mention the roving torture ‘black sites’ used by the U.S. in Iraq and Afghanistan.Allegedly.Pretty scary, right?For my money, though, the NSA is scarier, because it’s the biggest global intelligence agency on the planet.The CIA is only supposed to work internationally. They can’t legally do anything on American soil, and they only concern themselves with foreigners.Not so the NSA. Their ter
We all go to bed a little after midnight. JP lends us the spare bedroom, while Dominique sacks out on the couch. At first she complains bitterly about it. Though she never states why, I figure it’s probably because of what she saw Grant and I doing on it earlier. JP lasciviously offers her a spot in his bed, but she turns that down – loudly. I think there might be another comment about swizzle sticks. In the end, JP throws a blanket at her, which she grumpily drapes over the sofa before biting the bullet.Grant and I lie there in the semi-darkness, his arm around me, me snuggled up against his chest. All my clothes but my panties are folded on the chair in the corner. Despite my being half-naked, though, all he does is hold me against his own naked body.“Level with me,” he says. “Just how fucked are we on the whole NSA thing?”I look up at him in surprise. “You mean, that whole display of confidence earlier was bullshit?”He shrugged. “Well… not exactly.”“Explain.”“I meant every s
I open my eyes the next morning. For a second, I can’t help wondering if last night was real.It seems real enough. My body retains the pleasant ache of having him inside me, the slight soreness of our passion. And my heart feels twice as big, as though it is stretched to overflowing with happiness.I turn around in the bed. Grant is just a few feet away and still slumbering.I lie there for a moment, smiling and watching him sleep. I replay the scene from last night in my head, and luxuriate in the joy it brings me.But, if I’m going to be honest… I am harboring a wisp of fear, too.Did he mean it? Or was he just saying it because we were in the heat of the moment?After all, it’s only been… I count in my head. Monday he hired me, Tuesday was the art gallery and skyscraper, Wednesday was Connor and Lily, yesterday we got to Paris, this is Friday morning – Jesus, has it only been four days since he walked into my office in LA?!It’s been six days since I actually met him – but seei
When I walk back in the bedroom, Grant is awake.He sees me and smiles sleepily. “There you are. I was wondering where you got to.”“Just getting breakfast,” I say, and smile nervously. I sit down next to him in bed, placing the plate between us.He rolls over and takes a strawberry. “Mmm… thanks.”“You’re welcome.”He frowns the tiniest bit. “Are you okay?”“Yeah, why?”“You seem… I don’t know, upset.”“No,” I answer a little too quickly.A cloud passes over his face. “Was last night… too soon?”The question is like a punch to my stomach. Because of my fear of losing him, I let down my guard – and for the first time since I’ve entered the room, I sound genuine. “No – no, not at all. I just…”I can’t tell him about what Dominique said. I just – I can’t. Not right now.So I go with what I was most worried about when I first left the room.“…I just wanted to know if you meant it. If it wasn’t just something you were saying because we were… you know.”He grins. The cloud has passed. “Oh,
“What is it?” Grant asks.“I call my police friend again, he does not answer. Then I call Luc – the contact for the guns – but he does not answer, either.”Grant shrugs. “Maybe he got drunk last night. Maybe he’s sleeping it off somewhere.”“No. I call the cousin of Luc, who works with him selling guns. He tells me Luc is dead.”We stare at JP. Besides obviously being bad news, the timing is a little too coincidental.“…quoi?” Dominique asks in disbelief.“There are men now in Paris searching for illegal gun sellers. These men find them, ask questions, torture them, sometimes kill them.” JP pauses, then says shakily, “They killed Luc.”Grant stands up. “Shit – did Luc know where you live?”“Non.”“Anything else about you they could have gotten out of him?”JP looks stricken. “He has my phone number.”“Shit,” Grant mutters, then turns to me. “If they have JP’s phone number, what’s the chances they can find us?”I hesitate. “If they have any sort of law enforcement connections, then th
It’s hard going. The rope ladder is a bitch to deal with. It’s twisty and shifts under my feet, and feels incredibly unstable. The only light is from JP’s flashlight, which he doesn’t exactly keep shined on me, so I have to feel my way down rather than depend on my eyes.Not to mention that all I can think about is I’m leaving behind the man I love in the middle of a gunfight.We climb down the ladder for what seems like forever. “What is this?” I whisper.“When they made the building almost two hundred years ago, they required ventilation and a way to transport supplies. When they were finished, they sealed it. Grant knew of this from his architecture, and created an escape route, just in case.”Of course he would. Grant has been obsessed with secret passageways all his life, ever since he was a child. It was the main reason he became an architect.I just pray I get the chance to tell him I saw your handiwork, and it saved my life. Thank you.What is disconcerting is how long we kee