“Like the monsieur?”
“That’s all you need to know. We don’t wear uniforms. I need to verify this, give me his name.”
“Let me go,” she said, her voice rising. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“To do with what?”
Dodging past Aimée, the nurse reached for her pager from the nightstand and hit some buttons.
Aimée grabbed it. Merde. She had to get the hell out.
“Cooperate and I’ll see you’re not arrested.”
“Arrested? But the monsieur’s with security at the ministry.”
“Which ministry?”
The nurse’s pager beeped in her hand.
“The ministry—that’s all I heard.”
Think, she had to think how to get the nurse to identify this man. “You’re talking about the security team, the one with glasses, right?”
“Glasses … non, the man from Toulon.”
Toulon? “You recognized his accent?” The pager was blinking. Get out, she had to get out of here. Now. “Bon, keep this to yourself.”
And with the notepad under her arm, she slipped into the hallway, walking as quickly as she could without running.
She pulled out her phone and called René back.
“All?? Aimée? Who were you talking to?” René said. “I tried calling, but your phone—”
“René, just listen. Can you pick me up on rue Oudinot?”
“Rue Oudinot? I’m close, but what’s going on?”
“Just hurry. Now.” She clicked off, striding purposefully. Not looking back.
“Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle!” a voice shouted.
But she kept going and broke into a run. Then out the swinging exit doors at the back, into the chill, dark air of the garden, keeping to the shadowed wall.
A starling fluttered in alarm from the bushes.
The gate was locked. The garden was surrounded by a high stone wall, trees. No way out. Her heart pounded. Floodlights flicked on, illuminating the lawn. Shouts carried through the air. She ran to the nearest tree—a ginkgo—stuck her bag down the front of her jacket and climbed. Climbed to the higher branches, scraping her nails and fingers while pulling herself up, wedging her feet in for purchase and slipping on the smooth bark.
“Over there. She’s up in the tree.”
Chloé’s face flashed in front of her eyes. Those trusting grey-blue eyes. She needed a mother, and not one in prison—which is where Aimée would be if this homme from the ministry caught up with her. If she was lucky. Summoning every bit of her strength, Aimée grabbed the highest branch, hoisted her weight and swung her legs over to the wall ledge.
On the other side of the wall, a dark, quiet street. With no time to think or prepare for the impact, she jumped, aiming for the roof of a truck parked on the sidewalk, hoping she’d only end up with a few broken limbs.
She landed, her legs buckling and her body crunching the metal. She slid and slipped down the dust-and leaf-covered windshield. Her jacket caught on the wipers, and she felt her sleeve tear. Nothing hurt. Yet. Moments later, she climbed off the truck’s hood and ran.
At the end of the street, she saw the distinctive cat’s eye headlights of René’s Citro?n DS. Any moment now, they’d catch sight of her, realize where she’d gone. She pumped her legs. Panted as her rib cramped. Taking a breath hurt. Go, she had to keep going.
The Citro?n’s front passenger door swung open. She jumped in and René took off, gunning the engine, before she could shut the door.
“Did I see that right—you slid down the windshield of a bakery truck?” René took a sharp turn onto rue Vaneau. Braked and swerved, avoiding a truck.
“Well, I didn’t have the keys to get in, did I?” She panted, catching her breath. “Get the hell out of here, René.”
“Why did I ask?” René turned on the police scanner clipped under the dashboard.
Her rib throbbed. “Anyone behind us?”
René checked the rearview mirror. “Not yet.”
“There’s a cover-up, René. Drina told me.”
“And I had my palm read,” he said.
Monday, Midnight
TWO FIGURES HUDDLED in the shadows on a bench on the Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower glimmering yellow-orange through the trees behind them. Low-lying mist shrouded the deserted park’s gravel paths.
“There’s a little trouble.”
“More than a little trouble on both ends.” Tesla lowered his voice. “The big mouth’s going to print with his tell-all memoir.”
“That’s my problem, I’ve handled that. Everything’s under control.” The other man pulled his coat collar up against the chill. “You need to take care of your end.”
Tesla turned, his gaze sweeping the gravel path. “Don’t worry.”
“Do I need to remind you?”
Tesla shook his head.
“We’ve dealt with these things before, haven’t we? Or have you lost your touch?”
“That was years ago, I don’t do that now.”
“Then you’d prefer Larco and my people to handle it?”
“Shhh, no names.”
“He gets overexcited. You know what I mean, non?”
Tesla punched the bench.
“Is that a no or a yes?”
Tesla’s shoulders heaved. Why, why hadn’t he refused years ago? “Just kill me now.”
“So you want our friend to …?”
“Non, Fifi.” Tesla sighed. “Like always, you win.”
Monday, Midnight
AIMéE WALKED INTO her salon, patting Chloé’s back after feeding her, a clean burp cloth over her shoulder. “Alerted the troops, René?”
“Media’s on board.” René sat on the recamier, his laptop beside him, his cell phone to his ear. Candles flickered on the sideboard.
Chloé burped loud and long. “Et voilà, ma puce. Back to sleep.”
René gave Chloé an approving goodnight kiss.