by Vonnie Davis
“I hope I can have more than soup. I’m starving and…” Her gaze snagged on the damage to the tree where the delivery truck crashed. Emergency crews had removed the vehicle. Her expression changed. “A man died today. Right here.” A sob escaped, and his heart cracked.
He drew her into his arms. “Don’t cry for him. He doesn’t deserve your tears. Bazel murdered many innocent women and children. He was intent on running us down. I had to stop him. To keep you safe, I had to make a snap decision. I had no choice.” He ran his hand slowly up and down her back, hoping to soothe her. Finally, she pulled away.
“Wasn’t he still a human being?” She speared him with those soft blue eyes.
“No, he was an animal, a cruel, sadistic animal. The bastard deserved to die.” The level of hatred in his voice caused him to wince. When had he become so calloused? When he lost Hae-Won.
She touched his face with her fingertips for just an instant. “Look, I’m sure all you say is true, but he was still someone’s child, someone’s brother. It’s them we should mourn for, isn’t it? Not him.”
He stood there for a few beats, digesting her words before escorting her down the boulevard. “You’re a warm-hearted person in a cold-hearted world, Aly. I see too much, know too much to agree with you.”
“Very well. I suppose I should thank you for saving me. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I live a quiet, orderly life. Nothing like what I’ve experienced today.”
“Come on, we’ll stroll down to the Saint Severn. There we’ll sit and watch the world go by. I’ll feed you until you can’t swallow another bite. Then we’ll walk to Shakespeare and Company so you can buy your book. We’ll step across the Seine to the Notre Dame. After that, we’ll take a taxi back to my car.”
“You mean it? Shakespeare and Company and the Notre Dame?”
“Isn’t that what you planned for today? If we allow terrorists to change your plans, they win. I never let the terrorists win. Never. I’ll protect you just like I promised. We’ll salvage the rest of the day so you have some good memories to take home with you.”
“Thank you. That means a lot. Meeting Marie-Clare was a real treat, a good part of my day. We formed an instant bond.”
He scowled. “Are you saying it wasn’t a treat to meet me?” He waited for her reply, not sure why it mattered, but damn, it did.
“I think I’ll reserve judgment on that.” Aly stopped to admire the display windows at Cote á Cote, a boutique one of his sisters favored. Her gaze swept over mannequins outfitted in narrow dark jeans and long sweaters with Hermes scarves. Her quick perusal stopped on a simple strapless black dress with a bow at the band of the neckline. Recalling how she fell for the Pradas with the bows at the heels, the soft woman evidently had a weakness for bows.
Aly sighed and shook her head before taking off again. “Aren’t we going to talk about it?” She was getting the hang of walking in her heels. Her posture had improved dramatically, and he wanted to hang back a step or two just to lust over the view. What a fine ass she has. Focus, man, focus.
Niko slipped his free arm around her waist. “Talk about what?”
“The man who was following us. How did you know we were being followed?”
“I saw him when we exited the shoe store. He was standing next to a newspaper kiosk smoking a cigarette. Middle-eastern descent. Black T-shirt, khaki pants and brown sneakers. Tattoo of a vulture carrying a bomb in its claws on his forearm.”
Aly scrutinized him. “You saw all that in a glance?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do. Observe, detect and apprehend. When we walked out onto the street from Simone’s shop, he was leaning against a tree further up the street. Evidently he waited on us while we were inside. It became obvious he was following us.” He glanced around, making sure they weren’t being followed now.
“Our café is ahead. See the black and red awnings over the seating area? Are you ready for a glass of wine?”
“After what we’ve been through today? Are you kidding?”
Niko led her to one of the tables facing the boulevard and pulled out a woven wicker chair for her. He sat with his back to the café windows so he could watch the street. A waiter in a black suit quickly appeared and took their order. Within minutes, he set glasses of aged Chablis on their table.
Niko lifted his glass. “A toast. To safety and friendship.”
Aly smiled. “Yes, to safety and friendship.” They clinked their glasses before sipping. “This is certainly a busy area.”
“This is Place Michel. Many college students congregate here.” Niko motioned with his wineglass. “They often gather at the base of the fountain at the Saint Michel statue across the street, play instruments, and argue current events. Young people here are passionate about politics. It has always been so. This is where my parents met.”
“Really? To fall in love in Paris.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine how memorable that would be.” She rummaged in her shoulder bag and removed her camera. “I want to get some pictures of the area.” After snapping some of the Saint Michel monument, she turned and took a couple of him. He favored her with a smile before his hand snaked out to take the camera.
Framing her pretty face in the view finder, he snapped three photos. “Cross your legs. Let me take a picture of your new Pradas.” He watched her face sweetly blush as she shook her head, but he was rarely deterred once he made up his mind. “Ruthless,” his colleagues called him. “Relentless.”
Niko beamed what his mother called his “persuasive smile.” He ran a finger over her knuckles.“One picture to show your sister the fruits of your shopping trip. We can e-mail it to her.” She complied, but not without huffing out a breath and rolling her eyes. In rapid succession, he took several pictures of her shapely legs. Legs that were a man’s fantasy. He felt himself harden for about the twelfth time since he met her. She had his libido in overdrive. He figured she hadn’t a clue how great her legs were. If she did she’d never have bought those flip flops.
The waiter served steaming bowls of French onion soup, fragrant with cooked onions in beef broth with melted provolone and cheddar cheese on top.
When she lifted her soup spoon, Niko placed a hand on hers. “Best to let it cool for a while. The melted cheese captures the heat of the rich broth. You’ll burn your tongue.” He motioned toward the street. “Parisians call Boulevard Saint Michel ‘boul Mich.’ It’s the dividing point between the fifth and sixth arrondissements.”
She lifted her wineglass and held it midway to her lips. “I love the sound of many French words. Arrondissements is one of them. Means neighborhoods, doesn’t it?”
“Region or sections would be more like it. Paris is divided into fourteen of them.”
“What amazes me is some of the arrondissements have no gas stations, yet there are so many cars.”
He nodded, his gaze scanning the crowd. “Yes. Our petrol stations are mainly on the outskirts of the city. Not all, of course, but most.”
Aly’s phone played “Take a Chance on Me,” and she rolled her eyes. “Excuse me. No doubt that’s my sister. I didn’t check in at our pre-arranged time.” She retrieved her iPhone from her purse, touching her finger to the screen. “Hello, Gwen…yes, I’m fine.” She sipped her wine. “Uh-huh. I know I was supposed to call, but it’s been an eventful day. What? You heard about it on the news?” Her gaze slid to Niko’s, and she held the phone to her breasts. Niko’s eyes watched her movement, wishing he was her damned cell phone.
“The incident at the Louvre was on the news back home! I was on the news. Me.” She spoke into her phone again. “Calm down. I’m fine. Did Dad see the news?” Her eyes closed and she groaned. “Guess he’s ranting about how I should have listened to him and traveled to the Grand Canyon. Kept my feet on American soil and all that rubbish he preaches. Don’t worry about me, please. I’m fine.”
“Hand me the phone.” He motioned with his hand. “I’ll reassure her.” Aly gave him her cell. “
Bonjour, Mademoiselle Gwen. This is Captain Niko Reynard, second in command of the French counterterrorism unit. Please rest assured your sister is unharmed and will remain under my protection while she is in France.”
There were a few beats of silence. “Why does my sister need protection?” She had the same alluring Southern accent as Aly, soft and charming with tones of steel beneath the softness.
“She identified the terrorist with a sketch and…”
“You told him this?”
“No one told him, but the two of them did make eye contact. He probably knows she can give a description. With that in mind, Aly’s been placed under my protection.”
“Aly. You call her Aly?”
Niko pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. Sisters, they were the same everywhere—nosy, opinionated and scheming. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” The woman could create a complete sentence the way she drawled out the expression. “Tell me, are you married, Niko?” Her voice seemed to purr. He could almost hear the gears in her mind grinding and clacking across the Atlantic Ocean.
“No.” Damn. I know where this is heading.
“Uh-huh.” Another Southern twang infused sentence. He couldn’t help himself; he smiled. He could almost visualize her standing in her home in America with a hand fisted on her hip. “Just how old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
For some reason, his mouth went dry as Caesar’s dust. He took a long gulp of wine and choked. “Th…thirty. I’m thirty years old.”
Aly clasped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and her face flashing crimson. Evidently, she knew her sister.
Well, two could play at this. He’d embarrass her as well as she did him—and Aly. “Gwen, you know that red thong you gave Aly?” He lowered his voice to a sensual level. “Excellent choice. Most excellent.” He heard her gasp before he ended the call and slid the phone across the tiny table.
Chapter Five
“I can’t believe you told my sister that. What will she think?” Great. Gwen would have them married in six weeks. She was probably on the phone with someone right now spreading the word.
Niko dipped a spoon into his soup. “People will always think whatever they want. Your sister was worried about you. I merely directed her mind toward a different topic. Eat your soup.”
“Please don’t order me around as if I’m senseless. I’m older than you, after all.” She was still pissed over his remark about the red thong. Gwen was undoubtedly dreaming all kinds of sexual scenarios.
His spoon stilled in front of his very delectable lips. “Age is just a number. In Europe we don’t concern ourselves with such things. I didn’t mean to tell you what to do. Is that what your ex-husband did? Order you about?”
She nodded as she savored the best onion soup she’d ever had. “Oh, this is wonderful.”
He dipped his spoon into the beef broth. “I was hoping you’d like it. I stop here quite often for this soup whenever I’m working out of the Paris office.”
“Do you travel often in your job?”
“Not as much as I used to since I’ve been assigned to this unit, but it’s still more often than I like. It gets wearisome after a while, living out of a suitcase. A strange bed every few nights. Enough about me. We’re getting off topic. You were going to tell me about your ex-husband.”
“Was I? Or does your prying nature as an officer of the law have to know?”
“Are you saying I’m nosy like my sister?” He licked the melted cheese off his spoon, his eyes locked on hers.
She watched his tongue slowly move over the spoon and the moisture in her mouth traveled south. She had a quick visual of all the naughty, delightful things he could do with that tongue. Fighting back the urge to groan, she pressed her linen napkin to her lips.
“Or are you merely avoiding the issue?” He wasn’t going to let the subject drop.
“Perhaps.” She shrugged and looked up at four young men walking by. “I came to Paris to get away from the questions and the memories. Believe me, finding out someone you thought you knew is an entirely different person knocks you off your axis. Suddenly your whole life is in question.”
Niko waved the waiter over and ordered another glass of wine. “Would you care for another, Aly?”
“Yes, please.”
His eyes scanned the area even as he spoke. “What questions are you asking yourself?”
“Oh, mostly if I’m any judge of character. Charles—”she shook her head, recalling the way he told her he was known as Chaz within the gay community “—Chaz, as he goes by now, and I dated for two years prior to our marriage. We knew each other for over fifteen years. Why didn’t I see the signs?” She could now in hindsight. Being held at arm’s length. The lack of passion. Resisting her pleas to start a family. The criticisms of her femininity.
Niko laid his hand over hers. “If someone wants to hide what or who they truly are, they become experts at evasion. Don’t be so hard on yourself. How could you possibly see through a lifetime of secrets? We all have trouble doing that. I’m trained to, but at times I fail. Someone like you, someone sweet and gentle, would see only the good in others.”
“Is that how you see me? Sweet and gentle?”
“I see you as satin over steel. It’s a captivating image, don’t you think?”
The waiter appeared with their wine, and their conversation stopped. She looked at Niko while he conversed with the server and mulled over his description of her. It was strange he saw her that way, because she learned over the past year how strong she could be. She was a survivor and quite proud of it, even though very few people in her life saw her that way. Odd he could zero in on that quality when they only just met.
How would she describe Niko? Determined, for sure. Arrogant, without a doubt. Yet beneath his hard exterior was a man devoted to his family; it was that revelation that made him appealing. He exuded a quality of sagacity. Just how had a man so young become so wise? It was almost as if he could see into her soul to unravel her secrets.
She was surprised and secretly touched he was taking her side as if he were defending her. Few of her family and friends had. They insisted she should have known Chaz was homosexual had she only opened her eyes and paid attention. Yet none of them had ever voiced their concerns or suspicions to her.
His homosexuality wasn’t the issue. People’s sexuality was of no concern to her. She was a proponent of equal treatment and equal rights for all. However, it was his lies about his feelings, his pretending to love her when he didn’t and ultimately his breaking their vows in their marriage bed that destroyed her feelings of value as a woman. If only he was brave enough, man enough to come out of the closet before they married. He hadn’t. Instead, he’d lived a lie, destroyed her life and broke her heart. Truth be told, the man snuffed out her sensual nature with his coldness.
Yet here at a sidewalk café in Paris, sitting across from a very handsome, attentive male, while she wore high heels and a red thong, she felt very feminine. Almost alluring. She smiled into her wineglass before she sipped. How utterly delightful.
“Do you still live in the same town? You and Chaz?” Niko sat back as the waiter placed their entrees in front of them—baked flounder topped with crabmeat, almonds and fresh rosemary, surrounded by steamed broccoli florets.
“For now. That’s one of the things I wanted to decide on my trip. Well, two things, actually. Do I want to remain in Asheville and do I want to keep teaching?” She’d moved into an apartment after the breakup. Staying in the house she once shared with her errant husband meant using the shower he used with his lover, to say nothing of the bed. There was no way she could do that. Every time she opened the shower door she remembered finding Chaz on his knees in front of his lover.
She left school early that day, in pain from her endometriosis. When she went upstairs, she heard a man moaning in the shower. Normally Charles was at the office where he ran a very successful construction firm. Conce
rned he might be ill, she hurried into the master bedroom, noticed the untidy bed and headed for their bathroom. Just as she was about to call out to her husband to ask if he were all right, she heard a strange male voice. “Oh, Chaz, you naughty boy!” No, she couldn’t stay in the house with that memory. The day she moved out, check in hand for her half of the house, the beach condo and boat, he moved his lover in.
Niko speared a broccoli floret. “Why would you leave teaching? Don’t you like it?” His question jarred her from the past, bringing her back to the present.
“I did when I started, but the students have changed these last thirteen years. They’re ruder, more violent, less respectful. And lazy. So incredibly lazy.” She took a bite of the flounder. “Oh this is fabulous. After all that running and emotional turmoil, I’m starved.”
“What would you do if you left teaching? You sketch quite well. People at Interpol remarked about the quality of your drawing of Dembri. Your attention to detail, recalling the scar through his left eyebrow in that sketch, is what evidently caught the attention of the computer when the analyst ran a match. Plastic surgery Dembri had didn’t correct that. So are you thinking of pursuing your art?”
Was the man crazy? “Live off my sketches? That’s not a very viable option.” Oh, but it was a secret dream. She had money from her divorce settlement, but she hated to dip into that until she made a final decision on where to live. Maybe she’d buy a townhouse or condo.
He sipped his wine, staring at her over the rim of his wineglass. “If one has talent, one should pursue it.” After taking another sip, he set the glass on the café table. “In France, being an artist of any kind is an honorable and desirable profession. Of course, you may have to work part-time at something else to pay the bills. At least until you’re discovered. In the meantime, your artistic soul will soar with happiness. You’ll be happy, Aly. Serene. Fulfilled. Maybe you could move back to New York City, rent a little apartment and work at your art.”