Agata held her jaw together as unexpected laughter shook her. “What does your voice talk about?”
Warren rolled his eyes and spun and walked on.
“Oh, right,” she said, keeping up with him. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”
Again, he didn’t answer immediately. When he did, he didn’t look at her. That was par for the course. “It’s only a stupid question if you’re an addict. If you’re not, you just don’t get it.”
“I have no doubt,” Agata said carefully.
“It’s not the coke, or the scotch, though. Not really.” He spoke as if he was talking to himself. “It’s what they give me. Gave me.”
“Escape?” Agata asked.
“Numbness.”
“The temple does what the rain does,” Agata said. “It muffles the voice.”
He glanced at her. His nod was tiny. Then he looked ahead. “Shouldn’t you be three paces back, Kelsey?”
She let him get three paces ahead once more.
That had been in July. After that, Warren grew chattier on his way to the temple, but always with the underlying defensiveness which left scorch marks on her hide.
Wednesdays. Jesus, she hated them. Warren never failed to prick her temper or leave her speechless. Only, they were locked in this pattern, now, bound by secrets.
On the last Wednesday—although Agata didn’t know it was the last one when the day started out—she dressed warmly. It was late November, and there had been an uncharacteristic dusting of snow overnight. All the TV channels gabbled about global warming. The streets were a white nightmare. Screw fashion. Sturdy snow boots were the choice of even the most chic French women.
Thomas Roe, who was from Florida, bitched about the cold in between sneezing and sniffling. Agata resisted the need to tell him to put on a pair of big-boy panties and get over himself.
She wore a faux fur jerkin over her winter white snow pants and jacket, which gave her an easy-access place to stash her gun and still keep the jacket zipped closed. It let her blend into the Parisian streets, too.
In the café, she paused at Warren’s table, her coffee cup in hand. “Heading out at noon today, Mr. Warren?”
“It’s Wednesday, Kelsey,” he growled, not lifting his gaze from the tablet propped against his books. “You figure it out.” A heavy coat hung over the opposite chair, and gloves and a scarf laid on the seat. Warren wore warm boots beneath his jeans and a collared shirt beneath his sweater.
Yeah, he was heading out.
Agata suppressed her sigh. He was the protectee. If he wanted to subject himself to a fifty minute walk in sub-freezing temperatures, she had to suck it up, just as Thomas Roe did. She wasn’t looking forward to the ninety minute wait out on the street, though.
Shortly before noon, she made sure she was at the fire exit door as usual. She had heavy duty gloves shoved into the pockets of her jerkin. She wound a long scarf around her neck and pulled a slouchy hat over her hair.
“It’s already plus three Celsius out here, Kelsey,” Warren growled, as he shoved his bare hands into the pockets of his coat and strode toward the alley.
“You don’t have to stand out in it for two hours,” she pointed out. “After thirty minutes, even plus three is miserable.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, startled. It was the last thing he said that morning.
[6]
Gentilly, Paris, France. A few minutes later.
Cain tried to ignore the nagging reminder that Kelsey was freezing out in the street, watching his rear, while he got to meditate in warm air, redolent with the smell of citrus, which reminded him of summer and hot sand between his toes.
Standing about waiting for him was her job, he reminded himself as the thought re-entered his mind. He tried to release the thought and let it pass on, the way he had been taught. Only, he couldn’t feel the sand between his toes anymore.
Maybe he should tell her to sit in the foyer, downstairs. At least it would be warmer.
Cain resisted the urge to swear a blue streak and opened his eyes. He just couldn’t disengage today. It was always a struggle, only he could already tell that today he would lose the war.
Master Tylanni settled in front of him, crossing her feet and tucking them beneath her white-clad knees. Her placid gaze met his. Her smile was gentle…and knowing. She touched the tips of her fingers to the corners of her eyes.
Watch my eyes.
Cain nodded and let out his breath. One…breathe…two…breathe…three…breathe… The mantra was another way of letting extraneous thoughts go. Tylanni’s eyes were steady, calm. He focused on the dark pupils, traced the veins in the whites, and let go of the knowledge that she watched him. Her eyes were just patterns to trace, like the flame of a candle, which he had first used for meditation.
A woman screamed. A man shouted—both of them from downstairs. The woman’s scream was cut off by a low, hard burping sound which Cain recognized.
It was silenced gunfire.
Tylanni’s eyes widened as a second shot sounded. She jerked at the third shot.
“Quickly,” Cain told her, getting to his feet. “Out the windows and down to the street.”
“Shoes…” Tylanni said. Her tone was calm, even though she flinched with every shot which sounded from downstairs. The other students were stirring, getting to their feet. They were civilians, peace-seekers. They couldn’t encompass that someone was shooting people, let alone grasp the idea of immediate and massive action to escape themselves.
“We’ll survive for a while without them. It’s not freezing out there anymore.” He turned her around by her shoulders and gave her a small nudge. Everyone here would follow Tylanni, for they had been trained to listen to the Bhikkuni.
When another shot sounded from the foot of the stairs, Cain added, “Hurry!”
Tylanni hurried, finally stirred to action.
Cain whirled and moved to the big windows. They were closed against the cold, although the shutters were open, letting in the bright afternoon light. He looked across the street, at the doorstep where Kelsey usually lingered.
The doorway was empty. Was he on his own? Had she succumbed to the cold and gone in search of shelter? Or was she as stupidly rule-bound as he suspected and was right now trying to take on an armed intruder all by herself?
Cain whirled and ran for the room at the other end of the house where Tylanni would be pushing students out the window, onto the roof below, then to the ground. He glanced at the stairwell as he passed the opening, and saw a white blond head appear. The man was on the landing!
Cain lunged forward, his heart slamming hard. Before he could reach the passage on the other side of the stairwell, a bullet zinged passed his nose and buried itself in the opposite wall. Plaster dust sprinkled the floor.
Cain lurched back out of the way, even as he cursed himself for his dusty instincts. He should have thrown himself forward, into the passage.
“That’s far enough,” the man on the landing said, as he climbed the stairs one at a time. He spoke English with a heavy accent, although he hadn’t said enough for Cain to identify it, yet.
Cain held up his hands. If he stayed here, then it would give Tylanni time to get everyone else out safely. “I don’t have any money. No one here does.”
The white-haired man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were a perfect and utterly lifeless blue, above high, harsh cheekbones and hollow cheeks. “Oh, you have a great deal of money, Cain Ishmael Warren.”
Russian. The man’s accent was Russian. Cain swallowed. His heart gave a sickening jolt. “Me. You want me…” All this time, Kelsey had been right. He was a target, after all.
He was in it now. Calm descended. He lowered his hands. He was of no use as leverage if he was dead, so the man wasn’t about to shoot him for dropping his hands. “Who are you working for?”
The man raised the silenced pistol and pointed it at Cain. “Come here.”
There was no point resisting
. Not yet. Cain moved to where the man stood at the top of the stairs, until the pistol was mere inches from his head. He looked him in the eyes. They were still lifeless, even while the man had a gun pointed at someone’s head. He wasn’t a crazed killer. He was a cold one.
Cain had met men like this one before. They didn’t operate under normal human values. He had learned to step around such men and not say anything to annoy them.
His heart thudded hard. His throat was dry. The longing for a drink gripped him and squeezed, with more power and insistence than he had felt for a long time. Cain ignored the yammering in his mind. It would go away if he did. “There’s no point killing me,” he told the white-haired man. “I’m useless to you, dead.”
“On the contrary,” the man said, his tone conversational. “You’ve already filled your purpose, Cain Warren.”
Cain was genuinely startled. “I have?”
“I have you in my sight, asshole,” Kelsey said, from the foot of the stairs. She had to be twisted around the corner of the stairwell, and sighting directly up between the stairs to where the man stood. Had he stopped on the top landing to entice her?
Sweat prickled Cain’s temples. “He’s holding a Makarov with a silencer.” It was an antique, yet a vicious weapon, all the same. Cain had only ever seen photos of them before.
“And there she is…” the man said, sounding happy.
Cain sucked in his shock, smothering it. He had to think. There she is…. The man had been waiting for Kelsey to arrive.
“Throw down your gun,” Kelsey said. “Then we can talk.”
Cain held in his reaction as he recognized Kelsey’s lie. She would shoot to kill as soon as she got a clear shot. It was her job—at least, she thought it was.
He sucked in a deep breath and yelled. “Don’t show yourself, Kelsey! I’m not the target!”
Silence.
The white-haired man chuckled. “And now he sees.” He waved the pistol, and fear prickled at the base of Cain’s spine, because now he knew he was disposable. He was leverage, only this had nothing to do with his father.
The white-haired man leaned to his right, to snatch a glance down the stairwell. Immediately, Kelsey’s Glock barked.
He straightened up and gave a chuckle. “Warren is correct, Officer Kelsey. I do have a gun trained on him. It’s simple. Him for you. Throw your Glock onto the landing, then climb the stairs one at a time.”
Kelsey laughed. “Please, please, shoot the fucker for me. He’s a waste of air.”
Cain’s gut clamped. His heart gave a little lurch. She was just saying it to slow the man down…wasn’t she? Only, it was exactly what Kelsey would say. She was ruthlessly truthful, after all.
The white-haired man tilted his head, considering Cain. He raised both brows, looking rueful and amused. “If you insist.” He lifted the gun and Cain’s heart stopped.
“No, wait! Wait!” Kelsey cried.
Cain closed his eyes. His relief made his knees weak and his guts watery.
The white-haired man’s smile was knowing. “Throw the gun,” he told her.
Cain heard the Glock drop onto the rug on the landing with a heavy thud.
“Pockets, too,” the man said.
Another heavy knocking sound and a clash of metal. Keys, Cain guessed.
“That’s it,” Kelsey said.
“Up,” the man said, waving the silencer to indicate the stairs. “Slowly, one step at a time.”
Cain knew the moment Kelsey came into view, for the Makarov swiveled smoothly from pointing at Cain’s head, to swing down at the stairs.
“Watch out!” Cain shouted, as the man fired. Cain threw himself backward and into the class room, out of the direct line of the man’s fire.
The shots were louder, now, because the silencer had been used too many times, compressing the insulation and making it useless. Louder still, though, was the impact of a heavy object on the landing outside the door.
Silence.
“You can come out now,” Tylanni called, in French.
Cain peered around the door. The white-haired man laid on the carpet, his eyes fluttering, his fingers making weak motions at the carpet. Tylanni stood at his feet, a jade statue of the Buddha in her hands.
Kelsey tore up the stairs two at a time, picking up the Glock as she went. She pointed it at the man, then shook her head. “Call the police,” she told Tylanni and grabbed Cain’s sleeve and tugged. “Hurry.”
“We’re leaving?” Cain asked her, bemused.
“No time. Hurry up!” She was pulling heavily enough to make him lurch forward.
He thrust out his foot at the top of the stairs, before he tumbled down them. “Kelsey, there are dead people below. We can’t just leave!”
“I don’t have time to explain,” Kelsey said and hauled once more.
Cain staggered down three steps, to prevent her from rolling him down the whole flight. She pulled at him once more.
Cain glanced behind him, iron-heavy reluctance weighing every muscle.
Tylanni’s expression was grim, but calm. She nodded and waved him away, with a shooing gesture.
Dismay fought with instinct. He couldn’t just leave. That was what the old version of him would do.
Only Kelsey’s grip on the sleeve of his shirt was insistent. For a hundred-pound stripling, she had astonishing strength. They stumbled and slid down to the landing. Then Kelsey bent and scooped up the key chain with her left hand and fumbled it. “Motherfucker…” she breathed and grabbed it again.
“I thought we were in a hurry?” Cain demanded.
She snatched up the keys and shoved them in some sort of joey pocket on the front of her furry vest and shoved at his shoulder. “Go!”
He let her push him down the second half of the flight, his heels sliding on the curved carpet covering the edges of the stairs. At the bottom, his feet stinging, he pushed into the foyer, where his boots and coat were.
As soon as he opened the door, something cracked and glass tinkled. An invisible hand slapped the wall by his ear.
“Back!” Kelsey shouted.
Cain lurched back and Kelsey slipped into the doorway where he had been standing. She thrust her Glock through the opening and fired. More glass cracked.
“Stay there!” Kelsey yelled and leaped through the doorway.
Cain listened to the exchange of gunfire behind the door and realized he was shaking. Adrenaline. That was all.
Kelsey threw herself back through the door. She carried Cain’s coat and scarf and his boots. She thrust the boots at him.
He didn’t need to have it explained. He shoved his feet into them, and stuffed the socks into his pocket. He could put them on later, when he had time. He tied them swiftly. When he straightened, Kelsey was already holding out his coat for him to slide his arms into it.
He threw it on, as the scarf landed around his neck, tossed from behind. Kelsey pushed past him and made for the back door, which was actually on the side of the house.
“There’s probably someone out there, too,” Cain murmured.
“Probably. While there’s certainly someone upstairs with murderous intent,” Kelsey shot back. “I’ll take probably over certainly. We have to get out of here, Warren.”
“It was you he was after,” Cain pointed out, as she eased herself around the corner and into the back room where the door was located.
“You’ve seen his face,” Kelsey called back. “Come in. Watch your step.”
Cain followed her into the room and paused just inside the door. This was the social room…or it had been. The back door stood ajar. Five people laid on the floor and the sofas, dead or dying.
The sharp coppery scent of hot blood hit him like a blast of air. His heart creaked. Images he’d thought he’d locked away broke out and yammered at him. Sounds, sights he never wanted to see or hear ever again. The weight of her on his knees. The stickiness of the blood. The coldness of her flesh…
Kelsey grabbed his arm. “
Just look at me,” she told him, leading him forward. “There’s nothing you can do for them. Not now. He was just clearing a path through them. You, though, he will chase to the ends of the earth, because you’ve seen his face now.”
Cain swallowed, letting her walk him forward. He had to follow her lead, because the images were screaming at him, flashing repeatedly, making him remember.
“The cops can’t help,” Kelsey added. “Nor can Harry. This is beyond his pay grade. He’s not set up to handle it. So you will come with me, until I can sort it out. Okay, Warren?”
Cain made himself nod. He could hear everything she said. He just wasn’t sure he could talk. Not yet. The horror gripped his throat and squeezed.
Kelsey paused with one foot outside the door. Her green eyes glittered as she measured him. “Can you run and climb for a while?”
He reached for sarcasm. It was defensive, he knew that, but it gave him his voice back. “I was an Olympic athlete, Kelsey. What do you think?”
Kelsey nodded, pleased. “Follow me.” She took off with the speed of a bullet from a gun, leaving Cain to follow in her wake.
[7]
Latin Quarter, Paris, France. Same day.
The hotel room was anonymous and seedy, and rented by the hour, which meant no one cared who came and went, as long as the rent was paid. The room was also on the first floor, with a tiny balcony and French doors. Zima could swing himself up to the balcony from the ground. It let them move in and out of the hotel without their movements being noticed.
It took two hours to double back around to the hotel. The concentric circles of police and other authorities focused upon the temple had forced him to cross the Seine twice to avoid them.
Marie and Reno were already back in the room waiting for him. It meant neither of them had good news.
Marie’s red lips pursed into a disapproving rosebud. “You killed the priest, too?”
“She saw my face.” Zima shrugged and pulled the Makarov out of his coat and tossed it on the bed. “Clean that,” he told Reno.
Reno pushed his glasses up his nose. “Silencer?”
Inside Man Page 6