“Good. Can I take the jacket—”
“No!”
He felt her lift her clothes from his hands, one by one, then she pulled the jacket from his head. She looked fabulous. Her long curls coiled over her shoulders with devil-may-care abandon. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips bright pink from the heat of the shower.
Her smile hit him full on. It broadened slowly, growing in intensity, spreading outward, lifting the corners of her mouth, pronouncing her dimples, framing the glint in her sparkling eyes. She patted him on the arm. “Thanks.”
He gulped before speaking. “Nits nar nat problem.”
“Huh?”
He gulped again. “Nits not a problem.”
She frowned. “Right.”
He stood awkward for a few moments.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?”
“A shower. Are you going to have a shower?”
“Yes, right.” He turned to the shower. “Are you going to—”
“Look away? Ewww, yes. Of course.” She turned around to face the same corner as he had. “I’ve got my eyes closed.”
He removed his coat, decided not to ask her to place it over her head as she had done to him, and hung it on a peg on the wall. Then he took his shirt and jeans off and self-consciously folded his boxer shorts inside them. There was nowhere to put them.
“Would you hold my clothes?”
She nodded and held out her arms.
He flipped the lever that started the water. It was lukewarm. The soap was in a push button dispenser and he quickly covered himself in lather. He shivered. “Takes a while to warm up, doesn’t it.”
“You only get one shower for your euros.”
“Oh, thanks. Vital tip that.”
“You were the one that jumped in.”
He tried to keep his back to her. “This is getting bloody cold.”
“Hey, you have a scar.”
“I thought you had your eyes closed!”
“I can’t stand here all this time with my eyes closed. It’s not normal. How did you get your scar?”
“Fell out of a tree and tore up my shoulder when I was young.”
“No, not the one on your shoulder. The one on your bu—”
He crunched up, covering himself. “Do you mind?”
“I was only trying to make conversation.”
The water was freezing now. The overhead fan was still blasting away. He could feel his skin prickling with the cold. He swept a blob of shampoo through his hair and rinsed it away immediately, thrashing his hands to clear the soap off his body. He snapped the tap to off and ran his hands over his body to wipe off the water. “God, I’m cold.”
“Turn on the dryer,” she said.
He pressed the button and nothing. He pressed again. Then he thumped and banged it. Nothing happened. He was shivering uncontrollably. “Oh, god. One shower, one run of the dryer.” He ran his hands over his body, trying to ward off the cold and flicking more water onto the sopping wet floor.
She leaned over to the sink and pulled a handful of paper towels from a dispenser. “Here.”
“Are you closing your eyes at all?”
“Will you stop being a wimp?”
She juggled the towels in her hand and backward-passed them to him. At the same moment his clothes fell out of her other hand.
He dived to grab them from the wet floor. She did the same. Their heads cracked, his eye socket against the back of her skull. A storm of twinkling lights erupted in his vision and darkness threatened to overcome him. He slid down and sat on the floor. “Oh, god, why’d you do that?”
She picked up his clothes from the wet floor. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
He grunted and held his head in his hands.
“Wow. You’ve got abs,” she said.
He sighed. “Everyone’s got abs.”
“Yeah, but not ones you can see.”
He drew his knees up to his chest. “That’s because I’ve got no clothes on.”
“I meant—”
There was an insistent knocking at the door followed by Little’s high-pitched squeak. “You two are wasting time.”
Piers rolled his head forward. “Oh, shit.” The twinkling lights swam around in circles.
“Go away,” said Sidney, “we’re busy.”
“So I can hear. You two lovebirds might be having fun, but you’re wasting time. Get out here.”
“Oh, god. Give me my clothes,” said Piers. He heard a burst of schoolgirl sniggers from outside.
Sidney turned away and held out his clothes. He wiped himself down with the paper towels and wrestled on his clothes. They were wet, he was wet, and they refused to fit, but eventually he was clothed.
He looked in the mirror and flattened his hair. There was swelling around his eyebrow, he could feel and see it.
“What are you going to tell them?” said Sidney.
“Why me?”
“Oh come on, you’re the best at talking to them. You know you are.”
He looked at her and sighed.
She gave a bright smile and waved a scrap of paper. “I’ve got his address,” she whispered.
Piers read it. “You know where this is?”
She nodded as she straightened his jacket. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and pressed the lever that opened the door.
Little and Large were stood outside. The small guy had a smug grin and he sniggered at the sight of them. “Finished, are we?”
“At least they’ve had a shower.” Large said, nudging Little.
Little screwed up his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know, they’re clean.”
“You trying to say I’m not clean? I’m clean. I had a shower this morning.”
“Yeah, this morning, but not every morning.”
“Well, that’s just not … oh, never mind.” The small guy scowled and turned back to Piers. “The boss wants his stuff back.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly what stuff are we talking about?”
“Don’t get all intellectual with me. I don’t go for that sort of thing.”
Large grinned.
Piers said nothing and stared at Little.
The small guy shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Well.”
“Well what?” Piers said. “If we don’t know what the stuff is, how can we give it back?”
“The boss thinks you were in on this. So you must know where it is.”
Piers sighed. “Is this stuff a painting?”
Little squared himself up. “Course it’s the bloody painting.”
“And does this painting have anything to do with the shooting at Gare de l’Est?”
“Oh, whoa! We weren’t there. We didn’t have anything to do with that. Nothing. Understand?”
“So the painting doesn’t have anything to do with that shooting?”
“Well, I didn’t say that. Just that we didn’t have anything to do with what happened up there. Whatever it was. Which we really don’t know about because we weren’t there.”
Large leaned down close to Little’s ear. “They get the idea.”
Piers couldn’t help himself. “Are you two trained killers?”
Little took a half step backward and puffed up his chest. “What kind of question is that? Do you really think I’m going to answer that? Would a trained killer really tell you?”
Large bumped Little on the shoulder. “I haven’t been trained.”
“What? A giant like you? You don’t need training.”
“So, you’re not killers?” Piers said.
“Wait up, lover boy. Let’s just say you don’t want to risk anything breakable in my hands, if you know what I mean.”
Piers blew out a long breath. “Oh yeah, I know what you mean.”
Little gave a smug grin. “I’ll bet you do. So let’s have some results before we have to do something very nast
y with you, lover boy.”
Chapter 13
Rain forced Piers and Sidney to shelter under the awning of a small shop, but it washed the trash from the gutters, and to Piers’ relief, many of the pedestrians from the streets. He adjusted his jeans. They were still damp from the shower. He pulled out the paper with Auguste’s address. “How far is it to his place?”
Sidney shook her head. “We need to get clean clothes first, or has your nose stopped working?”
Piers shoulders sagged. “I know, but we’re under a little pressure here. Can’t clothes wait?”
Sidney glowered at him and sighed. “Damn you.” She kicked at the ground. “All right. It’s about a mile. But afterward, it’s clothes.”
“Okay. Excellent. We can walk.”
“Haven’t you noticed the wet stuff coming down?”
“I’m still wet from the shower. Besides, I am not taking another taxi.”
Sidney adjusted her collar and prepared to step out into the rain.
“Oh, wait,” said Piers, “the police might be there.”
She gave him a glum look.
He thought the situation over for a moment. “Still, the police are everywhere.”
“Right. So, we’re going?”
“We could. But is this the best time? Won’t there be lots of people about?”
“So, you don’t want to go?”
“Well, there’s the police, and the people, and they’re probably guarding his house and—”
“Do you want to bloody go or not?”
Piers stood with his mouth half open and his brow furrowed, staring at her. “Errrr.”
She threw her hands up. “All right, we won’t go.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I think we should go. I don’t want to, but we have to.”
“Really? Because I don’t want to rush you into anything.”
“No, no, definitely, let’s go.”
Sidney readjusted her collar and they walked down a road lined with cafés. Striped awnings kept the patrons dry as they enjoyed their coffee and croissants. Piers watched as she passed nonchalantly through the tables and chairs, sweeping an umbrella from a man’s chair before stepping back out onto the sidewalk.
Piers caught up with her as she popped the umbrella open. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Keeping dry.”
“That was somebody’s umbrella.”
“Someone’s” she said, stressing the one. “Somebody means some dead body, and I’m pretty sure dead bodies don’t use umbrellas.”
Piers scowled. “Even if they did, you’d nick it off them.”
“I’ll give it back,” she said, shaking her head with her wide eyes staring at him.
“You don’t think the guy might want it, like, now, when the rain’s coming down? Or that he might call the police?”
“Oh, stop it.” She moved to one side of the umbrella. “Share?”
Piers huffed “no,” and carried on in the rain. After a moment, he slicked his wet hair back, muttered to himself, and moved under the umbrella.
She smiled at him. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
“It was—”
She held her finger over his mouth. “Da da da. No more complaining. I need to look after you. Especially if your mummy isn’t around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She obviously looks after you.”
“She does not!”
“Well, she didn’t sound very happy.”
“She wasn’t happy because this nutcase was wailing and crying right next to me. That’s not normal, Sidney.”
“I was trying to get us out of our little situation.”
“Little situation? We’re being followed by a pair of maybe, maybe not, trained killers who want us to return a painting we know squat about before they decide to do away with us, and you call that little?”
Sidney came to a stop at the end of a block, leaving Piers to walk on an extra pace, around the corner, out of the umbrella, and into the rain.
“What?” he said. “Does the truth hurt?”
“No.” She nodded across the street to a knot of police officers and yellow tape. “We’re here.”
Piers ducked back behind the corner of the building. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.”
“I meant before I walked out into the full view of Paris’ finest.”
“I got us here, all right? I can’t think of everything.”
“What now?”
“How would I know? You were the one who wanted to come here.”
Piers groaned. He looked around the corner of the building. “We need a plan.”
“You’re on fire today, aren’t you?”
He rolled his eyes at her and looked up and down the street. “We need a distraction.”
She gave him a sour look. “As long as it doesn’t involve me taking my clothes off.”
He screwed up his face. “Have I ever suggested anything like that?”
“I’m just saying.”
He looked up and down the street. “There’s a phone box over there.”
“So?”
“You need to make a phone call.”
She pulled out her mobile and waved it in front of him.
He shook his head again. “You need to phone the police. Give them a tip.”
“Phone the police? Me?”
“Yes, you. Tell them you spotted the people on the TV a few blocks from here.”
“Guy on the TV,” she corrected. “They didn’t have a picture of me.”
“Okay, okay, tell them guy.”
“And why do I have to call from a phone box?”
“Because they could track your phone to you, and then they’d know where you are and that you’re involved.”
“But phone boxes smell.”
“I’m sorry. Try to stand outside.”
“Men pee in them.”
“Well, not this man. Maybe some men do, but this man doesn’t.”
“And women, too. I’ve seen that, you know. Women peeing in phone boxes.”
“All right. Okay. Very sorry. Just make the phone call and get straight back here.”
She stomped off, taking the umbrella. He watched her dance around the phone box, standing outside it, inserting her money, and holding the receiver with the tips of her fingers. She kept it at a distance from her mouth, spoke loudly, hung up, and walked back. “Done.”
“Where did you tell them we’d been spotted?”
She pointed back the way they had come. “Down the street, turn left, then ten more blocks.”
“What? So this is the quickest route?”
She nodded, “Yeah.”
“Oh my god.” He slapped his forehead. “We wanted to get rid of them, not bring them to us.”
Around the corner shouts broke out among the police officers. With a squeal of tires, a string of police cars headed in their direction. Piers grabbed her hand, ready to run. She pulled him back, shoved him against the wall, and pressed herself hard against him. She popped open the umbrella and flipped it over her shoulder, blocking them from view, then pressed her face into his neck.
Piers heart thumped. “I—”
She shushed him and wrapped her leg around his, rubbing the back of her ankle up and down his leg. “Act natural. No Parisian will notice a kissing couple,” she whispered, “just don’t you dare let your hands wander.”
“I—”
“Shut up, I know it must be difficult for you, but act like you’re enjoying it.”
He folded his arms around her and stroked her back. Her breath was warm on his neck. He tilted his head to press his face to hers. He could feel her bra and the softness of her body pushing against him. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, squeezing his biceps playfully.
The tension in his limbs dissolved and a warm glow spread through him. A calm smile spread across his face. She rubbed her hand across his shoulders and
her long hair brushed against his ear. He closed his eyes and squeezed her tight.
“You only have to act like you’re enjoying it,” she said.
He opened his eyes and loosened his hold. “I am,” he cleared his throat, “acting.”
“You better be.”
A cavalcade of cars and motorbikes raced by, sirens blaring. He pulled the umbrella in closer to make sure their faces were obscured. The sounds diminished and he risked looking out. “They’re gone.”
Sidney slid from him. He let his arms fall away slowly. He breathed out, stifling a sigh, and didn’t breathe back in. Her leaving him felt like a physical blow. It took all his willpower not to reach out for her. The rain had made her tousled curls a vague memory, but her eyes were bright and, even in the cold, her high cheekbones had a natural tint to them, the slightest of pinks, just enough to accentuate the flawless white of her skin.
He watched, mesmerized, as she opened her mouth. “Now what?”
“Huh?”
“I said now what? I did my bit by phoning from the pee-box. What’s next?”
He shook his head and took a gulp of cold air. The adrenaline and tension returned to his muscles. “Right, we have to go.”
He turned the corner and headed toward where the throng of police had been. There were only a couple left on guard.
Sidney tugged at his sleeve. “Is this a good idea?”
Piers took her hand. “No. Start crying.”
She looked at him.
“Start crying. Like before, on the steps. When we get there, just act like we’re breaking up. Then come back over here and wait for me. Just don’t give up easily.”
She shrugged and started sniffing. Her tears built as they crossed the road and by the time they reached the guards she was balling her eyes out.
Piers shook himself free of Sidney’s hand. “I’ve told you. It is not possible. We cannot continue like this.”
She looked at him through eyes that were gaining bloodshot rings. “Why not?”
“My wife. Your husband. Not to mention the friends you bring to the parties. Non, non, it is all too much.”
“So this is it?”
Piers bent his head down. “I am sorry, ma chérie.” Then he turned, stepped to the police officer and tried to push past.
Paris Love Match Page 8