Left in a hurry?
On the narrow counter lay four knives. Two small paring knives, a large cutting knife, a cleaver. Same sizes that were missing from the butcher block in Odette’s apartment.
“Dried blood over here.”
Miranda spun around and saw Parker and Nadeau standing over an overturned chair. There was another mattress in the corner beyond it. She hurried to where they were and followed the beam of their flashlights.
A deep red stain marked the dark wood of the old floor. Her breath became shallow as anger bubbled inside her. That was Becker’s blood, she’d bet. From his finger. She hoped that was all it was from.
“They were here,” she whispered.
Mattresses for the three kidnappers. They must have kept Becker in the chair.
“But not now,” Haubert said, frustration leeching out of his voice.
Parker ran his flash over the space, searching for some indication of where the group might have gone.
“Another door over there,” Miranda said quietly and moved toward the opening on the other side of the room.
Again she put her hand on the old knob. Could they be hiding in here? Ready to ambush? Was it a trap? Or were they going to find Becker’s dead body?
“Wait.” Parker came up beside her, gun drawn, as backup.
Good idea.
With another nod, slowly she opened the door.
Stillness greeted her along with too-warm air and a sickening odor of less than hygienic living conditions. This room was tall and built in the same elongated rectangular shape as the other one. There was nothing it in but a mattress and an old lamp on the floor in the far corner.
She looked up and spotted a single window too far out of reach to climb out of. Must be the light they’d seen outside. Was this where they’d kept Becker? The thought disgusted her even more.
But he wasn’t here now. The room seemed as empty as the other one.
She ran her light across the space, into every corner but there was no sign of life.
“They’re gone.”
Her heart began to sink down to her knees when Nadeau pushed past her. “There’s something under that pillow. A note.”
“Careful, Nadeau,” Haubert warned.
But the agent was already at the bed, bending down. Before he could reach the pillow, he froze.
He spun around to them, his face filled with terror. “Tripwire. Abandonner! Run!”
Just then the lamp in the corner exploded.
Before she could think, Miranda felt Parker’s hands on her pulling her out of the room.
“Run!” he repeated.
Suddenly she and Parker and Haubert were scrambling across the floorboards, racing for the open door to the hall. Somehow they reached it, slipped through the opening.
Then the whole floor began to quake.
“Get down!” Parker cried as a loud boom blasted the apartment wide open.
The roar seemed to rumble through her entire body. The floor shifted again and Miranda dove, trying to take cover behind the wall. She felt Parker on top of her, shielding her from the blast. She couldn’t tell where Haubert was. Or Nadeau.
Bits of plaster and wood and God-knew-what flew through the air all around them. The debris must have landed somewhere nearby but she couldn’t hear them. The ringing in her ears was too loud.
She smelled smoke, tasted something like soot in her mouth, but she couldn’t hear any noise.
She blinked, trying to see through the hazy darkness around her. She felt like she was dreaming. Did she have a concussion? She looked up and saw stars. Not the kind you have with a concussion.
Real ones—through the gaping hole in the roof overhead.
She put her hand to her temple and felt something wet. She looked down at her palm. Blood. Something heavy was on top of her. She twisted around.
Parker. He’d covered her with his body to protect her.
Managing to turn her neck far enough, she got a glimpse of him. His eyes were closed and there was a gash alongside his head. That was his blood on her hand.
Her heart pounding with panic she forced her torso to turn and maneuvered his body so that he was lying on the floor.
Pulse. Had to be a pulse.
Her fingers fumbled along his neck as she tried to make sure. But her hands were shaking hard. Gritting her teeth, she willed them to keep steady. They refused to cooperate.
Pulse. Pulse. But before she could find it. Strong fingers reached for her hand.
Her gaze found Parker’s face. His eyes were open, regarding her with the same sheer relief that rushed through her. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“I can’t hear you,” she said.
He pointed to his ear and shook his head. He couldn’t hear her either.
She pointed at her own ear. “Me, too.” She pointed at his head. “You’re hit.” She said it in an exaggerated way so he could understand.
He put his hand to his temple, looked at the blood on his hand the way she had, and frowned in annoyance.
Joy that they were both alive hit her like a wrecking ball. She felt as if they were in some faraway fairy world suspended in midair somewhere. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to weep. She wanted to kiss him.
Then suddenly she became aware of an intense heat behind them. She turned her head and saw the space that had been the apartment was on fire.
Haubert was staggering toward it.
“Don’t,” she yelled, but he didn’t stop.
He probably couldn’t hear either. She forced herself to her feet and stumbled toward him, trying not to snag a foot on the piles of debris as she went.
At last she reached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”
He turned to her a glazed look in his eyes. She read the word on his lips. “Nadeau.”
Her head cleared and she remembered the room with the mattress and the lamp.
Was the agent gone?
Half the wall was missing but she hurried around to where the door had been and dared to peer inside. Instead of the floor where the overturned chair had lain there was a huge smoldering hole.
On the other side, Nadeau was crawling around it, trying to get out.
The skin on his face was charred, his suit was singed, one of his legs was so bloody it looked like it had been chewed by a rabid dog. The agent looked like a zombie.
“Nadeau,” Haubert called behind her, sounding like he had a blanket over his head.
Testing the floor with a toe, Miranda stepped over a piece of wall and slowly made her way over to him. She heard something buzz in her ears. Turning she saw Parker behind Haubert following her.
She tried to shake him off, but it was a good thing he ignored her. Nadeau couldn’t walk and was too heavy to lift. She helped Parker hoist him over his shoulder and kept him steady as they got him out of there.
Good thing Parker couldn’t hear. Nadeau’s mouth was open and he looked like he was screaming in agony with every step.
As they reached the door, and Haubert took hold of the other side of the wounded agent, Miranda felt water drops falling on her head.
Must be raining.
She’d guessed wrong. Just as they’d reached the hall and were trying to figure out where that stairwell was, two men in gray suits with yellow stripes and silver helmets appeared.
“Aliens?” Miranda said, feeling dizzier than before.
“No,” Haubert replied. “They are firemen.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The firemen were accompanied by an ambulance with medical workers. They treated Parker’s head and burns Miranda didn’t know she had, as well as Haubert’s cuts and blisters from the flames.
They put Nadeau on a stretcher. He was babbling away, a bit delirious.
While she had watched the abandoned building burn, Miranda’s hearing had come back. But her hopes hadn’t.
“The note under the pillow was a ploy,” Nadeau
said to Miranda, holding her hand as if she were a priest he was confessing to. “I felt my leg hit a tripwire. Yanick must have rigged it with the lamp.”
“You did good, Nadeau,” she assured him. “You warned us. You saved our lives.”
“But all of the evidence. It is destroyed.”
“It’s okay. Really it is.” She was only half lying. A boatload of evidence did no good if you couldn’t catch the criminal.
Then the EMTs or whatever they were called here motioned for her to step aside. She complied and watched them lift the brave agent into the back of the white vehicle. One of them got in front and the ambulance sped off into the night, weird siren blaring.
Parker came up beside her. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. I’ll be okay. You?”
He nodded.
Haubert strolled over from speaking to one of the firefighters, his face grim. “They think Nadeau will lose his lower leg.”
“Damn,” Miranda said.
Parker laid a hand on his former student’s shoulder. “He’s a good man, Rene.”
“He will be reassigned to desk duty when he recovers. He will hate that.”
She would, too. Poor guy. If she could get her hands on Yanick…
“How is the rest of the team?” Parker asked.
“Most are fine. Minor injuries.” Haubert looked down at the ground. “We lost one of the men on the roof.”
“Oh, my God,” Miranda said.
“St. Romain. He has been with me for five years. A fine agent.”
The lines around Parker’s handsome eyes grew deeper. “I’m so sorry, Rene.”
Haubert nodded a thank you, his eyes on the ground, his face worn.
Heart heavy Miranda looked up at the blackened frame atop the now burnt out building. That explosion, that fire, was nothing compared to what raged inside her.
At that moment she hated Jean-Claude Yanick with every fiber of her being.
“Everyone wanted to go back to the office to work on finding Yanick and Kosomov,” Haubert said quietly. “But I sent them home.”
Parker let out a long, slow breath. Miranda almost said his next words along with him. “We have only one chance left.”
Haubert nodded. “If Yanick calls and tells Madame Becker where to meet him with the ransom money.”
Fanuzzi.
They’d left her back at Chez Amando with Chef Emile. They both must be going crazy by now.
She raised a finger. “About that ransom…”
“What?” Haubert asked.
“There’s a good chance it doesn’t exist.” She told him about the safe and Parker’s attempts to open it.
“We’ll find something to substitute,” he said. “Let me know as soon as Yanick calls.”
“Will do,” Parker said.
“Where can I drop you?” Haubert asked, starting toward his car.
Only one place.
“The restaurant,” Parker said as they left the firemen to their cleanup.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
They found Fanuzzi slumped over Chef Emile’s antique desk, her head resting on a bunch of papers spread out over it.
Chef Emile was quietly snoring in a chair near the window.
Parker knocked softly on the already open door and Fanuzzi startled awake.
The chef came out of his stupor and sat straight up. “What is it? What is going on? Where is Odette?”
Miranda didn’t answer. Parker was silent, as well.
Fanuzzi rubbed her eyes and got to her feet. She came around the desk, eyeing Miranda and Parker as if she’d never seen them before.
“Oh, my gawd. What happened to you two?”
Miranda looked down at her tattered and burned jeans. Parker’s wasn’t much better. His slacks and blazer were a mess. They both smelled of smoke and looked like they’d just spent a couple of months on the street.
But she really didn’t want to tell her friend how they’d gotten that way. Instead she shrugged. “Rough night.”
Parker took a step toward Fanuzzi. “I’m so sorry, Joan.”
She shot up a hand. “Did you find Dave?”
“No. We—”
She shot up another hand. “That’s all I need to know. I can’t handle any more.” Her voice was shaky again and Miranda’s heart broke for her all over.
“Very well,” Parker said calmly while Miranda let out a breath of relief, though she didn’t really feel much comfort.
As if he hadn’t heard the conversation, Chef Emile looked at them with his beseeching blue eyes. “No news of Odette?”
Parker shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”
Fanuzzi moved back to the desk, hands waving as if she were batting away her sorrows. “It doesn’t matter. We have the answer.”
Miranda frowned at Parker. “What do you mean? Did Yanick call?”
“Who?”
Miranda cursed herself for letting the name slip out. “Yanick. We found out that’s the name of the guy who called you earlier.” She wasn’t going to tell her he’d once been with French Intelligence.
“O—kay.” Her friend turned around, her face drawn, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Clearly she wanted to know more but didn’t dare ask. “He didn’t call yet. But the chef and I found the combination. We opened the safe.” She waved a hand in the direction of the box.
For a moment Miranda thought she was back at that abandoned apartment. She’d been hit on the head with shrapnel and was hallucinating. But no, it was real.
The door to the safe was open.
“How did you—? Never mind.” Parker strode over to the safe.
Miranda was right beside him. Parker pushed the door open all the way and together they bent to peek inside.
“You won’t believe what’s in there.”
Fanuzzi was right. She didn’t. Had to be a hallucination. Her head must have taken a wallop. But again, it was too real.
On the middle of a low shelf inside the safe sat a plain gray piece of crockery, about the size of a small bucket. And it was filled to the brim with glistening gold coins.
Miranda let out a stunned laugh. “A pot of gold.”
“Rare gold coins,” Chef Emile explained. “Some dating back to the fourteenth century. Philippe VI de Valois, Louis XIV, Henri II.”
Parker squatted down and dared to reach inside to pick up a few of them.
He turned them over in his palm. “Golden Angels.”
“Yes. Many of them. Napoleons as well.”
Miranda stuck her hand in and got a small handful. She studied the golden profiles of stolid men, the geometrical patterns, the engraved letters around the edges. They did look ancient. And genuine. The real deal.
“This collection could very well be valued a hundred million Euros.” Parker said.
“It’s heavy,” Fanuzzi declared, a note of joy in her voice. “I’m thinking about using my rolling suitcase to carry it.” She looked at Parker, then Miranda with her big brown expectant eyes. “So we’re all set, right? Everything’s going to be okay. Right?”
Parker turned to Chef Emile. “What do you have to say?”
It was his money after all.
Looking as if he’d aged a century that night, he gave his hand a dismissive wave. “Take it. Give it to those horrible people. I only want my Odette back. I do not care about Chez Amando anymore. Not if it means her life. And your husband’s life,” he said to Fanuzzi.
Glad that was settled. Miranda tossed the coins she’d been holding back in the pot and gave it a tug. Fanuzzi wasn’t lying. It had to weigh at least sixty pounds.
“How are we going to do this?” she asked.
Before anyone could answer, Fanuzzi’s cell rang.
Fanuzzi jumped, suddenly on the verge of tears again. “Oh, dear gawd.”
“Deep breaths, Joan,” Parker told her. “Then answer it.”
She nodded and obediently her shoulders bobbed up and down. Then she pressed the button on her phone.
/>
The smoothly evil voice of Jean-Claude Yanick came through the receiver. “Do you have the money?”
Fanuzzi straightened her back. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“You will deliver it to the corner of Avenue de Moisee and Rue de Tilsitt. Half past ten tomorrow morning. When you get there turn right. You will see a bench. Sit there and wait. Ten hours from now. Do not be late.”
Didn’t give her the whole twenty-four.
“I’ll be there.”
“If you are not, you will never see your husband again. And most importantly. Come alone.”
The phone went dead and they all stared at it for a long time. This was it. Their last chance.
“I’ll call Haubert,” Parker said.
Fanuzzi jumped up from her chair. “Wade, you heard what Yanick said, or whatever that asshole’s name is. ‘Come alone.’”
“I can’t let you do that, Joan.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“She is right,” Chef Emile said. “This crazy man will kill them, both of them, if there is anyone with her.”
With a weary sigh, Parker put his cell back into his pocket. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Right now, let’s all get whatever sleep we can.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The late night pre-Bastille Day revelers made it easier to find a cab, and after dropping an exhausted Fanuzzi at her room, Miranda headed back to theirs with Parker.
They took turns peeling off their tattered, singed clothes, deciding to toss then in the trash before stepping into the shower in a futile attempt to wash away the grime and bitter taste of that night.
That would stay with them a while.
When at last she fell into bed, she felt too tired and defeated to sleep. She lay with her hands over her face, eyes wide open.
Parker turned off the light, slipped in beside her, pulled the covers over both of them.
“What did Haubert say?”
She knew he’d call the man as soon as they got back to the room.
“The corner for the drop is near the parade route tomorrow. He would have had men stationed there anyway.”
“Fanuzzi can’t argue with that.”
“She was just tired and afraid. She’ll be thinking more clearly after a rest. I hope we can talk her into wearing a wire.”
Zero Dark Chocolate (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 5) Page 17