by Wilde, Raina
She pulled a leather binder from her purse and set it on the table between them. She had gone over the figures and was ready to present this man with an offer that he could not refuse. The profit margin was the best that he could hope for in the current market. It was practically a sure thing, very little risk, very high return on investment.
When she began to open the binder Travis laid his hand on top of it, stopping her.
“You need to leave Monaco.” He informed her in hushed tones.
“Excuse me?” she laughed. Was he joking with her?
“I’m serious.” Travis leaned forward and whispered so softly that she could not even be sure she had heard him correctly. “There are people that want you dead. They think you are someone else, a threat, and they will not allow you to stay here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be a threat?” She asked. “Let me speak with them and it can all be cleared up. If anything, I might be able to help them make more money.”
“They aren’t going to talk to you, they are going to kill you. Do you think this is a joke?” He was clearly agitated.
She sighed. “Let’s for a moment, pretend that what you say is true.” She crossed her hands over the binder. “What would make these people want to kill me, or, whoever they think I am?”
“They think you’re a spy, an American agent sent to ruin them.”
“First off, what would I be spying on them for? Secondly, if I were an agent, why would I be acting as myself?” This was all rather funny to Lydia. Clearly this man had lost touch with reality. She realized that this entire meeting was a waste of time. He was not taking her seriously and there would be no investment.
“The what-if’s aren’t important. What matters is what they believe. Renaldo Jaquiennes decided last night that you were trouble. That is enough to put a price on your head.” He placed a hand over her own. “Please, leave Monaco.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous.” She pulled her hand out from under his and shoved her binder in her purse. She threw the strap over her shoulder and stood to leave when Travis sprung at her and tackled her to the ground.
The large window front, beside which they had been seated, exploded as gunfire from the street peppered the bistro. Patrons ran screaming from the store, some clutching at their wounded bodies.
Travis was sprawled on top of her, his body covering her own. He lifted his head an inch to look into her eyes.
“Do you believe me now?”
Lydia nodded. Her entire body was shaking. She could feel the sting of the glass shards as they cut into her arms.
“We have to get out of here, are you ready?”
“Who are you?” she cut off his questions with her own. She was not going anywhere with this man until she knew who he was.
“I’m a gambler, who wins money for Renaldo. But, right now, I’m just a man trying not to get killed.” Lydia searched his face but could find no sign of artifice. “We need to go.”
“Alright.” He rolled off of her and stood in the center of the demolished bistro. He offered her a hand to pull herself up with. “Are you crazy? What are you doing? Get down here!”
“The shooter is gone.” He informed. “That was only meant to scare you.”
Lydia heard sirens in the distance.
He offered his hand once again.
“We need to leave before the police arrive.”
With the hope that she was making the right decision, Lydia placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her from the wreckage.
“I need to go get my luggage.” Lydia broke the silence that filled the black sedan which Travis was maneuvering with careful precision through the crowded streets.
“You can get new luggage.” He replied as if it were only that simple.
“You don’t understand.” Lydia crossed her arms. “My entire life is in those bags. Every worldly possession that I own fits into four suitcases. I need them.”
He dropped his head back and sighed at the smooth ceiling of the vehicle.
“You have four suitcases?” his tone suggested that he found this entire situation to be a great test of will.
“Yes.” She waited.
He ran a hand over his face as he thought about her answer.
“Do you need all of them?”
Lydia gritted her teeth. One suitcase was full of all of her most treasured and useful items. The other three contained her entire wardrobe.
“I could manage with two.” She hated the idea of leaving behind half of her belongings. She reminded herself that she could always have the hotel forward the spare luggage to her sister in Vermont.
“One.” He instructed. “The rest you can arrange to have sent to another hotel somewhere far away. Don’t send them to anyone or any place that is connected with you. Renaldo will have them followed.”
It was becoming more apparent by the minute that Lydia would be lost without the help of this stranger. She did not want to think about what would have happened if Renaldo’s men had followed her bags to her sister’s isolated, country home.
Travis cruised by the hotel without stopping.
“That was the building, you missed it.” She informed him, looking for a place where he might be able to turn around in the chaotic traffic of this densely populated streets.
“I didn’t miss it.” He continued to watch the road as he spoke. “Two of Renaldo’s men were waiting outside of the main entrance. I guarantee that there are more already in your room.” Travis paused at a stop light and turned toward her. His eyes, more than anything else, conveyed how serious he was taking the situation. “You can buy new clothing.”
Lydia began to protest when the door beside her was thrust open and a tall man in a charcoal gray suit leaned down to speak with her. He was standing in the middle of the street, speaking as if this were the most natural place to be having a conversation.
“Miss Berkshire,” he grasped her arm with a force that caused fear to pulse through her veins, “You’ll need to come with me.” Lydia sat frozen. Sheer panic kept her body immobile. It was at that moment, as the man leaned forward, in an attempt to undo her seat belt, that he noticed Travis in the driver seat.
“Larkin.” He hissed, his French accent making the brusque English nearly incomprehensible. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking her to Renaldo.” Travis replied with easy confidence. All the air expelled from Lydia’s lungs. She felt the tremors ripple through her body and any form of coherent thought was replaced with complete terror.
“Good.” The man released his hold. “We’ll go together.”
Before he had a chance to shut the door and climb into the back seat of the sedan, Travis had pushed the gas pedal to the floor, jerked the wheels into a sharp turn, and launched them directly into the flow of traffic. Lydia had been in the process of turning to look back at the stranger left standing in the intersection when Travis grabbed the back of her head and pushed it down against her knees. Seconds later the rear window exploded.
Lydia heard screaming. She was fairly certain that it was coming from her.
Forty-five minutes later they were checking in to a small hotel on the opposite side of the city. Lydia held the small duffle bag of clothing, which Travis had acquired for her, to her chest. She had been too shaken to enter the shop. That, in combination with the tiny shards of glass that still stuck to her skin from the bistro window, made it too risky for her to enter a public venue.
“I think we’re being followed.” She worried.
“We were.” He shut the door and slid the chain in place. “Not anymore.”
This room was nothing like the elegant suite that she had rented in the upscale hotel just down the road from the Monte Carlo. It was clean and functional, but that was all the positives that she could come up with. The room was small, dimly lit, and of the mediocre price range of what she liked to call budget-travelers. Not that Lydia was frivolous with her money, but these places were her temporary h
ome and she generally liked them to have a more comfortable feel.
“I don’t want to be on the run.” She blurted. “Why can’t I just leave and go back to my life as if this never happened?”
“Because those men have hands that reach all the way across the world. They won’t stop searching just because you left the country. You won’t be safe until they are stopped.”
“And how long might that be?” She could hear the resignation in her own voice. She had no experience with violent people. She did not know how to function in this questionable world.
“Not long. They know that the Americans have been on to them for a while. It’s only a matter of time before they are caught.”
Lydia did not like the vague answers that he kept providing.
“What is it that they actually do?” she asked. If she was going to be blamed for spying on these criminals she at least wanted to know what it was that they were being accused of. What kind of scum were unscrupulous enough to make attempts on the life of an innocent woman?
Travis stared at her skeptically. Lydia could tell that he was contemplating whether or not to tell her.
“They just destroyed a restaurant and wounded dozens of people to scare me, I think I have a right to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for his answer.
“They’ve been counterfeiting American currency and smuggling it into the States. That does not include their criminal enterprises here, along the French Riviera. They have quite the extended network, but their most profitable is the counterfeit operation.”
“How do you know all of this?” Lydia was having a hard time trusting this man, who seemed to know so much about these Monacan criminals.
“I told you, I worked for Jaquiennes as a gambler. I’m not involved in his seedier activities, but that does not mean that I’m unaware of them.”
Lydia took a step back.
“Why should I trust you? Why didn’t you take me to Renaldo if you really work for him?” Her breathing was ragged and she was rapidly becoming overwhelmed with the situation.
“Because I know that you aren’t a spy, and because I can help you.”
“How can you help me?” She did not believe that there was anything that could be done. If these men wanted to find her, what would stop them?
“I can get you to the Americans.” He stated as if it were a non-issue.
“Oh? How are you going to do that? Do you think that shooter is going to let me get on a plane?” She knew that she was being difficult but her nerves were on edge and the reality of what had occurred at the bistro was finally catching up to her.
“There’s an American Special Forces team waiting just outside of the borders of Monaco. If we can get to them you will be safe.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Travis stared at her with his eyebrows raised, waiting for Lydia to come to the conclusion on her own.
“What?” she snapped. Her brain was too frazzled, too overwhelmed to make that connection that he was expecting of her.
“I think you know.” All traces of his Irish accent were gone. Instead, he spoke with the crisp tones of Midwestern America.
Lydia swore and took two quick steps backward to get away from him. The movement resulted in her tripping over the small ottoman that stood on the edge of the small seating area. She landed on her backside and scuttled a few feet further until her back pressed against the dresser.
She held both hands over her mouth and glared at him. It made her angry that he stood there with such nonchalance. As if what he had just told her was not another dramatic discovery that was wreaking havoc on her day.
She lowered her hands to the tops of her bent knees and whispered another curse.
“You’re the American spy.” It was a statement. Not a question. He was right, she knew the answer. It was the only explanation for how he had gathered so much information while remaining on the far edge of involvement.
He nodded.
“Is Travis Larkin your real name?” She could hear the tremor in her voice. If she was going to trust him she did not want to hear any more lies.
He shook his head, still maintaining complete silence.
“What is it?” When he opened his mouth to speak Lydia stopped him. “The truth.” She demanded.
“My real name is Tucker Macey.” When she did not speak, he continued. “I’m a part of the Army Special Ops team that is waiting just outside of the border. I’ve been working this case for six months and we finally have enough information to link them all the way to the top. One of my sources let it slip that there would be an American Spy in the poker room tonight. Renaldo was on the lookout and, because you were the only new face, he jumped to the conclusion that it had to be you.
“I’m sorry that you became involved in this because of me but I would have been blindsided if Renaldo had not confronted you so aggressively last night. I did not know that my source had cracked. I was the only other player that Renaldo hadn’t already known for at least five years. If he hadn’t blamed you it was very likely that he would have punished me last night.”
“Punished you?” she assumed that was a mild description of what Renaldo would have done to a spy who had falsely befriended him for months. In her case, he merely thought she was a poorly placed spy, one that had not yet gathered any pertinent information. As it was, Travis… no, Tucker, she corrected herself, had gathered more information than the criminals realized.
He shrugged, confirming her assumption.
“They would have killed you.”
“Eventually.” He agreed. That was why he was helping her, because he felt responsible for the danger that she was in and because she was quite possibly the reason that he was still alive.
Lydia wrapped her arms around her knees and attempted to take slow calming breaths. She laid her head down on her knees, the tiny cocoon that she had created providing the fragile illusion of safety. She could hear Tucker moving around the room, rifling through his large black suitcase, allowing her this one small moment of peace.
She must have fallen asleep in that position because she woke to Tucker crouched beside her, examining her bloodied arms.
“Come on.” He instructed with a gentle voice. “We need to remove the glass and clean those cuts.” Lydia glanced at her skin. It was riddled with small shards from shoulder to wrist.
“Will it hurt?” She whispered. Tension was building in her throat and behind her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. Tucker picked a piece of glass out of her curly dark hair.
“Not much. You’re still in shock. You won’t feel most of it.” She was enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair as he continued to search for rogue shards. “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet and she followed him into the bathroom. He pointed at the countertop and instructed her to sit on top of it, next to the sink.
Lydia positioned herself so that her left arm received the maximum amount of lighting possible in the small, enclosed space.
Tucker took an empty spray bottle from the small toiletry bag that he had brought into the bathroom. He filled it with warm water and began to spray Lydia’s arm, washing the blood into the sink without the pain of pressing a cloth over the sensitive cuts.
When the skin was mostly cleared she looked down at her arm and realized that the remaining glass shards would be much easier to locate against her pale skin. Tucker pulled a pair of tweezers from his bag and began removing the pieces with hands as steady and confident as a surgeon.
The process was tedious. Lydia would have expected it to be painful, but Tucker had been correct in his assumption that her senses would be dulled. Except, she realized, that he was not entirely correct. While she felt very little pain from the meticulous procedure that he was performing, her senses seemed to be heightened to detect every minor brush of his fingers as they grazed her skin.
Tingling sensations raced up and down her arm. In the places where his hand connected more firmly, as when he adj
usted her position for a better view, she felt pulses of heat that remained long after his hands had moved away. Lydia was certain that Tucker had no idea of the effect that his touch was having on her body. She tried to remind herself that she barely trusted the man, but she knew that was a lie—he had already saved her life on multiple occasions.
Tucker coaxed her to turn so that he could work on her other arm. She was now facing away from him, but she could still see his reflection in the massive mirror that covered most of the wall above the counter. He worked with complete focus, allowing her the chance to observe him undetected.
She noted that he seemed unfazed by the events of the day. Were public shootings so commonplace for this man that he did not even blink an eye? Lydia reminded herself that there was a difference between living an exciting life and a dangerous one. Her life, up until this point, was refreshing and exciting. This man lived on the edge of danger, and if he truly was a member of an Army Special Ops team, this was neither the first nor the last time that he would be living on the verge of terror. Lydia could not imagine how he found that idea appealing.
Still, with all her reasoning, Lydia was unable to shake the attraction that was growing for this man who was tending to her with such care. He was helping her, when he could very easily have left her on her own.
When he had finished, he hooked a hand over her far knee and spun her back to face him. The contact with a part of her body, other than her injured arms, sent a pulse of heat straight to her core. She did not understand why she was having such a visceral reaction to this man. It must be the shock, she told herself.
Tucker covered his hands in a cream that he rubbed up and down her arms, covering the tiny cuts. He handed her the tube and leaned over to start the shower.
“You should clean up, make sure there isn’t any more glass in your hair.” He instructed. “Put more of the Bacitracin on after you’ve finished.”
When he turned to leave, Lydia found herself sliding down from the counter and stopping him with a hand on his arm. The skin beneath her palm tingled and she felt his pulse quicken to match her own. Maybe he had not been quite as unaware as she thought.