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CHAPTER TEN
It was raining in Paris and that ruined everything.
“Any chance someone spotted her?” Grigoris’ voice simmered with frustration.
Hugues, a security officer from France, shook his head. “Between the rain and the umbrellas, it’s unlikely.”
Several people groaned.
They were gathered in the dining room in Grigoris’ suite at the Hotel Plaza Athenee in Paris. Nikolett’s suite was next door, and the two other suites on this floor had been rented out by France so the whole floor was theirs.
This two-bedroom suite was done in French Art Deco style. A corner room, it had an incredible view of the Eiffel Tower, and a large dining area set to seat eight. All eight of the seats at the table were full.
Nikolett sat on the low couch, leg back in its cast and propped up on an ottoman.
They were finally in Paris after days of preparation, both organizing her security and more importantly planning how to catch the Spaniard when he hopefully realized she was there, then took the bait, coming both to attack her, and to do the information theft job.
The plan hinged on the Spaniard still being interested in hurting her, which might not be the case, given there hadn’t been any other attacks in a while, and him knowing she’d left Budapest.
She’d been meant to linger—when deplaning at the small private airport and when going from the car into the hotel—just long enough for security cameras to get a shot of her face. They were assuming the Spaniard was watching her home in Budapest and would know she left and checked in at the airport. Again, assuming he could hack international travel records and find out her destination was Paris, he most likely would have facial recognition software that could comb Paris security cameras and confirm she was in the city and where she was staying.
In short, the plan had been for her to be just exposed enough that with a bit of effort, the Spaniard could find her.
They hadn’t anticipated the storm.
Between the rain itself, and the plethora of umbrellas on the sidewalk, it was unlikely street and security cameras at the airport or outside the hotel caught a usable image.
“We could wait and see if he takes the job,” Annette, one of France’schevaliers, said. “Your passport was still scanned in Paris. If he can access those records, he’ll know you’re here.”
“He’ll know she landed in Paris, but that doesn’t mean she stayed here. It could have been a stopover,” Zoran said. “And it’s not as easy to access passport information as it is to hack into an airline’s system.”
Idir, a French security officer, eyed Zoran before asking, “How long would we wait to know if the Spaniard saw her and took the bait? Days, months?”
The argument continued. Of the eight people at the table, four were hers and four were from France.
Raphael Larue, the security minister, looked very French in his perfectly tailored trim suit and salt-and-pepper hair. Annette sat on Raphael’s right, and on her other side was Idir Izem, the dark-eyed security officer whose default expression was that of a killer, but whose smile was infectious. The second security officer from France, Hugues Popelin, sat on Raphael’s left, his arms crossed, chin on his chest in a pose that made it look like he was sleeping.
Given there was no way he was sleeping, it was more likely an attempt to minimize his size and make people overlook him.
Grigoris wouldn’t make that mistake.
Besides Grigoris, she had Maxim, Iacob, and Zoran with her. Nyx had remained behind to hold the territory together in case something happened to her and Grigoris.
Nyx had informed them that if Grigoris didn’t come home, she was quitting, selling all her possessions, and dedicating herself to murdering everyone responsible for Grigoris’ death.
Zoran had vowed to turn that story into a graphic novel once Nyx met her grizzly fate.
A woman emerged from one of the bedrooms, phone to her ear as she said a careful goodbye in English. Dr. Barbe Chaucer was an older woman who’d retired from her position at Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital to become a professor at Pierre and Marie Curie University.
Nikolett hadn’t worn her cast on the plane, instead opting for a medical boot that looked like the world’s ugliest footwear. That still indicated an injury, but was far less attention-grabbing than the neon green cast.
Elena had agreed to the boot only when they promised to have a French doctor check over her leg when she got here. Nikolett’s leg was far better than it had been, but was faintly throbbing after a day of traveling. Barbe had checked her leg, iced it, and was currently finishing up a call with Elena about thewound care regimen. The woman’s eyes had lit up with interest when Elena told her exactly how Nikolett had been injured.
The doctor tucked her phone into her pocket, ignoring the argument at the table as she squatted down by Nikolett.
“I know we just put the cast on, but I want to change your bandages. These are too bulky. Not necessary now that you’re not moving around.”
