Christmas balls and streamers wrappedbushes and small trees in planters. She was hot from running, sweating in her slim ball gown, almost shaking from the December chill. Cold air stung her damp skin.
They turned another corner and ran harder because the train station loomed out of the darkness, so close that they might be able to make it. Inside the tunnel, blazing lights studded the ceiling like fiery stars, and a train roaredout.
The train station must have a backup generator or else was on a different grid.
They pounded down the stairs to the wide, marble sidewalks below, bought tickets with cash Raphael had stuffed in his pocket, and sprinted one last time to where a train was waiting.
They leaped inside the train doors that were sliding shut.
Flicka crashed into Raphael’s arms, and he gathered her to his chest,rubbing her back and watching out the windows at the receding platform as the train accelerated out of the Monaco station. He swayed and grabbed a pole, then held her more closely to him.
Flicka asked him, “Did anyone follow us?”
“I don’t think so.”
When she looked up, he was still watching out the window and scrutinizing the few other passengers on this train that left Monaco after ten atnight. He looked every bit the vigilant mercenary who had guarded her all those years, gray-eyed and blond like a storm cloud and lightning, ready to strike. The solid walls of the tunnel through the mountains closed over the top of the train.
She asked, “What direction are we going?”
“Southwest,” Raphael said, “into France.”
The train dove into the next tunnel, which meant they had crossedthe border and left Monaco.
A sigh of relief breezed through Flicka.
Monaco had treaties with France, however, and it was possible that Pierre could order the French police to arrest them.
They had to be careful.
Raphael had taught Flicka some things about how to travel under the radar just in case she ever needed to escape, but the police might be actively searching for them.
“Where willwe go?” she asked.
“Nice,” Raphael said. “I have a hotel room there, then we can figure out where to go after that.”
“Can’t we just get on Wulfie’s plane and leave?”
“Wulfram flew back to the States with Alina earlier today. She’s safe with Wulfram.”
“We can’t leave if he’s already taken the plane.”
“Some people do fly on commercial airplanes, you know. You did, once.”
She was aghast. “Didyou fly on a commercial plane to the States to get him?”
Raphael shrugged, and a smile lifted one side of his mouth. “No. I took Geneva Trust’s jet.”
She laughed, and he held her more tightly.
He said, “We’ll be all right. We’re out of Monaco. We’re away from Pierre. He won’t be able to find us, and surely we’ll be able to lose him.”
A cold shiver ran over Flicka. “I hope you’re right.”
The train ride to Nice, France, was a short one, less than an hour of swaying around the dark mountains and shoreline of France.
Flicka started shivering on the train, the aftereffects of the frantic sprint through the night and the cold, wintry air freeze-drying her sweat. Raphael gave her his black, Roman-collared shirt and sat in his tee shirt on the train, holding her. The cotton was softunder her cheek, and his shirt warmed her bare shoulders and back where her dress didn’t cover.
They arrived just after eleven at night, but Raphael had the taxi driver drop them off a block away from the hotel.
