Two motorbikes were following them. The low motorcycles were moving through the heavy Parisian traffic, their single headlights splitting lanes to drive between cars and keep up with them.
After several blocks, Max was sure someone was following them.
He leaned forward and told the chauffeur, “Tell the hotel we will need to come in through the underground garage, and make sure the entrance is blocked off as soon as the car comes in.”
“Very good, sir.” He made a quick call to the hotel and arranged it.
The driver made a few quick turns near the end of their drive to gain distance. Blocking the entrance did keep the motorcycles from following the car down into the underground parking garage.
However, one of the motorcycles squealed down the street as the rear of their car tipped down into the garage.
The rider’s helmet turned to watch them.
Chances were that whoever had been following them now knew the hotel where Maxence was staying.
That was exceedingly bad.
Maxence had ordered a dessert and champagne to be waiting for them in the room, and Dree seemed delighted with the meringues filled with softly whipped chocolate mousse.
Dree said she “needed a pit stop,” which took Max a minute to puzzle out what she meant. He’d watched many Grand Prix races from his window as a child, so he finally figured out that she meant a toilet, but Americans were indeed prudish about saying such things, which was cute. While he waited, he opened his computer and checked his email for a few minutes until he realized that she had been utilizing the facilities for an inordinately long time.
It got to the point where he felt he should check on her.
He pushed open the bedroom door and leaned inside.“Chérie?”
Dree was sitting on the bed, staring at her phone.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She wiped her face with her other hand.
Oh, good Lord, she was crying.“Oh, no,ma chérie. What is it?”
“Will you sit with me for a minute?”
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on? Did your thieving ex text you or something?”
“No, not that. I have to call the police.”
Max leaned back. “Are we okay?”
Sadly, he knew he could get out of anything she threw at him, possibly without even making a phone call.
She waved her hand like she was shooing away smoke. “Oh, God, yes. Not you. We’re fine. You’regreat.Not the French police. The ones in Arizona. It’s only about three o’clock in the afternoon in Phoenix. I should have called them before, but I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”
He leaned back on his arms. “Okay. I’m here.”
She dialed her phone and pointed to it while it rang through the speaker. “I figured out how to call over Wi-Fi.”
“Excellent.” He should have helped her with that.
Dree’s cell phone rang in her hands as she waited for someone to answer. She seemed more fidgety than usual, chewing on her lower lip and darting glances at him.
Maxence reached over and took one of her hands in his, interlacing his fingers with hers.
She squeezed his hand and stared at her phone.
The phone clicked. A male voice said, “Phoenix Crime Stoppers. What’s your crime tip?”
