“Means they’re either scared, or showing off.”
Wrecker grunted, then thumbed through his phone. “Got word from Marcel. They’re on their way. Bringing the new guy.”
“He solid?”
“Rafe says he’s ex-Legion. Wolf and a half.”
I liked the sound of that.
Behind us, I heard the faint snap of slippers on hardwood. Parker drifted in, this time in an “In My Smut Era” hoodie, and yoga pants. Her face was all sharp planes and half-lidded electric blue eyes, but she moved like she’d never slept at all. Shesurveyed the table, snagged a mug for herself, and perched on the edge of a side chair.
“This is it?” she said, gesturing at the maps.
“Start here. Build out as we get eyes,” I told her. “We’re looking for patterns.”
She nodded, clicking on her phone, scanning for any overnight pings. “Witch is still asleep?” She asked, meaning Gwen.
“Not for long,” Wrecker said. “She’s got a hard-on for morning rituals.”
“Gross,” Parker deadpanned.
At 6:13, the secure phone buzzed. I answered, voice low. “Arsenal.”
A half-second delay, then a baritone with a hint of Marseille: “This is Marcel. We are downstairs.”
“Come up. Room’s open.” I killed the call, then looked at Wrecker. “He said ‘we.’”
“They always move in pairs. Etienne’s the backup.”
“Fine by me.”
I heard the lock cycle and went to the door. The first thing you noticed about Marcel and Etienne was that they didn’t look like wolves, not at first glance. Marcel wore a black windbreaker over a suit that screamed unlicensed security, and his hair was shaved on the sides with the top swept back and slicked down. Etienne was shorter, stockier, with an old rugby player’s nose and a faded tattoo that ran from the base of his left ear to the edge of his jaw. Both moved with the loose, dangerous grace of men who’d broken a lot of bones in their lives, most of them not their own.
Marcel carried a battered messenger bag. He offered a hand, and when I shook it, I saw the old Legion scar across his palm. “Arsenal,” he said, voice level. “You look like your reputation.”
“Thanks. Coffee’s in the kitchen. We’re in the library.”
He nodded to Etienne, who peeled off, probably to sweep the suite. Bronc would have approved.
We sat around the slab of a table, Wrecker and Parker on one side, me and Marcel opposite. Marcel unrolled a tube of blueprints, layering them over my tourist maps, and we got to work.
“King Rafe briefed you?” I asked.
“Yes. The girl and her mother are living with Renault pack, in Bougival. Two weeks now.”
I glanced at Parker, who tapped her phone. “Confirms with what we got from Gwen’s contacts.”
“Renaults run the local territory like a fortress,” Marcel said. “But it is not impenetrable. We have eyes on three blocks, and a friendly bakery two doors down.”
I could almost see Aspen’s face light up. “What’s the move?” I asked.
Marcel shrugged. “It depends. You want to pull the girl now, or wait for opportunity?”
“Depends on who’s watching,” I said. “Any sign Steiner’s got teams in the city?”
“No. But he has connections. The local police are easy to buy, and if he wants to move muscle, it’ll be mercs. Maybe Eastern European. Maybe local. But they do not stand out.”
“Great,” Parker muttered. “Everybody’s invisible except us.”
