“My question exactly,” said Mac, as he finished dressing and headed for the door. “Now you have something to occupy yourself with. Find out, will you? I’m out of here. I’ll call you in an hour.”
“No, Dad. You can’t,” said Jane. “Too many people are watching me. Don’t contact me. I can’t talk to you again.”
“Jane, I need your help.”
“This isn’t just about you anymore.I’ve done all I can.Please, get out of the city. Promise me.”
“Not yet,” said Mac.
“Ava can take care of herself,” said Jane, with mounting frustration. “People want you dead. Think of Katya. She can’t lose both of you.”
“She’s not going to,” said Mac.
“If you stay, they’ll find you,” said Jane.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Get over yourself, dammit,” said Jane. “Be a father first, for once. Ava didn’t want you involved in this.”
“I know what I’m doing,” said Mac, knowing, of course, that he didn’t.
“You can’t save everyone.”
“Just wait—”
“You disappeared once,” said Jane. “Do it again.”
“Jane . . .”
“Just do it. Get out. Hear me? Get out.”
The line went dead. Mac stared at the phone.
Get out.It’s what the card addressed to the“Famille Steinhardt”had said.
Mac removed the SIM card and flushed it down the toilet. He checked his pistol—round in the chamber, safety on. Did he have time to take a leak? No, he decided. That would have to wait. Jane had put herself in jeopardy to find him the bolt-hole and to warn him. He had to do as she instructed.Get the hell out.
Mac left the flat. He paused inside the foyer to peer through the windows on either side of the door. It was a sunny morning. Pedestrians thronged the sidewalk. He scanned the street for double-parked cars, vans, anything that might signal unwanted attention.
Eliza Porter Elkins was in Paris. Had she come alone? Was Don Baker with her? Who had tipped Jaycee off? A red flag. Again? All these thoughts raced through Mac’s brain as he tried to figure out the best course of action.
“Screw it,” he muttered, shouldering the door and hitting the street. It was too much for a simple field guy. He didn’t do plotting and conniving and scheming. If they were there, they were there.
He headed east on the Boulevard St.-Germain, past the Brasserie Lipp and, across the street, the Café Deux Magots. The tables out front weretaken. No sign of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, or Eliza Porter Elkins. Against every rule, he looked over his shoulder. If they were coming, he wanted to see them.But no... for now, he didn’t see anyone stalking him. No stealthy assets with murder in their eyes. No little old ladies with poison-tipped umbrellas. No tall, buxom blonds looking to call in an airstrike on him.
He laughed at himself. You never saw ’em coming. Just like they never saw Mac coming.
He’d forgotten how lousy it felt to be on the run in enemy territory.
Mac turned the corner and entered the first shop he came to. It was a confiserie selling chocolates and pastries. The smell was heavenly. He browsed the displays while keeping watch out the window for a tail.
Jane was right. Sooner or later, they’d find him. They always did. A red flag. What were they so scared of? Strangely, the news fired him up. He was on the right path. Whatever Ava was involved in, whatever trouble she’d gotten into, it was important enough for a deputy director of the CIA to drop everything and fly to Paris.
He only wished Ava had confided in him. He was no longer angry with her. He loved her, and love, at its root, meant trust. Like it or not, he had to trust Ava’s decision not to bring him into her affairs. But that was then ...that was before she’d been abducted.He had no choice but to help her. There it was.
Sorry, Jaycee, your dad is never going to disappear again.
“Good morning.” The salesgirl smiled at Mac from behind the display. “May I help you?”
