9
The train ride was uneventful. Marielle passed the time searching the internet for a good spot to meet with Anissa and Hanna and settled on an iconic English-language bookstore on the Left Bank.
When they arrived at the Paris Gare de Lyon, they took a car to The Four Seasons Hotel George V rather than going directly to their own hotel.
After slipping through The Four Seasons’ lobby, they headed toward Plaza Athénée, only four hundred and fifty meters away. En route, they stopped on the stone stairs at the entrance to the American Cathedral in Paris. While looking up at the famous soaring bell tower and the tall, skinny windows, they also checked for a tail and saw nobody.
To confirm, they entered the cathedral’s courtyard and strolled around the garden. Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed, they left the courtyard and returned to Rue du Boccador for the short walk to the Plaza Athénée.
It was nearly noon when they returned to the hotel.
As they entered the lobby, Olivia said, “We need to tell Poppy about our tail.”
Marielle checked the time. “She may have already left for the stadium.”
Olivia swore softly.
They mounted the stairs and walked along the fifth floor hallway to their room. Then they both froze at the same time, clocking the danger: the door to the royal suite was ajar.
Marielle drew her weapon as they approached the open door of the royal suite. Olivia was already armed, moving silently along the wall with the practiced efficiency that years of field work supplied.
They flanked the door. Olivia held up three fingers, then two, then one.
They burst into the suite together, weapons raised, clearing corners with synchronized precision.
It was, as the saying goes, like riding a bike. Of course, Marielle had never been the bicycle type. She was not fond of modes of transportation that involved sweating.
The sitting room was empty. So were the bedrooms. The bathrooms. The kitchen. The dining room.
Nothing.
Olivia lowered her weapon. “Maybe Poppy left the door open?”
“There’s no way. She’s a trained intelligence officer,” Marielle said.
“She’s either careless or someone came in after her,” Olivia decided. “I’m hoping she’s careless, frankly.”
Marielle holstered her gun and collapsed onto the sofa. The adrenaline drained from her system, leaving her shaky and exhausted. “I’m too old for this.”
“You’re thirty-four.”
“I feel eighty-four.”
“Wasn’t your grandmother teaching a yoga class when she was eighty-four?”
“I’m no Céline.”
“Who is?”
She was about to respond when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She scanned the message and laughed.
“What?”
“Chelsea and Leilah are pregaming. The pilot recognized Leilah at the gate and got them bumped up to first class. They’ve been drinking champagne all the way across the ocean. Hope Poppy’s limo driver doesn’t mind pouring them into the back seat when they land.”
Olivia grinned. “He just better hope Leilah doesn’t offer to drive.”
Laughing, Marielle started to return her phone to her pocket. Her laughter cut off like a record scratch when she noticed an earlier text that she’d somehow missed. It was from Anissa Sabban.
