“I’ll be quick. I promise.” Leaning in, I brush a light kiss to her lips. “Keep your phonein your hand. Got it?”
She pulls her mobile from her pocket. “Hurry back. Fleur will have many questions for you.”
Great. Interrogated by a godmother. That’ll be a first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nomar
Rue du Parcis far enough from the city center, the sidewalks are mostly empty at 11:00 a.m. Too late for breakfast, too early for lunch. A dark-clad figure darts around a corner, but for all I know, he was a businessman in a black beret and suit jacket.
By the time I reach that same corner, he’s nowhere to be found.
I’d give anything for proper surveillance equipment. Cameras over the shop’s front and back doors. Panic buttons. And a handful of French National police officers on standby.
Dax is supposed to be working on that one, but I haven’t heard a peep from himorFord since I landed.
At least Griff is checking in regularly. The kids are off on their walking tour until 3:00 p.m., then back to the hotel for a few hours before they go stargazing at one of Barcelona’s observatories.
I glance at my texts, and chuckle.
Griff: I run five miles, three days a week, and these kids are in much better shape than I am.
I almost tell him he’ll have an easier time when he gets here. The flower shop is all of two kilometers from Mateen’s school and three from her home. But that would imply I’m leaving.
Staying is dangerous. Stupid, even. But with every minute I spend with her, leaving becomes more and more of a fantasy. A bad one.
At the shop across the street, I place an order for threecafe au laitsand a box of macarons. Maybe if I show up carrying sweets, Fleur will go easy on me. The few minutes also gives me time to watch the pedestrians through the window.
A man and a woman walk arm-in-arm by the flower shop. I’ve seen her before. Haven’t I? Not him, though. He’s new.
I snap a photo, but I already know it’s not going to be clear enough for facial recognition. She’s wearing dark glasses, and her bangs slant over one eye.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to the barista. “My parking is about to run out.”
The young woman nods and waves at me to go. “Run. I will keep the coffees hot for you!”
She’s getting a fat tip when I return.
I’m out the door in seconds, running back the way the couple came. If I’m fast enough, I can circle the block before they disappear.
But when I turn the final corner, the street’s empty. There are a dozen businesses here. Clothing shops, a butcher, two restaurants, and a book store. If I took the time to check them all, I’d be over an hour.
Fuck. I text the blurry photo to Wren, along with the street address of the flower shop. She’s worked miracles before. Maybe she can do it again.
If I hurry, I’ll have just enough time to pick up the coffees and macarons before my twenty minutes are up.
* * *
Lisette
We walk along River Garonne at sunset, long shadows painting the water in an orange hue. Fallen leaves tumble over the grassy banks. Nomar keeps his hand at the small of my back, but he has not relaxed since we left the flower shop.
At dinner, he sat with his back to the wall, tensing every time the door opened. We talked about nothing important. The weather, Mateen’s love of soccer, Ford and Joey’s visit last spring.
I ache to press him for more. To demand he finally open up to me. But we need privacy. Locked doors. Safety.
“It’s beautiful here,” Nomar says. “Have you taken Mateen on the ferris wheel?”
