Lucie whistles. “Wow, someone has friends in high places!”
“Just a good friend in the gendarmerie,” I lie.
Before we’ve finished repacking the last box, my phone pings. Carlo has sent me a file with the current home address, workplace, and some personal details on the man who bought Emma’s fan. He’s still in Lyon!
I show Lucie the address.
“Rue Serlin… It’s a little street in the old town,” she says, “in the 1st arrondissement not far from the city hall.”
We climb down and thank Violette and Dominique for their hospitality. As we rush downhill to the car, my phone pings again. It’s a text from Anders. I can’t see him, but I know he’s lurking here somewhere. Last night, I persuaded him to check into a local hotel, but I’m sure he was back at his post before dawn. The text message is laconic:
Gray SUV on ur left
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the vehicle in question.
Leaning toward Lucie, I whisper in her ear, “We’re being followed. Don’t freak out at what I do next.”
She responds with a surprised blink and then a small nod.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pull her to me, nuzzle her hair and kiss her forehead. The idea is to dupe Kurt’s men into thinking I’m in Pourles with Lucie because she’s my new girlfriend.
…Or is it to dupe myself because I’m doing this for me?
13
MAX
“Why are we being followed?” Lucie asks as we drive back into Lyon.
“It’s classified.”
“Is it about the fan we’re tracking down or something else?”
I ignore her question, too busy plotting how we can lose Kurt’s men to come up with a plausible lie.
A deep frown creases her brow.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Those men aren’t out to harm us. At least, not physically and not today.”
She glances at the rearview mirror, muttering, “Over a handheld fan? This doesn’t make any sense.”
A few minutes later, I’ve hatched a plan. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll drop you off in front of your place in Croix-Rousse and return the car. It’s no use to us now that it’s been outed.”
“We can easily walk to rue Serlin.”
“That’s exactly what we’ll do, once we’ve called the collector who purchased the fan, set up an appointment, and had lunch someplace fancy as a new couple would.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You think that faking a date would make the guys in the SUV pack up and leave?”
“Maybe. Though not very likely.”Not likely at all, if I’m honest.
The truth is, I’m getting hungry.
“Can you recommend a good restaurant that serves authentic local food?” I ask her. “Your aunt’s cooking left me craving for more.”
“We call restaurants that serve Lyon regional foodbouchons. The really good ones are expensive.”
The wordexpensivetriggers a Pavlovian response in me. “Money is not an issue.” Combined with my looks, my clothes and the Aston Martin Valkyrie that I drive when not undercover, that lazy pickup line never fails. Regardless of whether the lady is aware of my royal status.
