Disappointingly, Kurt’s men are still behind us.
Lucie leads me to a bigger street. We cross it. A bus passes by, cutting the pursuers off on the side. Lucie guides me away from the main street while the two men have to wait in a back alley. We dip into an arched passage built over the road. It’s a short, well-lit tunnel that connects the buildings on either side.
I hear footsteps behind me. When we emerge on another street, I take a look around. The two men are still after us, having cut through the sametraboule.
As I begin to doubt if Lucie’s plan will work, she winks at me. “I’m just getting started.” We keep moving. She keeps hold of my hand while using her other hand to push open an unremarkable door that I wouldn’t have thought to try. We cross a courtyard and duck down into another vaulted tunnel. I follow Lucie, unsure of what is ahead but putting my entire trust in the Lyon native.
Said native moves forward without missing a beat. She seems to know where she’s going. This tunnel is longer and darker than the first. And much narrower. Lucie lets go of my hand. I follow her silhouette, her frame nothing more than a shadow in the darkness of the passageway. She increases her pace. Soon, we’re whizzing in a labyrinth of tunnel-like corridors, navigating by spatial memory—in Lucie’s case—and by the click of her kitten heels.
She crashes through a door artfully hidden among the architecture, and we enter yet another passage. This one is slightly better lit. I begin to see her thanks to the rise and fall of her wavy bob. Gradually, the rest of Lucie’s body comes into view, and then multiple slabs of sunlight land on her tantalizing figure like a map for my hands.
She opens a door with a dormer. It’s daytime again, and we’re out on a different street. Peeling my eyes off Lucie’s back, I ascertain that Kurt’s men are no longer following us.
But we aren’t alone.
14
MAX
Two men in dark jackets and another man who hides his face appear shocked to see us come through the doorway. So shocked they reach for knives in their belts.
We’ve interrupted some criminal activity, likely a drug deal.
I look the scene over in a flash. The unarmed man is quick to flee, tucking a small paper bag into his pocket. The two that are left start shouting threats and approaching us menacingly.
One of the men attacks me, lunging forward with a stab. I easily swat his hand away with a stiff backhand with my right hand, unafraid of the knife he’s holding. I’ve spent years training for this, never expecting I’d actually need the skill.
Keeping my momentum, I lunge my knee forward right above the attacker’s groin, then plant my foot between his legs, and use my right hand to slam an open palm into his collarbone. The attacker, knocked off his feet, flies into the hard wall behind him.
Iback up a step as the other dealer wields his knife. He’s bigger and nastier looking and appears to be the more dangerous of the two. His blade is longer and serrated. Not as easy to parry as the one the other man held.
I reach for my compact carry pistol, concealed in a special holster under my jacket. The dealer freezes up, no doubt expecting me to reveal my own weapon. But, to my horror, I come up empty. Wherever my Wilson Combat is, it isn’t in its holster. It must’ve dropped as we ran through thetraboules.
Producing my hand in a flicker jab, I grab Lucie’s arm and we break into a run. I know better than to fight steel with bare fists. The other dealer is conscious and pulling himself up, and I’d be alone parrying two men while shielding a woman who spent the last five minutes in a terrified stupor.
But she snaps out of it. “Over there!” she points at a door ahead on her right.
We barrel straight into a squat building, through the lobby, and up the stairs. One flight, two, three. We get to the top floor with ease. Luckily, the goons aren’t as quick as Lucie and me.
She opens a slanted panel in the ceiling that leads to the roof. The angle is steep, but she bravely perseveres, ascending out of sight. Clearly she’s less afraid of heights than of knives. The opposite is true for me.
“Come on, hurry up!” she calls from the roof.
I climb out, kick the hatch closed and scamper up the side of the roof after her, focusing on finding purchase on the nubs of the roof tiles. Another push, and I’m on the flat of the rooftop next to Lucie and trying not to look down.
She takes the lead once more, jogging down the length of the flat stretch. There are small gaps between sections in places. We jump over them. I itch to check if we are stillbeing chased, but the thought of looking anywhere but ahead of me makes my stomach turn. Lucie keeps moving. We cross a few more nearly connected roofs that form our escape bridge.
At last, she comes to rest and sits down to catch her breath. I do the same. Carefully, I look around and then down at the streets. Kurt’s men and the drug dealers are nowhere in sight.
“We did it!” She beams at me. “We lost them!”
“Have we lost ourselves, too?”
“Pff!” She rolls her eyes. “I know these roofs. I wasn’t a pretend tomboy just for the photos, you know?”
“I don’t doubt it, Ma’am,” I say. “I believe you tomboyed like you traboulated. In earnest.”
Apparently satisfied with my reply, she rises to her feet and heads to a low roof hatch a few meters away. She pushes it, gently at first, then harder. But the door won’t budge.
