Fugue State (20 page)

Putting a name to the man with the broken nose suddenly made Alexa feel guilty, but she pushed the feelings aside, along with all of the other ones she’d buried. “You want me to work for you? As in, FBI or CIA or something of that nature?” He nodded in response. “I’m not sure. I don’t know that I’m interested. I was ready to head to the south of France and relax for few days.” She didn’t care that she was digressing; his questions seemed unfathomable.

“Take a few days. I don’t mind. We’ll be in touch.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. She figured he wanted to take her number to reach her. Instead, he handed her the phone. “Take this. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Alexa reached out, then stopped and shook her head vigorously.

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s my way of getting a hold of you.”

“No. It’s your way of knowing where I am. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.”

He chuckled lightly. “All right, Miss DeBrow, have it your way. I admire your spirit. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not interested?”

He shrugged. “Then you’re not interested.”

“There’s no penalty for refusing?”

“None that I’m aware of. You should know, however, that you’ve gained the attention of my agency. It’s unlikely you will lose their attention in the near future.”

“You’re telling me I’m being watched?” The idea disgusted her.

“Not watched, necessarily. Monitored. Your recent actions have made you a relatively high-risk individual. It’s going to take some time for that kind of attention to die down.”

Alexa sighed heavily.

“You are currently under surveillance. You should know, Miss DeBrow, I don’t need a device to track your whereabouts.”

Like you tracked Mohammed Ahmed?
Alexa questioned with a hint of sarcasm.

“What do you suggest I do, Charles?”

“Do whatever you want. You’re still free to decide — only your options are weighted on each end.”

“What’s it like to work for you?”

“You wouldn’t be working for me. Let’s clear that up right away. You would be working with me. It’s a kind of business I used to participate in. Frankly, it’s not much different than what you did with Mohammed. You persuade people. You lie to people. You live a false identity. You gather information from those around you. Sometimes you kill, but you always avoid being killed, whatever the cost.” He pursed his lips tightly.

“And you find satisfaction in that?”

“Didn’t you find satisfaction in poisoning Mohammed?”

Alexa blushed. “Yes. I did. I’m not sure if I should have, but I did.”

“Don’t fret one moment for Mohammed’s death. We both know he deserved far worse than what he got. Truth is, there are a lot more out there just like him. They deserve what they have coming to them, as well. I’ll give you a few days. Take your money, go to the beach, and indulge in French wine. Just know I need to get in touch with you soon. I’ll give you ten days. Then, you call me. That’s the best I can offer you.”

“And if I decline?”

“Suit yourself. But I suggest that you lay low for a while. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself.”

Like flee the country under a false identity?

“And if I accept?”

“I don’t think you’ll have any regrets. You’re not the type to regret killing monsters, are you?”

Alexa shivered. She knew he was referring to Jamar now, not Mohammed.

“Goodbye, Charles.”

He put out his hand and slipped her fifty euros.

“It’s your cab money. Least I can do after what we put you through today.”

He turned around and hopped into a black Mercedes idling just a few feet behind them in the street. Funny, she hadn’t noticed the car while they were walking. She scolded herself for missing this important fact.
That’s not the kind of thing an undercover agent would miss.

CHAPTER 23

A
lone on the street after Charles MacDonald’s black Mercedes sped away, she wondered,
what now?
She’d spent the last several hours convincing herself that Alexa DeBrow would have to disappear indefinitely and let Elizabeth Fuguay step into the forefront. Now that idea seemed impossible. She wasn’t sure if Charlie knew about her alias, but given the type of surveillance he spoke of, she knew assuming an alias would be frowned upon.
I’ll have to remain Alexa a while longer.
She needed to check out of the boutique hotel where she’d registered under the alias.
I must keep Elizabeth Fuguay hidden as long as possible, and maybe someday I can safely assume my new identity.
She walked several blocks before she came across a cab to hail back to her hotel.

After a quick shower in her room, she gathered her things and discreetly checked out. She hauled her belongings to the nearby train station.
I’m going to the south of France, to Nice.
She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Serge. They’d split on bad terms, and she wasn’t ready to speak with him again.
I’ll call him from Nice and invite him to stay the weekend, knowing he’ll decline.
The friendship had ended, and the closing remarks were a mere formality.

She bought her train ticket and perched on a bench inside the station. She had an hour wait, so she curled into a ball and laid her head on one of her bags and latched her feet around another. Her purse fit snuggly under her arm, and she closed her eyes to rest.

A stench hung in the air that smelled like the river.
Is that remnants of the water in my hair or something else?
Her olfactory nerves detected ammonia — the smell of old urine. Someone had urinated on a nearby bench, and the smell permeated her nostrils. Trying to ignore it, she breathed through her mouth. She closed her eyes tighter and saw Britt.

Her mind drifted to the night of their first kiss. The happy memory found its way into her heart. Two days after they first met on that afternoon run, he invited her for tapas and mojitos. A simple first date. They shared chicken skewers, hummus, meatballs, and apples with Brie. Through smooth, lively talk he shared his novel ideas, opening himself up like a book. The words he spoke were the feelings she held silently inside herself and never confessed to another. Their similarities made her smile, and she became intoxicated with him.

Then the center tables of the restaurant were cleared away, and a small band and a dance floor appeared. The rhythms of their heartbeats and the music collided, and they found themselves holding one another while moving to the music. As their bodies moved in harmony, his chest brushed against her bosom. His chin hovered at the level of her brow. Britt sniffed her hair and nuzzled his lips up close to her forehead, while reaching down to place his hand on the small of her back. He pulled her close until their pelvises united. His arms fell to her waist while she wrapped hers around his neck. Strong arms eased her toes off the floor. Their lips met. She melted. Her heart stopped, as she fell into a serene oblivion. She loved him, and he let her.

The screech of train brakes roused her from her peaceful sleep. She took a moment to be thankful for the pleasant dream. They were few and far between, and she didn’t want to take it for granted. Her train had arrived and was accepting passengers. She climbed aboard, looking forward to seeing Nice. As other passengers settled in, Alexa acknowledged the many single male faces and wondered if any of these men worked for Charles MacDonald as her surveillance team. She yearned for her freedom, so she forced the dismal thought out of her mind.

She remained uneasy until the train reached its destination. Then, the beauty of Nice drowned all other thoughts from her mind. The vibrant colors of the landscape were livelier than a Van Gogh. Deep blue skies, white washed buildings, terracotta roofs, vivid greens, and so many flowers. Alexa gathered her bags and stepped off the train, letting the sun pour onto her shoulders and warm her skin to her soul. She breathed a little easier for the moment. Nice was so much more colorful than Paris. She hadn’t realized Paris was lacking anything while she was there. She had been too mesmerized by the city of lights to see beyond it. The small town on the coast had enchanting views of the sea and she wanted to find a hotel with an ocean view.
I owe myself that much.

She found a small hotel that served breakfast daily. The cheap room had a twin bed and lacked enough wattage to run a blow dryer. Nothing glamorous enough to attract standard tourists, Alexa saw it as a hidden gem. She checked in under her old identity with a sigh: Alexa DeBrow. After everything she’d suffered, nothing had changed. She was still trying to run away from a past that haunted her.

The small room lacked a balcony, but she opened a large window to let in the sea breeze. It was enough. She made her faux invite to Serge via a voicemail she left on his phone. It took until late the next evening for him to return her call. Was he purposely avoiding her, or did he sleep in late after staying up into the early hours? She wasn’t sure which. He countered her offer to come to Nice with an invitation to another Parisian party. She gave a dry response.

“I’m not sure I can handle another party of yours, Serge. Your last party was too much for me. I need some fresh air.”

He seemed bored with her answer. “That’s fair. Enjoy the sea views. Perhaps we meet again sometime.” It was their last correspondence.

Alexa tried to find peace in Nice. She drank wine and swam in the ocean and napped on the beach. She ate hearty salads and fresh ocean fish. In the evenings, she melded into the serenity of the orange and pink and purple sunbeams setting into the sea. Her body felt rejuvenated, but her mind became stir-crazy. She carried on as such for five or six days before she lost count. More than once, she thought about calling Charlie Mac, but she shook the thought off each time.
Calling Charlie means giving up my freedom.

With time, however, freedom settled into boredom. She needed something to occupy herself. She needed a challenge, something thought provoking to stimulate her mind from this state of idleness. She needed obligations back in her life.

She didn’t have to succumb to Charles MacDonald; he contacted her.

The call came directly to her hotel on a weekday afternoon while Alexa was lounging by the pool. The bartender who staffed both the pool bar and a small patio restaurant told her she had a phone call. She followed him to the hotel front desk, and he handed her the receiver.

She knew it was Charles. True to his word, he followed her every move.

Alexa put the phone to her ear. “Hello, Charles.”

“Alexa.” He dropped his degree of formality with her. Now, they communicated on a first name basis.

“You found me. I’m not surprised.”

“I’ve known where you were every moment since we last spoke. I was waiting until you were ready to hear from me. Are you ready, Alexa? Are you done relaxing like a little Houston
celebutante
? Are you ready to do something meaningful with your life?”

His tone provoked her.

Ready to do something meaningful? I’m not sure your idea of “meaningful” equals my own.
He continued without waiting for her response. “I have someone I want you to meet. Mike Shepard. I don’t have any more time to wait for you, Alexa. He’ll meet you by your hotel pool in an hour. Just listen to him. It’s all I ask. The choice is yours to make.” He hung up without another word. She stood there holding the receiver in silence. The man who gave her the phone took it away from her, and she wandered back toward the pool.

Skirting the desire to change into something more appropriate, she slumped back into her lounge chair by the pool and tried to contemplate what Charlie was planning for her.
Charlie MacDonald.
A chill swept over her, and she pulled at the sheer cover-up draped over her shoulders.
What do I do?
I don’t have enough information.
The hour flew by while her mind toiled recklessly, grasping for a clarity that lay beyond her reach.

CHAPTER 24

A
big man, nearly seven feet tall, with a wide build and a powerful stance appeared at her side and interrupted her precarious train of thought. His large frame cast a shadow over her entire body. She felt small next to his intimidating stature.
Mike Shepard
. She tried to make out the details of his countenance, but the sun shone directly behind him, and the glare obscured his features. The rays emanated from his silhouette in a seemingly supernatural way.

Without a word, Alexa stood and tied the sheer cover-up at the waist to cloak her midsection. She pointed to a table where they could both sit. He was older than she’d expected, maybe in his late forties or early fifties. She spoke first.

“So you’re Mike Shepard?”

He nodded. She bit the corner of her lip. His face was like stone.

“And what does Mike Shepard do?”

“I work with Charlie, Miss DeBrow.” A deep and expressionless voice bellowed from his lips.

“Of course you do. But was does that mean? What does Charlie want with me? Why did he send you to interrupt my little European holiday?” She stopped herself before she could ramble further. But he didn’t answer any of her questions.

Her teeth sunk farther into the flesh of her lip.

“What is it that you do, exactly, Mr. Shepard?”

Silence.

Christ, he’s an ogre of a man! Is his silence a game? Is he trying to intimidate me?
She made her voice louder and firmer this time. “Tell me what you do, Mr. Shepard. I have to know what you do,
exactly
. This is not a game. This is my life. This is no easy decision. I need to know details. Tell me what you want from me.” She scrutinized his expression through narrowed eyes.

“I take people
like you
and turn them into what Charlie needs them to be. I train them. I teach them. I instruct them. My job is to make you capable of succeeding in the tasks Charlie asks of you.”

His words slipped through yellowed teeth — the color of chronic tobacco stains. She didn’t smell smoke on his clothes; maybe he was a former smoker.
How many pack-years do you have under your belt, Mike?