Kiss Me While I sleep (16 page)

Behind her, traffic had snarled as drivers stopped their cars and jumped out to hide behind them. Her only chance was to run for the cover of the cars and use them to hide her movements; she’d have to shortcut through a shop, probably, or hope someone came by on a bicycle, so she could relieve them of it. She didn’t think she could trust her ability to run for any distance.

The old man who had fallen was trying to get up and at the same time gather his trembling pet to him. “Stay down!” Lily yelled at him. He looked at her with terrified incomprehension on his face, his white hair wildly disordered. “Stay down!” she yelled again, making a downward motion with her hand.

Thank God, he finally understood, and flattened himself on the ground. His little dog crept to him and lay down by his head, getting as close to him as it could.

For a moment, time seemed frozen, the sharp smell of cordite seeming to hang over the park despite the chill breeze. She heard the two soccer players say something to each other, but she couldn’t make out the words.

From her right came the purr of a well-tuned, powerful engine. She glanced in that direction and saw a gray Jaguar jump the curb, heading straight toward her.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, almost deafening her. She had only a few seconds; she had to time her jump perfectly or the car would crush her. She gathered her legs under her, preparing to spring-

The driver spun the wheel and the Jaguar slid sideways between her and the soccer players, the tires slinging clots of dirt and grass as they tried to grab traction, the rear end of the car swinging around so that it ended up facing in the same direction from which it had come. The driver leaned over and thrust open the passenger door.

“Get in!” he yelled in English, and Lily dived into the front seat Over her head came the deep boom of a large-caliber weapon, and the spent cartridge bounced off the seat into her face. She swatted the hot shell away.

He floored the accelerator and the Jaguar leaped forward. There were more shots, several of them, the cracks and booms of different caliber weapons overlapping. The driver’s side rear window splintered, and the driver ducked as glass sprayed behind him. “Shit!” He grinned, then swerved to miss a tree.

Lily had a dizzying image of a tangle of cars as they shot forward into the street. The driver spun the wheel again and the Jaguar once more swapped ends, throwing Lily onto the floorboard. She tried to grab the seat, the door handle, anything with which to anchor herself. The driver was laughing like a maniac as the car once more leaped a curb, fishtailed, then shot through a gap and briefly went airborne before coming down on the street with a hard thump that rattled her teeth and made the chassis groan. Lily gulped for air.

He slammed on the brakes, made a hard left turn, and accelerated out of it. The G-force pressed Lily into the floorboard, preventing her from climbing into the seat. She closed her eyes as squealing brakes sounded directly beside her door, but there was no collision. Instead he made a right turn, bumping along a very uneven surface; with the buildings looming so close on each side that she thought they were going to lose the side-view mirrors, Lily knew they must be in an alley. Dear God, she’d gotten into a car with a maniac.

At the end of the alley he slowed, stopped, then smoothly pulled out into traffic and measured his speed to that of the other cars around him, driving as sedately as any grandmother on Sunday morning.

But he was grinning, and he threw back his head on a full-throated laugh. “Damn, that was fun!”

He had both hands on the wheel, the big automatic lying on the seat beside him. This was likely the best chance she’d have. Lily stayed in the close confines of the floorboard. She fished around for her pistol, which she’d dropped when he was slinging her around as if she were on a carnival ride. She found it under the passenger seat and, with a smooth, economical motion, brought the weapon up and aimed it between his eyes. “Pull over and let me out,” she said.

He glanced at the pistol, then turned his attention back to the traffic. “Put that peashooter away before you piss me off. Hell, lady, I just saved your life!”

“No, just some glass cut the back of my neck. It’s minor.” He reached back and swiped his right hand across his neck. His fingers came away smeared with blood, but not a lot of it. “See?”

“Okay.” Smooth as silk, she reached out her left hand to confiscate the weapon lying beside his leg.

Without looking down, he snapped his right hand around her wrist. “Uh-uh,” he said, all playfulness gone from his voice. “That’s mine.”

He was fast, amazingly so. In a flash the good-natured goofiness had vanished, replaced by a cool, hard look that said he meant business.

Oddly, she was reassured by this glimpse, as if now she was seeing the real man and knew what she had to deal with. She moved farther away from him, as close to the door as she could get, not because she was afraid of him but to make it more difficult for him to grab her weapon with one of those lightning moves. And maybe she
was
a little afraid of him; he was an unknown, and in her business what she didn’t know could get her killed. Fear was good; it kept her on her toes.

He rolled his eyes at her action. “Look, you don’t have to act like I’m psycho or something. I’ll let you out safe and sound, I promise-unless you shoot me, in which case we’ll crash into something and I can’t make any guarantees.”

“Who are you?” she asked in a flat tone.

“Lucas Swain, at your service. Most people just call me Swain. For some reason,
Lucas
never really caught on.”

“I didn’t mean your name. Who do you work for?”

“Myself. I’m not real good at the nine-to-five routine. I’d been in South America for ten years or so and things got kind of tense there, so I thought taking in the sights in Europe for a while would be a good idea.”

He
was
darkly tanned, she noticed. If she read between the lines, he was telling her he was either an adventurer, a mercenary, or a contract agent She was still betting on the latter. But then why had he intervened? That was what made no sense. If his orders were to kill her, he could have done that when she first dived into the car if he hadn’t wanted to let Rodrigo’s goons do the deed for him.

“Whatever you’re involved in,” he said, “from the looks of it you’re outnumbered and could use some help. I’m available, I’m good, and I’m bored. So what was going on back there?”

Lily wasn’t an impulsive person, at least not in her work. She was careful, she did her homework, and she planned. But she’d already realized she’d need help in getting into the laboratory complex, and despite his unsettling good humor, Lucas Swain had proven himself to be skilled at a lot of things. She had been so alone these past few months that her solitude was a constant ache in her heart. There was something about this man that invited trust, something that eased the ache of loneliness.

She didn’t answer his question. Instead she said, “Are you any good with security systems?”

He pursed his lips, considering her question. “I know enough to get by, but I’m no expert. Depends on the actual system. I do, however, know some real experts who can tell me anything I need to know.” He paused. “Are you talking about doing something illegal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good. I’m feeling more cheerful by the minute.”

If he got any more cheerful, she thought, she’d have to shoot him to protect her own sanity.

He made another turn, looked around, then said thoughtfully, “Do you know where the hell we are?”

Lily turned sideways and swung her legs up in the seat, blocking any move he might make to grab her pistol, then dared a quick glance around. “Yes. At the next traffic signal turn right, then about a mile farther turn left. I’ll tell you when.”

“Where will we be then?”

“At the train station. That’s where you can let me out.”

“Aw, come on. We’ve been getting along so great. Don’t abandon me so soon. I had my hopes up we were going to be partners.”

“Without checking you out?” she asked incredulously.

“I guess that would be stupid.”

“No joke.” Ten minutes with an American and she found herself easily falling back into the vernacular, like putting on comfortable slippers. “Where are you staying? I’ll call you.”

“At the Bristol.” He took the right turn she’d indicated. “Room seven-twelve.”

She lifted her brows. “You rented a Jag, you stay at one of the most expensive hotels in Paris. Your day job must pay well.”

“All of my jobs have paid well, plus I had to have somewhere to park the Jag. Damn. Now I have to rent another car, and I can’t turn this one in yet or I’ll be busted when the damage is reported.”

She glanced back at the broken window, through which cold air was rushing. “Break it out the rest of the way and tell the rental company some punk broke it with a bat.”

“That’ll work, unless someone got the license number.”

“The way you were fishtailing?”

“There is that, but why take the chance? In France you’re assumed guilty unless you can prove otherwise. I’ll just try to stay out of the clutches of the gendarmes, thank you.”

“Your choice,” she said indifferently. “You’re the one who’ll be paying for two rental cars.”

“Don’t sound so sympathetic; I’ll start thinking you care.”

That quip pulled an unwilling smile from her. He didn’t take himself seriously; she didn’t know if that was an asset or a liability, but he was definitely amusing. He’d all but fallen into her lap just when she’d been trying to decide whom she should pull in to help her, so she’d have to be a fool to categorically turn him down. She would check him out, and if there was the slightest hint of Agency or untrustworthiness, then she would simply never contact him. He hadn’t acted as if he’d been hired to kill her; she was beginning to feel easy about that As for whether or not he was any good, or reliable, that remained to be seen. She couldn’t call her normal source with the Agency and have him investigated, but she knew a couple of shady guys who could find out for her.

She used the short time left before they reached the train station to study him. He was a good-looking man, she noticed with faint surprise; when he’d been talking, that was what she’d paid attention to, not his face. He was tallish, around six-one or so, and lean. His hands were sinewy, long-fingered, ringless, with prominent veins and short, clean nails. His hair was short, brown with gray around his temples; his eyes were blue, much bluer than her own. Lips a bit thin, but well-shaped. Strong chin that stopped just short of being cleft. A noble nose, thin and high-bridged. Except for the gray in his hair, he looked younger than he probably was. She guessed his age to be close to her own, late thirties, possible early forties.

He was dressed the way millions of men on the Continent dressed, nothing that would make him stand out or shout “American,” no Levi’s or Nikes or a sweatshirt imprinted with his favorite professional football team. Instead he wore taupe slacks, a blue shirt, and a great black leather blazer. She envied him that blazer. And his Italian leather loafers were clean and shiny.

If he was newly arrived from South America, he’d adopted the style of the locals pretty fast.

“The next left,” she said as they neared the turn.

He’d also picked up the Parisian style of driving pretty fast, too; he drove with nerve, verve, and reckless abandon. As someone tried to cut him off, she saw that he’d also been fast to pick up some of the local gestures. He was smiling as he cut in front of the other car; a glint in his eyes that said he enjoyed the challenge of Parisian traffic. He was definitely a lunatic.

“How long have you been in Paris?” she asked.

“Three days. Why?”

“Pull over there.” She directed him to the curb in front of the train platform. “You already drive like a native.”

“When you swim with the sharks, you gotta show your teeth so they know you mean business.” He pulled to the curb. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms… ?”

Lily didn’t leap into the opening. Instead she returned her pistol to its holster in her boot and continued the movement, opening the door and sliding out. She leaned in to look at him. “I’ll call you,” she said, then closed the door and strode away.

He wasn’t in a parking slot, so he couldn’t wait to see which train she got on; he had to pull away, and though he looked back, already her blond head was gone from view. He didn’t think she’d pulled a wig out of her pocket and clapped it on, so he assumed she had deliberately lost herself behind some taller passengers.

He could have pushed it, left the car where it was and followed her, but his gut told him that persistence right now Wasn’t a smart idea. If he tried to follow her, she would bolt. Let her come to him.

She was going to check him out. Shit. He pulled out his cell phone and made an urgent call stateside so some computer geek could earn his salary and make sure no one could learn anything about Lucas Swain except for some highly edited, and mostly fabricated, details.

That taken care of, Swain put his mind to solving another less pressing problem: the Jag. That window needed to be replaced before he turned it in to the rental company, because he’d been serious about not wanting the French cops to know about him. It wasn’t good politics, and he also had to figure an organization like the Nervis’ would have informants everywhere it mattered, which certainly included the cops.