young, too scared, and too stupid to be setting him up. Maybe she was just involved in something way out of her depth and was desperate for his help. He had no plans to do so unless it also helped him. Or maybe he was wrong. Either way her chances of survival were not looking good. He rested his hands on the table.
‘Why did you have me come back to Paris?’
‘Someone is trying to kill us both.’
It was tempting to be sarcastic but he resisted. ‘Because of Monday.’
She shook her head. ‘The Paris job isn’t what you think.’ She looked around the bar. ‘We shouldn’t talk here.’
She was so nervous she couldn’t keep still, checking the door every few seconds as though she’d seen the move in a film. She was drawing too much attention.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Where?’
‘I have an apartment in the east of the city. It’s safe.’
Victor raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘I’ve been staying there since yesterday,’ she explained. ‘No one knows I’m there or I would have been killed already.’
It was a well-delivered point.
Victor downed his drink. ‘Take me there.’
CHAPTER 31
01:35 CET
‘Here we are.’
The broker glanced at him before she turned the key and opened the door. She couldn’t have known it, but her next action would determine whether or not he would kill her right now. She stepped inside. If she’d have said or even gestured for Victor to go inside first he would have snapped her neck, knowing it was a trap. But she hadn’t. For the moment at least she stayed alive.
Her building was prewar, seven storeys of no character and in need of some maintenance. It might have looked good once, but those days were long gone. The apartment was little more than an empty shell, only the most basic of furniture and fixtures, simply decorated. A typical low-cost, inner-city rental. The broker flicked the light switch and walked into the centre of the room.
Victor flicked the light back off and closed the door behind him. She pivoted on the spot. In the gloom he could see the fear that spread across her features as she mistook the action. Victor ignored her, walked over to a table that stood by the wall, and flicked on a lamp, angling it so it wouldn’t cast their silhouettes onto the thin curtains.
He kept his back to her for a moment longer than he needed, giving her a seemingly good opportunity to try something. He listened for movement, for the change of footing that would give her away. She didn’t do anything. He almost wanted her to just so he would know for sure. Victor faced her.
‘My name’s Rebecca,’ she said.
‘I don’t care.’ The broker started to speak again, but he cut her off. ‘Be quiet.’
Victor looked around the room, examining light fixtures, plug sockets, under tables — checking for bugs. He searched the rest of the apartment. There was a meagre kitchen, bathroom, a double bedroom. A tiny balcony was accessible from the kitchen. He had to be quick just in case time was an issue. He didn’t find anything.
She was standing in exactly the same place when he re-entered the lounge. There was a two-seater sofa and an armchair she could have chosen to sit in, but she hadn’t, her nerves plainly evident. It was a good sign.
‘I’m going to search you,’ he said.
‘What? You already have-’
‘Take off your coat.’
‘You think I’m wearing a wire? Why would I?’
‘Take off your coat.’
Victor’s tone didn’t change, but his gaze demanded obedience. Her mouth was open as if she was going to protest but she didn’t speak. She unbuttoned the long coat and slipped it off her shoulders. She looked at Victor.
‘Stand over there and hold out your arms.’
She moved toward the table, into the lamp’s arc of light. She raised her arms so they were level with her shoulders. Her shadow was cross-shaped on the wall.
Victor stood in front of her. She was a tall woman, in modest heels only a couple of inches shorter than he. She had olive skin, dark eyes, the Mediterranean somewhere in her blood. He could see the hint of training in the way she was standing, the way she carried herself. Maybe military, but he guessed intelligence. There was fear in her eyes, but that fear was controlled. He could see the tiny, rapid flexing of the skin on her neck. Fast, but not overly so.
She was wearing dark jeans, not tight but not loose either, a dark cardigan over a cream blouse. Smart- casual, playing down her looks but still allowing for shoes that were more stylish than practical.
He ran his palms along the outside and underside of her arms, down her back, down the sides of her torso and centre of her chest, not caring that she flinched when he touched her breasts as part of the search. He squatted down to check around her waist and her legs before standing again.
‘Take off your shoes and jeans.’
‘No, forget it. I’m not doing that.’
‘You will if you don’t want me to put my hand into your underwear.’
She was stunned, glared at him, her eyes full of disgust. He held her gaze, showing no emotion. There was nothing to negotiate. She would do what he told her. After a moment he watched the fight drain out of her, and she nodded slowly. She took her shoes off first, then turned her head away so she didn’t have to look at him, unbuttoned her jeans, and slipped them off her hips. They fell to her feet.
‘Step out of them.’
She did.
‘Stand with your legs a little farther apart.’
Again she did as instructed.
Victor looked at her closely for a moment. ‘Turn around.’
She pivoted slowly on the spot.
‘Okay,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Get dressed.’
Victor stepped away and stood to the side of the lounge window, his back to the wall. The broker pulled up her jeans and put her shoes back on. He was embarrassed to find himself watching her as she dressed. He looked away before she noticed.
‘Are you happy now?’ she asked when she was clothed.
‘Not exactly,’ Victor answered quietly. ‘I’ve broken more rules than I can count by coming here so what you have to tell me had better be worth it.’
‘Otherwise what?’ the broker challenged. ‘You’ll kill me?’
‘Yes.’
It wasn’t just a threat, and Victor saw that she understood this. There was an immediate shift in her posture, a drop in her shoulders, the shifting of weight, the instinctive change in body language that told an enemy there was no threat, no challenge, no need for violence. He saw that though she may have convinced herself beforehand she could deal with him, she was fast finding out just how wrong she had been.
The broker asked, ‘What’s your name?’
The question caught Victor off balance. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I said, what do I call you? You were always referred to as Tesseract in our-’
‘Why Tesseract?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just a code name,’ she answered. ‘So, what shall I call you?’
‘You don’t need to call me anything,’ Victor said.
