Kill Me If You Can

very artsy. It’s quite nice.”

“Good,” Marta said. “I’d hate to stay in a dump.”

Chapter 47

Marta was hungry. She softened the bread and cheese in Katherine’s microwave, found a corkscrew for the wine, and ate a late lunch. While she was eating, she called Chukov.

“I know who has your diamonds and where they are,” she said.

“Who? Where?” Chukov made no attempt to hide his anxiety.

“A man named Matthew Bannon has them. He’s in Paris.”

“Paris?”

“Yes, he and his girlfriend are on the run,” Marta said. “But he has no idea I’m running after him. I’ll get a flight tonight and be there tomorrow.”

“Fly coach,” Chukov said.

“Marta Krall doesn’t travel in coach.”

“All right, all right, but don’t stay at some thousand-dollar-a-night hotel. This whole thing has cost us a fortune already.”

“Relax,” she said, enjoying listening to him whine about a few dollars when there were millions at stake. “I’ll be staying in the same hotel as Bannon and his lady friend, in the Quartier Saint-Germain-des-Pres. And despite the fact that I’ve been told it’s very vibrant and very artsy, I won’t be staying long.”

“What’s the name of the hotel?” Chukov said.

“Why do you ask? Are you going to send champagne to my room? Or are you planning to call your friend the Ghost to back me up?”

“I am not calling the Ghost,” Chukov said, trying to sound indignant at the suggestion. “I told you I want you to kill the Ghost. As far as I’m concerned, we still have an agreement. Unless you’ve decided to back out.”

“Not at all,” Marta said. “But information has a way of leaking, and if I tell you where I’m staying, the Ghost might find me before I find him. I’ll call you from Paris,” she said and ended the call.

Marta left Katherine’s apartment through the front door.

Chukov immediately called the Ghost. “The man you’re looking for is named Matthew Bannon. He and his girlfriend are in Paris. Their hotel is somewhere in the Quartier Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Can you find him?”

“Yes.”

“I hope so,” Chukov said. “So far it looks like I’m the one doing all the work.”

He hung up. The noose was tightening around the neck of the young man who had his diamonds. And now Chukov had two assassins competing to track him down. Once he had the diamonds back, he’d be happy to pay Marta Krall for killing the Ghost.

He smiled to himself. In an ideal world, he thought, they would kill each other.

Chapter 48

KATHERINE WAS SITTING up in bed when I got back to the room.

“Bonjour, sleepyhead,” I said as I sat down beside her.

She was wearing a pale pink nightshirt made of the softest, silkiest cotton I ever touched. The neckline had a tiny little bow in the center, totally nonfunctional but definitely adorable.

I gave her a quick kiss.

“Bonjour yourself,” she said. “It’s way too early in the morning to be this chipper. What have you been up to?”

“I woke up at six, went for a walk, grabbed some coffee, and then had a long, serious talk with the concierge.”

“About what?”

“Dinner. I had him make us a reservation at a nice little restaurant he recommended. It’s called Antico Martini.”

“It sounds Italian.”

“It should,” I said. “It’s in Venice.”

“Venice? Italy? We’re going to Venice for dinner?”

“That would be crazy,” I said. “So I had the concierge book us a hotel for a couple of nights.”

“But…but…” She was dumbfounded, and I hated to admit it, but I was having fun dumbfounding her. “But we just got here.”

“Hey, I’m feeling adventurous. We’ve already made love in one romantic city. Let’s do it again in another.”

“Just like that?” she said.

“Why not?” I said. “Didn’t we leave New York just like that? Come on, our flight leaves at ten fifteen.”

I got up, took my bag out of the closet, and started packing.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. “You are not only drop-dead amazing to look at, fantastic in bed, and wildly spontaneous, but you are also ridiculously romantic. Who cares if you’re going to be a poor struggling artist all your life?”

“Who cares?” I said. “I care.” I threw the pillow back at her.

She hugged the pillow to her chest. “I love you,” she said.

“You talking to me or the pillow?”

“Our plane leaves at ten fifteen?” she said.

“Yup.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s only seven oh five, and I’m a real fast packer.”

She lifted the pink nightshirt up over her head, tossed it on the floor, and slipped under the covers.

“I love you,” she repeated. “And I’m not talking to the pillow.”

Chapter 49

MARTA KRALL CAUGHT the 7 p.m. Delta flight out of JFK. She had only one small suitcase, and despite the fact that there was plenty of room in first class to bring it on board, she checked it.

She touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport at 8:45 the next morning and went to the baggage carousel, where she was reunited with her bag.

She cleared customs, then found the nearest ladies’ room. She locked the stall door, sat on the toilet, and opened her bag. Her hair dryer was in the black drawstring case, exactly as she had packed it.

It wasn’t a working dryer. It was built for her by a mold maker in Holland. She used a paper clip to push a recessed button on the grip. The dryer popped open. Inside were the pieces of her Glock, each one held in place by a steel clasp.