***
After changing into regular clothes, I left HQ. Crestfallen, I made my way home.
Sitting on the train was not a good place for me to be. The memory of what happened to Dufor stomped through my mind. He was really dead. My actions had allowed his death to occur. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes and nausea settled in. I stood to disembark, hoping I wouldn’t puke before the train stopped. As I moved toward the door, a young boy, no more than fourteen, his dark head down, sidled up to me. No way was this happening—I did not need this right now. Sure enough, he darted his hand out and scoped my pocket.
Quick as a flash, I had my hand on his wrist, wrenching it away from my pocket and behind his back. He didn’t cry out, but a tear slid down his cheek and a look of anguish filled his face. I felt no pity.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” I hissed in his ear, the French words sounding powerful. “And if I catch you doing this to anyone else, I’ll duct tape your nose to your butt and put you back in the subway wearing a sign that tells everyone you’re a filthy pickpocket.”
He nodded frantically. I released his arm and gave him a slight push just as the train doors opened. He stumbled out and soon disappeared up the stairs. My blood was boiling. I’d endured these pickpockets for too long. Up until now, I’d taken precautionary measures like any good Parisian, keeping valuables well out of reach and always being on alert. Except for that one moment, one second when I’d been focused on identifying risks for Dufor—and I’d been taken advantage of. I hated Paris.
I stopped at a small park down the street from my apartment and tried to find some peace, some hope. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Siron’s words sat at the forefront of my mind. Careless, thoughtless, unprofessional, poisonous, impulsive. She was right, of course. Jeremy was going to be so mad, so disappointed. It was easy to see how ashamed and embarrassed by me he would be. He’d regret speaking so highly of me. The thought of seeing him made me feel queasy.
Chapter 5
I’d been up half the night working on the Sécurité Un mission, so after a long, hot shower, during which I could barely stay awake, I walked the fifteen steps from the bathroom, past the kitchenette, and slipped into bed. The second my head hit the pillow, my traitorous mind began running around in circles. I stared out the crusty old window that helped give the apartment its charm, then at the small sofa across the room and then at the kitchenette, trying to get my mind off everything. At some point I fell into a fitful sleep, but I must have woken up a thousand times. Exhaustion ate at me until a breeze whispered over my face. I bolted upright. I hadn’t left a window open. In two seconds flat, I located the intruder and was on him a moment later.
“Stop hitting me!” he yelled, and at the sound of his familiar voice, I reeled back, barely stopping myself from landing another kick.
“What?” I gasped in disbelief.
“Stop hitting me, girl. It’s me—it’s Halluis!”
I reached out and slapped the light on, revealing the tall, thin Frenchman dressed all in black, a look of utter disgust on his face. He had one hand pressed to his side where I’d kicked him. “This is how you treat your friends?”
“This is how I treat intruders! You know, the type of people who sneak into your apartment in the dead of night.” I crossed to the window and yanked it closed, adrenaline still coursing through me and making my breath short. “My friends typically knock.”
“Knock? I’m a trained spy; I’m not going to announce myself on the doorstep like some sort of civilian.”
A soft rap sounded at the door, and we both turned to it in shock.
After a split second of hesitation, I walked cautiously over and peered through the peep hole, then yanked the door open with an exasperated sigh. “Come in, Ace.” His face registered surprise when he saw Halluis already inside, and he rubbed awkwardly at the greying scruff on his jaw before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Hi.”
Halluis snorted. “Civilian.”
I rolled my eyes at the smug look on his face. “Okay, what is going on here?”
“I came—” they both started, then glared at each other.
“One at a time,” I said, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. I suddenly felt very tired. “Halluis, why don’t you go first?”
“I came to find out what your plan is, and to offer you my assistance.”
“My—what?”
Ace came over and sat beside me, holding something out toward me. I took it before realizing what it was—a cellphone.
“I came to bring you this. It’s completely secure, and no one at HQ knows about it, so you can communicate with me whenever you need to. The first number in the address book will reach me, the rest are dummies.”
“But—”
Halluis scoffed, “Always trying to show me up, aren’t you, Ace? Well, I did not come empty handed, you know.” He unzipped one of his many pockets and pulled out something sleek and black. He sat down on the other side of me and held out a familiar-looking pouch—the same one I’d been forced to relinquish to Siron mere hours before.
“My knives?” I blinked in confusion. “Why did you—?”
“You didn’t think we would leave you alone in this, did you?” Halluis looked hurt. “Ma petite, I am offended.”
“Honestly, Christy, I thought you knew us better than that,” Ace chimed in.
I looked back and forth between the two of them. The identical looks of consternation and reproof on their faces were almost comical. Suddenly, I understood.
“You guys think I’m going after the pickpocket.”
“Of course,” Halluis scoffed.
