Kiss Me While I sleep (34 page)

A worried expression grew in Blanc’s eyes. “Will you set off the explosives with so many people around, or wait until night when there are fewer present?”

“We can’t take the chance that someone will spot the packages if we leave them until night. They’ll have to be detonated as soon as possible after placement.”

“We could have a mock bomb-threat drill,” Lily suggested. “Announce it immediately that at some undisclosed time during the day, the alarm will sound and they will be required to make a fast, orderly exit. If anyone sees something suspicious, they’ll probably think it’s part of the drill. In fact, we can make that part of the exercise: tell them that mock explosives are being planted throughout the building, and the test will be if all of them are spotted while the workers are going about their normal routine. They’re not to conduct searches, just be alert, that sort of thing. A bonus to anyone who spots an explosive device. They’re not to touch them, just report the location.”

“Make the workers part of the plot?” Swain half-closed his eyes as he considered it That would take a lot of uncertainty out of the plan, because then he and Lily would be
expected
to skulk around planting ominous-looking packages. Dr. Giordano might even show them some good hiding places for the explosives. The plan was so sneaky and brash that no one would be on guard against it The biggest challenge would probably be disguising Lily well enough that Dr. Giordano didn’t recognize her. “That’s diabolical. I like it. We’d even have an excuse for taking in the explosives, if it’s detected; we could show the workers exactly what Semtex or C-4 looks like, so they can recognize it in the future.”

“You will use plastique?” Blanc asked.

“It’s safest”-safest for the handler, that is-“and the most stable.” Swain didn’t know which he’d be able to get, Semtex or C-4, but as far as handling went, there wasn’t a lot of difference between them. Both were stable, both were powerful, and both required detonators to go boom. Semtex might be more readily available here, since it was manufactured in the Czech Republic, but the new version also lost its plasticity after three years, so if Semtex was what he got, he’d have to make certain it wasn’t too old to work.

“Set us up to meet with Damone a week from today,” Swain told Blanc. “I’ll be in touch with you if there’s a delay in getting everything we need.”

“You wish to meet with him on a Saturday?”

“If there are fewer workers in the complex on Saturday, that would be all the better.”

“Yes, I see. I will try to arrange the meeting for that day.”

“There is one other thing,” Lily said.

“Yes, mademoiselle?”

“The million-dollar fee. I want it deposited in my account before we act. For one thing, we’ll need the funds to buy everything we need.”

Blanc looked startled.

“American,” Lily specified. “That was the deal.”

“Yes, of course. I will… see that it is done.”

“This is my numbered account, and my bank.” She scribbled down a name and number and gave it to him. “On Monday afternoon I will check my balance.”

Blanc took the scrap of paper. Swain thought he still had a rather stunned look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe Lily would actually take the money instead of acting out of the goodness of her heart. Swain figured she’d do the job even if she had to pay for the privilege, but since Blanc had offered to pay her, she wasn’t fool enough to turn down that much money.

Swain paid for the coffee while Lily neatly placed everything back in the briefcase. She held out her hand to shake hands with Blanc, but the Frenchman instead carried her hand to his lips and kissed it. Exasperated, Swain reached out and freed her hand from Blanc’s grip. “Cut it out. She’s taken.”

“So am I, monsieur,” Blanc murmured. “I am not, however, unappreciative.”

“I’m glad. Now go appreciate someone else.”

“I understand,” said Blanc, and again there was a deeper meaning behind his words.

Lily was chuckling as they walked away. “Frenchmen kiss hands. They don’t mean anything by it.”

“Bullshit. He’s a man, isn’t he? He means something by it.”

“You’d know that from experience?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took her hand himself. “Damn Frenchmen kiss everything they can. There’s no telling where his lips have been.”

“Does that mean I should boil my hand to get rid of the germs?”

“No, but if he kisses you again, I’ll boil his lips.”

She laughed softly, leaning against his arm. There was a slight blush on her cheeks, telling him that some part of her was enjoying his petulance. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him as they walked.

A week! Even though they would be busy the entire week, Swain felt as if he’d been given a reprieve. He’d have Lily for seven more nights, at least. In a week, Frank might be well enough to talk on the phone-if he didn’t have any setbacks.

“I wasn’t trying to cut you out of the money,” Lily said abruptly, bringing his attention snapping back to her. “I’ll transfer half to you.”

“I didn’t even think about the money,” he said with total truthfulness. He was operating on Uncle Sam’s time, here, even though his actions weren’t sanctioned; he was already being paid. “Keep it. I have money, and from what you said you need to rebuild your savings.” That also was the truth. Whether she would be alive to enjoy those savings was up in the air.

She’d have to be. He couldn’t bear it any other way. Frank would just have to see reason.

That night when they were in the hotel room, she came up to him while he was sitting at the desk going over the blueprints and schematics that had been in the briefcase. Blanc had very helpfully marked the function of each room on the blueprint of the laboratory complex, so Swain was able to narrow down the area they would need to cover. They wouldn’t need to level the entire place, just select parts of it. For instance, there was no need for them to take out the bathrooms or meeting rooms; that would be a waste of plastique. When Swain had the total area condensed into square feet, then he’d be able to estimate how much plastique they needed.

Lily leaned against his back and draped her arms loosely around him, then planted a kiss below his ear. “I love you, too,” she said in a somber tone. “I think. I’m pretty sure, though. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“Damn terrifying.” He dropped the pen he’d been using to figure the square footage of the rooms and turned in his chair so he could haul her down onto his lap. “I thought we’d just have some fun together; then the next thing I knew I was worrying if you ate enough for breakfast You’re like a Stealth bomber. My radar never showed a blip.” He frowned down at her.

“Don’t look at me,” she protested. “None of this was my fault. I was minding my own business, having a little shoot-out in which I was outnumbered, when you charged into the middle of it. By the way, that was good driving, the way you slid the Jaguar around.”

“I miss that car,” he said reflectively. “And thank you, ma’am. That’s called a state-trooper turnaround, for when you need to reverse directions and don’t want to fool with details like stopping and backing.”

“I thought you were happy with the Mercedes.”

The afternoon before, they had returned the Fiat and he’d gone for yet another luxury car with a powerful motor, a Mer-cedes S-Class. Lily had actually been more comfortable in the Fiat, but evidently Swain’s ego was directly connected to how many cylinders were under the hood of whatever car he was driving, so she’d gone along with it. The Fiat had been fun while it lasted, and since he was paying for it, she supposed he might as well drive what he wanted. She was just glad a Rolls hadn’t been available.

“I am,” he said. “Nobody makes a motor like the Germans. But the Jag was cool, too. And the Megane handled good.”

Lily wondered how they had segued from a discussion about being in love into one about cars. She looped her arms around his neck and nestled against him. Where did they go from here? And was there any point in worrying about the future until they were sure they had one?

“Stay in the-” Swain began.

“Don’t even start,” Lily interrupted. “There’s no way I’m staying in the car.”

“You’ll be safer,” he pointed out with impeccable logic.

“But you won’t,” she returned just as logically. He scowled at her. He hated that her logic was as impeccable as his. She scowled back, twisting her face into an exaggerated expression to mock him.

“I don’t need anyone to cover me.”

“Fine. Then I’ll do it, since there’s no danger.”

“Shit.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, then drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. At least the steering wheel belonged to a real car, a black Mercedes S-Class; that was the only comfort he could find at the moment.

This buy had him as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He had a prickling feeling on the back of his neck, from all his instincts screaming at him that this could get nasty. If he had been the only one involved, he could have handled it better, looked at it more as a challenge to his talents, but Lily was involved and that changed everything.

It had taken him three days to find a supplier for as much plastique as they needed, and the guy had insisted they meet in a bad section of Paris, where the explosives and money were supposed to change hands. As far as bad sections went, Swain supposed this was the pits. Slums were slums, and he’d been in a lot of them, but there was a bad smell here that put his back up.

The supplier’s name was, supposedly, Bernard. It was a common enough name, so maybe it was his. Swain doubted it, but he didn’t care if that was the guy’s real name or not. All he cared about was making sure the plastique was usable, handing over the money, then getting out of there alive. Some unsavory characters made a very good living selling the same illegal merchandise over and over again; just kill the purchaser, then keep the merchandise and take the money.

Very probably some purchasers showed up with the reverse idea in mind: kill the seller, keep the money, and take the merchandise. Profit went both ways. That meant this Bernard would likely be as edgy as Swain. That was not good.

“I can’t guard your back from here in the car,” Lily said, checking what she could see of her reflection in the visor mirror. She was practicing her disguises. Tonight she was wearing black from head to foot under a black leather coat that had a boxy fit and disguised her lean but definitely female figure. Instead of her usual stylish boots she was wearing motorcycle boots with two-inch heels, which increased her height and were also clunky enough to obscure the size of her feet. She had bought skin-colored latex from a specialty store and was learning how to build up the lines of her jaw and brow to look more masculine. She was also wearing the brown contact lenses, and her blond hair was covered by a black knit cap that was pulled down almost to her eyebrows, which had been blackened to match the medium-size fake mustache she had glued under her nose.

He’d burst out laughing when he first saw her, but now that the only light was from the car’s dash lights, the getup looked much more genuine. She looked masculine and scary. She had started to trim her eyelashes shorter so they wouldn’t look so feminine after she put mascara on them to darken them, but Swain had stopped her. If anyone looked at her closely enough to notice her eyelashes, they were in trouble anyway.

She was holding her pistol in her hand. If she needed to use it, the seconds it took to pull it from her boot or from a pocket could be too long.

Swain was in a sweat about her stepping foot outside the car. If he’d had his way, he’d have had her encased in body armor, and maybe worn a vest himself. Unfortunately, he’d lost the argument about whether she should come with him or stay in the hotel, and now he’d lost the one about her staying in the .car. It seemed as if he was losing every argument with her lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d thought about tying her to the bed at the hotel, but he’d have to untie her eventually-and this was Lily Mansfield, not some soccer mom on vacation. He didn’t know what she’d do, but he was sure he’d be in pain because of it.

A cold front had rolled in during the day, and what had been cool but pleasant had turned cloudy and downright cold as the sun set. Nevertheless, Swain had the windows partially down so they could hear anyone approaching the car, and he had angled the outside mirrors down, to catch anyone coming in low. As for the rest of the area, he and Lily just had to keep watch. The only direction from which he didn’t expect attack was straight up, but that was only because he’d parked far enough away from the derelict buildings that no one could jump the distance.

He turned off the dash lights so there was complete darkness in the car, and reached for Lily’s hand. She was wearing gloves, because her hands were another giveaway that she was a woman-and that was a problem they’d have to solve if she entered the laboratory as a man. He squeezed her fingers. She was steady as a rock, not showing a hint of nerves. When it came down to it, he’d rather have her at his back than anyone else who came to mind.

A car turned a corner, moving slowly toward them. The headlights were on bright, and he heard a familiar high-pitched whining noise. Bernard, the son of a bitch, was driving a Fiat.

Swain immediately started the engine and turned his headlights on bright, too. If Bernard didn’t want them to see how many others were in the car with him, Swain returned the sentiment