Noble Intentions: Season Four (15 page)

He used the vantage point and sleepy Saturday morning sidewalk to scan the area for any possible watchers. Of course, anyone out there would likely be
looking up and have spotted him as he exited his apartment onto the terrace. Jack's chances of spotting them would be slim. But if he did, it'd be a race
to see if he could get to them first, or if they managed to get away.

But he saw nothing. The cityscape remained silent.

Jack headed back in around six-twenty, pulling out his phone as he crossed the humidity threshold. No missed calls. Ten minutes to go until the deadline he
imposed. Screw it. He called Brandon anyway.

"I still got a few minutes. And I did try calling, but you didn't answer."

"Never heard it ring. Whatever. What've you got?"

"OK, so I did a bunch of checking for you, Jack. So far, I've got nothing on you. But, your ex over there in England, someone did a huge database search on
her a few hours ago."

His heart rose in his chest. Felt like it might crack a rib or two. "From where?"

"UK, best I can tell."

"Can you narrow that down?"

"Maybe. Uh, London, that's for sure. Still working through the maze of IP addresses to pinpoint the address. Anyway, they checked on Erin's recent
financial transactions and flight plans."

Jack paced the room. "Sasha has access to do that, and I asked her to keep track of Erin and Mia for me, watch over them while I'm away."

"Think it's her?"

"I don't know who else in London would be checking on them."

And he didn't know what reason Sasha would have to do so on a Saturday morning.

"So, that's it?" he asked while his mind navigated through possible scenarios. Could the mystery meeting, a man in South Carolina, Feds tailing him, and
someone spying on Erin have something in common?

Other than him.

Brandon said, "Looks that way, my man."

"Do me a favor and keep digging for me. You've got access to me twenty-four-seven."

He set the phone on the counter and poured another mug of coffee. Wouldn't be as strong as the first, but that didn't matter. At this point, coffee
provided comfort and settled his racing mind. He carried it back to his room and started the shower. He had to get moving within the next hour if he wanted
to reach Little River, South Carolina before dark. He was already behind an hour of his original plan. He'd thought that he might stop off in D.C., but
that looked less likely now. Not if he planned on boarding a flight to Tenerife on Sunday. If things went smoothly in Little River, perhaps he could
arrange a long enough layover in D.C. to get out and meet a few contacts in person. Possibly Frank Skinner. He couldn't call the guy, but if anyone would
be clued into why a Fed had been tailing Jack, it'd be Frank.

Jack cut the shower, toweled off, skipped the shave, and changed into a pair of cargo shorts and a lightweight button-up shirt. Casual and easy for the
long drive ahead.

In the kitchen, he set his Beretta next to his cell phone, then filled a travel mug to the brim and grabbed a handful of lunch meat from the fridge, which
he bagged and tossed into a small cooler. He lined all the items up on the kitchen counter and went to the front door. Before walking out with his hands
full, he had to scout the hallway and make sure no one waited for him.

A pinprick of light passed through the peephole. A good sign. Meant no one stood outside the door. Now he had to investigate the rest. Jack disengaged the
locks. Pulled the door open. His expectation of an empty hallway was not met. He leaned away from the large knuckles inches in front of his face.

They hovered for a moment. A grin spread across the face of the man standing in the corridor.

"Jack, how are ya?"

"The hell you doing outside my apartment, Chuck?"

Charles's smile faded. He shook his head. The corners of his thick jaws bunched with muscles.

"I know," Jack said. "Don't call you Chuck."

"May I come in?"

Ten steps to the Beretta. Jack could get there before Charles could shut the door. Even with a suppressed pistol, the guy wouldn't take a shot with the
door open.

So Jack turned his back and hurried to the kitchen counter and allowed Charles to enter.

"What's the hurry?" Charles said. "Left your piece over there? Go ahead, take your time and get it."

Jack looked back. Charles lowered himself onto the sofa, hands on his knees, groaning like an old man.

"All that money and yet you live like this." Charles gestured around, shook his head some more.

Jack tucked his Beretta in his rear waistband. "I don't have as much as you might think. Bad investment decisions."

"Drugs always pay off in the end." Charles leaned back, looked up, shrugged. "Then again, not always. Anyway, I'm the wrong guy to ask for money advice.
Seems you fit the mold, too. But at least I live well."

Jack took a seat opposite Charles. "Sorry to hear about the Old Man."

Charles smiled as he wrapped his big hands around the back of his head. "No you're not. And neither was I. You and I both know that Feng should have
retired a couple years back. He got crazy in the end, and that got him dead."

After a silent pause, Jack said, "What do you want?"

"Want?"

"What the hell you are you doing here, Charles? Last time I saw you, we were trying to kill each other. I haven't forgotten that you put a damn hole in
Clarissa. I'm sitting here, and I'm questioning why I haven't shot you yet."

"Bygones, Jack. Let them be. I have."

"So cut the shit, then, Chuck. Or get out of my apartment."

"Where you headed dressed like that?"

Jack said nothing.

"Vacation? Looks like you're going on a vacation. Dressed like a bum, and all."

Jack said nothing.

"OK, I'll get to it." Charles leaned forward. Hands on knees again. "I have a proposition for you."

Jack shook his head. "I'm out of the game now."

"Well, this might be one of those, I help you, you help me situations."

"There's nothing you can help me with."

"I beg to differ." The smile plastered on his face was genuine, but he wasn't smiling with or for Jack. Charles had something planned here.

"What'd you do?"

"Imagine a plane, Jack, flying over the Atlantic. Hugging the coast of France. Slipping off to a place called Tenerife."

Brandon had said someone had accessed Erin's travel information. How had Charles gained access like that? In a fluid motion, Jack lunged forward while
reaching behind his back and retrieving his pistol. He stopped a few feet short of Charles, arms extended, Beretta in hand, aimed at Charles's head.

The guy didn't budge. "I die, so do they."

Jack held firm, index finger lightly tapping the trigger.

"You hear me?" Charles said. "I die, and they do too. Right now, there's a man seated in coach, about twenty rows back. He's got their names. He knows
where they're going after they land. He's gonna hang back, for now. But one call is all it takes. More to the point, one missed call at a predetermined
time is all it will take to spring that man into action. And he's a bad dude, Jack. Badder than you. Former Army Special Operations. Time with the CIA.
Highly trained and skilled. Ice-cold killer. Would slit his mother's throat and watch her die if you paid him enough. And let me tell you, he's getting
paid well to babysit right now. You wanna keep it that way? Then you do what I say."

Nice, France.

BEAR AND MANDY had left Paris early Saturday morning on the first train with seats available. They'd relocated to a hotel closer to the station. Cheaper
in many regards. Bear slept better that night than any other in Paris after making one too many house calls that led him to another location. If Pierre and
Kat weren't in Nice, he'd have to abandon the search. Otherwise, the risk of alerting someone to his presence increased.

The train rocked along the track with a distinct rhythm. The scenery blazed past. Beautiful French countryside. The kind of place he and Mandy could
disappear into. They entered the final leg of the six-hour train ride. The lush landscape gave way to the Mediterranean climate, and finally, the
cityscape.

Bear used his phone to bring up a map of the area, then charted the route to the address he found in the photo album. Only a mile, give or take, from the
train station. They could walk. That'd give him a chance to recon the area and plot their escape route. If it came to that.

Since it often did.

As they stepped off the train, Mandy stared up at the myriad of glass panes that allowed natural light to flood the platform area. Bear placed his hand on
her back to keep the girl moving. From the station, they headed toward the coast. The streets and sidewalks were packed thick with tourists and locals.
Families meandering. Women in bikinis. Men in suits. Although why they wore suits on a hot Saturday afternoon was lost on Bear.

The coast drew near. Foot and auto traffic thickened. The blue waters of the Med were visible at the other end of the narrow asphalt corridor.

He spotted the ornate white building on the corners of
Rue du Congres
and
Rue de France
from a block away. The address matched the paper
that had fallen from the photo album, and the address Bear had entered into his phone. Bear took note of each store, sign, and face they passed on that
final stretch.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"What is it?" Mandy asked.

He jutted his chin toward the building. "That's the place."

"Want me to wait across the street again?"

He glanced down at her. "Nah, you can come up with me. Things are different here."

They were. More luxurious in some ways. Seedier in a lot of others. Fewer shadows were present in the town. The criminal element was greater. And more
organized.

Together, Bear and Mandy crossed
Rue de France
and entered the apartment building at the corner. An expansive lobby opened up to them. The door
was unmanned, as was the front desk. On break, maybe. A place like this should have someone available, Bear thought. Easier this way.

He ushered Mandy past the elevators and into the stairwell.

"What floor?" she asked.

"Fourth."

"I don't want to climb all those stairs, Bear. Can't we take the elevator?"

"We risk being spotted if we do." He looked down at her and shook his head. "You're young. Suck it up."

She did, somehow managing to keep up with Bear as he bounded up the stairs three at a time at a sprinter's pace.

On the fourth floor landing, he turned to her, said, "You need a rest?"

She shook her head and said nothing. Her cheeks were red and she breathed quicker than normal.

"Let me do the talking up here. Got it?"

She nodded.

"There's a chance he'll react negatively to my presence. He won't do nothing, though. I know his secrets, and that should be enough to settle him down." He
peered down the hallway, mentally calculating the apartment numbers until he determined Pierre's. "OK. You ready?"

"Let's do this."

He smiled. "As they used to say, you got moxie kid."

The left side of her face scrunched together. "What the hell is moxie, Bear?"

"I really need to watch my mouth around you. Come on."

She rolled her eyes. He turned away. Together, they exited the stairwell and headed down the bright corridor.

Bear stopped short of the apartment. The hum of a vacuum cleaner slipped past a door. Pierre's? He took a few steps closer and the sound faded.

They'd reached the point of no return. One more step, and there was no turning back. His heart said, take the next step. His mind said, leave things be.
For two months, he'd tried to accept that advice. At war with himself and over a woman. No matter how he tried to accept what the rational side said to do,
every move they made brought him closer to this moment. If he didn't find out now, he might go on the rest of his life wondering what if.

"This is stupid," he muttered under his breath.

"What's stupid?" Mandy asked.

"At least we don't need your ears checked."

"What?" She shook her head. "Are we gonna knock, or what?"

He considered or what. Instead, he rapped on the door and waited while the floorboards beneath him vibrated as someone approached.

The door swung open.

Kat's face froze somewhere between a smile and asking what the hell he was doing there.

Bear's words were trapped in his throat.

Mandy nudged him.

"Kat," he said.

"Riley," she said. "It's been a few months…"

He nodded. "Since before Pierre…"

"I remember." She glanced back, stepped forward, pulled the door tight behind her leaving it open a few inches. Bright light wrapped around the loose
strands of her dark hair. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to see Pierre," Mandy said.

Kat leaned forward, smiling. "And who might you be?"

Mandy looked up at Bear. He nodded. She said, "Mandy Logan."

Kat's gaze swept upward toward Bear. Her dark eyes leveled him.

"She's your daughter?"

"Long story," Bear said. "I'm her guardian."

"So is it true that you are here to see Pierre?" She drew the right side of her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down.

Bear nodded. He had a hundred things to say to her, but not a single word would emerge at that point.

"He's inside." She stepped back and pinned the door against the wall. "Please, come in."

Bear ushered Mandy through, then turned sideways and took a step in. He stopped in front of the Frenchwoman. Inches separated their bodies. Her chest
heaved toward his. She looked up at him. He, down at her.

"Please," she whispered, "speak with me alone before you leave."

All he could do was nod.

Kat slipped past him and headed in the direction Mandy had gone. Bear followed. The hallway opened up to a large, open living space. Floor to ceiling
windows lined the squared back wall. They provided an encompassing view of the city.