Noble Intentions: Season Four (16 page)

Pierre sat at a circular table. Spoon in one hand. Newspaper in the other. White cords dangled from his ears and disappeared beneath the surface of the
table.

"I thought you were dead," Bear said loud enough for his voice to echo through the room.

Pierre looked up, dropped both items in his hands. His eyes narrowed at first, then a warm smile spread across this face. He pulled the earbuds free, rose
and walked toward Bear.

"It takes a lot more than an assault rifle to get rid of me, my friend." He extended both arms and embraced Bear. Kissed his cheek. "And this little one.
Mandy, how are you, my dear?"

She glanced away at first, then smiled and held his gaze. "Fine."

Still a girl in a few ways. Fading fast, though.

"What brings you to Nice?" Pierre asked.

"We were up in Paris, looking for you. Hospital gave up your address. New tenant in your old apartment had a photo album that contained this address."

Bear tensed. He hadn't told Mandy to keep the first leg of their journey, the visit to Kat's, a secret. Perhaps the girl understood because she didn't add
that detail to the conversation.

Pierre glanced down at the girl, smiled, said, "Why don't you go with
Mademoiselle
Kat. She'll show you to your room."

"That's not necessary," Bear said. "We're not staying the night."

"I insist." The smile left Pierre's face. Urgency shone through in his stare. "Let her go get settled."

The men waited until Kat and Mandy disappeared from sight.

Pierre glanced around the room. "Perhaps we should take this conversation out to the terrace."

The balcony wrapped around two sides of the building, providing a view of
Rue du Congres
and
Rue de France
. Bear looked south, down the
street, and saw white sands and the blue sea. Pierre stood at the corner. He stared up and down one street, then the other.

"Did you notice anyone following you?" he asked.

"No," Bear said. "I checked out everyone I could on the train, then on the street."

"Are you sure?"

"I told you no, didn't I? You know me, man. If I'm being followed, I know it."

Pierre nodded tensely. "They were watching me, Riley. From the moment I left the hospital, I saw them outside my apartment building, at the restaurant Kat
worked at, everywhere, it seemed. I think I've spotted one down here, too."

Bear's gaze followed Pierre's to the street below. "Who?"

"I don't know. No one I recognized. I don't think they are French, either. Every time I spot one, the face changes. I've checked with DSGE, but no one is
aware of anything." Pierre pulled a pack of cigarettes out and turned as though lighting one. When he spun back around, he held a pistol at his waist,
shielded from view of the street and aimed at Bear. "So, you can understand how highly suspect I am that you've showed up at my home unannounced."

Bear reached for a pistol that wasn't holstered. The problem with traveling legit, it seemed.

"You and I both know you're not going to discharge that weapon out here," Bear said.

Pierre shrugged. "That's why we're going inside."

"I'm not moving."

"Then I will, and I'll get the girl." The Frenchman grabbed the knob.

"Put that shit away."

"Give me a reason. Why should I trust you?"

"You betrayed me and Jack. Twice, at least. Why would I come here now, of all times, to do something? Think about it, you French prick. I could have left
you to die in that hallway in Paris."

Pierre lowered the muzzle an inch.

"I'm not… I'm not here with anyone who's been watching you," Bear said. "I can make a few calls and see if anyone knows the who and why of it all."

Pierre nodded as his gaze drifted to the left, past Bear.

"What is it?"

"They're here. That, or someone followed you, and they aren't alone. We need to get inside."

Bear looked back and scanned the crowd. Tourists, locals, they blended together into a mass swarm heading to and leaving the beach, stopping in and exiting
restaurants and shops. But two men stood out. They dressed casually, but their actions were not the same as the others wandering around in paradise. The
men avoided looking up. They did their best not to react when spotted. And as Bear moved toward the apartment door and threw one look back, the men were
gone.

"Kat," Pierre called out.

The woman ran from the hallway, hand on her chest. "Jesus, Pierre. You scared me. What is it?"

"Take the girl and use the emergency stairwell to the parking garage. Stay out of the elevator. Don't think about going to the main lobby." He reached into
his pocket, pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to her. "I want you to take the Audi. There are a couple scarves in the glove box. Wrap your heads for
the first few miles. Go to your mother's place. OK?"

"What's going on?"

"No time for questions, Kat," Pierre said, handing her a pistol. "Go, now."

Mandy emerged from the hallway. She ran up to Bear. "What's happening?"

Bear glanced at Pierre, then Kat. She tried to smile and offer comfort, but her fear was evident.

"Listen, Mandy. You're gonna go with Kat for a while, OK? Seems someone followed us." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Now, if something happens to
you along the way, what do you do?"

She brushed away a tear. "Get to cover, whether a building or the woods. Get off the street and out of sight. If I see a delivery truck, hop in the back.
If I see a bike sitting there, take it and use it to get away faster. Don't accept help from anyone not approved by you. Once safe, call you on your secure
line. If I can't reach you, call Jack. If I can't reach him, call the police."

"They have to go, Riley," Pierre said.

Bear leaned over and hugged Mandy. He wanted to do the same to Kat, but settled for a nod and a shared stare.

"I'll call when we're in the car," Kat said.

"We should keep an open line," Bear said.

"No," Pierre said. "They could be monitoring. Just let them go. The emergency stairwell can't be accessed from the main floor. They'll go down as the men
come up. And even if those guys wait outside, they'll be by the entrance. Not the garage exit, which looks like part of another building."

Bear watched Mandy and Kat leave the apartment.

"Trust me, my large friend," Pierre said. "This is for the best."

Five tense minutes passed. Bear moved from window to window, staring down at the street. He didn't see the men. They could be next to the building. They
might've left. He had no way of knowing. Had they followed him, or were they already in place? There's no way he wouldn't have spotted a tail from Paris to
Nice. Not one as obvious as the men he saw on the street.

Or had he been so distracted by the thought of Kat that he hadn't noticed?

Shit.

What if he'd brought trouble upon the woman who now lived in Pierre's old apartment? He had to fight the urge to grab his phone and check the news.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

Why hadn't they called yet? How long did it take to get to the garage and leave?

As he began to raise the question with Pierre, the phone rang.

The Frenchman answered and placed it on speaker.

"We're out. Getting on the motorway now. No one is following us."

"Leave the scarves on for a little longer. Call me if anything changes. And whatever you do, don't stop for anyone."

"Now what?" Bear said.

Pierre walked to his desk, slid open several drawers and began pulling out a cache of arms. "Now we wait for these assholes to make their move."

Over the Atlantic.

THE SUDDEN CHANGE in altitude jarred Brett Taylor from his slumber. After stretching his arms overhead, he adjusted his seat forward and lifted the
window cover. Blue ocean swirled below. Nothing else from wing to horizon. The plane continued to drift downward. Perhaps he'd missed an announcement while
sleeping. He stopped a passing flight attendant. She confirmed they were on approach, but the pilot had not yet been cleared. They'd land within twenty
minutes.

Twenty minutes didn't bother him. The fact he'd been able to get a seat on the flight, first class nonetheless, had been an act of God. No other way to
explain it. At least to those who didn't know what he did and who he worked for on occasion. Anything could be arranged.

The downside to air travel was that he had to give up his pistol. For most places he flew into, landing unarmed wasn't an issue. He'd have something in his
hand within an hour. But Brett had no contacts in Tenerife. As of yet, he was unsure whether his contacts had contacts on the island, which left him in a
precarious position. A Smith & Wesson tactical pen was his only defense. And that was useless against a skilled opponent.

There was no point in worrying until he made those first couple calls and had a better grasp on his situation. So he turned toward the window and gazed
down at the expansive Atlantic.

A couple minutes later, the pilot made an announcement in Spanish, then French, then English. Brett understood all three. They were making their final
approach and should be on the ground within ten minutes.

The plane banked left. The island appeared. It grew larger with every passing second. They continued descending. Ground rushed up. The tarmac came into
view. The plane banked again. Brett leaned back in his seat and waited for the screeching of the wheels touching down on the runway. Roaring ensued as the
flaps and the brakes did their job and slowed the plane to a halt.

With the air travel behind him, Brett turned his attention to the woman and child he came to find. He powered his cell phone on while the plane taxied to
the gate. There was a message waiting in his inbox, sent from Joe Ballard. The man had made reservations for Brett at a small hotel. He wouldn't stay
there. He preferred to remain off Ballard's grid. Everyone else's, too. The message also contained more information on Erin's travel arrangements. He knew
the hotel, but the room assignment was missing. That could be found easily enough.

By the time he exited the aircraft, Brett had found a hotel with a vacancy and reserved a room using a false identity for which he carried an ID and credit
card.

He exited the terminal and found the car rental counter. With no lead time, the only vehicle he managed to secure was a silver Fiat 500. Minutes later, he
stood in front of the small vehicle, puzzled as to how he'd fit inside. Surprisingly, it fit his six-two frame well, and had legroom to spare.

A short drive put him on the TF-1, westbound. Small cars and scooters crowded the highway. Traffic flowed at a rate of about fifteen miles an hour. It took
a total of seventy-five minutes from the airport to the exit for
Playa del Duque
, a short distance north of the overcrowded party city of
Playa de las Americas.
A place where the bars were more packed than the beaches.

Checking in to the hotel posed no problems. The woman behind the counter accepted his credit card, then handed it back along with a plastic key card. Brett
found his room, showered, changed, then grabbed a bite to eat at the overpriced hotel restaurant.

The hotel was situated a block from Erin and Mia's. Not ideal, but he should have their room assignment soon enough. With that in hand, all he had to do
was watch and wait for the right moment to act. For now, he decided to head out, scout the surrounding area and then camp out in the lobby of Erin's hotel.

Dressed in a pair of board shorts and t-shirt, he fit in with the surroundings. At the same time, he looked out of place. The attire didn't suit him
physically or mentally. But no one paid attention. Not in their nature, he supposed. Not even the staff at Erin's hotel when Brett entered and took a seat
in the lobby.

He spent the next half hour staring at his cell phone and mindlessly tapping his thumbs against the case. To anyone nearby, it looked like he engrossed
himself into a virtual game world. Instead, he studied the photos he had of Erin and her daughter. When he closed his eyes, their faces were etched to the
back of his eyelids. The move paid off when the two females entered, accompanied by a third woman who looked to be in her early twenties.

They passed Brett without tossing a glance in Brett's direction. He rose. Followed them to the elevator lobby. The mirrored doors were sliding closed. He
lifted his hand and jogged forward. The younger woman stuck her arm through the narrowing opening. The doors parted. Brett smiled, thanked her, and boarded
the elevator.

"Floor?" he asked.

"Five," the younger woman said.

He pressed the button and said, "Same as me."

During their ascent, he studied the face of the younger woman in the mirrored door, searching for a memory or some recollection of who she might be. She
had not been present in any of the pictures he had on file. Who was she, and what was her purpose here? She was too small to be a bodyguard. Didn't have
the appearance of a British Intelligence agent. Too innocent and naive looking. Perhaps an assistant to Erin. Maybe the nanny. That made sense.

The woman caught his gaze and smiled. He replied in kind, tersely, then glanced away.

The elevator slowed to a stop. The doors parted. He stepped to the side, arm in front of the door, and waited for the women to exit. Brett followed them
down the hallway. The younger woman glanced back once, but Erin seemed to pay little attention to Brett. She and Mia stopped in front of room 511. The
other woman in front of 513. She cracked her door, paused, and watched Brett as he passed. He nodded, and continued to the end of the corridor, turning
left, taking the stairwell down to the lobby.

He had their room number. Now he needed a weapon.

And a way to get Erin and Mia off the island.

HANNAH WAITED TWO minutes before opening her door and poking her head into the hallway. Her hopes that the man had lingered were dashed. Perhaps he
waited by his room or around the corner or somewhere central like the elevators. She felt for her room card in her pocket and stepped into the hall,
allowing the door to fall shut with a heavy clunk. Like a child prowling after bedtime, she walked slowly and softly toward the middle of the floor. The
whole time praying that Erin wouldn't come out. She walked the perimeter, but didn't see the man. As she approached the corner where the hall intersected,
voices rose. English accents. The guy hadn't said much, but he'd had a neutral American accent. She considered turning back, but in the end, she figured
what the hell. There were worse things she could do than meet a stranger on vacation.