Noble Intentions: Season Four (20 page)

Once again, she tried calling Beck. Again, she received no answer. Seven o'clock wasn't that far off. And she had no plans to leave until then. She'd tell
him about the man at that time.

Nice, France.

ELECTRIC LIGHT PIPED in through parted blinds. Prison bars made from shadows stretched across the ceiling and down the far walls. Pierre bore a trail
through the middle of the room, pacing from one end to the other. Every step slow, deliberate, heel-to-toe. His head down, focused on the next spot he'd
step.

Bear alternated between the kitchen and a barstool positioned near the corner of the main room where the windows met. Despite Pierre's warning, Bear
continued investigating the surrounding area. He hadn't stepped outside. Didn't intend to. Not until they left. From inside, he saw enough. And nowhere
along the opposite side of the street or in the buildings that stood across from theirs did he notice someone looking back.

Perhaps the men were there. Maybe they had left. If so, it could have been at any time. Regardless, the inaction started to get to Bear.

"What're we waiting for?" Bear asked, averting has gaze from a recently illuminated window toward Pierre.

The Frenchman raised his cell phone and said nothing.

"How long should it have taken them to get there?"

"They were supposed to have arrived an hour ago."

Tightness started in Bear's abdomen and sprung upward, like a jaguar pouncing on its prey. Fear gripped his muscles, his lungs, and nose. The air he drew
in through his opened mouth bottlenecked in his throat, not making it any further. His heart pounded against his chest like a wild gorilla suddenly caged.

Pierre continued to pace.

The edges of Bear's vision hazed over. He reached out for the window, fingers spread wide and sending three vertical blinds swinging side-to-side. The
prison bars that lined the ceiling and walls melted into one another. Bear fell forward. His shoulder and the right side of his face slammed into the
window. The glass bounced but didn't break.

The persistent
thump-thump
of Pierre's pacing halted. "You OK?"

Bear nodded. At least, he thought he did. His abdominal muscles tightened and cramped and it seemed as though they were jumping underneath his skin. He
could no longer feel his hands. The numbness crawled to his forearms, then his elbows, finally working up through his large biceps and triceps. The lights
beyond the glass exploded with large halos. His oxygen-starved lungs burned.

Am I having a stroke?

The same thought arose every time panic struck this hard. Normally, air travel brought about his attacks, but none this intense. Bear managed to control
the sensations with almost every other situation that occurred. He was an anomaly for that, considering the work he'd been involved in for twenty years.

Of course, with Mandy all bets were off.

He suffocated under an oxygen blanket, draped across him yet impenetrable. But he wouldn't die. Not at that moment, at least. He worried about the effect
the stress of the attacks had on his body, his heart. Only in recent months did these concerns surface. The worry coincided with the increased role the
girl had in his life.

Steadying against the glass, Bear sucked air through his nose. Didn't matter how far down it traveled. He held the breath. Forced the air out through his
mouth. He repeated the process several more times, each time inhaling deeper, exhaling longer. The veil of terror exited his system with every
oxygen-stripped exhalation. Feeling returned to his extremities. His abs and chest muscles relaxed. Pain lingered. He could deal with that. The ability to
think clearly would keep him alive, pain or no pain.

"You sure you're OK?" Pierre asked from a few feet away.

Bear backed away from the window, steadying the swinging blinds. "I'm fine. Had a moment is all."

Presumably satisfied, Pierre resumed pacing, as though the constant back-and-forth would accomplish something.

The slow, methodical breathing continued to ground Bear. Within ten minutes it was as if the attack had never happened, except for the trickles of sweat
running down his forehead and cheeks. He resumed his post at the corner where the windows met. The throng of people on the street below morphed into a new
crowd. Different, but still the same. Summertime nightlife in the South of France.

Bear stepped away to splash cold water on his face. When he returned, the Frenchman stopped pacing.

"You up for hitting the streets?" Pierre asked

"Beats standing in here doing nothing," Bear said.

"Come with me." Pierre led him into the master suite. They entered a sparse walk-in closet. A luxury in France. At the back was a small black safe. Pierre
knelt in front of it. A few seconds later, he pulled the door open. The Frenchman reached inside and retrieved a pistol and some cash. He turned at the
waist and handed both to Bear.

He balanced the Glock 17 in his open palm, gaining a feel for the weapon. He could tell it had a history to it. Well maintained though. Recently oiled.
Perhaps Pierre's early service piece, relegated to back-up duty in the past half-decade or so. Bear closed his fist around the grip and lifted the weapon
to eye height and stared down the barrel at his reflection in the bureau mirror. Pierre appeared at his side.

"I have a shoulder holster that'll fit you, but no jacket."

Bear shrugged then tucked the pistol into his waistband. "Too hot out. Anyway, this'll do."

Pierre held up a finger. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small leather holster. Tossed it to Bear. "Fits inside your waistband. More secure."

Bear fixed it into position and slipped the Glock into it. Better. Less chance of the pistol being detected. Easier for him to get a hold of. Reduced the
risk of the sidearm slipping, becoming unreachable, or falling to the ground.

They exited the apartment. Tomato sauce saturated the air. The temperature rose ten degrees in the hallway. Another five or so in the stairwell. At each
landing they paused. Listening. Confirming the silence after the echoes of their footsteps faded. When they reached the bottom, Pierre stopped at the thick
metal door. Pressed his ear against it.

"No way they've been hanging out in the lobby for four hours," Bear said.

Pierre glanced back, shrugged, resumed his position. "Maybe they've been across the street the whole time and only now entered because they saw us leave
the apartment."

"No chance. If they've been waiting there, they'll continue to wait there. By now, they've got friends here, too. All of them hanging on, hoping for that
perfect opportunity."

"Which opportunity is that?"

"What do you think?"

For all Bear knew, the Frenchman had a hundred different thoughts. The life he'd led, much the same as Bear and Jack, would have provided him with plenty
of possible outcomes to consider.

"Are you ready to become bait?"

Bear nodded, brushed Pierre to the side and opened the stairwell door.

Central France.

"ARE WE LOST?" Mandy stared at Kat's face as the street lights briefly illuminated it. "I thought we'd be there by now."

Kat glanced over and offered a smile that appeared to be for Mandy's benefit only. Shadows returned, and all the girl could see were the whites of the
woman's teeth.

"No, not lost," Kat said. "Just taking the long way around."

The hilly terrain they encountered shortly after leaving Nice had given way to mountains that rivaled those Mandy had seen in Montana. Their peaks were
barely silhouetted against the night sky. The only delineation being that the stars stopped where thrust rock met the horizon.

A sweet smell rode the air and was pulled in through the cracked windows. Mandy wasn't sure what it was, and Kat hadn't answered when she asked. The aroma
made her mouth water, though, and since she had missed dinner, cod liver oil might have had the same effect.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," Mandy said.

"And I'm not going to until we get there."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you will get."

"Whatever." She turned toward the side window, squinting in an attempt to cut through the dark. Lights the size of pinheads dotted the landscape. She
wondered how far away they were, and if one of them might be their destination. She imagined family sitting down to a late dinner, or in front of their
televisions, huddled up watching their favorite shows. Football, maybe. No, they were in Europe. Soccer would be on. She wished it were her. Didn't matter
if she and Bear were watching table tennis. She craved the security of his presence.

A bright light reflected off the side mirror, hitting her directly in the eye. Pain knifed through her unprepared retina. She blinked hard, saw red through
her closed eyelids. The driver pressed his high-pitched horn repeatedly, ten times at short durations, finally holding it in place.

Mandy heard her heart pounding in her ears like swirling water, and at once it became difficult to breathe. She looked to Kat for reassurance, but the
woman glanced hastily between the road and the rear-view mirror, her mouth open, breathing hard.

"Are you going to stop?" Mandy said, both hoping the woman would and wouldn't.

"Not here," Kat said. "Too remote. Might not be another car by in ten or fifteen minutes. There's a town close by, maybe five kilometers. I can get us
there."

The vehicle lurched forward. Mandy stared at the speedometer's climbing needle as it exceeded one hundred fifty kilometers per hour. She clutched the
armrest mounted to the door. Her fingernails dug into the leather upholstery. Ahead, the cone of light the halogen bulbs produced only lit up a small
portion of the road. Mandy worried as much about what lay ahead as she did over the vehicle behind them. Glancing in the side mirror, she saw it had fallen
back a ways, but continued to honk and flash hi-beams at them.

"Shit," Kat said as they approached a curve.

Then everything happened in slow motion. The car began to slide counterclockwise. Perpendicular to the road, the headlights washed over the jagged face of
the mountain, cut through to make room for the passage. Mandy glanced right. Barely visible was the guardrail. It didn't look sturdy enough to stop a
vehicle traveling at such a high speed. The vehicle hit the rail. Grating and crunching and scratching filled the cabin. The noise was deafening. The car
stopped spinning and rode the rail until reaching the curve. The sounds rose and became high pitched. Tension. The metal was close to snapping. The vehicle
about to tear apart. Something had to give.

And it did.

The car peeled away from the guardrail and began spinning the other way. The sudden movement jerked Mandy toward Kat at first. Then she whipped back the
other way. Her head collided with the glass. It might have shattered. Perhaps that was her skull. It was impossible to tell.

The impact rendered her unconscious.

Lisbon Portela Airport, Portugal.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, if I can have your attention for a moment." The speaker above Sasha and Mason hissed with static while the pilot gave his
passengers a moment to silence.

What would it be now? Every half hour they were informed that it would only be another thirty minutes. After the fifth announcement, Mason attempted to
locate a private plane, but no one could get them to Tenerife today. Even if their commercial airliner left now, it would be close to ten at night by the
time they arrived. A private flight would take even longer. It might not even matter. It's possible Sasha's paranoia had gotten the better of her. Mason
shifted in his seat and leaned into the aisle. He'd come along, she thought. And he wouldn't have if her warnings hadn't set off bells for him, too. He
glanced over and smiled, grimly. It did little to hide the concern. They both felt it. Shared it. The longer they sat, the smaller Erin and Mia's chances
at surviving their getaway.

A burst of static signaled the pilot was ready to speak again.

"We've just been informed that our flight is canceled due to mechanical problems. There will be staff waiting after you exit the airplane. They'll be able
to help you with hotel accommodations for the evening, and get you onto another flight within twenty four hours."

"A full day?" Sasha said, leaning toward Mason.

She wasn't the only one. The entire cabin filled with soft exclamations.

"We'll be there no later than noon tomorrow," he said. "I've got a friend in Huelva, Spain. My last resort, I suppose. He has his own plane. Let's get a
car and head there. By the time we arrive, he'll have it prepped and ready for flight."

She could only imagine the plane they'd fly in, or the condition of Mason's friend. But it was obvious that Mason had made up his mind about this. He'd
trusted her enough to come along. It was time she trusted him.

She glanced at his phone. "You going to call first?"

"After we're on the road."

"You're so sure he's going to help?"

"Not a doubt in my mind."

Short of commanding Mason to call the guy, Sasha couldn't think of any way to convince him to do so before they rented a car. They would be among the first
off the plane, allowing them to make arrangements before anyone else. If this guy didn't come through, and they bypassed the airlines assistance, it could
be three days before they secured a flight to Tenerife with the airline.

"Who is this friend of yours?" she asked.

"Old friend."

"Ok," she said. "Old friend of yours."

"Just a friend."

By this point, she'd grown beyond curious. Why the need for secrecy? She was along for the ride no matter what.

"Got a name?" she asked.

Mason rose, glanced down at her, shrugged, then looked away. "You don't want to know."

There was something about the look on his face, the way his skin had a tinge of crimson to it, that concerned her.