Noble Intentions: Season Four (25 page)

"You see anyone unusual out there?" she said after opening the door.

"This suit? Had it for years. You look great by the way."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. I tried calling you earlier. Someone was tailing me. Don't know where they picked me up, but I first spotted him at the
Lincoln Memorial, then as I exited the store after buying my dress. He made no bones about me seeing him as the cab drove off. His face was hidden though.
Only knew it was him by his hat."

"What was on the hat?"

She pictured the man in her head. "It was a Mets ball cap."

"Could you give enough of a description to a sketch artist?"

She led him to the kitchen, opened a beer for each of them. "The first time I saw him, he had a camera to his face. When I looked back, he was blocked from
view. Next time was outside the store. But he turned away immediately. And a few minutes later, on the sidewalk, he had his hands over his mouth and nose,
and sunglasses on."

"So a guy in a Met's hat with no discernible facial features?"

Frustration passed and Clarissa smiled. "Guess we'll have to see if he shows up tonight, huh?"

FOR THE FIRST time in months, Clarissa had a conversation about something other than work. Beck had been charming and funny. And normal. Took her a bit
by surprise.

The topic of Charles, or the FBI agents, or the guy they were going to see tomorrow never came up.

She
started to feel normal.

How long had it been since she'd had that sensation?

After dinner, she declined Beck's offer to go out for a few drinks with some guys from the office. Knowing he'd use the drive to her apartment as an
opportunity to convince her to go out, she preempted the pitch by stating she'd grab a cab home. Otherwise, the temptation to extend the evening would be
too great.

She had the cabbie drop her off two blocks from her apartment building. The streets were dimly lit. Lingering heat left behind a veil of haze. Couples
strolled past on either side. After a casual glance, she ignored them.

There was one person she was looking out for, and she had no idea what he looked like.

By now, the guy with the camera will have changed his clothes, and in effect, his appearance.

The lights wrapping the awning that stretched out from the front door lit the sidewalk. From where she stood, the entrance looked deserted. Another hundred
feet, and she'd be inside.

She approached the alley before her building. Her pace slowed. Her hand slipped into her purse and wrapped around her pistol's grip. She rested her index
finger on the trigger guard. The muzzle pointed toward the brick wall to her right. Soon, it would aim directly in the alley.

She turned her head toward the opening as she passed, careful to take in all of her surroundings prior to doing so. She knew the location of every visible
person on the street.

She narrowed her eyes in an effort to allow her vision to cut through the dark. The immediate area proved to be barren. She stepped back onto the sidewalk
with fifty feet left to go to the door.

Clarissa's sweeping glance showed that the few people on the street had moved the same distance as her, in their respective directions. She cast a glance
back at the alley. No lingering shadows advanced from within the corridor.

And then the car door opened.

Whipping her head around, she regretted the decision to release her pistol.

The guy rushed toward her, his ball cap pulled down, the shadows hiding his face. He held something in his hand. A weapon, perhaps, Clarissa couldn't make
it out.

She turned quickly in a tight semi-circle. Her purse responded by continuing around her back.

The man lifted his arm. From a black handle emerged a telescoping black pole about three feet long. He lifted it up and back over his shoulder.

Clarissa tried to pull her pistol, but the purse was in an awkward position. She had to decide, compromise her position in an all-out effort for the gun,
or stand her ground and attempt to dodge the blow.

She stood her ground.

The guy swung the nightstick as he continued forward. Its trajectory put the weapon on a crash course with her skull.

Big mistake.

Dodging the blow was easy. She rolled away, managing to deliver an elbow strike to the side of the guy's head.

He halted his momentum and spun back toward her. He swung the nightstick blindly.

Clarissa stepped forward, using one arm to stop his swing, and the other to strike him in the throat.

It only half-worked.

The guy coughed and gagged after her fist connected with his windpipe. But at the same time, the nightstick slammed into the back of her head.

Pain radiated out from the spot of impact. She dropped to a knee.

He dropped to two, releasing the nightstick and wrapping his hands around his throat.

Clarissa's vision darkened. As the pain localized, she felt the slow warm trickle of blood crawling down her neck. She fell forward. Her left arm stopped
her progression. She spotted the nightstick off to the side and dove for it.

Rolling, she secured the weapon and then rose up to her knees.

The guy had also managed to get himself under control and was scrambling toward the car. The vehicle roared to life before the man reached it. Headlights
cut on. The glare blinded Clarissa.

Her attacker dove into the passenger side of the car, then the vehicle peeled away.

Clarissa hopped to her feet, took a second to regain her balance, then hurled the nightstick through the air. It hit the back of the car, shattering the
rear window.

A couple ran across the street toward her.

"Are you OK?" the guy asked.

Clarissa reached behind her head, felt the cut. A surface wound. No underlying damage. Lots of blood, though the pain had faded a great deal already.

"Did either of you get the license plate?" she said.

They both shook their heads. The woman said, "Too dark."

"Can we call the cops or ambulance for you?" the guy said.

Clarissa shook her head. "It's OK. I live right here. Cops won't do anything but waste my time."

The couple continued to ask her if she needed help even as she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked away.

Once inside the building, she headed to the stairwell and called Beck. His voicemail picked up.

"Beck, call me when you get this. The guy from earlier showed up outside my building. He tried to attack me, but I managed to send him scrambling. He was
with someone, too. Don't like this. At all."

By the time he called back, she was in bed and nearly asleep.

He can wait until morning.

Eastern France.

BEAR HADN'T REALIZED the road they'd been on for five minutes was in fact a driveway. He hadn't seen a streetlight in over an hour. Everything was
black: the sky, the horizon, the earth. All except for the orange glow of a porch light at the end of the lane. Who or what was inside the house? His heart
skipped a beat. Several, actually. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pain on the side of his head. Since leaving Nice, it hadn't dissipated. Seemed to
occur more frequently lately. The duration longer. The pain more intense.

Pierre had cut his headlights when the porch light was a pinprick. Now he switched off the parking lights. How he knew where to go was beyond Bear. What if
the road curved? Were there ditches along the side? Probably not. Like most country driveways, it probably followed the natural contours of the path.
Presumably, Pierre knew it. Or the guy had great night vision. Whatever the case, Bear kept from worrying by thinking about Mandy being present. From here,
the two could go anywhere.

Fifty feet from the house, two floodlights exploded in a wash of white. Motion activated, Bear guessed. The front door swung open. A slender figured
waited. The silhouette bore a resemblance to Kat. Bear craned his neck as though it would allow him to see past the woman and locate Mandy. A short expanse
of concrete led to the garage. The white door was down. No windows. The Audi Kat and Mandy had left in had to be parked inside. Pierre stopped there and
cut the engine. He left the keys in the ignition and exited the car.

Stepping out to join the Frenchman, Bear heard the woman on the porch call out in her native tongue. The voice was too mature to be Kat's. He looked over
and saw her standing in the light. She looked to be in her late forties. Slim, attractive, hair still dark. But not Kat.

"Pierre," the woman said, looking past the man. "Where is Kat?"

The feeling in Bear's stomach was something he'd only felt on a couple occasions. The day he'd been falsely told that Jack had died was one. He struggled
to recall another. If Kat wasn't here, neither was Mandy. He rushed forward, colliding with Pierre at the base of the steps leading to the porch. The
Frenchman appeared to be in a similar state of panic. They hadn't been able to contact Kat since leaving Nice, but that was easily explained by the fact
that cellular service was spotty at best in the region. And local phone service outages were common, according to Pierre.

"You tell me," Pierre shouted to the woman. "She should have been here hours ago. Are you saying you haven't heard from her at all? Why didn't you call
me?"

She shook her head violently, as though the action could keep the inevitable truth at bay. "Our phone has been out for quite some time."

Pierre didn't seem to hear her as he pushed past and entered the home. Bear and the woman remained outside. Her on the porch. Him on the walkway. Staring
at each other.

"Who are you?" she asked in English after a few moments.

"Friend of Pierre's," he said. "My girl was with Kat."

"So you're a criminal, too." Her eyes narrowed. She stepped back.

Bear didn't know what to do so he shrugged. It'd been years since he had been anything other than a contractor. Never considered himself a criminal. Not in
the sense of thugs who hang on the street mugging innocent people. Not in the way that bank robbers, rapists, or serial killers are. He'd worked with Jack,
offering services to the highest bidder.

"What did you want with my Kat?" she asked.

Bear leaned back; an attempt to dodge the verbal blow. He'd never met the old lady before, much less had a conversation about her daughter that would
result in her seeing through his facade. Able to tell he was in love with Kat.

"Nothing," Bear said. "She was accompanying my girl."

"No man just relinquishes control of his daughter to some woman he doesn't know or have feelings for."

Bear didn't correct her about Mandy not being his daughter. He'd come to think of her as his own.

"So?" the woman said.

Behind her, Pierre passed by the door. He glanced out, made eye contact with Bear and offered a slight shake of his head, then continued past.

"So, what?" Bear said.

"What about my daughter?"

"I've worked with Pierre in the past," he replied, unsure why he felt he owed the woman an explanation. "He trusted her. That was good enough for me."

"You trusted your daughter's life in the hands of a woman who can barely hold down a job waitressing." Her head moved side to side, like a swinging door.
"Makes no sense."

Bear took a few steps forward, stopping on the second stair, bringing him eye to eye with the woman. "What do you know?"

She leaned back at first, then eased forward. "About what?"

"What's happening here tonight."

The toughness left her face. Eyes watered over. Tears spilled out over her cheeks. "What happened to my daughter?"

Rusted hinges scraped as Pierre pushed the screen door open. "No sign of anyone here."

Bear pushed past the woman and met the Frenchman halfway across the porch.

"What should we do?" he asked. "Who can we call?"

"First, we need to get Kat's mother out of here. She's not safe. If someone has Kat, they'll find this place."

"OK."

"Then I'll start making calls. Get eyes out looking for the Audi. Looking for them. I'll take any lead at this point, because as it stands, I don't have a
clue."

Bear could only nod in agreement. He had no idea which way to turn next either.

"Where is your car?" Pierre asked the woman.

"In the garage behind the house. Why?"

"I don't know that we should use mine anymore. If there is a chance they found the Audi, they can find this."

"Agreed," Bear said.

"Get your keys," Pierre told the woman. "We need to go."

"Where?" she said.

"First, to get you on a train. Then to find Kat."

"And Mandy," Bear said.

"And Mandy," Pierre repeated.

Tenerife.

THE EARLY MORNING sky remained dark blue except at the horizon. It was close to six a.m. There wouldn't be sunlight for a few more hours. Lights along
the highway gave their surroundings an orange glow. Taillights dotted the landscape ahead.

"We should be there within twenty minutes," Mason said.

Twenty more minutes until the journey was over. Actually, she thought, it might just be beginning.

They reached the resort and left the vehicle parked in front, next to the curb. A man approached, telling her she couldn't park there. Sasha ignored him.
Mason did, too. Inside the lobby, Mason spotted the check-in desk and tugged at Sasha's elbow. The guy behind the desk glanced up at them and held up a
bony finger while his other hand pressed a phone to his head.

Sasha ignored the man's request. "Erin Carlisle's room."

The guy shot her a cross look and continued his conversation.

Sasha turned to Mason. "Little help here?"

Mason unclasped his watch. Slipped off his wedding ring. Slipped both in his right pocket. Then he placed his left arm on the counter and leaned over it as
he left his feet. His free hand reached out. The guy on the other side of the desk stopped talking. His eyes widened. He dropped the phone. Mason grabbed
him behind the head, securing a thick patch of hair in his grasp. Then using his planted forearm, he forced himself back. The other guy came out of his
seat with a howl. He tried to plant his palms on the surface, but it did no good. Any resistance meant more pain. He gave in and allowed Mason to drag him
halfway over the counter.