Page 51 of Blood Game

“There were several calls to Gerard Martel in Lisieux.”

James made mental notes, and kept an eye on her as she leaned against the car, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her hair sweeping forward. He couldn't see the expression on her face, but he read the body language.

“What about the hacks into both accounts?” he asked.

“I'm working on it.” There was a pause. “If you need a place to hang out over there...” Innis added when he'd given him the information he'd tapped from both phones.

“There's this gamer I know. He lives in Paris, under the radar if you know what I mean. He's an all-right sort when you get past the tattoos and the dreadlocks.”

This from someone who wore blue eye shadow. James wrote down the address, then told him, “Be careful. If you can find them, they can find you.”

“Me?” Innis replied. “Not a chance. I know all the tricks.”

“There's something else I'd like you to check out,” he added. “Jonathan Callish—see what you can find out about him.”

“Callish? The art wonk? What's up?”

“Just a feeling. He's in the high-rent district, but not a lot of inventory. I'm not into that sort of thing, maybe it's the way of things. But I'd like you to check him out.”

“I'll see what I can find out.”

“Be careful, my friend. These are not nice people.”

“Aye,” Innis replied, then added, “You know where to find me.”

He studied the list after Innis ended the call. There were at least a dozen numbers. A handful were businesses—fuel stations or markets, and two hotels where Cate had stayed. The rest were private numbers, cell phones, and a couple of land lines, a road map of dates and times where Cate had been those last days.

She had covered a lot of territory in a short period of time. It was obvious that the trip over hadn't been a casual vacation or weekend getaway from the pressure of finishing the book. In fact, the whole idea of Cate buckling under pressure was laughable. He'd never known anyone tougher, smarter, more focused, and capable of sorting through the bullshit.

Unless it was the woman he watched now through the windscreen of the rental car. She was just as smart, and she hada toughness all her own, whether she realized it or not. She had to after what had happened in London. Anyone else would have crumbled and taken the first flight back to New York. He saw it at the flat afterward, when that first shock had worn off—the denial, disbelief, then the truth that came crashing in on her.

People he'd known, hardened teammates out on a mission, often lost it in those seconds after an attack when there was nothing but the silence and the body count. Then instinct kicked in. Mental toughness. Grit. Call it what you like. She had it, and that damned, bloody stubbornness. She looked up as he stepped out the car. He handed her the list, then reached for the pack of cigarettes inside his jacket.

“He's good,” he told her. “Once you get past the eye shadow.”

He lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the cold morning air.

“Every place Cate went, every call she made—names, places. It's all there.”

She saw it halfway down the list, then saw it again. Cate had made the first call two days before the accident. The second call was made the same day she had sent that text message! She looked up.

“Gerard Martel, in Lisieux.”

He saw the expression at her face, the excitement mixed with determination.

“It might not mean anything,” he cautioned. “According to the information you found, Vilette Moreau would be over ninety years old, if she's still alive.”

She knew where he was going, his feelings from the beginning—the risk, the danger. He'd made no secret of it. He also knew her feelings about it. She held out the list.

“Cate called that number twice. Both calls lasted several minutes. The last one was made just hours before she sent me that text message.” Just before she died in that car accident.

“She spoke to someone at that number. I need to know what she found out.”

He threw the cigarette down onto the sidewalk and crushed it out.

She should go back to London. At least there she could get protection, let the authorities handle everything. But he knew exactly where that argument would go, and he wasn't about to let her go on alone

Not after the information Innis had given them.