Page 40 of French Escapade

“Very happy to meet you, Tiffany who will soon be back in New York,” Jimmy says, while holding her tight to help her walk to the door.

She seems doubtful, so he insists. “We’re getting you out of here, I promise.”

“Get outnow. Things are going south.” Ted’s voice crackles in our earpieces.

Behind him, we can hear doors slamming and shouts. The voices are too far away to recognize the language, but there’s no mistaking the tone. Those are orders someone is shouting out.

A police raid? That would be amazing. I’m afraid it’s another one of Arkady’s team coming in for the kill, except that doesn’t make sense. No one has called for help.

I grab Madison and toss her over my shoulder. She’s in no condition to walk by herself. I feel awful, as I look behind me at the two women we’re leaving behind. But if the shouting I heard came from police forces, they will be here soon to save them.

Jimmy takes his gun out and cracks open the door to the service hallway. He looks out and signals the coast is clear. He opens the door wide and motions for me to go out first. I do. It’s funny how carrying my sister on my shoulder makes my step lighter. With Jimmy and Tiffany behind me, I hasten my pace.

Should we run into anyone, we’ll tell them that these young ladies of the night had a few too many and we’re getting them out for a breath of fresh air. But no one asks us anything. The staff member from the catering service who walks past, dragging the trash, acts as if he doesn’t notice that Tiffany has no shoes, and I’ve got a girl over my shoulder.

I’m guessing they see all sorts of crazy things in their line of work.

We go around the kitchen. When we finally see the back door, the one used by delivery services, I start breathing again. That’s where Ted will be waiting for us. We’ll put the girls in the back of his car and retrace our steps to go look for Élodie.

I kick the door open and go blind.

Powerful spotlights are aimed at us.

“Drop your weapons and raise your hands.” The order comes from a voice distorted by a megaphone.

Jimmy slowly folds his legs until he can put his weapon on the floor. He kicks it away and stands tall again, raising his arms.

“It’s okay, Tiffany,” he says. “This is the French police, they will protect you.”

He barely has the time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown on the floor.

A few seconds later, it’s my turn. Madison’s legs bang on the hallway tiles. Without paying attention to her, they have thrown me down, too. Thankfully, Madison’s head hits my back and not the cold hard floor.

Head on the tiles, I can only see Tiffany’s feet. She’s running. No! I’m enraged, but the barrel of the gun at my temple is the best anger management tool I know.

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