Page 26

After spending a wonderful day with Dean and then a very romantic dinner, Lenora was finally able to dispose of Echo’s body. Although she didn’t weigh much, dead weight was indeed heavier.

With several boxes of rocks tied to her body, she rolled her into the Seine, hoping she would sink to the bottom. Now, staring at the television in her room, she realized that the rocks had come loose from her wrappings.

Nevertheless, it was time to move to another hotel. This one was a hotbed of activity, and with the convention for the gamers breaking up, she would be more identifiable in a nearly empty hotel.

Opening her e-mail, she saw several responses to her posting about the objects. Three were threatening.

“If you think you can get away with stealing our shit, you’re wrong!”

“You’re going to die for messing with our game!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

She only smiled, realizing that she’d heard those words before. Her hope right now was that the authenticated buyer would show up at Notre Dame as planned.

If they did, she’d have fifty million dollars in her account, and they’d have the treasures they wanted. Everyone would leave happy. Except the gamers, of course.

Taking her one small suitcase, she went downstairs to take a taxi to her new hotel. The small accommodations were definitely a step-down, but at least they were off the main roads and away from the most prominent tourist attractions.

After checking in, she gave one final view of her e-mail and saw one that nearly broke her heart. Dean.

“ I’d hoped to have breakfast with you this morning, but you checked out of the hotel. I meant what I said, Lenora. I’d like to see you again, hopefully in Connecticut, when we’re both back home.

“I know that you find this hard to believe, but I’ve always liked you and would love to start our friendship anew. Below is my e-mail, phone, and, in case you forgot, my home address.

“All my love – Dean.”

She smiled for the first time in years over a man.

Dean had been one of the good guys in school, and here he was, in Paris, hoping to see her again.

She’d arranged to meet the buyer at a small café near her new hotel.

If things went wrong, she’d simply take the backpack or the money, or both, and head to the airport.

Seeing an e-scooter bike rental, she smiled to herself, feeling particularly youthful after Dean’s e-mail. Renting the scooter, she received a three-minute safety lecture, a helmet, and a map to her location.

With tourists flocking to Notre Dame, she made sure that the café was close but not too close. The narrow streets of uneven brick and their traditional Parisian townhomes were so picturesque Lenora almost got lost.

With a quick stop and look to find herself, she spotted the café on the opposite corner. Outside at a table was the very person she was to meet. An older man in a suit, a croissant on the table at the corner, and a café au lait. He was her man.

Parking the scooter, she hooked the helmet to the bars and then walked toward the meeting spot. As she neared, the man stood and stared at her.

“You have the Russian babies?” he asked, smiling.

“I do,” she nodded. “And you have the American dream?”

“I do,” he grinned, handing her the briefcase. They both opened the packs, staring at the treasures handed to them. The man nodded.

“It was a great pleasure doing business with you,” he said. He walked toward a car, and then all hell broke loose. Agents from the U.S., Interpol, and French Police came out from between the narrow houses.

“Shit,” muttered Lenora. She backed up into the café, staring at the people inside. In rapid French, she told her tale.

“Men are chasing me and wish to harm me. Please, help me,” she cried.

The Oscars would have been proud of her performance. The waitress led her out the back and toward another building that would allow her to pass through to a distant street, and from there, she could catch a taxi.

“Merci!” she cried.

Looking both ways, she saw no one on the street and casually walked across the alleyway, where she made her way to another street over. Once near the main street, she hailed a taxi and headed toward the airport.

Whatever happened back there, she needed to leave the city, and fast. But if they knew her, if they knew who she was, she wouldn’t be able to get on an airplane.

Rethinking her scenario, she asked the taxi driver to take her Le Havre, on the Brittany Coast near the English Channel. She could catch a ferry, which would be easier to board.

“It’s two hours, madam.”

“I know,” she said. “Three thousand American dollars if you get me there in less.” He looked at her with surprise and smiled, nodding.

“Done!”