Page 27

Chan didn’t seem surprised. But if he’d been expecting Holt to somehow track Agent Mendez, then why all the circus and monkeys?

Chan tapped his fingers on the table, lips pinched. I swung my legs from the bed, putting on my shoes so I could join him at the table. I was still convinced the floor had rabies.

“You’re the one in the thick of it. What do you want to do?” Agent Mendez asked, his voice getting louder as I came to sit closer.

I raised my eyebrows. A senior officer asking the lowly peons their recommendations? No wonder Chan liked the guy so much.

I sat down, and Chan placed a hand on my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. I hid my smile behind one hand and picked up some leftover takeout with the other.

Cold pizza, the breakfast of champions.

“Mendez, Andee just woke up. Say hi.”

“Hey, Andee, how’re you feeling?” the voice on the phone asked.

My mouth was full, but I swallowed and muttered something unintelligible. Truth be told, the guy still intimidated me a little bit. Okay, a lot.

Chan cleared his throat, bringing us back to the subject at hand and the fact that we were all screwed. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Plan B,” he said. “Do you have another safe house?”

Agent Mendez paused long and hard, like he had to think about his answer. “I think we have forty-nine here in France. Take your pick.”

Chan wrote the number 49 on a piece of paper, and I scrunched my eyebrows.

Chan signed for me to stay silent, adding to the mystery, but it wasn’t like I was going to interrupt his conversation.

“What other assets do we have?” Chan tapped the pen on the table while he waited for Mendez’s response.

“I brought two CIA officers with me,” Mendez said. “Which is why we haven’t been able to do anything about Holt’s men. Holt has four different cars outside at all times.”

Beside the 49 on his paper, Chan wrote the number 2.4. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” Agent Mendez said. “We have a handful of weapons and things, but nothing that can take on an arms dealer. Not with us strung out and separated, and not without a plan.”

Chan dropped the pen he’d been holding. “Have you had a visual on Holt himself? If so, we might—”

“No dice,” Agent Mendez interrupted. “We’ve even run intel on the men he’s had watching us to see if they’re known associates of Holt’s. We wanted to pull in local law enforcement as backup if we could prove Holt’s involvement. But every person we’ve run past facial recognition comes up as clean. Either Holt has a dirty politician in his pocket that expunged their records, or he’s managed to find the only criminals in France who don’t have rap sheets.”

We knew for a fact the French prime minister bankrolled Holt’s operations, but what I didn’t know was how much information Chan wanted to divulge over the phone. So the real question was…

“How do you know they’re Holt’s people then?” I asked.

The line went silent, and I swear I could hear Agent Mendez judging me. I swallowed my pizza.

Chan, however, took pity on me. “They’re following Holt’s MO. Tracking the CIA from the airport is his signature move. Plus, no one else would have any reason to be interested in Mendez right now. It’s his only case, and has been for years. They’re Holt’s men. No question about it.”

Well, okay then. I pulled my soda cup over and took a long pull so I wouldn’t embarrass myself further.

Chan furrowed his brows. “How many different men have you seen surveilling your apartment?”

“Six. They take rotations.” Agent Mendez paused. “Most seem like your average military hired help, but one of them is so ripped he could take on Thor by himself. His bicep is thicker than my thigh.”

Chan and I exchanged a knowing glance. Booker.

Chan sighed. “I don’t see another choice. You’ll have to give us the address of the safe house over the phone.”

My eyes went wide.

There was a rustling of papers. Agent Mendez rattled off an address, but this time, Chan didn’t write anything down. Curiouser and curiouser.

Chan pushed away from the table. “You’ll have to meet us there when you shake your tail.”

For some reason, this only made me think of Agent Mendez shaking his tail feather , which was pretty much the opposite of anything I could imagine him doing. I held back a laugh because Chan didn’t look like he was in the mood. He ran a hand through his hair. “You know the drill. Burning contact now.” He powered off the phone.

I swallowed the last of my cold pizza. “I don’t understand what just happened,” I said. “How’d they even know to look for Agent Mendez at the airport?”

“Either Holt hacked the unsecured line, or he has someone on the inside who informed him of our plans.” Chan walked to the bed and shook Mila awake. “My guess is the phone since an informant wouldn’t be able to discreetly get him the details in the time it would take him to get to the airport before Mendez.”

Mila grunted and pushed Chan’s hand away like she was swatting a fly. I heated up a piece of pizza in the motel microwave then waved it under her nose. She cracked an eyelid open.

“You can eat on the way.” Chan pushed Mila’s feet off the edge of the bed. “Our phone call was long enough that Holt could have traced our location if he hacked our phone line. We need to move now before he can get any of his people here.”

“What’s the point?” I handed the pizza to Mila. “If he hacked the unsecured phone line, wouldn’t he have heard Agent Mendez give you the address of the safe house?”

Chan picked up the paper with the numbers he’d written down and shoved it into his pocket. “Hopefully that safe house is where Holt’s going. And a whole SWAT team ready to arrest him. But I never said we were going there. Now hurry.”

It didn’t take us long to check out. After all, our belongings literally consisted of the clothes on our backs. We piled into the car and Chan pulled into Paris traffic, doubling back and checking his shoulder so frequently I began to wonder whether we’d ever get to our actual destination or if he’d pull a neck muscle first. Eventually we arrived at the hotel where Chan had told the owner of the cell phone we’d leave it at the front desk.

He put the car in park. “There’s a chance Holt knows about this hotel if he went back on the call history prior to the calls I made with Mendez. We could be walking into a trap.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Let’s leave then. Returning the phone isn’t worth it.”

Chan placed his hand on top of mine. “I also need to access a computer to figure out the address of the correct safe house,” he said. “The numbers Mendez gave me are latitude and longitude coordinates. Forty-nine latitude, two point four longitude. They had nothing to do with the actual number of men he brought with him. It’s a code we’ve worked out for emergencies. Any numbers he volunteers on his own are the real location, then when he confirmed the coordinates were done, I had him give me more numbers in case Holt was listening in and was trying to crack the code. Remember when I asked him if there was anything else and he said no? Then I asked him for the number of people Holt had surveilling his apartment and the location of the safe house. Those were decoy numbers.”

I must have looked skeptical, because Chan put his other hand under my chin and looked me in the eyes. “Don’t worry. Holt will be just as confused. If nothing else, hopefully he’ll send his men to the safe house address, and Mendez will be able to meet us at the real location. We have everything under control.”

He sighed and looked out the window. “But I can’t leave you in the car alone. You’ll need to come in with me.”

I looked at the people milling around the lobby, and my chest tightened. Unlike the seedy motel in the red-light district, this hotel lobby was bustling with activity. After being alone so much in the catacombs, I wasn’t sure I could handle this many people. Sure, we had navigated through the Parisian crowds yesterday, but I’d been running on adrenaline then.

And now Chan was saying there might be a trap waiting inside.

If that was true, I couldn’t let him go in alone. I swallowed my protests and nodded.

Mila and I made our way to a corner, apologizing as we bumped into a busy-looking Frenchman who never looked up from his phone. We sat on a bench by the window with an unobstructed view of the front desk, and Chan waited to make sure we were settled before making his way to the employee there.

He passed the phone to the man behind the desk. I had no clue what he told him, but the man disappeared behind a door, and Chan took the opportunity to steal behind the counter and use the unattended computer. He was back on the right side of the desk before the man returned, acting as if nothing had happened, polite smile in place as he shook the man’s hand and presumably thanked him for his time. A few customers on this side of the desk gave him curious glances, but no one said a word.

My faith in humanity dropped a few points. I mean, I didn’t want Chan to get caught, but I also wanted to believe that people were inherently good and would report shady behavior, so it was a double-edged sword.

All in all, we were in and out of that hotel in under five minutes, no questions asked.

When we were back on the road, Chan gave my thigh a light squeeze. “It’s an address in Villiers-le-Bel, France. It’s about forty-five minutes away.”

Of course, it took us longer, because Chan insisted on doubling back approximately every other minute to make sure we weren’t being followed. My worries of being caught were soon replaced by fears of the CIA no longer being there once we made it to the actual safe house. But then Chan burst that bubble by saying they actually wouldn’t be there until later. They’d be attempting to lead Holt to the decoy location. They’d only come to our safe house once the coast was clear.

We’d be on our own. Again.

So many things could go wrong.

I tried not to think about that. Especially because my fears turned out to be unfounded. We made it to the location without incident. No one had followed us. The coordinates led us to an empty field, but thankfully, there was some kind of dead drop information that led us to a small single-family home a few blocks away. Chan secured the perimeter while Mila and I explored the empty one-room house, only for Chan to knock on the door an hour later with a grin on his face.

“Look who I found?” He moved aside, and Agent Mendez appeared around the corner of the doorframe, four other CIA agents a foot behind him. At least, I assumed they were agents. It’d be a bit of a letdown if they were a cleaning service or something. Chan stepped to the left of the group like I’d grown accustomed to him doing, positioning his better ear to catch the conversation. I was so used to him doing it one-on-one, but with this many people around, it almost became a dance—a dance no one else was aware was even happening.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “But I found these stragglers hanging out, and I thought you wouldn’t mind if I made it a party.” He motioned to Agent Mendez. “Mila, you haven’t met Mendez yet. He’s the commanding officer of this operation and the best person to have around in case of a fight. He’s the one who took Holt down the first time, and he did it even when he was handcuffed to a chair.”

“Well, that’s not the whole story,” Agent Mendez said. He held out his hand and shook Mila’s. “I had lots of help. Plus, they were zip ties, not handcuffs, so you’re overselling me there.” He nodded to the men behind him. “Unfortunately, only one of Holt’s men followed us to the other safe house. So our trap wasn’t as effective as we would have hoped. But it did leave us free to come to you. This is my team. Officers Knox, Owen, Trey, and Luc. Technically Luc’s not CIA. He’s DGSE, aka the French foreign intelligence. But he’ll be working with us on this investigation.”

The last man stepped forward and gave us a brief wave. He was white and broad shouldered, with honey-blond hair and an easy smile. “Pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for having me on this investigation.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. His English was so good I wouldn’t have even noticed his French accent if Agent Mendez hadn’t pointed out that he wasn’t with the CIA. Like if water with just a hint of lemon were an accent. He kept talking, and at my side I swear Mila preened a little. “When Mendez let us know you were being held in the catacombs of Paris, we knew there had to be government involvement covering up Holt’s actions. You’re free to go after your man, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be looking into any dirty French politicians.”

Our safe house was situated in a quiet neighborhood, and the DGSE agent Luc stared off at the surrounding street, like he might find said politicians lurking behind the bushes if only he glared hard enough. Well, maybe those kinds of deals happened there, what did I know? Holt had to have met the French prime minister somewhere.

Mila twirled a bit of her hair around her finger. “It’s good to meet you all. I know I certainly feel safer with so many of you protecting us.” Her eyes cut to Luc.

If I hadn’t seen her A-plus flirting skills with the bachelor bros earlier, I might have thought she was laying it on a little thick. But I knew she had game. She could pull this around if given enough time. Even Chan was shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

“Let’s get inside and I can debrief you on everything I know,” he said. “I don’t like being so exposed.”

He might not like it, but after spending so long in the underground tunnels, I found the picturesque French backdrop exactly what my soul needed. Outdoor air, the knowledge that I was finally safe and surrounded by people who could protect me—I didn’t want to go inside another box just yet. I looked at him imploringly.

Chan seemed to understand, because he gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Three minutes, okay?” His smile was restrained. “It makes me anxious, even knowing everything’s secure. And stay in front of the window. I’ll be watching.”

I nodded, and he stepped past me into the house, following the rest of the CIA team.

I leaned forward against the porch railing, putting my back to the house’s window as I breathed in the fresh air—something I’d never take for granted again. Who knew air was something I noticed now? Air that didn’t smell stale and recycled. Air that made me feel full of possibilities.

We were all safe, Holt was on the defense, and the CIA would figure out what he was up to. For however long it lasted, I could finally feel the sunlight and I didn’t have to hide anymore.

At least, that was what I thought.

Until something buzzed in my pocket and I pulled out an unfamiliar phone. An unfamiliar phone that was ringing with a blocked number.