Chapter 10
Ten
“John, we need to go.” Vivian’s gentle voice sifted through his deep sleep.
He bolted upright. Instant regret as his brain thudded inside his skull. He pressed the heels of his palms to his scratchy eyes. “I feel like ass. What time is it?”
“Five. And here—these’ll help.” She handed him Tylenol, a tumbler of water, and a disposable mini-toothbrush.
“Where’d you get these?” He chased the pills with a gulp of water.
“My go-bag. I stuff it with whatever I need when I’m on the run.”
“What’s the most useful thing in there?”
She peeped in the bag. “Honestly? The binder clips.”
He chuckled. “Not the collapsible baton?”
“Nope. Binder clips. A-plus in the handiness department.”
This exchange was strangely comfortable. Yeah, they were hiding out in a Moroccan club. But they were still themselves, shooting the breeze while getting ready for the day.
He ripped open the toothbrush’s packaging. “Learn anything after I fell asleep?”
“Not much. I tapped into the prefecture’s criminal database.
Nothing on Lola, and both men have a run-of-the-mill history.
Assault and battery, theft, fraud. Real gems. But no obvious connections to me, Jean-Michel or the art world.
” She laced her fingers together and cradled the back of her head.
“There’s something underlying all this, though. I can feel it.”
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked.
“Yes, but I woke up with my face planted on the keyboard. Can I have the pashmina?”
He handed it to her, and she stepped into the bathroom.
“Remember when I first moved in and you were frustrated that stuff wasn’t where it’s supposed to be?” she called through the open door. “Water bottle’s in the fridge instead of on the table, shoes on the rack, shower curtain closed instead of open?”
“I wasn’t frustrated.” He scrubbed his teeth.
“You definitely were.” She laughed. “Anyway, that’s how I feel when there’s a connection I haven’t found in a case. Mental itchiness.”
A hefty knock at the door startled him.
“That’ll be Tonton.” Vivian emerged with the pashmina fashioned into a hijab. She peeked through the peephole, then twisted the dead bolts. “Everyone gone for the day?”
“All but me.” Tonton thrust a bundle at John. “Best I can do, Dauphin.”
“Dauphin?” John took pants, a shirt and leather slip-on shoes from him.
“If Jeanne d’Arc fights for you, are you not the dauphin?” Tonton folded his arms. “Jeanne, a private word before you go?”
She nodded, then twisted to John. “Meet us out here after you change?”
As the door closed, he shed his pajama pants.
Tonton’s desk phone beckoned. One call and John’s parents would fly him out of here.
Did he want that? Two days ago, he’d been ready to elope. To entangle his future with hers. Her problems were his problems, and vice versa. And oh boy, did they have problems.
Despite everything, though, his adrenaline-fueled ass had stuck with his sort-of fiancée.
He was in this with her.
Delicate loose-end tendrils tickled his brain. The mental itchiness she’d described—he felt it, too. Not about the attack or black market art or money funnels or whatever the fuck. About Vivian. He’d learn more about her if he stayed, like he did during dinner yesterday.
And he was curious about her, like he’d been with Jane.
Wanted to know everything about her.
John patted the pockets of his too-big pants to check for his good luck charm. His grandfather had given him the Zippo on his eighteenth birthday, saying, “A man can always use a steady flame.” Ah, there it was—in his left pants pocket.
He flipped it open, flicked the flint, then flipped the lid down.
Time to go.
“Does either of you have a belt?” John asked as he opened the door.
“Non.” Tonton lifted his shoulder into a shrug.
“How about a binder clip?” Vivian reached into her bag, folded the loose inches at his waist, then secured the material with the clip.
Her touch sent an inconvenient shiver up his spine.
“There,” she said. “That’ll hold ’til we get to Tangier.”
The binder clip lightly scratched his back as they walked toward the steel doors, but he preferred it to his pants around his ankles.
“Stay back,” Tonton said. After opening the doors, he surveyed the street, then gave the all clear. “Be well, Jeanne, and go fast.”
“Always.” Vivian kissed Tonton on the cheek. “I owe you.”
John extended his hand to Tonton. “Thanks for helping us.”
The older man crushed his hand like a frat boy with a beer can, but John held his own.
“She’s tough,” Tonton grumbled. “But look out for her.”
“I will,” John promised.
The motorbike’s engine growled to life. “Let’s go!” Vivian tossed her backpack to John. “à tout à l’heure, Tonton!”
The rumbling rust bucket sank under John’s weight. As he belted his arms around Vivian’s waist, her ribs expanded with a sigh. Under Casablanca’s lavender sky, homeward-bound club kids crossed paths with vendors headed to market.
In this section of the city, new glass-and-chrome buildings stood beside older structures with peeling paint. As they merged onto a busier road, Vivian pointed to an enormous gleaming structure up ahead.
“That’s the Hassan II Mosque. It’s the second largest mosque in Africa. It’s breathtaking up close.” She breezed past an idling bus, leaving the mosque behind them. The road they traveled curved along the coastline. “Up ahead’s the El Hank lighthouse. It opened up Casablanca to development.”
She spoke about this city like he did when he gave tours to friends visiting DC. He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. She’d lived here, not just visited like he assumed. How often had he filled in blanks that she didn’t correct?
He needed to be better about asking questions. Specific questions whose answers would tell him more about Vivian.
“What’s your favorite place in the city?” he asked.
“That’s a tough one.” Vivian revved the engine. “Ooh, I know. Mohammed V Square. It’s nearby, actually.”
“Show me?” he asked.
After a few turns, she slowed to a stop. “A lot of people call it Pigeon Plaza.”
At Mohammed V Square’s center stood an enormous fountain. The rest of it was filled with Alfred Hitchcock–level flocks of pigeons. The bored birds barely moved out of the way of the handful of human souls moving among them.
He laughed. “I can see why. But why do you like it?”
He’d expected a museum or a mural, but instead she picked pigeons.
“They remind me of people,” she said. “Everyone trying to go through their normal routine, blissfully unaware of emergencies around them.”
In the distance, a rich voice sang over loudspeakers. The birds couldn’t be bothered, and continued cooing and flapping as they meandered across the plaza.
“Shit,” Vivian said. “That’s for fajr. We need to go.”
She gunned it, and within minutes, they parked at L’Oasis Train Station.
“What should we do with the bike?” he asked.
“I’ll leave the keys.” Vivian slid from the seat. “Someone’s about to have a lucky day.”
In the station, they crossed the marble-patterned linoleum to the ticket booth. After purchasing tickets for the high speed train, she handed him one.
“The Al Boraq’s boarding.” She swiveled her gaze, then pointed. “It’s that way.”
They took an escalator down to the bullet train’s platform.
“We’re in car two,” Vivian said.
They walked until they found secluded seats with a clear view of their car’s door.
Vivian paused in the aisle. “You take the window. Just in case.”
“In case what?” he asked.
She lifted a shoulder. “Fights, pigeons, runaway trolleys of food. All the above?”
He sank into the plush velour, and she dropped into the seat next to him. Vivian yawned through the departure announcements. He’d bet she didn’t sleep more than five minutes. This woman was the worst at taking care of herself.
As the train glided away from the station, he asked, “Why don’t you take a nap?”
“Can’t.” The dark circles under her eyes argued otherwise.
“More like won’t. You know, you make fun of me for needing eight hours of sleep per night, but shortchanging yourself and coping with coffee until you lose your mind over TikToks of babies getting glasses and seeing their parents for the first time isn’t the picture of health.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a beautiful testament to science and human connection.”
“I agree, but sobbing?” He bumped shoulders with her. “If anything exciting happens, I’ll wake you up. I promise.”
“No.” She kneaded her neck.
She had a stubborn knot that flared when she spent too much time at her desk. Or, now that he knew the real her, hand-to-hand combat might be the real culprit. Either way, she was in pain. And she had saved his life several times recently.
“Do you need a neck rub?” he asked.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“That’s not a no. Face the aisle.”
She turned without argument, and he dug his thumbs into the troublesome knot. After a couple minutes, the knot unclenched. Her quiet moan made his cock twitch.
Which was bad. Very bad.
“Better?” he asked.
She rolled her neck. “Oh my God, much.”
“Then you should nap.”
“I told you, I ca—” A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted her. “Okay, fine. Here are some dirham to buy breakfast if the food trolley comes through. Wake me up in thirty minutes.”
Before he could say okay, she was asleep against him.
* * *
Vivian sucked in a breath as she awoke.
“…terminus.” The speaker crackled. “Once again, our next stop is the Tanger Ville Railway Station, the main train station in Tangier and the Al Boraq line’s terminus.”
The seat next to her was empty.
Impressive and annoying that John had climbed over her without waking her. She checked her watch. Nine? Christ, he’d let her sleep for two hours. She’d bet he was in the dining car to satisfy his clockwork body’s breakfast demands.
Unnecessarily risky.
She marched down the car with her backpack tight to her shoulders. Several passenger cars later, she’d arrived at the glass doors dividing her from the dining car.
Yep, there he was.