Chapter 19 #2
Twinkling lights had been draped on the palm trees bordering the pool area.
Illuminated walkways guided guests to the bar, hot tub and infinity pool.
Mostly empty, the pool glowed blue. Beyond the resort, the Mediterranean crashed to shore.
A smoky scent drifted from the St. John’s bonfire on the public beach.
Above them, stars speckled the midnight sky.
This should have been their honeymoon.
“Hot tub,” she said. “It’s semishielded by the palm trees.”
He held in a groan as they dropped their bathrobes. Being this close to her without touching her was a Herculean test of willpower. As he climbed into the frothing water and sat next to her, the happy bubbles were at odds with the amorous tension in his body.
“You’re doing great.” Vivian squeezed his knee. “The beach is our escape route. Easy to get lost in the St. John’s crowd.”
“Unless you’re wearing bathrobes and microscopic shorts.”
“I’ll think of something.” Her gaze snapped to the bar through the scrim of trees. “Damn, security’s here.”
A guard bellied up to the bar. His gruff voice carried in the peaceful night air.
“See anything unusual this evening?” the guard asked the bartender. “We’re looking for Americans. A man and a woman. Red hair.”
“Well, shit.” Vivian handed John the drive. “They’re looking for a couple. Fly solo for a few minutes? And hold me under.”
Before he could ask for details, she slipped under the hot tub’s surface and pulled his foot onto her thigh. Fear spiked through him. Solo? She was the brains of this—
His watch alarm sounded. Ah, fuck. He forgot to turn that off.
As he slapped at the button, the security guard swung his attention toward John. That wasn’t good. If he came over here, he’d see John holding a redheaded American under water.
Wait. American.
He hadn’t endured endless French accent corrections in high school for nothing.
He ignored his galloping pulse and shouted in Marseille-accented French, “Bonsoir? Je suis là depuis vingt minutes. Devez-vous prendre ma commande de boissons?”
They hadn’t been there twenty minutes, and he definitely didn’t need a drink. What he needed was for the security guard to fuck off. Or for Vivian and him to be helicoptered out of here. Either would be great.
“Désolé, monsieur,” the bartender answered. “Je viendrai bient?t.”
The security guard moved on to the beach.
Yes. John tapped Vivian on the shoulder, and she emerged between his legs.
“Security’s gone,” he said. “You really can hold your breath for five minutes?”
“Why would I lie about that?” She placed her hands on his thighs and pushed up ’til she stood between his legs. Her nipples pebbled the bodysuit. “Drive?”
After he handed it to her, she climbed out of the hot tub.
John, on the other hand, needed a minute. “How are you so calm?”
“Practice.” She winked. “Now get your ass out of the hot tub.”
* * *
Vivian tied the robe’s belt at her waist. That had been way too close for her comfort.
“Why’d the security guard move along?” she asked. “All I heard was bubbles.”
“Because I shouted to the bartender in perfect French. The guard must’ve decided I wasn’t the American he was looking for.”
“That was smart,” she said. “Good job.”
Unlike MacColl, she believed in positive feedback.
John slipped into his robe, which was a shame. She adored his tiny shorts. But it was for the best—his physique would attract way too much attention.
She had to get them out of here. With her eyes closed, she pictured the blueprints. Specifically the service hallways. There was one across the pool area that led to the waste and recycling bins. Unglamorous, but that was true for a surprising number of operations.
“This way.” She tugged him with her.
“Aren’t you worried? Security’s everywhere.”
“Yes, but no?” She pushed through the doors. “I don’t think the resort’s security team is in cahoots with Jean-Michel or Mystery Vampire.”
“Who?” John laughed.
“The guy from the ballroom. I give people code names to keep track in my head. Anyway, Jean-Michel wouldn’t bribe a huge security team.
Too expensive and risky. If word got out that he had a special arrangement with the resort’s—and the auction’s—security, people might ask questions he’d rather not answer.
No, he’s working around the security team, too. ”
“But they’re specifically looking for an American couple. Where’d that come from? Do you think they ID’d us from security footage?”
“Anything’s possible.” Vivian rubbed her L-Pill pendant.
“But I think we can chalk that up to Jean-Michel being a spiteful asshole. Since his painting was targeted, they would’ve spoken with him.
And if he knows the drive is gone, he’ll want to take his anger out on someone.
I’m a convenient target. Whether he thinks I had anything to do with the break-in, he would’ve been happy to fuck up my evening. ”
She peeked around the corner. Clear.
“Charming,” John said.
“Yeah, well, sweethearts don’t succeed on the black market.”
The tang of garbage thickened as they approached the doors marked Sortie.
On the other side, among the neatly organized blue and green dumpsters, a young man flicked the ash from his cigarette. “Bonsoir?”
“Excusez-moi,” Vivian said. “Quel est le chemin le plus rapide pour se rendre aux magasins?”
The kid loosely gestured his cigarette toward the sidewalk. “At the end of this path, turn left. But most stores are closed for the evening.”
“Merci.” After they rounded a corner, she said, “I feel judged when French people switch to English.”
John laughed. “Don’t take it personally. If their English is better than your French, they’ll answer in the language that’s more comfortable for you.”
“But I could be Icelandic.”
“Your accent’s American. And it’s adorable.”
She turned left per the kid’s instructions and sighed. “Why is everything uphill here?”
“Because we’re in the Alps?”
Beyond a lush public park, shops lined this street. Ah, shit. Nothing usable. Lingerie, fountain pens, real estate, mobile phones, Rolexes…
Ooh, that souvenir shop might do the trick.
“Bingo.” She gestured to the collection of beach clothes displayed outside the shop.
“Can we leave euros?” he asked. “I feel bad about stealing.”
“Yes, of course.” After checking for security cameras and police officers, she tucked two hundred euros through the shop’s mail slot, then snatched clothing and flip-flops.
They ducked into an alley to change.
She’d scored a white eyelet sleeveless tank. John buttoned a slouchy striped shirt over his chest. After stepping into a purple maxi skirt, she wiggled her feet into slightly-too-small flip-flops that’d give her more blisters than her Jimmy Choos.
“We’ve got a problem.” He held out the cabana shorts. “These don’t fit. I need something to cover this banana hammock.”
“Everyone wears them.” She stuffed her hotel robe into a trash bin. When she looked up, she bit back a laugh. His swimsuit was tiny.
“Vivian, come on.”
“No time for shyness, Mr. Seymour.” She opened her phone’s map app. “There’s a hotel–slash–youth hostel with a business center at Larvotto Beach. It’s an oceanfront walk up the Promenade Prince Jacques. We can get to it via the public beach.”
He popped his hands on his hips. “You’re really making me do this?”
“Try to make lemons out of lemonade.”
“Lemonade requires a shit ton of sugar, which we do not have. Just lemons.”
She tried not to stare at the outline of his junk. He had lemons, all right.
“Come on.” She grabbed his hand. “Resent me while we walk.”
She hurried them along the shop-lined cobblestone streets toward the bonfire-lit section of the public beach.
The still-warm sand slipped between her toes and the flip-flops.
Some stragglers wore traditional folk outfits—red-and-white-striped skirts and pants, white shirts, black vests—but most were dressed like her and John.
In the flickering dark, they blended as they worked their way through the crowd to the promenade’s entry.
As a chain of dancers passed them, a drunk teenage girl at the end grabbed Vivian’s hand and tugged her into the circle with them.
Shit.
She tried to extract herself without causing a scene. The circle brought them toward police monitoring the scene from the beach’s edge.
Double shit.
Close to the bonfire, the circle broke apart.
People fell to their knees, laughing. John reeled her to him, then pinned her against the base of a palm tree.
His laughter faded, but the fire remained in his eyes.
They should run, but she was powerless against the desire whisking through her.
He covered her mouth with his, then slid his hand up her shirt and palmed her breast. A second too late, she felt him steal the drive.
Ice replaced the fire in her veins.
Was John an agent who had slipped past the background checks? Her instincts?
He broke the kiss, then nuzzled her ear.
“Cop,” he whispered. “If we get caught, diplomats’ kids are extracted pretty fast.”
Near them stood a baseball-capped woman in a white polo shirt emblazoned with red diamonds between stripes—Monte Carlo’s police uniform.
Guilt tightened her chest. He was protecting her, and she’d suspected him for it?
Christ, she was losing it.
Vivian nuzzled him back. “We won’t get caught. Let’s go.”
She led him to the promenade, smiling, trying to look like a lover out for a romantic stroll. Which…she supposed she was.
After a quiet minute, John cleared his throat. “I get why you do this work. It’s important.”
“Hang on.” She surveyed the promenade. “Okay, we’re alone. But be vague as needed?”
He nodded.
“At the end of the day, you protect people. But why do you put yourself at risk?”
She’d never been brave enough to tell anyone her main motivation. John, though…she should have been vulnerable with him. He was supposed to be her safe space.
She took a deep breath.
“This work makes me feel like I belong. My brothers and sisters all went to the same schools, ran in the same circles. I got left out a lot. The people I work with, though—when they recruited me, I finally felt like I belonged. And there’s meaning in what we do.
If that comes with some risk, it’s worth the trade-off to me. ”
“You also belong with me.” John squeezed her hand.
Those were the words she wanted to hear. But they didn’t fit his pattern.
Be brave, Flint. She had to point out his inconsistency.
“Except you…” Her voice cut out. She cleared her throat. “You broke up with me when I told you the truth about who I am. What I do.”
“I did, and I’m sorry.” He sighed. “It took me a beat to catch up. I mean, you kept me in the dark for a year.”
“I know, okay?” She threw her hands in the air. “But I don’t have a time machine, so all I can do is do better. Can you be comfortable knowing I can’t tell you everything I’ve done, what I’m doing, where I’m going?”
Silver leaped and bounced on the sea’s dark current. The gentle lapping against the promenade was the only sound between them. She wanted to scream, but she’d wait.
He kicked a rock. “I’d like to try.”