Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANTOINE
W e leave the restaurant with a bottle of wine in hand. Laura chatters about how impressive everything was. She’s wearing a shimmery black number that leaves her shoulders and arms bare and hugs her unfashionably curvaceous but oh-so-alluring bod.
I’ve only ever dated women who are tall and slim. It’s my type. And I still think that. I admire their elegance, their muscle tone, the way they can wear a burlap sack and look good. But there’s something Laura can do that Celeste and women like her can’t. She makes me work hard not to ogle her ostentatious breasts and hips. Her explicit femininity has me struggling not to touch her, while “my type” of woman leaves me in complete control.
I picture Celeste’s racy, athletic figure in my mind’s eye, then let my gaze wander over Laura’s. Normally I’d find a body shape like hers vulgar, which would be a turnoff.
I’m fighting a hard-on as we speak.
“And the complimentary bottle?” she gushes, pointing at the rosé I’m holding. “I feel like I should send that chef a thank-you card.”
“We already thanked him profusely,” I say, reminding her.
She grins up at me as we approach the suite. Alain and his audio guy are trailing a few steps behind, their equipment shifting noisily. I’m already mapping out the next hour in my head—settle on the balcony, take in the ocean view to calm my primal reaction to Laura’s dress, and do some vaguely flirty small talk.
But then my phone pings. The secure line.
It’s Pedro.
Say it’s an urgent message from home and you must call back. Meet me behind the outdoor movie screen.
Laura glances over as I slip the phone back into my pocket. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing serious, I’m sure, but I need to make a quick call. An issue back home.”
She frowns. “Your brother? Parents?”
“I’ll find out.” I turn to Alain. “Do you mind giving me some privacy for this call? I’ll be back at the hotel in twenty minutes.”
Alain hesitates for a moment but then relents. “Of course. But don’t be late. We have schedules to keep.”
I hand the bottle to Laura. “Save me a glass.”
“If you think I can finish this by myself in twenty minutes, you’re vastly overestimating me.” She turns to Alain and his colleague. “Will you help me?”
“Thanks, but we’re working.” Alain holds his watch up to me. “Twenty minutes. The countdown is on.”
I head off without another word, cutting through the landscaped pathways toward the open-air movie theater. Luckily there’s no film playing tonight, and the place is dark and deserted. I slip behind the structure.
Pedro is already there, leaning against a stack of equipment crates. His linen shirt is loose, but his shoulders are tense. I don’t like it.
“Took you long enough,” he says quietly.
“What’s going on?”
He straightens, lowering his voice. “Kurt Ozzi is moving.”
That’s all he needs to say for my shoulders to become as stiff as his. “Elaborate.”
“We think he sent one of his men to monitor you.” Pedro steps closer. “We believe it’s the concierge assigned to your suite specifically. He goes by Lino.”
I think back. “You’re sure?”
“Not one hundred percent,” he admits. “But his resemblance to the photo of one of Kurt’s agents we’ve been tracking is too marked to be accidental.”
He shows me a picture of a man, mid-thirties, mustache and short-cropped hair.
“I know him,” I say, “He helped us with the luggage when we arrived, and then again, with directions and such. Always hovering, never intrusive.”
“If Lino is Kurt’s man, and if he suspects you’re working toward the key, you need to be prepared.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Pedro reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek black device about the size of a pen, but flatter. It looks like a fancy laser pointer.
He holds it out to me. “Use this to swipe your rooms for bugs when Laura is showering or asleep. Start at one end of the suite and move systematically—walls, light fixtures, phones, TV. Anywhere a microphone or transmitter could hide.”
I examine the scanner in my palm. It’s lightweight but solid, with a small LED strip along the edge. I flick the switch, and it glows faintly blue.
“The light will flash red if it picks something up,” Pedro explains. “Be sure to keep it quiet, too. Kurt’s agent will be listening for a reaction.”
“What do I do if I find a bug?”
“Leave it where it is.” Pedro reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a small, sleek device about the size of a portable speaker. “This is a white noise generator. Use it if you need to have a confidential conversation.”
“How does it work?”
Pedro gestures for me to hold the device up. “Turn it on like this and position it near the bug. It emits a frequency that makes the audio feed sound like ambient noise to whoever is listening on the other end.”
“Understood.”
“Don’t use it all the time. Be strategic.”
I nod slowly, absorbing his instructions. “Anything else?”
“Stay sharp, Antoine. Even if you don’t find any bugs, be careful what you say when you ask Laura about the music box.”
“Will do.” I turn to leave.
“One last thing,” Pedro adds. “Don’t be tempted to cue Laura in or let her figure things out on her own.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Isn’t honesty the best policy?”
He begins to explain why not in this case, but I interrupt him. “Just kidding. I understand.”
“I know you do.”
“One last thing,” I parrot him, pinching the lapels of my garish shirt. “Do I really have to dress like this all the time?”
“You’re a bohemian, remember? That’s what Laura likes.”
Grimacing, I release the fabric. “Right.”
“Grin and bear it, my lord,” he says. “Your country is counting on you.”
“I know, and I’m OK with risking my life for Mount Evor if I have to. But…”
“What?” His mouth thins.
I pinch a strand of my hair. “The gel has to go. Rubbing slimy gunk into my hair every morning is more than I’d bargained for.”
“All right,” he yields. “But only the gel.”
As I head back to the suite, my mind is already working out how to scan the room without alerting my young “wife.”