Chapter Nineteen A Walking Fashion Faux Pas
Adelina
As far as sightseeing goes, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
“I hope you take this the wrong way,” Diana says, “but you look like an absolute delinquent.” She drags me down the narrow aisle of the store, clothing racks bracketing us on either side.
“Don’t you mean ‘I hope you don’t take this the wrong way’?” I ask, fearing we might have gotten lost in translation somewhere.
She gives me a once-over from head to toe before resuming her search for a shirt she deems suitable. “Not at all,” she says.
“I really don’t think this is necessary.”
“You’re in a heavy hooded sweatshirt. In the south of France. In the middle of April.” Diana tosses me a shirt to try on. The fabric is soft, but it’s light pink and paisley. I make no effort to hide my grimace
“I mean…I am a tourist.”
“Tourists come here to sunbathe and dip their toes in the Mediterranean. You’re going to attract the wrong kind of attention, and attention is the bane of a thief’s existence.”
I cast a cautious glance over my shoulder. The boutique Diana has brought me to is small, boasting only a handful of other customers and a store clerk who looks bored out of her mind. No one pays us any attention, continuing with their leisurely browsing.
Maybe Diana has a point. I’m dressed for North Pacific weather, not the beach.
Intentionally or not, I stick out like a sore thumb.
Not to mention that with the climbing temperatures and plentiful sun, I’m at risk for heat stroke, which is why I don’t turn my nose up at the next shirt Diana plucks off the rack and shoves into my hands.
(It’s a deep burgundy, which is a dark enough shade that I can make peace with it.)
“Why are you doing this?” I ask her quietly. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to go through the trouble.”
She shuffles through a selection of shorts, holding her silence like a shield against me. It’s a strategy Diana uses often, I realize, and it gives off the illusion of graceful control. Difficult to master, powerful once perfected. I’m sure a businesswoman like her makes great use of such a tool.
“I wanted to make up for my behavior,” she says after a while. “I was…unnecessarily harsh toward you the other day. I’m sorry.”
This takes me by surprise. Of all the things I thought she could have said, an apology wasn’t one of them.
“Oh,” I mumble dumbly.
“What we do is dangerous,” she continues. “It’s hard to know who to trust. Women in our line of business have to work twice as hard for half of the take.”
I laugh softly, a curt little huff. “My mother used to say something similar.”
Diana looks up then and slips into an amicable smile, as though offering a truce. “It comes from a place of love, but God, sometimes the pressure is just…”
“First-born daughter?”
“Yes. You?”
I nod. “My sister says I suffer from ‘eldest daughter syndrome.’ Whatever that means.”
Diana hands me a dress to try on. Not really my style, but I’m enjoying our conversation enough to at least hold on to it. “Are you close?” she asks. “You and your sister.”
“Sure.”
“That didn’t sound very confident.”
I bite my tongue, shrugging as nonchalantly as I can manage. “We’ve…been drifting apart.”
“Ah, it happens.”
“What about you?” I ask, testing the waters. “Are you close with your family?”
“They moved back to India after my father passed away a few years ago.”
Her answer punches me in the gut. I understand all too well what it’s like to not only lose a parent but be isolated from your family. Granted, I choose to be alone for sanity’s sake, but I’m beginning to see that Diana and I have a lot more in common than I first believed.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell her.
Diana shrugs, her beautiful silky hair pouring over her shoulders. “C’est la vie.”
We move from rack to rack, Diana picking out items of interest while simultaneously transforming me into a pack mule. I don’t know how much more clothing I can carry. I suppose if I’m being forced to revamp my wardrobe, there are worse places I could be doing it than France.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say. “About what West said.”
“I was beginning to wonder when you would.”
“Were you there? When he tried to go after Berruci the first time?”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
I’m more than aware that I’m pushing my luck. We have a good tit-for-tat thing going, but I risk her closing off again if I come on too strong. Yet my curiosity burns beneath the surface of my skin, leaving me parched for answers.
Diana purses her lips. Tense. Just when I think she’s going to clam up, she sighs. “There were six of us on the crew: Michael, West, Joseph, Henrie, Bannock and me. Berruci has a racket back in Paris and has since moved down to Nice to expand his enterprise.”
“West told me he made most of his money through racketeering.”
“Yes,” she says tightly. “We did the math. On collection days, he’d pull in roughly a hundred million euros in cash.”
“A hundred million I’m sure you were eager to take off his hands.”
Diana nods, though her expression is grim.
“That kind of money…You can’t just dump illicit funds into a bank account, or the authorities start asking the wrong kinds of questions.
You have to launder it first. Buy expensive cars and pointless pieces of art, snap up real estate.
Until then, you need to keep it all locked away somewhere safe. ”
“And that’s when you decided to strike,” I conclude.
“It took us three months to figure out where Berruci kept his stashes. He has several properties scattered throughout Paris. We wanted to hit them simultaneously, but something went wrong.” Diana’s gaze grows distant.
“When I arrived at my location, the police were already waiting for me. Joseph, similarly, walked right into a trap. Cops ganged up on him and arrested him on the spot. Same with Henrie and Bannock. As for Michael and West…”
A shiver passes through me, the little hairs on the nape of my neck suddenly standing on end. “What?” I urge.
“They disappeared,” Diana replies. “I didn’t know what happened to them until West called me two weeks ago with a shiny new plan.”
The gears in my head kick into overdrive. How odd. I’m clearly missing a part of the story here. How did the rest of West’s old crew end up getting caught, but he somehow made it out unscathed?
The mule account I stole from…I already knew that West was in charge of monitoring it, but I never stopped to consider why he was given such a task in the first place. What if West sold them out to save himself? Struck some sort of deal? Clemency in exchange for freedom.
I shove the thought away, already exhausted with all the mental gymnastics. No. That doesn’t make any sense. What reason would he have had to do something like that? Plus, being forced to work for Berruci seems like pulling the short stick.
Maybe he was in over his head, I think to myself. A guy like Berruci is bound to have conditions.
West doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to double-cross his friends. And his story about wanting to protect his niece is admirable. Sympathetic.
Almost by design.
What if I’m being played for a fool? West always seems to know what to say, what to do. He comes across as an unassuming guy, but what if that’s his scheme? For all I know, he could be laying it on thick to lower my guard, all for the express purpose of walking me right into a trap.
“You’d better go try these on,” Diana says. “The clerk is giving us a dirty look. I’m going to pop out for a bit and see if I can find us something to drink.”
“Uh, sure,” I mumble, making my way to the cramped changing room in the back of the boutique.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not in the mood to be shopping, but there’s little else I can do until West figures out a workaround to this snag in our plans. If that’s even what he’s doing.
I throw shirts on just to take them off again.
There’s nothing wrong with the items Diana picked out for me, but they’re simply not to my taste.
I find a simple black tee that I’m partial toward, but after converting the price from euros to Canadian dollars, I decide against it.
(The store is definitely charging tourists higher prices.)
My real phone, which I’ve set next to my burner on the narrow changing stall bench, buzzes. A text from Lily.
Lily: Hey! Just wanted to let you know I’m boarding my flight.
Lily: Sending you my itinerary.
Lily: I’m off to Spain!
I take a deep breath. In all the recent mayhem, I’d nearly forgotten about my sister’s trip. It looks like we’ll both be on the same continent at the same time, though I sincerely doubt our paths will cross. (I can only pray. I really don’t want to have that conversation.)
I shoot her a quick text wishing her a safe flight before putting everything back neatly on hangers. I leave the changing room to find that Diana is nowhere in sight. Weird. She should be back by now. How hard is it to find a bottle of water?
I leave the boutique and step out onto the street, the heat of the sun quick to warm the top of my head.
(Such is the curse of having dark hair.) I have no idea where Diana might have gone.
Before I have a chance to reach for my burner and send her a text, I notice something strange.
There’s a man standing across the street.
Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it.
The streets are packed full of springtime travelers and locals alike. It isn’t a crime to stand around, but…
He’s staring right at me.
Unnerved, I try calling Diana’s number. She doesn’t pick up.
It’s then that I notice the man isn’t alone. Less than a block away, another guy leans against a parked car, watching me with uninvited interest. My skin crawls. Ah, fuck. If this is about to turn into a Taken situation, I’m screwed.
As calmly as I’m able, I turn in the opposite direction and start down the street at a brisk pace, resisting the urge to make a run for it.
It’s only when I dare to glance over my shoulder that I see that they’re walking in the same direction.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. I take a right, and then another right, and then another right. They’re still behind me.
Not paranoid, then.
I’m being followed.
My hands shake as I try Diana’s number again, and once again, she doesn’t answer. Shit. Did something happen to her?
Panic grips my throat. What am I going to do?
I’m no runner, and I definitely don’t stand a chance if it comes down to a fight.
It’s only a matter of time before they catch me.
For what reason, I have no clue, but I sincerely doubt that their intentions are honorable.
There’s only one person I can call for help, even if I don’t entirely trust him.
I punch in West’s number.
He picks up immediately. “Porter’s Pizzeria,” he jokes, “how may I—”
“I need help,” I wheeze. God, I’m out of shape.
“What’s going on?” he asks, serious and low.
“Men are following me. I can’t get a hold of Diana, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Where are you? Can you see a street sign anywhere?” I hear shuffling in the background. It sounds like he’s on the move.
My hands shake as I look around. “Rue Alexandre Mari. West, what do I do?”
“Stay on the phone with me. I’m coming to get you.”