steps up and takes over just often enough to make me question that. If Martine is the boss, she’s letting him think he has more power than he actually does for some reason. She is the one who offered me work.”
“Setting explosives.”
Renee nodded. “That was my ticket in. We met over a bomb, so to speak, and I think that incident inspired the idea of using explosives. I don’t yet know why she wants to blow that building, but I’m working on it. Now who is this Trip guy you’re after and how does he figure into this?” she asked, reverting to his mission.
“He killed someone, years ago. A man who meant a great deal to me. And to Corbett Lazlo,” he added reluctantly, granting her more trust than he was comfortable with.
Mark had had to relinquish his former investigation into the threats against Lazlo and the recent assassinations of a number of Lazlo’s agents. Others would continue that probe in earnest, of course. Lazlo knew finding Trip was Mark’s primary goal in life.
“So it’s personal?” She leaned toward him a little, revealing her eagerness. That she would let him see that gave Mark a bit of reassurance.
“A vendetta, you mean? No, it’s business. He’s already murdered at least two Lazlo operatives in addition to the man I mentioned. He might be responsible for others that we don’t yet know about if he employed other methods. But we’re certain of these three. He left proof. Trip’s a paid assassin.”
“Which means that someone hired him to do the killing. You need that name,” she guessed correctly.
“Obviously. How close are you to finding out what you need to know?”
“Not close enough. Sonnegut runs the boys and Deborah runs him. But who they report to, if there is a higher authority, is anyone’s guess at this point. So far none of them has provided any hint of motive. But even given Sonnegut’s attempted kidnapping of a senator’s son, I sense this current operation is not political and certainly not ideological. It has to do with either greed or revenge.”
Mark wondered how good her instincts were and whether he could rely on them. As a hard and fast rule, he relied on no one but himself. And Lazlo, when necessary.
The last time he had actually known anyone well enough to trust them, other than Lazlo, was when he was thirteen. He had relied on and trusted his dad, above all. And there had been Tom and Hugh, his best friends, his trusty mates since early childhood. He still kept up with their lives because he cared about them, though for their safety, he’d had no actual contact with them since his disappearance the night of his father’s death.
Trust and reliance he granted only to true friends, not chance acquaintances like this woman. And at present, he realized, he had no real friendships. None whatsoever.
She went on, oblivious to his thoughts that excluded her. “Sonnegut doesn’t seem enthusiastic about any of it. It’s almost as if he’s along for the ride. But Deborah gets this crafty look. Did you notice?”
“She can’t wait to see it happen,” he agreed, nodding. “Seems a bit psychotic if you want my opinion.” He wasn’t used to giving out his thoughts, but she was damned easy to talk to. She smiled in response.
“I wish I had more time to find out what’s behind this, but I can’t very well plan the implosion of a building while I’m filling in the gaps. If this is to go down soon, my people will have to take whoever I’ve been able to identify and just hope somebody will sing.” She grinned at him then and bumped him playfully with her elbow. “You Brits say that, too? Or do your perps peach on each other?”
“Sing, squeal, rat out. Yes, we have that in common.” And very little else, he reminded himself. Renee defined the term extrovert and he might as well wear a recluse sign around his neck. Colloquialisms would probably prove the least of their differences.
He had mastered what he could of American slang, but his time in the States had been brief, he had always disliked American films and television, and he’d never had the opportunity to make any Yankee friends.
Again he thought, no friends at all. Corbett Lazlo was the closest thing to it, but even their interaction was based on a mutual goal. And technically, Corbett was his boss.
He admitted there were disadvantages to working completely alone, but he reminded himself sternly that he still preferred it. Even during his required military service he had remained a loner. It was difficult for him, sharing information, but necessary in this instance. Renee was right about that. He would have to make the effort.
Mark ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck for a minute. “Martine is my only lead to Trip. Depending on how quickly this job goes, there might not be enough time.”
“Deborah’s not likely to tell you anything about John Trip,” Renee said, “and he’s obviously not one of the gang. Maybe I could help. What if I told her that I’m looking for someone to do a little wet work to cover my tracks on another job?”
Mark was already shaking his head. “Not feasible unless you’re wallowing in wealth, in which case you wouldn’t need to be doing what you’re doing.”
“Ah, so this Trip is outstanding in his field, huh?”
“One of the best. A legend in his own time. Charges a fortune.”
“What’s his connection to Deborah? I wonder…”
Mark held the door for her as they reached the apartment building. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to be doing what I’m doing.” He paused in the doorway, frowning down at her. The dim lighting threw shadows across her features and he could see nothing soft in them. “I have to locate this man, Renee. You’ll have to find a way to stall the demolition until then.”
“How close are you?” she asked, starting up the stairs ahead of him.
He tried not to notice the sway of her hips right in front of him. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but his eyes were not cooperating with his brain. He wrenched his thoughts back to the subject at hand.
“Until a week ago, Trip was in Liverpool. He disappeared before I could get him, but I found a discarded cell phone with his prints on it. It was crushed, but I managed to retrieve phone records. Five calls were to Deborah Martine here in Paris. There were two incoming from her.”
“Aha, sounds like a real relationship,” Renee quipped. “So you’re pretty sure he’s here in Paris?”
“Possibly. If not, I mean to find out where he’s gone.”
“I’ll help you,” Renee offered, “if you’ll help me. Try to find out who Sonny answers to.” She smiled up at him. “And if I can manage to get chummy enough, I’ll ask ol’ Debbie if she’s got a squeeze ol’ Sonny’s not wise to.”
A squeeze. He liked the term. Rather crass and usually reserved for females, but probably descriptive of the power-mad Martine’s lovers.
He thought about squeezing Renee and couldn’t seem to dismiss the idea. Main squeeze stuck in his brain like a song fragment that played over and over.
Why was she so open with him, so trusting? What sort of agent took chances such as that? He admired her courage but wondered about her
