28

The next day, Saturday, was another cool, sunny day that brought the tourists out in droves. Swain had thought tourists would have been thin on the ground this time of year, but evidently not. A lot of them had evidently felt the need to see the Royal Palace gardens, or maybe there was some sort of festival going on. There had to be something to account for the crowds.

Unfortunately, “in front of” the gardens turned out to be a rather vague instruction. The ornate garden park was large and bordered on three sides by shops, restaurants, and art galleries. One entered the park through a large courtyard dotted with striped stone columns, which he supposed was some artist’s idea of . . . something, but they looked jarringly modern and out of place among the architecture of the 1600s. There was a long line of taller, more stately columns, too, which further reduced lines of sight. Between the columns and the throngs of people, many of whom seemed to be wearing a red scarf, spotting any one person was more difficult than he’d expected.

All in all, he considered this a piss-poor way to make contact, but it was somewhat reassuring. A professional would have picked a better way, which meant the guy they were dealing with was a rank amateur, possibly someone who worked at the Nervi laboratory and was alarmed by what was happening there. They would have a definite advantage over him.

Lily stood beside Swain, looking around. She was wearing sunglasses to disguise her eyes, as well as brown contacts in case she needed to remove the glasses, and the same cloche she usually wore to cover her hair. Swain looked down at her and caught her hand, pulling her closer to his side.

He thought of himself as an uncomplicated man in his wants and needs, his likes and dislikes, but there was nothing uncomplicated about this situation with Lily or the way she made him feel. He was caught in a hell of a dilemma, and he knew it. The best he could do was take care of one thing at a time, in order of importance, and hope to hell everything worked out. It couldn’t work out with Lily, of course, and he felt a fist squeeze his heart every time he thought of what he had to do.

If only he could talk to Frank. Frank was alive, conscious, but heavily sedated, and still in ICU. In Swain’s opinion “conscious” didn’t exactly describe his condition, because according to Frank’s assistant he could respond to such requests as “squeeze my hand” and occasionally mouth the word “water.” To Swain, conscious meant you were holding conversations and having a rational thought process. Frank was a long way from there. He was in no shape for a phone call even if his cubicle had a telephone, which it didn’t.

There had to be some other solution for Lily. He wanted to talk to her: sit her down, hold her hands, and tell her exactly what was going on. Things didn’t have to go down the way Frank had decreed.

He didn’t because he knew beyond a doubt how she would react. At best, she would walk away from him and disappear. At worst, she would try to kill him. Given her past and how wary and untrusting she was in general, he’d bet on the worst-case option. If she hadn’t already been betrayed by a lover who had tried to kill her . . . maybe he’d have had a chance. He’d almost groaned aloud when she told him about that episode, because he knew it had set a terrible precedent in her mind. After barely escaping with her life that time, she wouldn’t be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt and talk before shooting.

Her emotions were on a hair trigger, and he knew it. She had been battered by loss and betrayal to the point that she had almost totally withdrawn, because she couldn’t bear another blow. He knew very well that only circumstance had forced her to him, though he’d been quick to take advantage of the situation. She’d been starved for human contact even while she shunned it, her life totally devoid of laughter, fun, enjoyment. At least he could give her that, for a little while, and as he’d told her, he was one lucky son of a bitch because that was exactly what she could least resist.

The way she’d bloomed in the last few days broke his heart. He didn’t flatter himself that the cause was his superior lovemaking technique or even his winning personality; it was the simple human touch that had done it, drawn her out of her shell, let her laugh and tease and accept affection as well as give it. But there was no way a few days could offset months, years of conditioning; she was still so delicately balanced that the least hint of betrayal would undo the trust he’d been building between them.

He was in a hell of a mess, because he was as caught as she was. If he’d touched her, she had also touched him. These past two nights, making love to her, had been . . . hell, they’d been the best time of his life. Losing her was going to rip his guts out, and he’d let things progress to the point that he’d lose her no matter what he did, because if he told her what he was and that he’d tracked her down, all she’d see would be betrayal. Son of a bitch. he’d thought he could handle it, have a good time and show her a good time for a little while, but he hadn’t allowed for how important she would become to him. Nor had he known how emotionally battered she’d been, which would pretty much dictate her response if he spilled his guts to her now. He’d been stupid and arrogant, thinking with his little brain instead of his big one, and now he and Lily were both going to pay.

Okay, he deserved to pay, but Lily didn’t. If anything, she was the good guy in this situation. So she’d killed a CIA asset; the son of a bitch had deserved to die, especially in light of what he’d been planning with the flu bug. Not that she’d known about that at the time, her motive had been pure revenge, but to Swain that was splitting hairs. What it came down to was, Lily hadn’t quit. She just kept on throwing herself into the breach, willing to sacrifice herself to do what she thought was right. Not many people had that sort of moral fortitude, or plain stubbornness, whatever you wanted to call it.

The bottom of his stomach dropped out, and his heart started pounding as he realized exactly what had happened, how he’d been blindsided. “Jesus God,” he said aloud. Despite the cool day, he broke out in a sweat.

Lily looked up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.” He said it starkly, in shock at the realization of what he was feeling and the disaster looming in front of him. He ground his teeth together, his jaw locked as he fought to keep from blurting out everything. What he’d just said was enough to make him feel as if he’d leaped off a cliff.

Because of the sunglasses, he couldn’t see her eyes very well, but he could tell she was blinking rapidly, and her mouth fell open a little. “What?” she repeated, but this time the word was very faint.

Her cell phone rang.

A fierce scowl twisted her face. “I’m so tired of these damn phone calls!” she muttered as she fished the phone out of her pocket.

Frustrated by the interruption, he grabbed the phone. “I know what you mean,” he growled as he glanced at the little view window. He paused, staring at the number. He knew that number; it was one he’d called just a few days ago. What in hell—? “We have a number this time,” he said to cover his pause; then he flipped the phone open and snapped, “Yeah, what is it?”

“Ah . . . perhaps I have the wrong number.”

“I don’t think so,” Swain said, thinking furiously as the quiet voice confirmed his suspicion. “You were calling about a meeting?”

Perhaps the caller caught his voice, too, because there was a long moment of silence, so long that Swain began to wonder if he’d cut the connection. Finally the caller said, “Oui.”

“I’m the friend you were told about,” Swain said, hoping this guy wasn’t going to blow the whistle on him. He knew Swain was CIA; if he asked Lily about that, the jig was up.

“I do not understand.”

No, he wouldn’t, because his assumption—a correct assumption—was that Swain had been sent to France to take care of a problem, namely Lily. Yet here Swain was apparently working with her.

“You don’t have to understand,” Swain replied, “just tell us if the meeting is still on.”

“Oui. I did not realize this park would be so—I am at the basin in the center. That is an easier meeting place. I will be sitting on the rim of the basin.”

“We’ll be there within five minutes,” Swain said, and closed the phone.

Lily snatched the phone out of his hand. “Why did you do that?” she snapped.

“So he’d know for certain you weren’t alone,” Swain said. That was as good a reason as any, plus it was the only one that came to mind. “He’s waiting for us at the center of the park, at the basin.” He took her arm to lead her into the park.

She pulled her arm free. “Hold it.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. “What?” He was afraid she was going to insist on talking about his out-of-the-blue statement, because in his experience women loved to talk things to death; but her mind was going in a completely different direction.

“I think we should stick to the original plan. You stay back, where you can watch me. Rodrigo may be slick enough to have known we’d be suspicious if he jumped at the chance for a meeting.”

Let her meet alone with a guy who knew he was CIA? That wasn’t going to happen.

“It wasn’t Rodrigo,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Because the guy wasn’t familiar with this park; he didn’t know the entrance on a busy Saturday wasn’t a great place to meet. Do you think Rodrigo wouldn’t have checked that out? And look around you; would Rodrigo be likely to try kidnapping a woman with all these people around? This is someone who’s probably on the level.”

“Probably, but not certainly,” she pointed out.

“Okay, look at it this way. If it is Rodrigo, would the presence of one person stop him from what he wanted to do?”

“No, but it would be impossible for him to do what he wanted without attracting notice.”

“Exactly. Trust me, I’m not risking your life, or even my own. Rodrigo would have chosen somewhere secluded for a meet, because it would be stupid not to.”

She mulled that over and finally nodded her head. “You’re right. Rodrigo isn’t a stupid man at all.”

He laced his fingers with hers and started her moving. The feel of her slim hand in his made the bottom drop out of his stomach again, and her trust weighed on him like an anvil. God, what was he going to do?

“Just so you know, I heard what you said.” She peered at him over the upper rim of her sunglasses. It gave him a jolt to see brown eyes looking back at him instead of pale blue ones, as if he’d been sucked into an alternate universe.

He briefly tightened his fingers on hers. “And?”

“And . . . I’m glad.” It was simply said, and arrowed through him. Most women found it easy to say “I love you,” much easier than men, but Lily wasn’t most women. For her, loving and admitting to it must have taken every ounce of courage she possessed—and that was a lot of courage. She humbled him in a way he’d never expected, and had no idea how to handle.

They walked hand in hand into the huge formal park, which had once belonged to Cardinal Richelieu. The large basin with its center fountain sat in the middle. People strolled around, some just enjoying the gardens even though in November they weren’t as lush as they would have been a few months ago, some sitting on the rim of the basin having their photographs taken to go in an album of vacation memories when they returned home. Swain and Lily strolled around the basin, looking for a lone man wearing a red scarf.

He rose to his feet as they approached. Swiftly Swain appraised him. He was a neat, trim man, about five-ten, with dark hair and eyes and the bony facial structure that shouted “French!” From the way his tailored jacket fit him, he either was unarmed or, like Lily, wore an ankle holster. He carried a briefcase, a detail that made him stand out from the rest of the park-goers; this was Saturday, not a time for office workers. He had no spy craft, Swain thought, or he’d know that he should blend in rather than stand out.

Their contact’s dark eyes searched his face first, then went to Lily’s. Surprisingly, his features softened. “Mademoiselle,” he said, and he gave a little half-bow that was completely natural and respectful. Yeah, that was definitely the quiet voice Swain remembered. He didn’t like the way the guy was looking at Lily, though, and he pulled her a little closer to his side in one of those gestures guys use to signal other men that they are edging into personal territory.

The Interpol man already knew his name, but to prevent a slipup in front of Lily that couldn’t be explained, Swain said, “Call me Swain. Now, you know her name and you know mine. What’s yours?”

The shrewd dark eyes studied him. The Interpol man didn’t hesitate because he was unsure what to do, but because he was considering every angle. Evidently he must have decided there was no reason to be secretive, since Swain had his cell phone number and the resources to put a name with it if he chose. “Georges Blanc,” the man said. He indicated the briefcase. “Everything you need to know about the system is in there, but after careful consideration I realize that a clandestine entrance is probably not feasible now.”

Swain looked sharply around, making sure no one was within hearing. It was a good thing the man’s voice was naturally quiet. “We should go somewhere more private,” he said.

Blanc also looked around, and nodded his understanding. “I apologize,” he said. “I’m not well-versed in procedure.”

They walked toward a line of carefully manicured trees. Swain didn’t care for formal gardens himself, preferring his nature in a more unruly state, but there were stone benches scattered about the park and he supposed on a quiet day there would be something serene about the setting. It seemed to appeal to a lot of other people, though this wasn’t his cup of tea. They found one of those stone benches, and Blanc invited Lily to sit. He placed the briefcase beside her.

Suddenly alarmed, Swain stepped forward and seized the briefcase, moving it away from Lily. He thrust it back at Blanc. “Open it,” he ordered, his tone crisp and hard. A briefcase could easily contain a bomb.

Lily was on her feet and Swain moved so that she was behind him, at the same time reaching his hand inside his jacket. If the briefcase did contain a bomb, maybe he could shield her, though he doubted Blanc would explode a bomb while he himself was still standing so close. But what if Blanc didn’t have the detonator, and someone watching them did?

Alarm flashed across Blanc’s face, both at how fast Swain had moved and at the hardness of his expression. “There are only papers,” he said, taking the briefcase and thumbing the catch releases. They sprang open and he lifted the lid, showing the sheaf of papers inside. There was an inner pocket and he held it open for Swain’s appraisal, then riffled the papers. “You can trust me.” He held Swain’s gaze as he spoke, and Swain got the message.

Tension eased from his shoulders and he removed his hand from the butt of his weapon. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t put anything past Rodrigo Nervi.”

Lily punched him in the back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Trust her to get pissed because he’d tried to protect her. If she’d known what might be going on, she would have shoved in front of him to protect him, but she wasn’t trained in this type of shit any more than Blanc was and for a couple of seconds she hadn’t realized what Swain was doing. He’d be damned before he’d apologize for doing something she’d have done. He angled a narrow-eyed look at her over his shoulder. “Live with it.”

She glared at him, then deliberately stepped around him and once more sat down on the bench. “Please sit down, Monsieur Blanc,” she said in her perfect French.

With an amused glance at Swain, Blanc did so.

“You said a clandestine approach might not be feasible now,” Lily said, prompting him.

“Yes, the additional external security measures have made that difficult—especially at night, when there are additional guards at every entrance, in every hallway. There is actually less security during the day, when there are more workers.”

That was logical, Swain thought. It wasn’t good for their purpose, but it was logical.

“I propose to get you inside during the day.”

“How are you going to do that?” Swain asked.

“I have arranged for you to be hired by the younger Nervi, Damone, who has arrived from Switzerland to aid his brother. Have you ever met him, mademoiselle?” he asked Lily.

She shook her head. “No, he was always in Switzerland. I gather he’s something of a financial wizard. But why would he need to hire anyone for anything? wouldn’t Rodrigo do that, anyway?”

“As I said, he is here to shoulder some of the administrative burden. He wishes to have an outside firm look at the security measures and make certain they are as impregnable as it is possible to make them. Because this is for the protection of the laboratory, Rodrigo agrees.”

“Rodrigo knows what I look like,” Lily pointed out. “All of his employees do.”

“But he does not know Monsieur Swain, does he?” Blanc said. “That is fortuitous. And I believe you are somewhat skilled at disguise?”

“To some degree,” Lily said, surprised that he knew anything about that.

“So this Damone is going to hire us, sight unseen?” Swain asked doubtfully.

Blanc gave a slight smile. “I have been given the task of locating someone for him. He trusts me, and will not question my judgment. Damone Nervi himself will take you through security, into the laboratory.” He spread his hands. “What could be better?”