Start walking, he whispered. Toward the Concorde.
What?
Just move. Dont show any alarm. Ill hold your hand.
She focused on his face, and through the shadows she saw his look of feral alertness. Swallowing back the questions, she allowed him to take her hand. They turned and began to walk casually toward the Place de la Concorde. He gave her no explanation, but she knew just by the way he gripped her hand that something was wrong, that this was not a game. Like any other pair of lovers, they strolled through the garden, past flower beds deep in shadow, past statues lined up in ghostly formation. Gradually she became more and more aware of sounds: the distant roar of traffic, the wind in the trees, their shoes crunching across the gravel
And the footsteps, following somewhere behind them.
Nervously she clutched his hand. His answering squeeze of reassurance was enough to dull the razor edge of fear. Ive known this man only a day, she thought, and already I feel that I can count on him.
Richard picked up his pace-so gradually she almost didnt notice it. The footsteps still pursued them. They veered right and crossed the park toward Rue de Rivoli. The sounds of traffic grew louder, obscuring the footsteps of their pursuer. Now was the greatest danger-as they left the darkness behind them and their pursuer saw his last chance to make a move. Bright lights beckoned from the street ahead. We can make it if we run, she thought. A dash through the trees and well be safe, surrounded by other people. She prepared for the sprint, waiting for Richards cue.
But he made no sudden moves. Neither did their pursuer. Hand in hand, she and Richard strolled nonchalantly into the naked glare of Rue de Rivoli.
Only as they joined the stream of evening pedestrians did Beryls pulse begin to slow again. There was no danger here, she thought. Surely no one would dare attack them on a busy street.
Then she glanced at Richards face and saw that the tension was still there.
They crossed the street and walked another block.
Stop for a minute, he murmured. Take a long look in that window.
They paused in front of a chocolate shop. Through the glass they saw a tempting display of confections: raspberry creams and velvety truffles and Turkish delight, all nestled in webs of spun sugar. In the shop, a young woman stood over a vat of melted chocolate, dipping fresh strawberries.
What are we waiting for? whispered Beryl.
To see what happens.
She stared in the window and saw the reflections of people passing behind them. A couple holding hands. A trio of students in backpacks. A family with four children.
Lets start walking again, he said.
They headed west on Rue de Rivoli, their pace again leisurely, unhurried. She was caught by surprise when he suddenly pulled her to the right, onto an intersecting street.
Move it! he barked.
All at once they were sprinting. They made another sharp right onto Mont Thabor, and ducked under an arch. There, huddled in the shadow of a doorway, he pulled her against him so tightly that she felt his heart pounding against hers, his breath warming her brow. They waited.
Seconds later, running footsteps echoed along the street. The sound moved closer, slowed, stopped. Then there was no sound at all. Almost too terrified to look, Beryl slowly shifted in Richards arms, just enough to see a shadow slide past their archway. The footsteps moved down the street and faded away.
Seconds later, running footsteps echoed along the street. The sound moved closer, slowed, stopped. Then there was no sound at all. Almost too terrified to look, Beryl slowly shifted in Richards arms, just enough to see a shadow slide past their archway. The footsteps moved down the street and faded away.
Richard chanced a quick look up the street, then gave Beryls hand a tug. All clear, he whispered. Lets get out of here.
They turned onto Castiglione Street and didnt stop running until they were back at the hotel. Only when they were safely in her suite and hed bolted the door behind them, did she find her voice again.
What happened out there? she demanded.
He shook his head. Im not sure.
Do you think he meant to rob us? She moved to the phone. I should call the police-
He wasnt after our money.
What? She turned and frowned at him.
Think about it. Even on Rue de Rivoli, with all those witnesses, he didnt stop following us. Any other thief wouldve given up and gone back to the park. Found himself another victim. But he didnt. He stayed with us.
I didnt even see him! How do you know there was any-
A middle-aged man. Short, stocky. The sort of face most people would forget.
She stared at him, her agitation mounting. What are you saying, Richard? That he was following us in particular?
Yes.
But why would anyone follow you?
I could ask the same question of you.
Im of no interest to anyone.
Think about it. About why you came to Paris.
Its just a family matter.
Apparently not. Since you now seem to have strange men following you around town.
How do I know he wasnt following you? Youre the one who works for the CIA!