Private Paris (Private 10)

Her laugh was hard and short. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jack. I most definitely am looking out for myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go enjoy my view of the Eiffel Tower, take a shower, and get some sleep.”

She went into her bedroom and shut the doors behind her.

Chapter 10

FOR SEVERAL MOMENTS I thought about barging in on her and demanding that she tell us what was going on. We’d damn near died coming to her rescue. We had a right to know.

I saw Louis’s frustration and said, “Why don’t you go home, my friend? I’ll take the night shift.”

“I have a man outside, and I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he said, handing me a new loaded magazine for the Glock and then leaving.

The shower was still running on Kim’s end of the suite when I ordered a strip steak and pommes frites from room service. I’d no sooner hung up than my cell phone rang. Sherman Wilkerson was calling.

“Do you have her?” he asked, sounding anxious.

“I do. She’s fine. Taking a shower.”

“She’s terrified, Jack. Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re right.”

“Did she say why?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you protect her?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, and considered informing him of the gun battle and car chase that had ensued after we took Kim from Les Bosquets housing project, but I knew it would only worry him.

“We can, but how long are

we talking about?”

“As long as it takes,” Wilkerson said. “In Paris, and back here in Malibu.”

“Sherman, with all due respect, that could get very expensive.”

“I don’t care what it costs,” he shot back. “For that I’ll pay anything.”

“Okay, Sherman,” I said. “I just needed to understand the ground rules.”

“Is there anything I can do on this end to help?”

“I’ll call tomorrow once I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

“Don’t worry about the time difference. And tell her I love her, Jack.”

“I’ll do that, Sherman,” I said, and heard the line click.

I checked my watch. It was 10:30 p.m., which was 1:30 p.m. back in Los Angeles. I hesitated, punched in Justine Smith’s number, and waited.

Justine used to work as a psychologist on contract with the criminal justice system in L.A. But a few years back she came to work at Private, where she has become one of our best investigators. And once upon a time, before I screwed it all up, we were lovers. Now she was seeing Emilio Cruz, another of my operators in Los Angeles. It had been awkward between the three of us for nearly six months now, and the second I heard Justine’s voice I realized nothing had changed since I’d been overseas.

“Jack?” Justine said.

Even over the static on the international connection, her voice filled me with a sense of regret, of things that could have been if I hadn’t been such a stubborn idiot and let her walk out of that part of my life.

“Hey,” I said. “You holding down the fort?”