Private Paris (Private 10)

Kaboom!

That shot was Louis’s. He roared, “Everyone down!”

The crowd threw themselves to the street and sidewalk, leaving Louis to my right leveling his Glock at the pale guy who still faced me.

The gunman must have caught sight of Louis in his peripheral vision, and his reflexes had to have been astounding, because in a move that was as quick as a cobra strike he dropped to his knees, pivoted the gun, and fired, hitting Louis square in the chest and blowing the big man off his feet.

Chapter 29

THE GUNMAN SWUNG his weapon back my way, and then looked past me into the club. A split second later, he took off west on the Rue Sainte-Croix.

My marine training kicked in.

Lurching to my feet, I charged toward Louis, who sprawled in the gutter. Sirens wailed in the distance when I crouched beside him, expecting the worst.

“Get him,” Louis croaked.

“You’re hit,” I said. “I’m staying right here.”

“Armor,” he croaked. “I’m fine.”

I stared a second at the hole in his loose shirt and the blue ballistic vest showing beneath it before I jumped back up to start after the gunman. But he was gone. And after I searched the nightclub, I knew that so was Wilkerson’s granddaughter.

Michele Herbert came running to me when I exited.

“Mon Dieu,” she cried, looking at Louis still lying there, trying to get his breath back. “I heard the shot. Is he…?”

“He’s good,” I said. “Just had the wind knocked out of him.”

The same could not be said of the waiter who’d taken the second bullet. He died before the ambulances got there. The police were on the scene quicker and soon cordoned off the area until La Crim could arrive.

To our chagrin, Investigateur Hoskins was the first to arrive. She took one look at us and groaned.

“All of it!” she shouted. “I want all of it. Right now!”

It took us twenty minutes to tell her everything—the phone call from Sherman Wilkerson, the trip to Les Bosquets, the car chase and gun battle the evening before, Kim’s escape and the way we tracked her.

I said, “Because of the break-in at Sherman’s house back in Malibu, I think the pale guy must have had access to the same bank and credit card accounts that we had. When she paid for those drinks, she brought him in as well as us.”

The investigator chewed on that for a few moments, and then said, “A shoot-out last night on the A5 and you don’t report it?”

“Discretion is often the better part of valor,” Louis replied.

That seemed to annoy her, because she said, “Your license to carry is still up to date?”

“Of course,” he said wearily.

“Why are you hassling him?” I said. “If it wasn’t for Louis standing up and taking the hit, who knows how many people that guy might have killed?”

Hoskins appeared to struggle with that, but then let it out in a sharp exhalation. “You’re right, Monsieur Morgan. I apologize, Louis.”

“Accepted,” Louis grunted, and rubbed at his chest.

The investigator turned her attention to Michele Herbert. “You are the art expert they went to see?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So where’s the art in all this?” Hoskins asked.