Fool Me Twice (Riley Wolfe 2)

“What boat?” Finn said.

“It went back about an hour ago? For medical supplies?”

Delgado turned around. “Who was on that boat?” he said in a fierce whisper.

Rosemond actually took a step back, a look of surprise on her face. “A French guy, and a woman with him. A black woman?” she said.

“You saw this?” Delgado demanded.

“Yeah, sure I saw it,” she said, sounding a little defensive. “Agent Benito and I were down there, making sure the boats were all secure? And this guy and the woman came out on the dock—he was limping, so—”

“How do you know he was French?”

“He, uh, he had the accent. And he was wearing the DGSE flak jacket,” she said.

Delgado turned away, feeling sick. Of course he had a French accent. Riley Wolfe was fluent in French. Getting the DGSE jacket would be a simple matter of stripping it from one of the casualties. And then on to the boat and Riley Wolfe slipped away from him again.

For a moment Frank Delgado closed his eyes and let the despair wash over him. He wanted to sit down and cry himself to sleep. But then the thought came back to him, the thing that could keep him going, calm his pain, and sustain him all the way home. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

We still have his mother, he thought. And he will come for her.

And something very close to a smile came onto his face.

* * *

—

I have always believed that when your luck is in you should ride it until it runs out. And my luck was in—all the way in. I thought it might have come back when Benny had taken me out of the cell. Because once I was unchained I had a chance. And when Bernadette got shot—and at the same time took out the DGSE guy who would have put me right back in chains—then I was sure. My luck was in.

And I rode it. All the way to Monique. I kept riding it all the way down the long corridor to the docks. There were Feds everywhere, FBI and French. But they were busy rounding up the mercs, disarming them, herding them away, and nobody had any idea of stopping a limping guy in a DGSE vest who spoke perfect French.

I had already figured that the only way out would be by boat. We got all the way to the dock with no problem, and my luck gave me one more gift. Étienne’s boat was there, tied off sloppily where Stone’s guys had left it. They’d had to lead the way with it, since it had the electronics to get them in. I can handle just about anything that floats, but it was always nice to have a familiar boat when you were in a hurry.

There were a couple of FBI pogues on the dock who gave me a look. One of them, a woman, wanted to know what we were doing. In a really convincing French accent, I told her we were going back for more medical supplies and would return soon. She let us go.

And finally, my luck rode with us out the channel into the open ocean with no problem at all.

And then we were on our own.

* * *

—

Monique had been having a hard time keeping up with her own life. In the first place, it felt like it hadn’t actually been hers for way too long. Ever since Riley had showed up with his I-have-a-problem-and-you’re-in-it speech, and then talked her into the craziest bullshit she’d ever heard of. She hadn’t felt like it was even her through all the wildly dangerous and completely insane crap that happened after that—the trip to Rome, the ter

rifying disguise and trip back, and then escaping to Frankfurt, the Adirondacks, and then boom! right back into the sewer. It had all been totally out of her control. For way too long she’d been spinning around in somebody else’s crazy circles, hit by wild, random shots that sent her careening off in another unknown direction.

So once Riley had steered them out of the tunnel and away onto the ocean, Monique let herself relax. For the first time in weeks, she could take a deep breath of free air as herself. She did, and it felt wonderful. Staring out off the back of the boat at the rough waves of the Indian Ocean, she could believe that she was out of danger at last. Oh, she was well aware that there was another leg to run, and she had no doubt that Riley would somehow manage to make it a lot wilder and more hazardous than it had to be. But it would be normal hazards, and not wearing somebody else’s face while running from gangs of psychotic killers with automatic weapons, or being chained to the wall in the dungeon of fortified secret underground hideouts—that crazy shit was over at last. And whatever misadventures might come on this last part of the long, strange trip, Monique had an illogical confidence that somehow Riley would steer them through it and get them home.

There was a distant rumble of thunder, and Monique turned her head to the front, where the sound was coming from. A low line of black clouds was gathering on the horizon. But it was just a storm; it didn’t seem threatening, not after the last few weeks of hell. So she sat and enjoyed her return to her own life for a while. The sound and movement of the boat, the rolling waves, it all felt soothing and sane. It reminded her of the time she’d gone with Riley to his private island. That trip hadn’t been all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, but it had been a mostly good time—and she had been her every second; Monique, herself, a strong and capable woman who didn’t need anybody else and didn’t take shit from anybody. Now, at long last, she could go back to being that person again. She could make her own choices again—do nothing if she wanted, and even decide when to eat, when to go to the bathroom.

And come to think of it, now would be a good time for that.

Monique stood up, stretched, took one last deep breath of the fresh salt air, and looked at Riley. He was hunched over the wheel, his glance flicking from the water ahead of them to what she supposed was the GPS screen. “Can I assume there’s some kind of restroom downstairs?” she asked him.

“Downstairs is below, and the restroom is a head,” he said.

Monique shook her head. “Isn’t it nice? Things are getting back to normal.”