Kiss or Kill

“A vendetta, you mean? No, it’s business. He’s already murdered at least two Lazlo operatives in addition to the man I mentioned. He might be responsible for others that we don’t yet know about if he employed other methods. But we’re certain of these three. He left proof. Trip’s a paid assassin.”

“Which means that someone hired him to do the killing. You need that name,” she guessed correctly.

“Obviously. How close are you to finding out what you need to know?”

“Not close enough. Sonnegut runs the boys and Deborah runs him. But who they report to, if there is a higher authority, is anyone’s guess at this point. So far none of them has provided any hint of motive. But even given Sonnegut’s attempted kidnapping of a senator’s son, I sense this current operation is not political and certainly not ideological. It has to do with either greed or revenge.”

Mark wondered how good her instincts were and whether he could rely on them. As a hard and fast rule, he relied on no one but himself. And Lazlo, when necessary.

The last time he had actually known anyone well enough to trust them, other than Lazlo, was when he was thirteen. He had relied on and trusted his dad, above all. And there had been Tom and Hugh, his best friends, his trusty mates since early childhood. He still kept up with their lives because he cared about them, though for their safety, he’d had no actual contact with them since his disappearance the night of his father’s death.

Trust and reliance he granted only to true friends, not chance acquaintances like this woman. And at present, he realized, he had no real friendships. None whatsoever.

She went on, oblivious to his thoughts that excluded her. “Sonnegut doesn’t seem enthusiastic about any of it. It’s almost as if he’s along for the ride. But Deborah gets this crafty look. Did you notice?”

“She can’t wait to see it happen,” he agreed, nodding. “Seems a bit psychotic if you want my opinion.” He wasn’t used to giving out his thoughts, but she was damned easy to talk to. She smiled in response.

“I wish I had more time to find out what’s behind this, but I can’t very well plan the implosion of a building while I’m filling in the gaps. If this is to go down soon, my people will have to take whoever I’ve been able to identify and just hope somebody will sing.” She grinned at him then and bumped him playfully with her elbow. “You Brits say that, too? Or do your perps peach on each other?”

“Sing, squeal, rat out. Yes, we have that in common.” And very little else, he reminded himself. Renee defined the term extrovert and he might as well wear a recluse sign around his neck. Colloquialisms would probably prove the least of their differences.

He had mastered what he could of American slang, but his time in the States had been brief, he had always disliked American films and television, and he’d never had the opportunity to make any Yankee friends.

Again he thought, no friends at all. Corbett Lazlo was the closest thing to it, but even their interaction was based on a mutual goal. And technically, Corbett was his boss.

He admitted there were disadvantages to working completely alone, but he reminded himself sternly that he still preferred it. Even during his required military service he had remained a loner. It was difficult for him, sharing information, but necessary in this instance. Renee was right about that. He would have to make the effort.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck for a minute. “Martine is my only lead to Trip. Depending on how quickly this job goes, there might not be enough time.”

“Deborah’s not likely to tell you anything about John Trip,” Renee said, “and he’s obviously not one of the gang. Maybe I could help. What if I told her that I’m looking for someone to do a little wet work to cover my tracks on another job?”

Mark was already shaking his head. “Not feasible unless you’re wallowing in wealth, in which case you wouldn’t need to be doing what you’re doing.”

“Ah, so this Trip is outstanding in his field, huh?”

“One of the best. A legend in his own time. Charges a fortune.”

“What’s his connection to Deborah? I wonder…”

Mark held the door for her as they reached the apartment building. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to be doing what I’m doing.” He paused in the doorway, frowning down at her. The dim lighting threw shadows across her features and he could see nothing soft in them. “I have to locate this man, Renee. You’ll have to find a way to stall the demolition until then.”

“How close are you?” she asked, starting up the stairs ahead of him.

He tried not to notice the sway of her hips right in front of him. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but his eyes were not cooperating with his brain. He wrenched his thoughts back to the subject at hand.

“Until a week ago, Trip was in Liverpool. He disappeared before I could get him, but I found a discarded cell phone with his prints on it. It was crushed, but I managed to retrieve phone records. Five calls were to Deborah Martine here in Paris. There were two incoming from her.”

“Aha, sounds like a real relationship,” Renee quipped. “So you’re pretty sure he’s here in Paris?”

“Possibly. If not, I mean to find out where he’s gone.”

“I’ll help you,” Renee offered, “if you’ll help me. Try to find out who Sonny answers to.” She smiled up at him. “And if I can manage to get chummy enough, I’ll ask ol’ Debbie if she’s got a squeeze ol’ Sonny’s not wise to.”

A squeeze. He liked the term. Rather crass and usually reserved for females, but probably descriptive of the power-mad Martine’s lovers.

He thought about squeezing Renee and couldn’t seem to dismiss the idea. Main squeeze stuck in his brain like a song fragment that played over and over.

Why was she so open with him, so trusting? What sort of agent took chances such as that? He admired her courage but wondered about her sanity.

But then, who was he to judge? He was well aware that he had not had the usual experiences of someone who’d led a regular life. Since the age of thirteen, and probably even before that, he had been trained not to trust.

But he had trusted Renee tonight more than he had anyone else in a very long time. She had that effect. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. This woman was dangerous on so many levels.

Renee watched as Mark opened the door to her apartment and entered first, his weapon in his hand.

She resented that. It was her place to clear her own quarters. He would bully her if she allowed it, but she decided to choose her battles. If she didn’t, they’d be at each other’s throats the entire time.

He rejoined her in the small sitting room. “Looks okay.”

“Thanks. Excuse me for a minute.” Renee immediately went into the bathroom, turned on the water and made a phone call to see if there were any further results to her earlier inquiry. Nothing had changed, but she hadn’t really expected it to and was glad it hadn’t.

She believed Mark. He’d never have gotten into the course they had attended together without a bona fide and rather remarkable association with one of the elite forces battling terrorism. Lazlo had an excellent rep. They hired the best and got results.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked when she returned.

She pointed to the antique recamier, a one-armed lounge that wasn’t even comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

He sat on it, bounced once and frowned. “And perhaps a back brace for the morning?”

Renee turned away from him as she suppressed a laugh at his expense.

He had a dry sense of humor, but his having one at all surprised her. He almost never smiled without qualifying it with a lift of that left eyebrow. “For a homeless person, you’re not very appreciative.”

“I was hoping you might want to keep me under closer surveillance for the night, in the event I’m not really who I say I am.”

“Share my bed?” She chuckled. “And here I thought Brits had no sense of humor. You’re a riot.”

He grinned. “And I was under the impression Americans were…unreserved.”

“Profiling at its worst, I guess. I’ll get you that pillow.”

Renee left the room in a hurry, hoping he hadn’t noticed that split second of consideration she’d given his suggestion.

They were unwilling partners now and would be pretending an intimate relationship during the coming days. The idea of establishing a real closeness with him to insure his help and full cooperation was so unprofessional it was laughable. And tempting, she had to admit.

Really, really tempting.

Chapter 4