The Take(82)

There was nothing subtle about it.

Valentina slipped the pen from her pocket, concealing it in her palm as she advanced. She caught a glimpse of Riske’s dark blazer, his neatly trimmed hair, the sharp profile of his nose and jaw. The woman was still at his side, the two deep in conversation. The dining car was more crowded than when she’d passed through earlier. A number of passengers waited near the service counter, and she guessed that the dining steward was behind in filling orders.

Valentina stepped away from the window. Reluctantly, she decided that it might be necessary to reconsider her course of action. It would do no one any good were she to kill Riske and herself be captured. Her primary goal was Coluzzi, not Riske. She looked at her watch. Two hours remained until they reached Marseille. She needed to act wisely and bide her time. The odds were in her favor that she’d have another chance at Riske.

Resigned that she must wait, she glanced back into the dining car as a group of five left a table and made their way to the opposite exit. Riske’s companion moved rapidly to the vacant spot, placing her handbag on the table. A moment later, another group of three or four left by the same exit. In seconds, the dining car had gone from packed to empty.

Valentina gripped the pen in her fingers, eagerly reappraising the situation.

Two women stood behind Riske, but the passage beside him was free of traffic, providing an open conduit. The American’s back was to her, his face raised to the menu posted behind the counter. His companion was at the far end of the car speaking on the phone, gazing out the window.

There would never be a better moment.

Valentina dropped her hand to her side, the pen extended, nib up. Confident that she had made the right decision—the only decision—she pushed open the door and entered the dining car.





Chapter 47



Simon leaned closer to Nikki as they stood in line. “What do you want? Coffee? A croissant?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Nothing to eat? We didn’t hang around to get our room service.” He studied the menu posted on the wall. “I’m thinking a ham and cheese baguette and a Coke.”

“You’re a real gourmet.”

“I haven’t eaten much since leaving the emergency room. I don’t care what I have as long as it’s filling.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait for a bouillabaisse in the Vieux-Port. Cheese toast. A glass of wine.”

“What happened to Paris’s toughest cop?”

“I’m tough, not a cretin. I’ve waited this long. It might as well be something good.”

“You may be waiting a lot longer. We’re hitting the ground running. You haven’t forgotten that we’re not the only ones looking for Coluzzi.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Nikki. “Any ideas where he’s at?”

“A few. We need to poke around here and there, ask some questions.”

“That didn’t turn out so good the last time.”

“I’ll be more careful. Besides, I have you to look after me.”

“So I’m your bodyguard now, is that it?”

“You’re one for one so far. That’s a pretty good track record in my book.”

“I’m here for my own reasons. Remember that.”

“I noticed you’re not wearing your gun.”

“I’m off duty. Don’t worry. It’s in my bag.”

“Good to know.”

“A table’s opening up. I’m going to grab us a place.”

“Sure you don’t want anything?”

“Fine,” said Nikki, giving up. “Get me whatever you’re having. I’ll put my lunch plans on hold.”

She left the line and took a seat at the vacant table. She looked at Riske. He was dressed once again in business mode. Blazer, white shirt, tan trousers. The vulnerability she’d glimpsed the night before, sitting outside the urgent care clinic, was gone, all intimations of mortality along with it. He’d pushed his brush with death out of his mind. Not once had he mentioned Falconi either. It wasn’t an act. He’d seen a lot in his life, certainly more than she. The difference, of course, was that he’d lived it firsthand, while more often than not she was a witness after the fact.

Her phone rang. She checked the screen and answered at once. “Hello, Commissaire?”

“Hello, Nikki. How are things going? Did Riske find his man?”

“Not yet, but I think he’s on the right track.”

“Good. I hope he didn’t put you out too much.”

“He can be demanding, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“All the same, I owe you one. How are things over there? I heard it was a nasty one.”

“Pardon me?”

“Delacroix. I heard it was messy.”

“Delacroix…from the hotel?”

“Who else?” There was a pause, and Nikki realized she’d blundered. “Aren’t you at the crime scene?” continued Dumont. “I know the lieutenant had you on administrative detention, but given the circumstances, I thought he might need you. Word was you had Delacroix pegged as an accomplice.”

“Actually, I’m feeling sick. I took the day.”

“Delacroix’s dead. He was found in his apartment an hour ago, killed execution style.”