A Cold Dark Promise (Cold Justice #8.5)(6)
He laid his ear against her belly. “Not the best idea, but pretty inspired.”
She sank her hands into his hair. “When will you be back?”
“I imagine Wednesday at the latest.” He placed one large palm on her stomach and held her gaze. “I won’t take any unnecessary risks, and I won’t do anything stupid. If the child is there I will either figure out a way for the legat to get involved.” The legat was the FBI’s official presence in a foreign country. “Or I’ll sneak them away when no one is looking and bring her, and Jane, back to the States.” Alex kissed her stomach again. She knew he was impatient to meet the newest member of their family. “I’m not sure the daughter—Taylor—will remember her mother after four years.”
Mallory’s heart clenched, and her hand went to where their baby was kicking her low ribs. Alex linked their fingers. She already felt overprotective. The idea of someone stealing her baby… She swallowed hard. This was important. Jane Sanders had always seemed a little aloof, and no wonder. Her child had been stolen and the fact it was by the father made it no less heartbreaking for the mother.
Mallory touched Alex’s lips. “Don’t be late for the wedding. Promise?”
Silver eyes met hers. “I promise.”
Chapter Three
The sun was hot on the back of Alex’s neck. It might only be April, but it was already in the nineties on the French Riviera. He wore sunglasses, white pants and a hand-tailored pastel pink shirt with the top two buttons undone. His cuffs were folded precisely, halfway up his forearms. His shoes were a tan leather. Italian. Expensive.
A brand-new SIG was strapped to his ankle. Ankle holsters were not his favorite place for concealed carry, but anyone wearing a jacket stood out in this heat, and he excelled at not standing out.
He, Jane, and Jack Reilly, one of the operatives from Cramer, Parker & Gray, had quickly overnighted it to Paris on the company’s jet, then rented a small private plane to Nice. Alex’s cover was that of a wealthy German national on holiday with his American wife. The American wife had been told to do nothing except wait patiently for his instruction. Something his real wife-to-be would have smacked him for suggesting. But if Ahmed Masook found out Jane was here, he’d run, and she’d never see her daughter again.
Alex would have left Jane in the States except the idea of being arrested on child abduction charges the week before his wedding was not his idea of fun. He had promises to keep, and he’d brought Jack Reilly along to help make that happen. He didn’t completely trust Jane not to betray him in some way if it meant getting her child back.
Alex flicked through the news articles in the German newspaper, Die Zeit, while sipping a cappuccino. This particular coffee shop overlooked the marina in Port Vauban where the mere mortals moored their yachts. To his right was Quai des Milliardaires or Millionaires’ Quay. Even the super-yachts had been superseded by the palatial mega-yachts, and if you had to ask the price of moorage you should probably just turn around and sail into the sunset.
Alex was loaded, but only Saudi princes and Russian oligarchs had that sort of money to burn.
Antibes was a beautiful town, rich with history and French artistry. The ocean was a deep azure blue so bright it made his eyes sting. Rows of brightly colored watercraft bobbed against the gray-green rock of the ancient harbor walls.
Thankfully the marina was busy—it made hiding in plain sight that much easier. A steady stream of people headed in and out of the harbor. Tourists explored the town behind him and the fort on the hill to the north. Locals drove by. Fishermen. Teens. Parents with small children. It was a beautiful setting, and he wished he was sharing it with Mal.
A woman with warm bronze skin and jewel-like, green eyes watched him from another table. He caught her stare. She blushed and looked away. She was beautiful but seemed out of place. Maybe because she was alone in a country where beautiful women were rarely alone for long. He finished his drink and signaled the waitress for the bill.
He spoke French with a strong German accent. “Merci beaucoup.” And left her a good tip.
Then he strolled past the small yachts of Port Vauban, surveilling the area with a hidden camera attached to the top button of his shirt and another digital SLR hanging around his neck. A tourist with nothing to do but enjoy the day. He moved slowly, joked with a couple of men coming in off the water with sun-reddened cheeks, smiles, and a cooler full of fish.
Alex inhaled the smell of the Mediterranean, salt and water and the aroma of seaweed drying on the sunbaked rocks. After an hour or so he headed back past the cafe where the pretty woman still sat typing away on a laptop. He inclined his head when he caught her staring at him again. Then he adjusted his sunglasses, his fake wedding-band glinting in the sunshine.
Only one woman occupied his thoughts. Only one woman obsessed him. But maybe he was flattering himself. Maybe the beautiful, young lady was just enjoying the view. Or maybe she was the honey for some agencies’ trap.
And, yes, he was cynical. A stint in a Moroccan jail and kill lists would do that to a man.
He started walking along the wide concrete expanse of the quay, toward the huge ocean-going palaces. It was quiet except for the occasional squawk of gulls and the chatter of passersby. Ahmed Masook had been spotted on a boat belonging to an Emirati from UAE. Although not quite royal, the owner was close to some very powerful men in the Middle East. Alex walked towards the Fair Winds, curious as to what sort of security the boat might have. With the owner not in residence security might be minimal. That was the best-case scenario.