Kiss or Kill

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“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

Sleep had proved elusive at first with her guest in the next room stirring restlessly as he tried to get comfortable. But eventually Renee slept for exactly four hours and woke refreshed. Her internal clock operated without fail, always had.

Her skill at remote viewing had been amazingly productive this morning, too, she thought with satisfaction. Good to know that wasn’t going to suffer because of the distraction sleeping on her sofa. She had worried it might, since Mark had virtually waylaid her subconscious that morning long ago when she visualized him taking a shower. Her particular and unusual ability had secured her the job with the team of agents who had talents similar to hers and she would hate for anything—or anyone—to interfere with it.

She loved what she did. Usually. In any case, the remote viewing she did was not exactly hardship duty. She liked putting it to good use and it didn’t sap her energy, give her headaches or other bad effects. Unless she counted the uncomfortable feelings of arousal the vision of Mark had caused her back in the training course. No more of those, she promised herself.

Immediately on waking, she always focused her mind on Deborah Martine. This morning the woman appeared to be in her apartment. Or town house. The exact location or layout was never clear, but it was definitely Deborah’s abode.

Renee had “been there” before, a number of times, in different rooms. Three images presented this morning, an unusual occurrence: Deborah, Sonnegut and another man, one Renee had never viewed before. This was the only person outside the current group that Deborah had met with, at least in the early morning.

Renee sat up and grabbed her sketchbook, quickly recording the details she had gleaned before they escaped her. The visions came easily most of the time and played out like disjointed videos without sound. Some were clear as day. Some were hazy, nearly indistinct and colorless, a bit like half-remembered dreams. This morning’s had proved exceptionally good. She wielded her pencil with confidence.

Architectural details of the building’s exterior came first. She needed to locate the building and these new image fragments would surely help. Double arches, done in stone. Old and in need of sandblasting. Hmm. Not that unique in the older section of the city, but that in itself was a clue. At least it narrowed the search area. When she exhausted those particular clues, she turned to the new face on the block, the interesting stranger.

Tall, almost as tall as Sonnegut. Dark, handsome, deadly. She wondered if this man could be the one Mark was seeking. Pencil flying, Renee laid down the gesture drawing that would serve as a guide for a more detailed delineation of features.

Trying hard to recapture every nuance of the vision, she closed her eyes again, seeking clearer memory of her impressions.

“So you lied.”

Renee jumped, her pencil and pad flying out of her hands as she dived for her weapon.

A large hand clamped around her arm. She checked her response, which would have broken at least his thumb, maybe his wrist. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.

“Better question. Why did you lie about having seen Trip?”

“I didn’t see him until just now!” she exclaimed, realizing too late what an explanation of that would entail. And how unlikely it would be that he’d believe it. Still, there was no way around it unless she lied again.

He released her, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Just now,” he repeated, glancing around her messy bedroom. “Hiding in your wardrobe, I suppose?”

Renee shook her head and grimaced, seeking a way to begin that wouldn’t make her sound certifiably nuts. She inhaled deeply and began to explain. “Do you remember the studies undertaken in the seventies? The ones that explored the…inexplicable? Project STAR?”

“Psychic phenomena,” he said, tongue in cheek. “Discontinued after your military intel community computed how little bang they were getting for the enormous number of bucks they were shoving down a rat hole?”

Renee took another deep breath and tried again. “No, it’s ongoing. They turned it over to…another agency that had fewer constraints and better funding.” She added a smile. “I was…am one of their subjects.”

He brushed a hand over his lower face and shook his head. “You’re telling me that you’re psychic.”

“Not precisely. I’m an RV.”

“Ah. A recreational vehicle. This gets better and better. Makes me want to kick your bloody tires.”

Renee laughed. “No, a remote viewer. I…see things. Places. People.”

He waved a hand at the sketchbook lying on the floor. “John Trip.”

“That’s really him? I thought it might be. He’s at Deborah’s apartment this morning.”

“Really. You’ve been wafting through the ether. What a convenient trick that must be.”

She closed her eyes for a second. “Look, I know this must be hard for you to believe, but…”

“I want an address,” he stated. “A real address where I can find him, Leblanc. And cut the bull.”

Renee bit her lip and got up off the edge of the bed. She was getting a crick in her neck from looking up at him. Also, she didn’t want to feel as open to attack when she answered. “Look, I’m sorry, I can’t give you the address. Not yet anyway. I don’t know where she lives.”