Page 47 of French Escapade

Ken

“Enough BS,” Christophe says. “I’m going to take care of this one.”

He turns and grabs me by the elbow without waiting for an answer from his boss, who’s still lying flat on the ground.

“Thank you so much,” he tells me once we’re out of earshot, propelling me along at a brisk pace. “I always wanted to punch that pretentious ass. You’re going to become a legend around here.”

“But you’re still bringing me to the station?”

“No way. I’m just waiting for us to turn the corner to remove your cuffs.”

Sure enough, a minute later, he frees me. “I wonder where your friend went. He ran out toward La Croisette like Usain Bolt on a good day.”

“He does run fast, doesn’t he? But I don’t think he went very far, I think he—”

Gunshots stop me mid-sentence. Fuck!

As if reading my mind, Christophe reassures me. “Don’t worry, my colleagues wouldn’t shoot on an unarmed man with his hands behind his back.”

But if not Jimmy, then who’s getting shot at? Élodie or Ted? I no longer have my earpiece keeping me in touch with my partners, and I no longer have my gun. But I still have my phone. The very second I pull it from my pocket, it buzzes. Christophe’s phone beeps as well.

“Which way to the docks?” I ask him.

“This way, follow me!”

We turn our back to the building and start running until we reach a small marina. The second we get close to the water, we run into Ted.

“There are four piers,” Christophe tells us. “Let’s forget about the first one, it’s too close to the buildings. Let’s each take one of the others.”

We split and I start running again. Not for long. The piers are short and deserted. Almost.

At the end of one, I find Élodie. She’s standing in textbook shooting stance. At the end of her outstretched arms, her gun is aimed at a Zodiac, moving toward the open sea.

In the small boat, I see two shapes and understand why she’s holding back. There’s the distance, and the waves…even a sniper could miss and shoot the hostage. Between us, footprints on the ground…bloody footprints.

“Élodie.” I whisper her name. No need to startle her when she’s pumped with adrenaline. “Élodie, are you okay?”

She lowers her weapon and slowly turns to me. In her eyes I read a mixture of rage and sadness.

“No, I’m not okay!” She crushes a tear of frustration with the back of her hand. “He’s got Madison, and I let him go…”

Two steps, and I’m standing next to her. “It’s not your fault,” I tell her, wiping away another runaway tear. “You were extraordinary, and whatever happens, I want you to know that I will be eternally grateful for what you’ve done for Madison and me.”

Slowly, I take her weapon away and place it in my pocket. I understand her frustration. We were two seconds away from saving Madison …

“We have to find a way to go after them!” she says.

“How? Do you have a boat handy?”

“No, but we could …”

“Chase them by sea? In the dark? And what do we do if we catch up with them? We would be putting Madison in danger … and us as well.”

She doesn’t answer, but I can see it in her eyes—she knows I’m right. Before she comes up with a crazy idea, I focus on her. “Did you see your feet?”

“I’d rather not look at them.”

“Do you mind?”

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