Page 3 of Rogue
“I gotta go.” I disconnect, and spinning on my heels, fight my way through the crowded sidewalk, battling for breath even though my progress is slow. Chasing after a ghost, and desperately trying to prove to myself that I’m out of my bleeding mind.
Somewhere along the way, I drop the phone. Doesn’t matter—hopefully someone will snatch it up and take it home with them. Drawing Diego’s attention away from me, assuming Francis still reports into Hayden and that my calls are being traced.
Diego, with hair dark as a prairie sky just before a storm hits. No, the man I’m chasing after isn’t Diego.
This man’s an illusion. A ghost. Someone I’d give my life to see again.
Impossible. I’m inventing things that can never happen.
Jaxson, oh Jaxson.
I slow my pace, the abrupt pain in my stomach as familiar as the dizziness that’s accompanied me since arriving in Paris a few days ago. A side street suddenly seems more appealing, somewhere away from this bustling crowd.
Halfway down a nameless street, I begin to regret my decision. With every step, in every limestone-colored building, in the worn cobblestone beneath my feet, I see Jaxson’s smug face. Loneliness creeps back in. And guilt. Would he have understood why I did what I did? Why I wasn’t there when he needed me most?
With shaking hands, I reach into my goody bag and take out a croissant.Therapy patisserie, I think. Though it seems to last long as the croissant does.
Despite it’s name, hills are hard to find in Montparnasse yet I’m beginning to feel like I’ve climbed each and every one of them. My body’s fatigued yet my thoughts have calmed. Paris seems to do that to me, crank me up then soothe me over.
Maybe it’s because like me, Paris has a dark side. The concierge back at my hotel in the Latin Quarter says that beneath this light, bright city of lovers, this pastry-loving heaven areles Catacombes. Tunnels built centuries ago dug eight layers deep and running four hundred miles beneath the streets of Paris. A hidden labyrinth lay beneath the streets of Montparnasse.
Yeah, if a small town like Shelby has secrets—TORC being one of them—then Paris no doubt has its far share of them.
The cobblestone sidewalk disappears as I reach the end of the street. I pause to take a final bite of my pastry before turning the corner.
Call it a dumb-blond moment, my sweet tooth, the loneliness that’s seeped out of my soul all day like a bleeding heart, whatever the reason, I make a critical mistake and am caught off guard.
My goody bag falls to the ground as I’m grabbed by two men. I manage to nail one in the balls before a handkerchief is placed over my face.
Chloroform,shit.Fisting my fingers, I punch my attacker in the temple then rip the hanky from my face. Stars begin to twinkle before me but I ignore them, body-slamming my assailant, taking him down to the cobblestone sidewalk, then feeding him the chloroform-laced material.
Lights out for you, Charlie.
But I’ve taken too long, the effects of the chloroform addling my abilities. The second man’s had time to recover. He’s pissed, and as I’m pulled up onto my knees, he places a knife to my throat.
I’ve got a pitiful history with knives, so it stands to reason I’d die by one.
“Why you’ve been poking your nose into our busy-ness?” he demands in a heavy accent.
“Please,” I faux-beg in a weak, so-not-me voice, “I have something for your boss. A . . . gift.”
The Prick rustles about behind me. Then, the knife is gone and he goes quiet. Thinking things over?Wow, that damsel-in-distress bullshit truly works.
I gasp loudly as I’m hauled to my feet and jerked backward, my body brought up tight against a firm chest. Muscled and strong . . . unlike the big-bellied man I’d tackled. Glancing down, I study his still unconscious body lying on the cobblestone pavement.
One for me, one for . . . I struggle within his firm hold, trying to twist around enough to lay eyes on my savior.
Or . . . my executioner.
Shit.
I twist and turn, kick and—when all else fails—bite him in the arm. Paris begins to spin, my movements growing more sluggish by the second. Bringing my heel back, I try to kick him in the balls. But as if he’s anticipating it, he shifts slightly so my foot connects with his thigh.
I hear a low chuckle.
Then, it’sbon nuit, Paris.
Shelby
