be far more likely to applaudand then go to work improving on the other person's success.
He asked, “When you did talk to him, was there a hint he was close to the goal? A working prototype?”
She shook her head, and the cloud of long black hair resettled on her shoulders. “No. I'd remember that.”
“How about your intuition? You say you and he were close.”
She thought about it long enough to glance nervously at her watch. “There was a sense about himhellip;a feeling of elation the last time we had lunch. We were at a bistro near the Pasteur.”
“When?”
“Oh, perhaps three weeks ago, probably less.” She looked at the watch again and stood up. “I really must go.” She smiled at him, a bold, direct smile. “Would you like to come to the theater tonight? See the performance and perhaps talk over dinner later?”
Smith smiled in return. “I'd like nothing better, but not tonight. Rain check, as we Americans say?”
She chuckled. “You'll have to tell me the derivation of that phrase sometime.”
“It'll be my pleasure.”
“Do you have a car?”
Smith admitted he did not.
“May I drive you? I'll take you wherever you want.” She locked the apartment door behind them, and they rode down in the elevator together.
In the intimate space, she smelled of spring lilacs. At the apartment building's front door, Smith pushed it open and gallantly held it.
In appreciation, Theacute;regrave;se Chambord gave him a dazzling smile of the perfect white teeth. “Merci beaucoup.” She walked through.
Smith watched her step into the dark night, elegant and composed in her white evening suit. It was one of those moments of personal enjoyment that he would not have minded lasting. He repressed a sigh, smiled at himself, and started to follow. He felt the motion before it actually registered. The door slammed back into him. Hard. Caught completely off guard, he skidded back and landed awkwardly on the floor.
Outside in the night somewhere, Theacute;regrave;se Chambord screamed.
He yanked out his Sig Sauer, jumped back up to his feet, and rammed into the door, knocking it aside as if it were not there at all.
He hit the dark sidewalk running, looking everywhere for Theacute;regrave;se. Beneath his feet, glass crunched. His head jerked up. Above him, the entry lights were shattered, and out along the curb, the street lamps had also been shot out. Whoever they were, they were thorough. They must have used silencers, or he would have heard the noise.
Gathering rain clouds blocked all moonlight and starshine. The whole street was dark, full of impenetrable shadows.
As his heart thudded against his ribs, Smith spotted four figures. From ski masks to athletic shoes, they were clothed completely in black and therefore almost invisible. They were heaving and wrestling a violently resisting Theacute;regrave;se Chambord into an equally black van. She was a streak of white, tape across her mouth, as she valiantly tried to fight them off.
He altered course and put on a burst of speed, heading for the van and Theacute;regrave;se. Faster, he told himself. Faster!
But as he neared, a single, silenced gunshot made a loud pop in the quiet night. A bullet whined past so close that it singed his cheek. His ear rang, and a for a long moment he thought his head was going to crack open with pain. He blinked furiously as he dove to the street, made himself roll and then spring up, the Sig Sauer poised out in front of him, ready to fire. A wave of nausea wracked him. Had he reinjured his head?
He blinked harder, forced himself to concentrate, and saw they had forced Theacute;regrave;se Chambord into the van. He ran again, his feet pounding, fury shaking him. He raised his Sig Sauer and fired a warning shot into the ground at the feet of one of the men who were trying to kidnap Theacute;regrave;se.
“Stop!” Smith bellowed. “Stop, or I'll kill you all!” His head throbbed. He kept blinking his eyes.
Two of the
He asked, “When you did talk to him, was there a hint he was close to the goal? A working prototype?”
She shook her head, and the cloud of long black hair resettled on her shoulders. “No. I'd remember that.”
“How about your intuition? You say you and he were close.”
She thought about it long enough to glance nervously at her watch. “There was a sense about himhellip;a feeling of elation the last time we had lunch. We were at a bistro near the Pasteur.”
“When?”
“Oh, perhaps three weeks ago, probably less.” She looked at the watch again and stood up. “I really must go.” She smiled at him, a bold, direct smile. “Would you like to come to the theater tonight? See the performance and perhaps talk over dinner later?”
Smith smiled in return. “I'd like nothing better, but not tonight. Rain check, as we Americans say?”
She chuckled. “You'll have to tell me the derivation of that phrase sometime.”
“It'll be my pleasure.”
“Do you have a car?”
Smith admitted he did not.
“May I drive you? I'll take you wherever you want.” She locked the apartment door behind them, and they rode down in the elevator together.
In the intimate space, she smelled of spring lilacs. At the apartment building's front door, Smith pushed it open and gallantly held it.
In appreciation, Theacute;regrave;se Chambord gave him a dazzling smile of the perfect white teeth. “Merci beaucoup.” She walked through.
Smith watched her step into the dark night, elegant and composed in her white evening suit. It was one of those moments of personal enjoyment that he would not have minded lasting. He repressed a sigh, smiled at himself, and started to follow. He felt the motion before it actually registered. The door slammed back into him. Hard. Caught completely off guard, he skidded back and landed awkwardly on the floor.
Outside in the night somewhere, Theacute;regrave;se Chambord screamed.
He yanked out his Sig Sauer, jumped back up to his feet, and rammed into the door, knocking it aside as if it were not there at all.
He hit the dark sidewalk running, looking everywhere for Theacute;regrave;se. Beneath his feet, glass crunched. His head jerked up. Above him, the entry lights were shattered, and out along the curb, the street lamps had also been shot out. Whoever they were, they were thorough. They must have used silencers, or he would have heard the noise.
Gathering rain clouds blocked all moonlight and starshine. The whole street was dark, full of impenetrable shadows.
As his heart thudded against his ribs, Smith spotted four figures. From ski masks to athletic shoes, they were clothed completely in black and therefore almost invisible. They were heaving and wrestling a violently resisting Theacute;regrave;se Chambord into an equally black van. She was a streak of white, tape across her mouth, as she valiantly tried to fight them off.
He altered course and put on a burst of speed, heading for the van and Theacute;regrave;se. Faster, he told himself. Faster!
But as he neared, a single, silenced gunshot made a loud pop in the quiet night. A bullet whined past so close that it singed his cheek. His ear rang, and a for a long moment he thought his head was going to crack open with pain. He blinked furiously as he dove to the street, made himself roll and then spring up, the Sig Sauer poised out in front of him, ready to fire. A wave of nausea wracked him. Had he reinjured his head?
He blinked harder, forced himself to concentrate, and saw they had forced Theacute;regrave;se Chambord into the van. He ran again, his feet pounding, fury shaking him. He raised his Sig Sauer and fired a warning shot into the ground at the feet of one of the men who were trying to kidnap Theacute;regrave;se.
“Stop!” Smith bellowed. “Stop, or I'll kill you all!” His head throbbed. He kept blinking his eyes.
Two of the
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