Noble Intentions: Season Four by L.T. Ryan Page B
Authors: L.T. Ryan
Tags: thriller, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Mystery & Thrillers
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became erratic as the panic took hold.
But she performed the procedure as though on autopilot.
After she finished, Paolo poured her a drink and told her to stay away from the door while he showered and changed.
"Pack a bag," he said on his way toward the bathroom. "We might be leaving this evening."
Chapter 16
Paris, France.
"GO WAIT IN that restaurant."
Bear pointed toward the little Italian place tucked in between a drug store and an apartment building. The door opened. The smell of pasta and pizza
flooded the sidewalk.
Mandy glared up at him, defiant. "I don't wanna. I'm staying with you."
Bear glanced across the street at the four-story building. The address he'd been given at the hospital led them here. Pierre's apartment was 3C. For all
Bear knew, Pierre owned the whole thing, and half of it was used for DSGE purposes.
"Look," he said. "I don't know what I'm gonna find when I walk into that building. I can't risk putting you into a dangerous situation. It's best you wait
inside. Have a drink. A slice of pizza. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, you call for help."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have to make sure this man is OK."
"Why, Bear? This isn't like you."
"Why are you questioning me, kid? Dammit. I ought to ship you off to one of those Swiss schools now and get you out of my hair." Pain knifed through his
chest and abdomen as he spit the words out.
Mandy's eyes misted over, she backed away.
"Mandy." He reached out. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever." She turned her back on him and entered the restaurant and took a seat at the counter. Bear stood three feet in front of the door, waiting, but
she never looked back.
After a minute, he turned and cut across the street. A call box hung near the freshly painted door. It looked as though his palm would come away red if he
pressed it against the door. The name next to 3C's button had faded to the point of being illegible. Bear reached for the front door, found it unlocked. He
took the stairs, three at a time, and stopped on the third floor landing. Did he smell the restaurant? Or was someone cooking Italian tonight? The
stairwell led to a short hallway with four doors, two on each side, labeled A, B, C, and D. He positioned himself in front of C and knocked three times.
A woman spoke from inside. The door muted her voice enough that he couldn't understand what she said. Nor could he tell if the voice he heard belonged to
Kat.
Bear knocked again, gently. Less intimidating. The C in the middle shimmied side-to-side with each rap against the solid-core door. Most of the brass
coating had worn off the placard.
A few moments later, the door pulled away, and dark wide eyes peered up at him. The kid stood about the height of the knob.
In French, Bear said, "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour. Is Pierre in?"
The kid said, "Pierre? There is no Pierre here."
His mother, presumably sensing something was not quite right, appeared. She looked to be early 40s, dark hair and features, heavyset. "Can I help you?"
Bear leaned back and verified this was the correct apartment. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. Man named Pierre Allard. I was told he lived here."
"Perhaps he did," she said. "I only moved in a week ago." He spotted opened and unopened boxes lining the hallway behind her. She lifted her hand and
wagged a finger in front of her face. "But, perhaps I have something that will help. Please, come inside."
Too trusting, he thought, to invite a man his size inside. He followed the woman down the dim, narrow corridor, avoiding the containers in the way. Pasta
and tomato sauce saturated the air. One of his favorite dishes since he was a kid and his mother made the meal from scratch every Sunday using tomatoes
they grew in the side lot.
The woman led him to the kitchen. A tall silver pot boiled over and hissed when the water took on the burner's flames. Red tomato sauce bubbled, the
pockets of air bursting and flinging tiny drops of gravy.
She
But she performed the procedure as though on autopilot.
After she finished, Paolo poured her a drink and told her to stay away from the door while he showered and changed.
"Pack a bag," he said on his way toward the bathroom. "We might be leaving this evening."
Chapter 16
Paris, France.
"GO WAIT IN that restaurant."
Bear pointed toward the little Italian place tucked in between a drug store and an apartment building. The door opened. The smell of pasta and pizza
flooded the sidewalk.
Mandy glared up at him, defiant. "I don't wanna. I'm staying with you."
Bear glanced across the street at the four-story building. The address he'd been given at the hospital led them here. Pierre's apartment was 3C. For all
Bear knew, Pierre owned the whole thing, and half of it was used for DSGE purposes.
"Look," he said. "I don't know what I'm gonna find when I walk into that building. I can't risk putting you into a dangerous situation. It's best you wait
inside. Have a drink. A slice of pizza. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, you call for help."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have to make sure this man is OK."
"Why, Bear? This isn't like you."
"Why are you questioning me, kid? Dammit. I ought to ship you off to one of those Swiss schools now and get you out of my hair." Pain knifed through his
chest and abdomen as he spit the words out.
Mandy's eyes misted over, she backed away.
"Mandy." He reached out. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever." She turned her back on him and entered the restaurant and took a seat at the counter. Bear stood three feet in front of the door, waiting, but
she never looked back.
After a minute, he turned and cut across the street. A call box hung near the freshly painted door. It looked as though his palm would come away red if he
pressed it against the door. The name next to 3C's button had faded to the point of being illegible. Bear reached for the front door, found it unlocked. He
took the stairs, three at a time, and stopped on the third floor landing. Did he smell the restaurant? Or was someone cooking Italian tonight? The
stairwell led to a short hallway with four doors, two on each side, labeled A, B, C, and D. He positioned himself in front of C and knocked three times.
A woman spoke from inside. The door muted her voice enough that he couldn't understand what she said. Nor could he tell if the voice he heard belonged to
Kat.
Bear knocked again, gently. Less intimidating. The C in the middle shimmied side-to-side with each rap against the solid-core door. Most of the brass
coating had worn off the placard.
A few moments later, the door pulled away, and dark wide eyes peered up at him. The kid stood about the height of the knob.
In French, Bear said, "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour. Is Pierre in?"
The kid said, "Pierre? There is no Pierre here."
His mother, presumably sensing something was not quite right, appeared. She looked to be early 40s, dark hair and features, heavyset. "Can I help you?"
Bear leaned back and verified this was the correct apartment. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. Man named Pierre Allard. I was told he lived here."
"Perhaps he did," she said. "I only moved in a week ago." He spotted opened and unopened boxes lining the hallway behind her. She lifted her hand and
wagged a finger in front of her face. "But, perhaps I have something that will help. Please, come inside."
Too trusting, he thought, to invite a man his size inside. He followed the woman down the dim, narrow corridor, avoiding the containers in the way. Pasta
and tomato sauce saturated the air. One of his favorite dishes since he was a kid and his mother made the meal from scratch every Sunday using tomatoes
they grew in the side lot.
The woman led him to the kitchen. A tall silver pot boiled over and hissed when the water took on the burner's flames. Red tomato sauce bubbled, the
pockets of air bursting and flinging tiny drops of gravy.
She
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