Michel was silent for a little while. “No.”
“Can you make some inquiries? Can you see what you can find out?”
“I suppose so, yes,” he replied with obvious reluctance. “Do you know anything more?”
“It may be related to the assassination in New York.”
“Abbey, you’re swimming in dangerous waters.”
“So what else is new?” she replied. “Can you help me, Michel?”
“I’ll make some calls, but the Americans hold everything close to the vest. I don’t like the idea of you digging into this story. It’s not safe.”
“I’m fine,” Abbey told him, but she failed to keep the anxiety out of her voice. Michel knew her well enough to know she was hiding something.
“Abbey?” he said. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing.”
But he didn’t believe her. “If you want my help, be straight with me. Are you in trouble?”
“Actually, a man tried to kill me last night.”
“Kill you? My God!”
“I got away. I’m fine for now. But the police won’t do anything. This is all connected to whatever is going on, and that’s why I need answers.”
“What you need to do is to stop looking into something that could get you killed!” Michel told her sharply.
“I don’t walk away from stories. That’s not who I am. Besides, it’s too late for that.”
He sighed again. “All right, let me see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Michel. You’ll call me tomorrow?”
“No. I’m taking the first flight to Quebec in the morning. I’ll meet you for lunch. We’ll talk then.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“It’s not up for discussion. One o’clock at Les Vingt Chats.”
She opted not to protest, because she knew he wouldn’t change his mind. “All right. I’ll see you there.”
“Be careful.”
Michel hung up the phone. Sitting in silence in her apartment, she felt the weight of his absence. It had felt good to hear his voice, like the comfort of putting on an old, familiar sweater. In truth, she liked the idea of him running to her rescue. She couldn’t help but wonder if lunch would lead to dinner, and dinner would lead to her spending the night in his hotel room.
Abbey picked up her carton of lo mein.
Then someone pounded on her apartment door. She dropped the carton on the floor, making a mess of noodles and sauce. A husky voice shouted her name. “Abbey Laurent! Police!”
She stifled a scream. When she ran back to the window and looked down at the alley, she saw two police vehicles with flashing lights parked beside her building.
“Ms. Laurent!” the same voice called again impatiently, pounding on her door for a second time.
Abbey checked the peephole. Through the fish-eye lens, she could see three uniformed police officers outside her door, but they weren’t alone. A man in a dark raincoat and a fedora stood behind them. She opened the door, and when she did, the police officers separated. The other man came forward, assisted by a cane as he limped to her doorway.
It was the American intelligence officer she’d seen on the boardwalk.
“Ms. Laurent? My name is Nash Rollins. I’m with the American government. I want to talk to you.”
Abbey studied the expressionless faces of the police officers who were with him. “If I don’t want to talk, will I be arrested?”
“Not at all,” Rollins replied. “Actually, I brought the police along to make sure you felt safe. I heard about the attempt on your life, so I wasn’t sure you’d open the door to a stranger.”
“You’re right.”
“May I come in?” he asked.
Abbey hesitated, then waved her hand to usher him inside. The man limped into her apartment and shot a glance around the messy, impersonal studio. He didn’t look like a man who missed much. She didn’t invite him to sit down.
“What do you want?”
“First, would you mind closing the door?”
She eyed the open door and the policemen, and then she shut the door quietly. She also noticed her laptop on the table and went and closed the lid.
Rollins was a compact man, with a tough, weathered body coiled tightly like a rope. His knuckles were white where he gripped the head of his cane, and his torso bent like a question mark. With his other hand, he removed his hat, revealing unruly gray hair. He had bushy pale eyebrows, with blue eyes that squinted as if he were being assaulted by a frigid wind. The skin on his face was etched with tight, narrow wrinkles.
“I’ll cut to the chase, Ms. Laurent. I know who you are and what you do, and I know you were supposed to meet a man on the boardwalk last night. I’d like you to tell me if he’s been in touch with you since then.”
“If you know what I do, then you know I’m a journalist,” Abbey replied. “I’m not in the habit of sharing information with someone from the government. Particularly someone who’s not even from my government.”
“This man is dangerous, Ms. Laurent. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“I don’t know who I’m dealing with right now, Mr. Rollins. You say you’re with the American government, but you haven’t shown me any identification. I assume you’re a spook, so what are you? CIA?”
Rollins’s hooded eyes assessed her with a grudging respect, but he made no move to produce any identification. He tapped the head of his cane on the floor. “You don’t trust me. Fine. You shouldn’t trust him, either.”
“No?”
“No. Let me ask you a question. Are you under the impression that this man didn’t show up for your meeting last night?”
Abbey frowned. “That’s right.”
“Wrong,” Rollins snarled. “He was there. He killed four of my agents. He shot me in the leg. He was following you when we intercepted him, Ms. Laurent. Do I need to tell you what would have happened if he’d caught up with you? You’d be dead with a bullet in your throat.”
The information hit Abbey hard. She paled and sat heavily in one of her chairs. “Is that really true?”
“It is.”
“Someone came after me later, but it wasn’t him.”
“Do you think he operates alone? He doesn’t. He’s part of a very dangerous network. Until we catch him, you’re at serious risk. You may not trust me, but I’m trying to help you, Ms. Laurent. Now, you need to answer my question. Has he been in touch with you since last night?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Well, watch your back. He’s heading your way.”
Her dark eyes widened. “What?”
“He escaped from us last night and took refuge in a town a couple hours north of here. But we think he’s on his way back to the city. He may already be here now. I can think of only one reason why he’d take that kind of risk. He’s coming after you. My question is, what do you know that makes you a threat to him?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”