In Their Footsteps / Stolen: In Their Footsteps / Stolen. Tess Gerritsen
happen—”
“I’m not exactly alone.” She crossed the room to the connecting door leading to Jordan’s suite. Yanking it open, she called, “Wake up, Jordie! I’m in need of some brotherly assistance.”
There was no answer from the bed.
“Jordie?” she said.
“Your bodyguard stays right on his toes, doesn’t he?” said Richard.
Annoyed, Beryl flicked on the wall switch. In the sudden flood of light, she found herself blinking in astonishment.
Jordan’s bed was empty.
Chapter 4
That woman is staring at me again.
Jordan stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his cappuccino and casually glanced in the direction of the blonde sitting three tables away. At once she averted her gaze. She was attractive enough, he noted. Mid-twenties, with a lean, athletic build. Nothing overripe about that one. Her hair was cut like a boy’s, with elfin wisps feathering her forehead. She wore a black sweater, black skirt, black stockings. Fashion or camouflage? He shifted his gaze ahead to the street and the evening parade of pedestrians. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the woman again looking his way. Ordinarily it would have flattered him to know he was the object of such intense feminine scrutiny. But something about this particular woman made him uneasy. Couldn’t a fellow wander the streets of Paris these days without being stalked by carnivorous females?
It had been such a pleasant outing up till now. Minutes after sending Beryl and Richard on their way, he’d slipped out of his hotel room in search of a decent watering hole. A stroll across Place Vendčme, a visit to the Olympia Music Hall, then a midnight snack at Café de la Paix—what better way to spend one’s first evening in Paris?
But perhaps it was time to call it a night.
He finished his cappuccino, paid the tab, and began walking toward the Rue de la Paix. It took him only half a block to realize the woman in black was following him.
He had paused at a shop window and was gazing in at a display of men’s suits when he spotted a fleeting glimpse of a blond head reflected in the glass. He turned and saw her standing across the street, intently staring into a window. A lingerie shop, he noted. Judging by the rest of her outfit, she’d no doubt choose her knickers in black, as well.
Jordan continued walking in the direction of Place Vendčme.
Across the street, the woman was parralleling his route.
This is getting tiresome, he thought. If she wants to flirt, why doesn’t she just come over and bat her eyelashes? The direct approach, he could appreciate. It was honest and straightforward, and he liked honest women. But this stalking business unnerved him.
He walked another half block. So did she.
He stopped and pretended to study another shop window. She did likewise. This is ridiculous, he thought. I am not going to put up with this nonsense.
He crossed the street and walked straight up to her. “Mademoiselle?” he said.
She turned and regarded him with a startled look. Plainly she had not expected a face-to-face confrontation.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “may I ask why you’re following me?”
She opened her mouth and shut it again, all the time staring at him with those big gray eyes. Rather pretty eyes, he observed.
“Perhaps you don’t understand me? Parlezvous anglais?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “I speak English.”
“Then perhaps you can explain why you’re following me.”
“But I am not following you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not!” She glanced up and down the street. “I am taking a walk. As you are.”
“You’re dogging my every step. Stopping where I stop. Watching every move I make.”
“That is preposterous.” She pulled herself up, a spark of outrage lighting her eyes. Real or manufactured? He couldn’t be sure. “I have no interest in you, Monsieur! You must be imagining things.”
“Am I?”
In answer, she spun around and stalked away up the Rue de la Paix.
“I don’t think I am imagining things!” he called after her.
“You English are all alike!” she flung over her shoulder.
Jordan watched her storm off and wondered if he had jumped to conclusions. If so, what a fool he’d made of himself! The woman rounded a corner and vanished, and he felt a moment’s regret. After all, she had been rather attractive. Lovely gray eyes, unbeatable legs.
Ah, well.
He turned and continued on his way toward the Place Vendčme and the hotel. Only as he reached the lobby doors of the Ritz did that sixth sense of his begin to tingle again. He paused and glanced back. In a distant archway, he spied a flicker of movement, a glimpse of a blond head just before it ducked into the shadows.
She was still following him.
DAUMIER ANSWERED the phone on the fifth ring. “Allo?”
“Claude, it’s me,” said Richard. “Are you having us tailed?”
There was a pause, then Daumier said, “A precaution, my friend. Nothing more.”
“Protection? Or surveillance?”
“Protection, naturally! A favor to Hugh—”
“Well, it scared the living daylights out of us. The least you could’ve done was warn me.” Richard glanced toward Beryl, who was anxiously pacing the hotel room. She hadn’t admitted it, but he knew she was shaken, and that for all her bravado, all her attempts to throw him out of her suite, she was relieved he’d stayed. “Another thing,” he said to Daumier, “we seem to have misplaced Jordan.”
“Misplaced?”
“He’s not in his suite. We left him here hours ago. He’s since vanished.”
There was a silence on the line. “This is worrisome,” said Daumier.
“Do your people have any idea where he is?”
“My agent has not yet reported in. I expect to hear from her in another—”
“Her?” Richard cut in.
“Not our most experienced operative, I admit. But quite capable.”
“It was a man following us tonight.”
Daumier laughed. “Richard, I am disappointed! I thought you, of all people, knew the difference.”
“I can bloody well tell the difference!”
“With Colette, there is no question. Twenty-six, rather pretty. Blond hair.”
“It was a man, Claude.”
“You saw the face?”
“Not clearly. But he was short, stocky—”
“Colette is five foot five, very slender.”
“It wasn’t her.”
Daumier said nothing for a moment. “This is disturbing,” he concluded. “If it was not one of our people—”
Richard suddenly pivoted toward the door. Someone was knocking. Beryl stood frozen, staring at him with a look of fear.
“I’ll call you back, Claude,” Richard whispered into the phone. Quietly