Page 58 of Say Yes to the Death

“Morning, beautiful.” He ducked his head and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Too well,” she said. She hadn’t even sleepwalked. The city of Paris should really thank her. Who knew what kind of damage she could have done? “You?”

“Not bad.” He sat across from her. “I hope you don’t mind I ordered breakfast.”

“It smells amazing. What’s wrong? You look tense.” She took a sip of the café au lait. Delicious.

“Nothing, just work stuff.” He removed the silver lid to reveal a croissant with jam and a pain au chocolat. How did the French stay so skinny while eating nothing but carbs? Smoking, probably.

“Pete again?”

“Yeah, listen. I—” He glanced at the flowers on the table. The knife fell from his hand and clattered on the table. “I didn’t ask for flowers.”

“It’s probably part of the room service deal,” she said, spreading fig jam on her baguette.

“There’s a card.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach. The pastry thunked onto her plate. “What?”

Luke reached out and pulled a small, square card from the flowers. He ripped the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of cardstock.

“What does it say?” The room was starting to blur at the edges and shadows danced across her visual field.

“Get your phone. We need to call Detective Smith.”

Claire slid sideways out of her chair, and the darkness claimed her.

The smell of ammonia hit her like a meteor. She gasped and sat up, nearly smashing her head on the breakfast table. She was still in the hotel room, thank god, and not in a French hospital. Her health insurance definitely wouldn’t cover an international fainting spell. Luke knelt next to her, a small packet open in his hand.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Are the police coming?”

Someone knocked at the door. Luke squeezed her shoulder and got up.

“Don’t get up yet. Take it slow.”

The door opened, and a team of people walked inside. They immediately canvassed the room.

How could this have happened? Who could have found out where she was staying? Had someone followed them to Paris? How dedicated was this psycho, anyway?

Luke stood in the corner of the room with his phone on speaker and appeared to be translating for the French cop next to him. A lady with a camera took pictures of the breakfast table, where the note still sat.

Claire climbed shakily to her feet. She rounded the table and peered over the cop’s shoulder at the typed note.

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” she whispered. Chills exploded down her spine despite the fact that her stalker had invoked the most overused bad guy line in the history of time. She collapsed onto the bed and hugged her knees to her chest, but she couldn’t catch her breath.

There were so many people jammed into this room. It was suffocating. She grabbed her hotel key off the bedside table and rushed barefoot out the front door. A frenzy of French exclamations followed her, but she headed straight for the stairs.

She half-sprinted down thirteen flights and burst into the lobby. She heaved the front doors open and stepped out into the sunshine. The robe hung around her. Shit, she didn’t have any clothes on underneath. Now she looked like a crazy person wandering around Paris barefoot in a robe. Thank god Doozer, the robe-stealer, was a seven-hour flight away.

To her right, a small garden sat back from the bustling street. She hurried through the archway of climbing roses and followed a concrete path to a bench. A small fountain tinkled pleasantly, masking some of the noise from the street. She staggered to the bench, barely sitting before her knees collapsed.

Roses perfumed the sharp breaths she was able to steal. Whoever had sent the note surely wasn’t winning any points for creativity. They couldn’t have used a more generic threatening phrase. But how the hell had they found her? She was in a different friggen country. Were they tracking her phone? Was it Barney? How could he possibly know where she was from inside the prison? He had to be working with someone. The Widowmaker was behind bars, but he wasn’t done with her.

“Claire?” Luke’s voice came from the archway.

“Here.” She sat up straight and ran a hand through her hair.

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