The waiter came back and set Alex’s drink on the table in front of her.
As she took a sip, Gérard said, “Not that I’m complaining, but why the change of heart?”
“Change of heart?”
“About having a drink with me.”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe I just got in the car and started driving and this was where I wound up?”
He smiled again and lifted his glass in a toast. “So you’re a free spirit. A woman without purpose.”
“Only on my bad days,” she said.
He laughed but then studied her. “Unless my instincts are fuzzy, there’s something troubling you. Did the intruder come back?”
She shook her head. “The only thing troubling me is that I don’t know who your client is. That’s the real reason I’m here.”
“But I’ve already told you. He prefers to remain anonymous.”
“And I prefer to know who I’m doing business with.”
He paused. “So then this really is an attempt to raise the price.”
“No,” she said, “it’s an attempt to find out who wants my house and why he had you contact me. Why now instead of a year ago? Six months?”
Gérard shrugged. “As far as I know, he wasn’t in the market then. And I’m not sure why this is so upsetting to you.”
He was right. She was upset and it showed. She was handling this like a ham-handed amateur, but interrogation had never been her specialty. She was the grab-and-go girl who left such things to the experts.
She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that being back at that house has been very painful for me, and call me old-fashioned, but I feel uncomfortable selling to someone I’ve never met.”
“So you’ve changed your mind?”
“No, I just want to know who he is.”
“Believe me, Alex, if I could tell you, I would. But I signed a confidentiality agreement and I’m a man of my word. I can relay your concerns to him when he calls, but I doubt he’ll budge, even if it means losing the property. He’s very private.”
Alex sighed. Why was she pushing this poor guy? He seemed to be telling the truth and she wasn’t about to get anything out of him like this. Maybe his emails and phone calls were just some weird coincidence, and maybe the person she should be interrogating was whoever had broken into the house.
It certainly wasn’t Gérard.
She drained her glass and got to her feet.
He looked up at her. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Here you were enjoying the view and I come along and start bullying you like some psycho cop. I’ll let you drink in peace.”
“But I told you, I prefer not to drink alone.”
“Trust me, you don’t want me for company right now.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “That’s exactly what I want.” Now he got to his feet. “But if you aren’t interested in drinking with me, what do you say to a walk on the beach?”
Though he wobbled slightly as he held out a hand, he was so damn charming in tone and demeanor that she couldn’t help but forgive his excesses. That Clive Owen vibe was working overtime right now, and despite the anger and confusion this trip had already wrought, she found herself giving into him.
“I guess I could use some air,” she said.
There was something soothing about beaches at night.
Back in Baltimore, before their involvement with Stonewell International, Alex and Deuce would sometimes grab a six-pack and drive out to Rocky Point after a hard day’s work. They’d spend half the night camped out on the sand with several of their cop and bail enforcement friends, drinking beer and swapping war stories in front of a fire. The park was technically closed after sunset, but the beach patrol was more than willing to extend a bit of professional courtesy to their public-safety brethren.
At some point in the night, Alex would usually find herself alone and walking barefoot along the water’s edge, letting the cool breeze off Chesapeake Bay remind her that the world was not always about bail jumpers and chases down blind alleyways and bondsmen with tight purses. Sometimes you had to let go of all the bullshit and revel in those small moments of escape.
She figured it was no different tonight. As she and Gérard worked their way down a set of wooden steps to the beach outside the Largo Inn, she decided to allow herself to let go for a moment. To be that free woman Gérard had spoken of.
He said, “So, what do you really do for a living?”
Alex stifled a smile. She’d known he hadn’t believed her. “I told you. Same as you, only I hunt people instead of properties.”
“You’re with the police?”
She shook her head. “I’m a fugitive retrieval specialist. Or what the people in the cheap seats call a bounty hunter.”
He looked surprised. “That seems an usual profession for…” He paused, as if he were afraid to finish the sentence.
“For what?” she said. “A woman?”
They were walking on the sand now, the beach curving along the coastline, dotted by clusters of dark palms, an ocean breeze rendering the late summer humidity almost bearable. Gérard had sobered some, but still could have benefitted from a cup of coffee or two, although his drunkenness was more endearing than obnoxious.
“Not at all,” he said, stopping. “What I meant to say was…for someone so beautiful.”
From anyone else this would have seemed like a well-practiced line, and it probably was. But Gérard came across as sincere instead of smarmy, and Alex had to admit she liked the sound of it. Maybe it was the Irish whiskey talking, but if he kept it up, she might let go completely.
Gérard was silhouetted against the backdrop of the bay as they looked at each other for a moment that was probably a lot shorter than it seemed. In a movie, he would try to kiss her now and she would resist but finally give in, despite her conflicting emotions. And the boyfriends and husbands in the crowd would undoubtedly be squirming in their seats, wondering what the hell kind of flick they’d agreed to see.
But Alex was no ingénue, and the man who emerged from the shadows of the palm trees six seconds later, pointing a gun in their direction, proved this was no chick flick.
“Down on your knees. Both of you.” The guy was wearing gloves, a ski mask, and a very ugly attitude.
Alex glanced at Gérard, and then at the hotel, which was farther away than she’d realized.
The mugger took a step closer. “Nobody can see us down here, bitch. Now get on your fucking knees.” He turned to Gérard. “You, too, asshole.”
Alex had learned long ago that you don’t mess around with a guy with a gun, especially at almost point-blank range. If things escalated, she’d do whatever needed to be done, but a few bucks and some credit cards were not worth getting shot over.
She sank to her knees and gestured for Gérard to do the same. But instead of complying, Gérard’s gaze took on a look she didn’t like.
Oh, shit.
He had been about to make a move on a woman he barely knew, and now had to prove himself worthy, the proverbial knight in shining armor.
Before she could stop him, he crouched slightly, as if he were about to kneel, then sprang forward like a soccer goalie diving for the ball. Judging by the mugger’s reaction, he hadn’t expected the move any more than he’d expected to use the gun. He let out a yelp as Gérard wrapped his arms around him and knocked him to the sand.
The gun went off, and the shot came perilously close to giving Alex an unsolicited tracheotomy. She fell back with a grunt, then scrambled to her feet just in time to see her inebriated hero trying to wrestle the gun from the mugger’s hand.
The mugger lost his grip and the weapon went flying into the darkness as he and Gérard tumbled into the water, the mugger’s hands disappearing from view.