She found herself on top of the guy, almost face to face with him. He was middle aged, probably in his forties, and he stared up at her with shocked eyes through brown-rimmed glasses.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in English.
Before he could even catch his breath to start complaining, she placed the camera on his chest, looked up, and took off again. Lester was nowhere in sight. She slowed her pace to a jog, now hearing the yells of the Asian tourist and his family. They were saying something in Korean, but she only knew enough of that language to know that they weren’t happy. What exactly they were saying was lost on her. Her head swiveled right and left as she veered around a hedgerow and out of view from the angry tourists.
She surveyed the vast park, the pools of water, perfectly pruned bushes, rows of flowers, the faces of couples walking hand in hand, and visitors taking pictures with their phones, but none was the face and body she was looking for. Lester had vanished.
Lester inserted the key in the door of his apartment and twisted it until it clicked. He looked over his left shoulder and into the dimly lit, empty corridor. A slender fluorescent light flickered in the middle of the ceiling. It cast an eerie and inconsistent glow on the peeling walls and worn wooden floor. He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly through his lips, grateful to have escaped. His right hand reached out and pushed open the door. The brass apartment numbers had fallen off long ago, leaving only a trace of fresh paint outlining where they’d been.
Sometimes, the women he brought home wondered if they would be paid what they were promised. The building was one of the few in the area near the Seine that remained in constant disrepair. What no one knew was that Lester owned it, and kept it that way to maintain appearances. No one ever tried to rob a poor person, at least not that he knew of.
He didn’t know how Adriana had found him. It was a question that rattled his mind as he disappeared into the park earlier, slowly making his way back to his apartment. As far as he recalled, she’d never been to his place, so it was unlikely she could find him again. Just to be safe, though, Lester already decided that this morning would be a good time to head out of town for a few days, maybe lie low in the country somewhere. His uncle owned a small farmhouse an hour outside the city that would be perfect. He’d used the place on more than one occasion to avoid trouble. It was where Lester took refuge for nearly a month after Adriana had killed a man who was high up in the local Albanian crime ring.
His left hand removed the key from the door, and he leaned through it. The alarm started beeping, signaling that he had fifteen seconds to deactivate it. Lester kept it on a short timer in case there was ever a break-in. No one could get what they wanted in fifteen seconds, especially not when he kept almost all of his valuables in an extremely secure location.
Can never be too careful, was his motto.
He stepped lightly over to the nearest wall and punched in the code. The panel beeped three short times, and the room fell silent again. He returned to the door to close it, but it stopped suddenly, six inches from the frame. His eyes shot down to the floor to see what had caused the problem. A brown shoe pressed against the bottom of the door. Attached to it was a long, slender leg.
“For someone who is so paranoid, I can’t believe you leave the door open behind you to turn off the alarm.”
Lester’s eyes raised and met a pair of deep brown eyes adorned in thick, dark lashes and wrapped in black eyeliner. Fear flooded his face, and his eyes opened wide. “How did you…?”
She shoved the door open, breaking his feeble attempt to brace it with one hand. It slammed against the stop on the back wall and rebounded toward the entryway. Adriana eyed him with suspicious contempt. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck and into the fabric of her black tank top.
“I’m glad I decided to wear shorts today. It’s unseasonably warm right now for Paris, don’t you think?” She reached back with her left hand, felt for the door, and closed it, locking it absentmindedly.
He stammered in response. “I… uh… what are you… I mean, what do you want?” If she didn’t know better, Adriana would swear he was about to wet himself. Or worse.
“Lester, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She took a step toward him, causing him to take a mirrored step back. “Are you afraid of me?”
He shook his head rapidly back and forth. “No… I mean… should I be afraid of you?”
She stepped again, slowly, dramatically. “I wouldn’t think so. I never did anything to hurt you. So why were you running from me?”
“I… I wasn’t running from you.” The lie almost made her laugh.
“No? Who were you running from, then?”
“I was… I was just getting a bit of exercise. You know, stretching the legs, getting the blood flowing. That sort of thing.”
There were only two things Adriana liked about Lester: his ability to get information and his accent. The latter was sharp, defined by his upbringing by Manchester parents in a rough section of North London.
Her head twisted slowly from one shoulder to the other and back. She clicked her tongue through slightly parted lips. “Lester, you know that you’re one of the worst at lying I’ve ever met, especially considering you’re a criminal?”
Lester took another unconscious step back from her and tripped, toppling clumsily over the armrest of his leather couch. He tried to recover, but she put out her hand, signaling him to stop.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Lester.”
He tried to collect himself, but his sparse physique and baggy clothes being swallowed by the huge sofa was beyond appearing even somewhat dignified.
“I know that,” he lied again. “I just… I don’t want any trouble, that’s all.”
Adriana was done toying with him, at least on that subject. Her eyes danced around the room, taking in the surroundings. Whatever resources and energy Lester had used to keep the outside of the four-story building looking derelict, he’d done the exact opposite to furnish his living space. Expensive art adorned exposed gray brick walls. A massive 72-inch flatscreen high-definition television was situated in the far corner, surrounded by wall-mounted speakers and an entertainment system occupying an antique Victrola below.
The kitchen was furnished with black granite countertops, and the cabinets were a complementary cream color. She spied the floors with an admiring eye.
“Original wood flooring?” she asked. It was a partial attempt to defuse his discomfort.
Lester appeared thrown off by the question but answered in a trembling voice. “Yeah. Looked nice so I kept it. Idiots who were in here before had carpet over it. I had to tear it out.” He paused. “You’re not here to talk about my interior decorating, Adriana. And if you’re not here to hurt me, what do you want?”
She sighed and took a seat in a club chair nearby. “Lester, why on earth would I want to do you harm? You’re my best connection in the black market art world. I need you. Alive, preferably.”
His eyes wandered aside for a second as he nodded. “That makes two of us.” Then he went on the offensive, pointing his finger at her in anger. “But you caused me no end of trouble the last time you were here. I had to hide out for almost two months because of what you did to those Albanians.”
“You mean that time I saved your life?” She stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
“As I recall, they was just lookin’ to do some business, and you,” he jammed the accusatory finger at her, “picked a fight. I had the whole situation under control until you started in.”
Her face was long and dubious. “Les, they were going to kill you as soon as you gave them that painting.”