Murder in the Latin Quarter by Cara Black

Author:Cara Black [Black, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2009-10-27T07:00:00+00:00

Wednesday Night

AIMÉE CRAWLED UNDER the Roman bleachers on her hands and knees, her fishnet stockings catching in the twigs and dirt. Dim light from the sputtering candles cast a yellow glow in the arcade. She felt the hard, rounded leather toe of a man’s shoe.

Her heart pounded. René? Dead? Please, God, no.

“I took out the guard by mistake, Aimée.” René’s voice sounded strained.

A click, and then René’s face appeared in the beam of her penlight. Beyond René she made out a stocky body sprawled on the floor and heard loud moans as a man struggled to come to.

Big mistake.

“Are you all right, René?”

She reached out to René. Her palms came back sticky and wet. Blood. And then her beam showed a trail of blood drop-lets on the stone.

“You’ve been shot, René!” She blamed herself for letting him come. What the hell had she been thinking? “Where are you hurt?”

“We have to get out of here,” René said.

She leaned down, placing her arm around his shoulder, try-ing to control the shaking of her hands. Crawling, shielded by the walls, they reached the hole in the fence and got to their feet. There was no sign of the shooters.

René stumbled. She grabbed his shoulder. “We can make it, René. Just a bit farther.”

She hoped she was right.

Aimée stared across the open-air arena. Spotlights focused on the dirt where old men played petanque on warm days. The soft cooing of pigeons reverberated off the limestone. Nodding plane tree branches shifted in the wind, the only movement in the otherwise deserted arena. It was a long way to the car.

René wavered and almost lost his balance again. Then she shone her flashlight on an embossed metal manhole cover. Ajar. Most were cemented down, but not this one. That’s how the shooters must have escaped. Gone to ground after the security guard appeared and Mireille vanished.

She couldn’t envision René managing the steep steps in his current condition. And moving him, injured, was the worst thing to do. Light flicked on in the construction shed. A siren wailed.

Now they had no choice.

She bent down. “Get on my back, René.”

“Aimée, I can do this.”

“You’re losing blood, René.”

The siren sounded closer now. “You’re not going to carry me!”

“Like there’s a choice? Climb on, René.”

She felt his weight settle against her back, his hands clasp her shoulders, and she stood.

“Hold on!”

René let out an involuntary gasp.

Panting, she made her feet move, compensating for René’s weight with each step. And she felt every cigarette she’d ever smoked. Now lights flooded the Roman arena behind them.

René tensed on her back. She heard his labored breathing. She prayed they could reach the car before the flics inter-cepted them.

At the gravel path she kept to the tree shadows, staggering but moving as fast as she could. The narrow street ahead lay in shadow. By the time she’d relocked the gate and reached René’s Citroën, she was exhausted.

She gunned the engine and tore down the narrow street without headlights. René’s face was plastered against the win-dow, the rays of the streetlights they passed flickering over him.

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