The corridor was empty. When the doors swung to behind me, the sound from the main floor faded to a muted hum.
I couldn’t see any sign of my target so I hurried on, passing function rooms with names such as the Corniche Suite. As I ran past a door leading to the Princess Grace Suite, I heard movement behind me and turned to see the man I was chasing come barreling through, shoulder down, ready to tackle me.
I sidestepped just in time, grabbed his shirt and gave him an extra shove to propel him into a print of Stirling Moss winning the 1961 Grand Prix.
He cried out as the glass shattered on impact, but swiveled, already swinging, and caught me with a lucky right hook, which knocked me back a couple of steps and dazed me.
He didn’t press his advantage, but instead took the opportunity to run.
I came to my senses and set off after him, sprinting to the end of the corridor and following him up a flight of stairs to the left.
He barreled through some glazed double doors and I chased him into a reception area, where a blonde woman and a dark-haired man sat behind a long counter. They both gasped when the man I was chasing passed them and sprinted down a corridor to their right. I followed, hot on his heels.
He reached a door at the end and burst through it. Moments later, I did the same and found myself in a large, opulently furnished executive office.
Seated on two long couches were Raymond Chalmont, Roman Verde and two very large, heavyset men I recognized from Justine’s escape from the farm.
The man I’d been chasing turned to me, a smile on his face. “You never stopped to consider whether you were the hunter or the prey,” he said in a heavy Spanish accent.
The two large men stood and grabbed me. I tried to shake them off, but Roman Verde joined them and punched me in the face, stunning me.
Chalmont got to his feet looking agitated. “Your business should never intrude on my domain,” he protested. “That was our deal. Whoever this man is, whatever you do to him, it happens elsewhere.”
Roman nodded, and the two thugs who had hold of my arms whisked me off my feet and dragged me from Chalmont’s office.
Chapter 61
Justine called Monaco police as she hurried across the casino floor. Jack’s pursuit of the gang member had caused a stir, and people were busy craning their necks to see if they could catch any more of the action. There was muttered conversation, sounds of shock and disapproval all around, but no one had paired her with Jack so she moved on undisturbed.
She didn’t bother trying to talk to Chevalier but instead spoke to the emergency operator, who eagerly took down details of the violent brawl at the Chalmont Casino. Justine figured they’d get a swifter response from an emergency call than from a harried detective who might well be off-site or not even on duty.
With assurances the police were on their way, Justine slipped her phone into her bag and went through the red double doors on the far side of the giant room.
She immediately noticed broken glass from a smashed picture frame about halfway along a corridor. She hurried on, and as she neared the end of it, heard movement to her left. Shuffling footsteps and voices.
She peeked round the corner to see five sets of shoes coming down a flight of stairs. She recognized Jack’s in between two unfamiliar pairs. There were another two behind them.
Justine withdrew before any faces came into view.
“Take him out the back way.” She recognized Roman Verde’s voice. “We’ll deal with him at the safehouse.”
Justine’s mind was racing. What was Roman Verde doing in one of the most prestigious establishments in Monaco? How had they captured Jack? And how could she get him back?
Direct confrontation was not an option but Justine had a flash of inspiration and ran back the way she’d come.
She burst through the double doors, praying she’d be quick enough, and raced across the casino floor. The entrance corridor and lobby went by in a blur, and she ignored protests from the security guards. As the first rays of sunlight touched her skin and she felt the sea breeze on her face, she heard the familiar sound of approaching sirens.
She ran over to the huddle of paparazzi, who gave her a cursory once-over as she approached.
“You’ll never guess who’s been playing in one of the private rooms,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Timothée Chalamet.”
The paparazzi were suddenly alert, like wolves catching the scent of prey on the wind.
“They brought him in through the back and they’re trying to sneak him out the same way right now,” Justine revealed. The nine freelance photojournalists moved with a sense of unity and purpose she’d rarely seen outside law enforcement or the military.
She followed the pack as it raced around the side of the building, along an alleyway to a service road at the rear.
They arrived just as a van was pulling up and Jack was manhandled out of the building.
“Timothée! Tim!” the paparazzi yelled, not really registering who was in the huddle ahead of them.
Roman Verde and his associates were startled and shielded their faces, which only added to the photographers’ curiosity.
Justine didn’t waste a moment. She stepped forward and grabbed Jack’s hand.
“Come on, honey,” she said, pulling him away from the men who’d abducted her, men who were now shying away from the cameras in an attempt to protect their identities.
It was beginning to dawn on the photographers that there was no celebrity, certainly not Timothée Chalamet. As Roman and his men retreated inside the building, the paparazzi started grumbling at Justine, but she didn’t hang around to listen to their complaints. Instead she led Jack toward the approaching police cars.
Chapter 62
We bypassed the cops who’d just pulled up in a pair of liveried vehicles and headed along the Avenue du Port toward our apartment.
“You’re amazing,” I told Justine.
I glanced behind us to make sure we weren’t being followed and saw four cops hurry from their cars toward the casino entrance. Their arrival had caused more of the seafront crowd to gravitate to the grand old building, creating a strange carnival atmosphere around my brush with danger.
“You’d have done the same,” she replied, taking my hand.
She checked around us before pulling me into a kiss.
“I probably would have been more direct. Not as imaginative.”
“Well, I’m not going to take on four guys,” she replied as we resumed our journey. “That wouldn’t end well.”
I grinned. “What you did was perfect.”
She smiled back.
We took a circuitous route to the apartment. We reversed, went through a couple cafes, making use of their service entrances to seek out new roads. I kept my eye on the sky for any sign of drones, and we both looked for tails — the same faces showing up, eyes that lingered just a little too long — but we saw nothing. When we were finally certain we were clear of danger, we hurried up the hill, inland, through the buzzing city, to safety.
It was a little before 2 p.m. when Justine and I stepped into the living room to find Sci and Mo-bot where we’d left them, analyzing files and photos on their computers.
“Well?” she asked without looking up.
“We had a run-in with Roman Verde,” I revealed, and they both looked round with expressions of concern on their faces.
“What?” Sci exclaimed. “At the casino?”
“At the casino,” Justine confirmed.
“Why would a street criminal be at a place like the Chalmont?” Mo-bot wondered.