Omar grabbed his gun from where he’d left it on the side table and used the barrel to push aside the curtain. He peered out, then looked back at Marielle and mouthed ‘No car.’
Whoever it was, they’d approached on foot.
Marielle found her pack and dug out her gun with shaking hands. She grumbled every time Jake reminded her to go to the firing range with Trent for her quarterly shooting practice. Now she made a mental note to kiss Jake if—no, when—she saw him again.
It could be a neighbor wanting to borrow sugar, she told herself lamely as the hammering continued, fist pounding against wood. As if anyone would walk several kilometers to ask a dead woman for sugar.
She crept toward the window near the fireplace and peeked through the curtains.
A tall, willowy blonde stood on the slate walk, beating her fist against the door. As Marielle watched, the woman stepped back, frustrated, and turned to scan the windows.
Marielle recognized her immediately.
She turned to Omar. “Stand down.”
Then she yanked open the door and dragged Olivia Santos across the threshold.
“What are you doing here?” she screeched.
“Hello to you, too,” Olivia said, drawing the curtains tight.
“Liv,” Omar said, as if it were perfectly normal for her to drop by.
“Hey, Omar.” She grinned at him before turning toward Hanna. “And you must be the asset.”
“Hanna Ayari,” Hanna squeaked.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Olivia Santos.”
She walked toward Hanna with her hand outstretched as if they were meeting at a cocktail party not a hideout. Wide-eyed, Hanna shook it on autopilot.
“How did you get here,” Marielle demanded.
Olivia pulled out a chair and sat. “I took the fast train from Paris to Aix-en-Provence, hitched a ride from a farmer to Lourmarin, then jogged the last twenty kilometers or so. I could use a drink.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
She was halfway to the sink when Liv asked, “Did you keep Céline’s wine cellar?”
Marielle was rarely at a loss for words, but she walked to the door leading down to the stone-walled cave in silence. Only after she drew back the bolt and flipped on the light, did she regain her power of speech.
She cleared her throat. “Red or white?”
Olivia looked around the room at their stricken faces. “Why not both?”
They were halfway through grand-mère’s favorite Beaujolais Réserve when Olivia finally satisfied their curiosity.
“Cal McCloud told me when the compact went offline. And I knew you’d be sure to get rid of the other covcom and the phones. It’s procedure when you’ve been made.”
“Okay, but how do you know we’d be here, and not headed to Marseille?” Omar wanted to know.
“Ha. That was easy. Trent and I had a fight about whether you should go to the safe house or not. I said absolutely not, and he said they’d have a team ready to whisk you out even if the house had been compromised—which, of course, it had. I thought about everything I know about Elle and about you, and figured you’d probably have the same fight.”
“We did,” Marielle admitted.
“But how did you know she’d win instead of me?” Omar asked.
At this, Hanna snorted. They all turned toward her.