“Probably, but not certainly,” she pointed out.
“Okay, look at it this way. If it is Rodrigo, would the presence of one person stop him from what he wanted to do?”
“No, but it would be impossible for him to do what he wanted without attracting notice.”
“Exactly. Trust me, I’m not risking your life, or even my own. Rodrigo would have chosen somewhere secluded for a meet, because it would be stupid not to.”
She mulled that over and finally nodded her head. “You’re right. Rodrigo isn’t a stupid man at all.”
He laced his fingers with hers and started her moving. The feel of her slim hand in his made the bottom drop out of his stomach again, and her trust weighed on him like an anvil. God, what was he going to do?
“Just so you know, I heard what you said.” She peered at him over the upper rim of her sunglasses. It gave him a jolt to see brown eyes looking back at him instead of pale blue ones, as if he’d been sucked into an alternate universe.
He briefly tightened his fingers on hers. “And?”
“And… I’m glad.” It was simply said, and arrowed through him. Most women found it easy to say “I love you,” much easier than men, but Lily wasn’t most women. For her, loving and admitting to it must have taken every ounce of courage she possessed-and that was a lot of courage. She humbled him in a way he’d never expected, and had no idea how to handle.
They walked hand in hand into the huge formal park, which had once belonged to Cardinal Richelieu. The large basin with its center fountain sat in the middle. People strolled around, some just enjoying the gardens even though in November they weren’t as lush as they would have been a few months ago, some sitting on the rim of the basin having their photographs taken to go in an album of vacation memories when they returned home. Swain and Lily strolled around the basin, looking for a lone man wearing a red scarf.
He rose to his feet as they approached. Swiftly Swain appraised him. He was a neat, trim man, about five-ten, with dark hair and eyes and the bony facial structure that shouted “French!” From the way his tailored jacket fit him, he either was unarmed or, like Lily, wore an ankle holster. He carried a briefcase, a detail that made him stand out from the rest of the park-goers; this was Saturday, not a time for office workers. He had no spy craft, Swain thought, or he’d know that he should . blend in rather than stand out.
Their contact’s dark eyes searched his face first, then went to Lily’s. Surprisingly, his features softened. “Mademoiselle,” he said, and he gave a little half-bow that was completely natural and respectful. Yeah, that was definitely the quiet voice Swain remembered. He didn’t like the way the guy was looking at Lily, though, and he pulled her a little closer to his side in one of those gestures guys use to signal other men that they are edging into personal territory.
The Interpol man already knew his name, but to prevent a slipup in front of Lily that couldn’t be explained, Swain said, “Call me Swain. Now, you know her name and you know mine. What’s yours?”
The shrewd dark eyes studied him. The Interpol man didn’t hesitate because he was unsure what to do, but because he was considering every angle. Evidently he must have decided there was no reason to be secretive, since Swain had his cell phone number and the resources to put a name with it if he chose. “Georges Blanc,” the man said. He indicated the briefcase. “Everything you need to know about the system is in there, but after careful consideration I realize that a clandestine entrance is probably not feasible now.”
Swain looked sharply around, making sure no one was within hearing. It was a good thing the man’s voice was naturally quiet. “We should go somewhere more private,” he said.
Blanc also looked around, and nodded his understanding. “I apologize,” he said. “I’m not well-versed in procedure.”
They walked toward a line of carefully manicured trees. Swain didn’t care for formal gardens himself, preferring his nature in a more unruly state, but there were stone benches scattered about the park and he supposed on a quiet day there would be something serene about the setting. It seemed to appeal to a lot of other people, though this wasn’t his cup of tea. They found one of those stone benches, and Blanc invited Lily to sit. He placed the briefcase beside her.
Suddenly alarmed, Swain stepped forward and seized the briefcase, moving it away from Lily. He thrust it back at Blanc. “Open it,” he ordered, his tone crisp and hard. A briefcase could easily contain a bomb.
Lily was on her feet and Swain moved so that she was behind him, at the same time reaching his hand inside his jacket. If the briefcase did contain a bomb, maybe he could shield her, though he doubted Blanc would explode a bomb while he himself was still standing so close. But what if Blanc didn’t have the detonator, and someone watching them did?
Alarm flashed across Blanc’s face, both at how fast Swain had moved and at the hardness of his expression. “There are only papers,” he said, taking the briefcase and thumbing the catch releases. They sprang open and he lifted the lid, showing the sheaf of papers inside. There was an inner pocket and he held it open for Swain’s appraisal, then riffled the papers. “You can trust me.” He held Swain’s gaze as he spoke, and Swain got the message.
Tension eased from his shoulders and he removed his hand from the butt of his weapon. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t put anything past Rodrigo Nervi.”
Lily punched him in the back. “What do you think you’re doing?”