Final Target

  “If you have any doubts, you shouldn’t do it.” Melissa put the glass down before Jessica. “We’re making progress. I know it. If you’d let me try to be a little tougher with her, we might even hurry it along.”

  “You might know it, but I don’t.” Jessica took a sip. “I may be going along with you, but I still can’t quite believe all this psychic connection stuff. It goes against my every instinct and training.”

  “I know it does. That’s the problem.” Melissa suddenly fell to her knees before her sister and buried her head in her lap. “Try to believe me, Jessica.” Her voice was muffled. “I love you and I want only what’s best. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. I took so much away, let me try to give something back.” Her arms tightened around Jessica’s waist. “Let me help you. Listen to me. Please.”

  “Mellie?” Jessica lifted Melissa’s chin and looked down at her. She touched her wet cheek. “You’re crying. . . .”

  Her lips twisted. “Just goes to show how unstable I am, right?”

  “Not right.” She grasped Melissa’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “And you took nothing from me that I wasn’t willing to give. Everyone has a path to follow in life. Don’t you realize that you helped me to find mine? I’ve never regretted one minute of those years I spent with you.”

  “I have.”

  “Then stop it.” She grimaced. “And for God’s sake, stop crying. You’re choking me up.”

  “Sorry.” She laid her head back in Jessica’s lap. “Just answer me one question. If I swear on my love for you that I’m right about the Wind Dancer, that it’s a danger to Cassie, will you believe me?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “I’m too firmly grounded in reality, Mellie. I know you think you’re right, but my mind automatically searches for a reasonable explanation for everything that’s happened. And reason tells me that exposing Cassie to an influence that’s always been benign to her might open a door.”

  “It’s a risk, such a terrible risk.”

  “A risk worth taking.” She paused. “And I have to take it, Mellie.”

  “That’s your final word?”

  “Yes. But if you disapprove, you don’t have to go with us.”

  “The hell I won’t.” Melissa sat back on her heels and wiped her eyes. “Where you go, I go.” She stood up. “Drink your tea. I’ll go wash my face and then I’ll fix you some lunch.”

  2:45 P.M.

  He was getting nowhere.

  Travis leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Flipping through the records on the computer screen was proving to be as tiring as it was frustrating. He’d known there was little chance, but he’d hoped he’d run across something that might trigger a memory, anything. . . . Sometimes something clicked, a flash of—

  Nothing.

  Well, what had he expected with what he had to work with?

  Green eyes, slightly tilted. Blond hair that might or might not be his true color. A beard that hid his features like a mask.

  Mask . . .

  He slowly sat upright in the chair.

  Mask.

  He hadn’t recognized the man’s face. He hadn’t thought the man was familiar until he’d seen him walk from the cotton-candy stall to the bench.

  Mask.

  “Christ.”

  “Have you got it?”

  “Cool it. It takes time.” Thomas didn’t take his gaze from the screen. “I’ve been working on it for only a couple of hours.”

  “You said it would be easier if I could narrow it down,” Travis said. “I’ve narrowed it down.”

  “Six foot two or three, age between thirty-five and forty, Nordic coloring, nine-millimeter pistol weapon of choice.” He flipped through more screens.

  “And a terrorist background,” Travis said.

  “That’s the key. If you’d told me that before, I could have been—”

  “I didn’t know before. How long? There can’t be that many who fit the profile.”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s a violent world we live in.”

  Another hour passed.

  “Bingo.” Thomas leaned forward. “Take a look. This may be your man.”

  Age thirty, but this record dated back ten years. Clean-shaven, pale brown hair slightly receding, but the eyes were right. Green. Slightly tilted at the corners.

  Yes.

  “Print it out.”

  Thomas pressed a button. “Nasty.” He read the history. “Arson, theft, murder . . . IRA, Italian Sons of Liberty, Nazi skinheads. He doesn’t seem wedded to a single cause, does he?”

  “Not unusual. Mercenaries go where the money is.” He took the mug shot off the printer. “I thought he may have terrorist affiliations since two of the dead at Vasaro had them.”

  “Vasaro?”

  “Never mind.” He grabbed a pencil and began shading in a beard. There was no doubt.

  “It’s him?” Thomas asked. “I did it?”

  “You did it.” He pushed back his chair. “You’re a genius, Thomas.”

  “Genius should be rewarded.” Thomas smiled slyly. “Don’t you think I deserve a tip? Maybe another one of those pretty baubles?”

  “Don’t be greedy,” Travis said absently, as he stared at the mug shot. “Can you get me a background and psychological profile?”

  “The CIA probably has one. Give me thirty minutes.”

  It took forty-five minutes before he punched the button to print and then handed the two pages to Travis. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” He headed for the door.

  Edward James Deschamps.

  Gotcha.

  15

  4:15 P.M.

  “Edward Deschamps.” Galen lifted his gaze from the rap sheet. “You’re sure?”

  Travis nodded. “As certain as I can be without seeing him again.”

  “And you think he’s the leader of the team at Vasaro?”

  “It adds up. He knew me and indicated I’d gotten in his way sometime in the past. He was familiar to me, but I didn’t recognize the face. I must have remembered the way he moved.”

  “I was outside in the courtyard, so I didn’t see him. How did he move?”

  “Fairly distinctively. Fast, springy, on the balls of his feet, like a tennis player.”

  “Karlstadt had nothing to do with Jan’s murder?”

  Travis shook his head. “It’s not likely. Vasaro happened before I became involved with Karlstadt and the diamonds. Besides, Deschamps went for the money first and not for the diamonds. The diamonds were Karlstadt’s first priority.”

  “Then you now have the Russians, Deschamps, and Karlstadt after you?”

  “You’ve forgotten the CIA and the Secret Service,” Melissa said from the corner, where she was curled up in a chair. “I find that very encouraging. With those odds, someone is bound to catch up with you.”

  “You can hope,” Travis said. “But maybe if you tell your sister Deschamps is back on the scene, she might change her mind about the Wind Dancer. She might not think the risk is worth it.”

  “I’ll tell her.” She rose to her feet. “But she won’t change her mind, not unless there’s a direct danger to Cassie.”

  “You’re resigned at last?”

  “Hell, no,” she said fiercely. “I’ve accepted only the first step. That doesn’t mean I won’t fight every other step along the way.”

  “I’m sure you will. Then you intend to go with us?”

  “You were hoping I wouldn’t. Sorry. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Galen was frowning as he studied the mug shot. “I think I’ve run across him once. Somewhere in Portugal. Possible?”

  “He didn’t belong to a Portuguese group, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t operate there.” Travis was reading the profile. “He’s a U.S. citizen, but he’s bounced around all over Europe. He’s something of a gourmet. Snazzy dresser . . . has his suits tailored in Rome.” He skipped over a few lines. “His mother divorced h
is father and brought Edward to Paris when he was six. She married Jean Detoile, the owner of an art gallery. Detoile had money and put the kid in a private boarding school. Excellent grades at first, very high IQ. Then, when he was twelve, his stepfather accused him of theft and turned him in to the police. He was in jail for two years.”

  He scanned the rest of the page. “When he came out, he worked the streets—drugs, con games, theft. Evidently, that didn’t pay enough, because he turned hit man by the time he was twenty. He became an expert with surveillance equipment.” He glanced up. “That would correspond with what Jan told me about the bugs in his apartment.” His gaze shifted back to the report. “Then he graduated to terrorism. Worked with a number of groups and then formed his own. It didn’t last long. He was essentially a loner and his team drifted away.”

  “What about his parents?”

  “His mother died when he was in prison. His stepfather was murdered four years after Deschamps was released.”

  “By Deschamps?”

  “Probably. It was never proven. Not one trace of evidence was found. But it was an extremely gory death.” He paused. “It’s interesting that he didn’t kill his stepfather immediately upon his release. He waited and learned and then he moved. Cold-blooded son of a bitch.”

  “But evidently very bright.”

  “Not so bright. The only reason he had for killing Jan was to hurt me.” He added softly, “That mistake is going to cost him.”

  “And you’ll enjoy it,” Melissa said.

  “No doubt about it. Would you like to hear some more about Deschamps? I believe you’d think even I come out pretty good in comparison.”

  She headed for the bedroom. “It would take a mass murderer to make you look good to me.”

  Travis turned to Galen as the door closed behind her. “Do you have enough info here to find him?”

  “If there was enough info here, the CIA or Interpol would have gotten him a long time ago.” He took the report from Travis and scanned it. “He was picked up three times in Paris at different periods in his career. He obviously likes it here. It’s a place to start. I’ll put some feelers out right away. But don’t hold your breath.”

  12:35 A.M.

  “It’s almost time to go, baby,” Jessica whispered. She wrapped the light blanket around Cassie. “It’s going to be exciting. You’re going to see an old friend.” She turned to Melissa. “Travis said we’re leaving Paris right after we go to the museum. He wants everything in the van. Will you make sure I’ve cleaned everything out of the bathroom while I get us a cup of coffee?” She grimaced. “Though I don’t know why I should feel the need for a jolt of caffeine when I’m so nervous.”

  Melissa shook her head. “You’re never nervous.”

  “I am tonight.” Jessica went into the living room, where Travis and Galen waited. “Almost time?”

  Travis nodded. “How’s the little girl?”

  “Awake.”

  “Keep her that way. Otherwise it’s going to be a very expensive nap. Where’s Melissa?”

  “Packing up.” She walked to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. “Where are we going from here?”

  “If this works with Cassie, I’ll settle you and Melissa somewhere safe and let you negotiate terms with Andreas.”

  “Where is somewhere safe?”

  “How do you like the Riviera?” Galen asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been. But it doesn’t sound like a place to hide.”

  “Which is usually the best place.”

  “We have to be on borrowed time anyway. I don’t know why Andreas hasn’t caught up with us yet.”

  “We’ve moved fast, and we’ve had Galen.”

  “And what about terms for you?”

  Travis shook his head. “Andreas won’t be inclined to make any deals with me.”

  “All done.” Melissa came out of the bedroom, carrying the duffels. “Let’s go and get it over with.”

  Poor Mellie. She was so pale and tense that Jessica’s heart ached for her.

  “I’ll bring the van around to the back and make sure there’s no one around.” Galen moved toward the door. “If I don’t phone you, bring Cassie down in five minutes.”

  Jessica handed Melissa the cup of coffee. “Drink it. You look like hell.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “Drink it, Mellie.”

  Melissa smiled faintly. “Yes, ma’am.” She took a few swallows and handed the cup back to her. “Satisfied, Saint Jessica?”

  “Yes.” She turned to Travis. “How do we get Cassie into the museum without being seen? Carrying her around is sure to attract attention.”

  “We park the van in the alley and go in through the back entrance. Galen says the artifacts room is right down the hall.”

  “The guards?”

  “Two, and they’ve been bribed. One at the back entrance and one at the door of the artifacts room. Inside the room is a door leading downstairs to a storage area in the basement. Galen is stationing one of his own men at that door just in case.”

  “Christ, I hope everything goes smoothly.”

  “Jessica . . .”

  Jessica turned to Melissa. Her sister’s eyes were glazed and she took a staggering step forward. “Jessica . . .”

  “Catch her, Travis,” Jessica said.

  Travis sprang forward as Melissa’s knees buckled and she started to fall.

  Melissa’s gaze clung to Jessica’s face in horror. “ No . . . Jessica.”

  “Shh.” Jessica plumped the pillow on the couch. “Don’t worry, Mellie.”

  “Dear God. You don’t know what—” She slumped in Travis’s arms, unconscious.

  “What the hell?” Travis murmured.

  “A sedative in the coffee,” Jessica said. “Put her on the couch.”

  “You drugged her? Why?”

  “This was going to be too hard on her. You saw how upset she was about the Wind Dancer. This way she’ll wake up and it will all be over.” She draped a throw over Melissa. “And there was a possibility she might have interfered. Cassie deserves this chance.”

  Travis gave a low whistle. “You’re pretty damn tough.”

  “You knew she could be a problem. Are you saying you weren’t tempted to do something like this?”

  “I was tempted.” He looked down at Melissa. “But I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It seemed like dirty pool. A fighter like her deserves an even match.” He brushed the hair from Melissa’s forehead. “I like the shrew when she’s not stabbing me with her little poison darts. I decided I’d rather have the problem than the solution.”

  “And I decided to not take the chance and protect both Mellie and Cassie.” Jessica checked her wristwatch. “Time to take Cassie downstairs.”

  “How long will Melissa sleep?” He turned toward the bedroom. “She took only a couple of swallows.”

  “I didn’t expect anything else. I gave her a hefty dose. Four to five hours.” She brushed a loving kiss on Melissa’s cheek and whispered, “It’s for the best. Good night, Mellie.”

  12:45 A.M.

  Paul Guilliame was a thin, graceful, dark-haired man in his late fifties. He was also extremely nervous.

  “Come in. Come in.” He nodded to the guard outside the artifacts room and gestured for them to enter with one fluttering hand. “I must be insane to do this. Four hours. No more.”

  “We’re not pushing it. Just find a chair for the lady,” Galen said. “And then go get a drink to steady your nerves.”

  “I’m not leaving the premises,” Guilliame said. “And what’s that child doing here? You never said anything about a—”

  “The clock’s ticking. If you want us out of here, leave us alone and don’t interfere,” Travis said. “Where’s the Wind Dancer?”

  “On the worktable opposite the sarcophagus.”

  Jessica’s gaze had already fastened on the statue. “My God,” she murmured. “I’v
e seen pictures of it, but it’s different seeing it in person. It’s wonderful.”

  “Where do you want the chair?” Guilliame was carrying one from across the room.

  “A few yards from the statue,” Jessica said.

  He put the chair where she’d indicated and hurried out of the room.

  Jessica sat down and held out her arms. “Put Cassie on my lap, Travis.”

  “I can hold her.”

  “ No.”

  “She trusts me.”

  “But I’m the one who’s been trying to persuade her to come back. You’ve just been a security blanket. I want her to realize that everything’s different now.”

  He placed Cassie on Jessica’s lap, facing the Wind Dancer. “Now what?”

  “We sit and we wait.” She pulled Cassie closer. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. He’s here. He’s so beautiful, it almost makes my heart stop. I can see why you love him so much. Please open your eyes. . . .”

  “He’s here!” Cassie’s cry of joy tore through the haze surrounding Melissa. “I’ve found him. She keeps saying I have to open my eyes to see him, but I know he’s here. You come and we’ll see him together.”

  Darkness. Haze. Lethargy.

  “We can stay here. He’ll keep us safe. She wants me to come out, but we don’t have to. We’ll go deeper. He took me away once. He can do it again. And he’ll come with us. I know he will.”

  She should say something. But she couldn’t think. Why couldn’t she think? The mist was deep and heavy as molasses. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Wind Dancer, silly.”

  Fear jolted through Melissa, tearing the fog. “What?”

  “I told you. He’s here. I’ve found him.”

  Her heart was starting to beat like a jackhammer. “Where?”

  “Jessica brought me to him.”

  Jessica.

  The coffee.

  No!

  “Melissa, come on. I’ve found him, but I don’t want to leave you here. Come with me.”

  She had to open her eyes.

  “Melissa.”

  “Don’t go with him, Cassie.”

  Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes.

  Finally her heavy lids lifted. Blue curtains. The apartment. Hazy. Everything was hazy.

  Sit up. Move.

  Too hard.

  Move.