Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Sucking in a deep breath that smelled of too many people and trains, he coughed and forced himself to slow his gait. He needed to blend. No one was chasing him. Angel had made his warning clear. Leave Paris. There was no reason for Angel to come after him. He was safe. Everything was fine.
He stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and adjusted the strap on his bag so that it rested more comfortably across his chest and shoulder. The small black duffel bag had served him well over the years. It was big enough to hold several days of clothes and had enough hidden compartments to conceal the equipment he needed for jobs. All while remaining light enough to allow him to move quickly when he needed to.
The scent of bread and meat wafted across his nose, rising above the other smells in the train station. His stomach gave a pathetic gurgle as hunger warred with his nerves. After Angel had left the hotel room, Soren had packed and then forced himself to catch a few hours of sleep. There had been no point in leaving right behind the strange man simply because there were no ways out of the city unless he planned to steal a car. The trains from most of the stations didn’t start heading out of Paris until six or seven in the morning.
But as he left the hotel, he’d been in no mood to stop for food. His mind had been full of train schedules and a burning need to put more distance between him and the dark shadow that had stood in his room.
How could Angel be the same man who’d looked at him so coldly? The same man who’d carried a gun and held a knife balanced on his fingers like it was an extension of his body? He was so young. What could have happened to him that brought him to make the choice to take a life?
No, he couldn’t think about that.
Most people would take one look at him and wonder what course he’d taken through life to bring him to choose the career that he had. It hadn’t been a particularly straight path, but despite all its twists, turns, and dead ends, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
And if he wanted to keep doing it, he needed to get the fuck out of Paris.
Which was a shame, because he really liked Paris. But after this escapade, it was going to be a long time before he returned to Paris if he could help it.
Brussels would be good. He’d been there a few times. At least, enough to know where all the heavy tourist areas were. He’d get a hotel room and hide among the crowds for a few days. The food was delicious too. After a few good meals and some sleep, he’d be able to think more clearly, make some solid plans about what to do next.
If this job didn’t pull itself out of the toilet soon, he’d grab the hard drive and go off the grid for a little while. Maybe even see what was on the damn thing so he could determine if there was another potential buyer for it. Options. He still had plenty of options.
Muscles in his chest eased and some of the tension drained away, making it easier for him to breathe. Last night was nothing. A blip on the screen.
He still had some time before they started boarding his train on platform seven. He could grab something small for breakfast and at least a cup of coffee. After snagging a hotel in Brussels, he’d be able to find something more substantial.
Lifting his head to see above the crowd, he scanned the signs and front of shops, searching for the place that was most likely the source of the delicious smell he’d caught earlier. Gare du Nord was a beautiful train station. Built during the late nineteenth century, the place was filled with elegant curling ironwork, romantic lamps, and large windows that allowed natural light to pour into the station. There was an old-world romantic charm to the place that conjured mental images of black-and-white movies of two lovers being parted as one person boarded a train while another remained behind to wave from the platform as a cloud of smoke or steam enveloped them.
Sadly, some of that romantic charm was lost to the shuffle of people dressed in bright colors and all talking at once. They crowded the main thoroughfares, dragging roller bags and whining children behind them. It was a mix of people in suits heading to work and tourists, but it looked as if the majority were people on vacation heading to other places around France and Europe.
But it was still a glimpse of the romantic. Americans missed out on something special by not making train travel a regular part of their lives. In another life, it might have been nice to stroll through the Gare du Nord with Angel, their fingers entwined as they chatted happily while heading to their platform, thoughts occupied with their plans for vacation in Frankfurt or Zürich or maybe Amsterdam.