Noble Intentions: Season Four (4 page)

"A friend."

"We went from England to Rome to Barcelona and then Paris just so you could see a friend?"

Bear said nothing as they passed the locked iron gate.

"And why are we walking past? Didn't you call first?"

"Pipe down, Mandy."

"Whatever."

He reached out in front of her and they both stopped. She leaned back against the wall. He faced her. Her eyes darted left and right and back again,
studying the faces that passed. It was like Bear had eyes in the back of his head now.

"Listen," he said. "That door needs a key on both sides. Got it? You can't let it fall shut once you get through."

"How am I going to get through?"

"We've gotta wait. As soon as someone enters or exits, you catch the gate at the last moment and go through. But make sure it rests against the frame. OK?"

"OK."

"All right, go."

Bear watched the girl trot thirty feet away and stop near the gate. They didn't have to wait more than fifteen minutes for it to open. An older woman
glanced down and smiled at Mandy as she exited onto the sidewalk. Even held the gate for the girl. Bear overheard Mandy thank the woman in French. Iron
hinges grated as the gate swung shut, but instead of a rattling as the lock engaged, metal softly clanked against metal.

Bear waited a minute, then walked toward the gate. Mandy stood on the other side.

"Papa," she said in her French accent, and she swung the gate open.

Bear grabbed hold and stepped through, carefully resetting the gate against the lock, but not engaging it.

He followed the stone sidewalk through the complex until they reached Kat's building. The mist had driven everyone, even the cats, inside. Not even the
bravest of children were out today. The playground equipment stood barren. Wind blew the swings back and forth. Bear stopped in front of the weathered
door. Paint littered the stoop like lead snow. With a push, it opened silently on well-oiled hinges. The mustiness of the foyer caused Mandy to sneeze. The
sound echoed up and down the stairwell.

They climbed the stairs. Bear three at a time. Mandy running to keep up. Her wheezing returned. Bear slowed down, but it didn't help. Each of the floors
had different tiling. On Kat's level, it was a blue and pink paisley design. Of all things, that was what Bear had committed to memory. They reached the
floor, and Bear led the way down the narrow hallway. He stopped at the corner before Kat's apartment.

"Why are we waiting here?" Mandy asked.

"Just a minute, all right?" He didn't want to tell her he had to gather up the nerve to knock on the door and face Kat. It wasn't only feelings he had for
her. It was the guilt of Pierre taking the bullets that had been meant for him.

She shrugged. "Whatever. Just curious."

Bear took a deep breath, looked down at Mandy and stepped into the hallway.

"Shit."

Mandy maneuvered around him. "What?"

The door sat ajar a half-inch. Dull light knifed through the crack and created a long, narrow finger along the hallway floor. He approached. Stopped.
Listened. Heard nothing. Bear glanced over his shoulder and spotted a fire extinguisher that looked like it had been in the place since the seventies. The
instruction tag had turned a lifeless yellow color. He grabbed the extinguisher from the wall and returned to the door.

"Go wait down the hall, Mandy."

She shook her head, clutched both hands in front of her chest and inched closer.

"Go."

She didn't back down.

"Dammit, kid. All right, stay behind me. Not kidding, right behind me." He used his foot to nudge the door open further.

And the apartment was empty.

New York City.

THE BLISTERING HEAT and ninety-five percent humidity drove all but the diehards inside by the time mid-day hit. Jack was no exception. He returned to
his apartment and holed up for the rest of the afternoon. Sleep over the past four weeks had been broken due to recurring images of two women who had been
a part of his life and were now gone forever. After the first two weeks, he regularly had to make up for the lack of rest during the day. That was the case
again as he slept through the hottest part of the afternoon and woke around six in the evening. A glance at his phone told him the temperature still
hovered in the low nineties. At least his east-facing unit provided some shelter from the afternoon rays. All he needed was a solid breeze to keep the
stifling air moving.

He glanced out the bedroom window. Long shadows blocked out the crowded city streets below. It'd be three hours before the sunlight gave way to artificial
illumination. Then the streets would come to life once again.

Moving to the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee. Not even the heat could stop him from consuming the drink. The process was tedious but necessary. He'd
considered purchasing one of those new single-serve machines, but it went against his general philosophy of sticking with what works.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, he checked his phone for missed calls.

There was one. He returned it.

Erin answered on the third double-toned ring and mumbled something into the phone.

"Sorry to call so late," he said. "I can try again when it's morning in London."

"I'm still up. Was just about to go to bed, but I can spare a few more minutes."

"Is Mia OK?"

"She's fine. Misses you, though. Been asking about you every day."

"Tell her I miss her."

"Do you? I mean, do you really? I don't want to build you up to her, only for her to have to tear down this image when you drop off the face of the earth."

Jack took a deep breath in order to reply civilly. Years ago, before he knew Erin was pregnant, Jack broke off their relationship and disappeared. He'd
feared for her safety, like he did for everyone close to him. It wasn't until recently that he saw her and discovered he had a child.

"Erin, what happened seven years ago is in the past. I've changed. My priorities have changed. I'm only over here because I want to make sure that
everything is behind me. So far, no one has come seeking me out. I care about her. And you. I want to make things right. Even if you and I can't be
together, the three of us can be a family in some fashion."

The coffeemaker roared like an approaching squall as the final stream of brew was expelled. Jack poured a cup, the aroma filling his nose, his mouth
watering. He recalled an early date with Erin, shortly after Dottie had introduced them, at a cafe in Paris.

"Anyway," he said. "Did you call to fuss me out, or was there something else?"

"We're leaving on holiday to Tenerife tomorrow."

"How long will you be out of touch?"

"Well, a couple weeks I suppose, but I don't want us to be out of touch. I'd like for you to come join us. For a little while, anyway. There'll be none of
the madness that is London. Now, I know that you might not be inclined to fly on your own passport after what happened in Florida."

"I've got others. Clean ones that no one knows about. Plus, I can get Sasha to check for me and see if my profile is flagged."

Erin started to speak and stopped mid-word. She had something to say about Sasha. She always did. Though there was nothing romantic between Jack and Sasha,
Erin had vocalized her concerns on more than one occasion, despite Jack's claims of it only being a working relationship.

"Right," she said. "Well, do you think you'll make the trip?"

Jack took a sip from his mug, set it on the counter, then turned and walked to the other side of the room. He opened a door and stepped out onto the
six-foot-wide balcony. Wind pushed the humid air around. It didn't make the difference he'd hoped for. Sweat formed on his brow the instant he set foot
outside. If he was going to endure this kind of weather, might as well do it on a beach somewhere secluded from stalking shadows.

"Yeah," he said, "I think I will. I need to tie up a few things here first, so maybe I can catch a flight on Sunday or Monday. How long do you plan to be
there?"

"We own the condo, so as long as we want, I suppose."

"Who else knows?"

"Outside of Mia and me? Only Hannah, and she's coming along."

Jack had met Hannah earlier by coincidence after landing at Heathrow. Turned out she was the nanny of the daughter he hadn't yet learned of.

"OK," Jack said. "You know how to reach me if anything changes."

After ending the call, Jack stepped back inside the chilled apartment and finished his coffee. The itch to head outside was strong, but he remained, opting
to make his own dinner. As the ribeye sizzled in the frying pan amid a swirling sea of butter and olive oil, he thought back to the meeting that took place
earlier that day. The setting had caught him off-guard. How much had he missed in the darkened room? There could have been someone in the other corner,
waiting for a signal or code word, which if triggered, might've spelled the end for Jack. The meeting might have been a setup for some other purpose. Or
maybe it was legit. Either way, something he did or said compelled the older man to call it off.

And there was someone who might know.

Jack cooked the steak up to medium-rare, added a layer of salt and pepper, then sat down to eat. When the meal was finished and his beer half-emptied, he
pulled out his phone and navigated through four screens until he reached his contact list. With a tap on the screen, the phone dialed a number that Jack
had manually entered hundreds of times in the past decade. Technology made it easier, but the process still took the same amount of time. He considered
himself a reluctant convert at this point.

"That really you, Jack?"

"Brandon, my man, how've you been?"

"All right, I guess. Holed up for a bit, but for the most part I'm hanging in there. Doing more crypto stuff lately. Even got myself a legit business going
on the
interwebs
. Oh, and I started this new therapy that is supposed to stop the progression of this damn condition. Found a forum with others
who've done it and some noted that it reversed it a bit. Might be able to use my legs again one day, man."

"That sounds great."

"Sure it does." Brandon paused, then added, "So what brought you out of the oil fields?"

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Someone reached out to me about security. Supposed to be a flamboyant millionaire, but nothing screamed flamboyant about the guy. Turned out to be a merc.
Former SEAL. Figured the contact might have come through you somehow. Seeing as how the guy has a Spec Ops background, figured he might've spent some time
in the intelligence community."

"Nah, man, it's been a while since someone asked me about you. And even if someone had, I'd have given them my standard answer of I don't know nothing
about no Jack Noble. Anyway, you got an address, or did you meet at a restaurant or library or something?"

"Library?"

"Why not?"

"Never occurred to me to set up a meeting in the library. Kids, I guess. We met in his condo." Jack found the address and read it to Brandon. "See what you
can find."

"Hold on just a moment, my good sir."

While Brandon searched a myriad of databases, Jack considered who else might have been involved with providing the guy he met with his contact information.
There were plenty of people he'd worked with over the years. Few knew his whereabouts at the moment.

"This guy say that was his place?"

"It was inferred."

"He lied."

"What?"

"Some guy in South Carolina owns that unit, man. Rents it out through some kind of stay-at-my-place-for-the-night website. People who don't like hotels can
rent someone else's apartment for a day or two, or even longer, I guess. That place is booked for a solid six months."

"So this was either the guy from South Carolina, or someone who rented the room. You're saying that it's booked solid, and probably has been up 'til now.
In which case, they would have had to have known they were coming for some time. Impossible, given my status over the past six months." He paused to
consider the possibilities. "Can you send me the owner's details? I might have to follow up with him to find out who he rented to."

"Sure can. I'll even do a search to see if the name flags in any databases." Brandon tapped on his keyboard. "He's got a service record, but according to
this, he's been out for a long ass time."

Jack gave Brandon an email address to send the information. Like a call to his phone number, the email routed through multiple addresses and servers before
reaching the final destination. After they ended the call, he pulled up the message and read the contents. The condo belonged to a John C. Merrick. Little
River, South Carolina. No address. No phone number. Maybe Brandon was still working on that part.

He consulted a map and determined that Little River was about ten miles north of Myrtle Beach, located on the North Carolina border. Worst case, he could
fly into Charleston, get a car, and be in town in forty-five minutes. From there, a little investigation would turn up the man's address.

He tried the contact number he'd been given when the original meeting between him and who he thought was a millionaire had been arranged. The line rang
once, then disconnected to dead air. Second attempt yielded the same results.

Someone was already covering tracks.

A trip to South Carolina would be in order. He decided to get through Friday first, then fly out Saturday morning.

Upstate New York.

THE LAST TRACES of sunlight passed through pinpricks between the multitudes of leaves, providing little light by the time they reached the BMW. The bag
on Paolo's head prevented him from seeing the sunset. But he knew it was there. He'd counted the seconds since they laid him down in the backseat with the
threat of "sit up and we'll shoot you in the car and leave you in a ditch."

Perhaps the other two captains, Endrizzi and Milano, had plans to let him go. Why else keep him alive so long? Their soft chatter filtered from the front
seat. They said nothing important since leaving Charles's office eight hours ago. They hadn't been driving the entire time. First, the men took him to
Milano's house. They tied Paolo up with cord and duct tape and left him in the sweltering garage. Temperatures that had to reach the mid one-twenties left
him drenched in sweat. The pain from his broken nose and split forehead had caused him to black out and lose track of time. He'd only managed to catch a
glimpse at Endrizzi's Omega moments before they placed the hood over his head, then brought him inside the house. The air conditioning coated his soaked
body. But it didn't last long. A minute later, one of them dragged him back into the garage. Only this time, he walked through a thick cloud of exhaust
toward the purring engine of the BMW.