Chapter 28

28

Eva

Here's the thing about great sex: It's about so much more than just the fucking.

People forget about production value. You have to set the stage. You have to light the lights. Like with an opera, you have to build to a crescendo.

I know sleeping with Jonathan is probably a bad idea, but I can't back down when someone throws down like that:

I think we should have sex again, and then separate.

Is he fucking kidding me? He thinks he can walk away from me without a bullet in his chest? He really doesn't know what he's getting into. But he's about to find out.

I have an extensive knowledge of the male anatomy, especially when it comes to arousal, which is the easiest access point for murder.

If I had to make a list of all the most important parts of a man when it comes to arousal, number one would be his brain. People think that's reserved for women. Women think with their heads; men think with their dicks. Bullshit. Men can disconnect from their heads, sure. They do it all the time, to keep themselves from falling in love. The trick is not to let them. If you can do that, a man will become attached way more quickly than any woman.

Jonathan wears expensive suits and goes to fancy restaurants. He took a tour of Versailles by himself, for fun. He values the appearances of things. He's superficial. He's also pretentious and secretly kind of nerdy.

It's not enough just to fuck him in a luggage rack, or at a fancy hotel. I have to fuck him somewhere unforgettable, somewhere with real cultural significance. I have to fuck him in Versailles.

I know it sounds like overkill, but when you're trying to kill the unkillable, overkill is the only way to go.

—

I excuse myself after the last course. "I have to call my friend and let her know I won't be back tonight. And probably reassure her that you're not going to murder me." I'm teasing, but the look that passes over his face is not lost on me. God. When did things get so treacherous?

I exit the restaurant, cross the street and walk into the Sainte-Apolline Forest. The park is that perfect mix of trash, graffiti and antiquity. I find a quiet place in a shelter of trees and call my handler.

Sherri picks up on the first ring.

"Is everything all right?" She sounds anxious. I feel a shot of uneasiness.

"Everything's fine," I say. "We just finished lunch. And dinner."

"Are you on a date?" she jokes.

I lower my voice, even though I have no reason to. "I told you. It's the guy from the train."

"I know," Sherri says. "I thought we agreed that was a good thing."

"It is and it isn't. Are you sure he's really…" I hesitate. Am I really going to question her intel? Trust is a pretty integral part of our relationship—both personal and professional. I exhale. "He just seems nice," I admit, even though I feel a little pathetic. Maybe I want him to be nice. Maybe I can't see the real him because I kind of like him.

"Remember, someone's threat level is not based only on a physical metric," Sherri says. "There's a mental component, and an emotional one. Sometimes those can be the most dangerous." Her voice gets this cool professionalism when she instructs me, like she has separate personalities: one that is my friend and one that is my boss. "You can do this," she says, sensing my unease. Sherri knows me better than anyone else. Sometimes that feels like a good thing; sometimes it doesn't. "You're the bravest, strongest person I've ever met. I believe in you."

I take a deep breath, pulling myself back together. She's right. I can do this. I have to do this. "There's one teeny, tiny thing I need your help with. I want to break in to Versailles."

"Beg your pardon?"

"It's work related."

"Eva." She sounds a little scoldy, which annoys me. I'm a little on edge, just overall.

"I'm doing the job that no one wants, right? This guy is extremely dangerous, right?"

"So you need to break in to a national monument?" I can sense her smile coming on. This is why we make a good team. We both like to have fun, even when we're committing murder.

"Yes." Short, sweet and to the point. Sherri doesn't need details, especially ones she might try to derail.

Part of me knows this is really, really stupid. Having sex with this guy might create intimacy. It might get him to reveal his weaknesses, or at least his come face, but it's definitely going to make killing him a lot more emotionally complicated.

But a much bigger, much more reckless and convincing part of me thinks, Well, hell. It might help. I mean, isn't it kind of worth a shot?

"What is it that you want to do in Versailles?" Sherri asks.

"My job. Find out his weaknesses."

"And how is that going so far?"

"Guilt. That's his weakness." I start carving into a tree with my fingernail. "He's done something he feels bad about."

"Probably more than one thing."

"Probably." Haven't we all?

"I don't think that's enough," she says.

"Neither do I. Hence Versailles." I stand back to admire the "J" I've carved into the tree. Oops.

I hear Sherri typing. "You're in luck. There's a hotel on the grounds. I can book you a room."

"Perfect. And from there, the Hall of Mirrors."

"Eva," she says again.

"Sherri." I can use names, too. "This is the biggest job we've ever done, right?"

"Right," she agrees begrudgingly.

"The biggest payday?"

"…Yes."

"The biggest challenge?"

"Yes."

I gaze across the road, toward the restaurant where Jonathan is waiting. "So we need to pull out the biggest guns."