Across the street, the apartment building’s entrance remained closed, secured in place by an electronic lock. One she’d ordinarily bypass with ease if she had her bag of equipment on her. For now, she’d have to fall back on more primitive measures.

  It was already dark and close to dinner time, which meant it won’t be too long before takeout deliveries would present the opportune time for her to sneak in with an unsuspecting delivery guy.

  It took hardly any time at all before the first delivery car pulled up in front of the building, and she quickly made her way across the street. Beating the youngster to the door, she pretended to be preoccupied on her phone, letting him go ahead of her when his client buzzed him in before she sneaked in behind him. Four flights of stairs later, she stood outside the door that belonged to Gustav’s parole officer. With the hallways clear on both sides, she curled her hand around the grip of her gun, keeping it hidden in the small of her back.

  She knocked twice, called out, “Delivery for Bernárd,” then waited, her head bowed.

  From the other side of the door she heard shuffling, then a pause as the man looked through the peephole.

  “I didn’t order anything,” his voice came back.

  “This is apartment four twenty-six, is it not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you are Bernárd de La Fontaine, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have a delivery. I need you to sign, please?”

  She heard the door chain drop before his hand moved over the lock to open the door. The instant the door opened, Jorja threw her full weight onto the door, pushing Bernárd to the ground as she forced her way inside his apartment. Before he had a chance to fight her off, she had already shut the door behind them and pinned him to the wall with her gun aimed at his chest.

  “Give me what I need and you won’t get hurt,” she said calmly.

  “You can take my wallet, there, on the table. Take anything,” Bernárd said.

  “I’m not here to rob you. I need a name.”

  “Fine, whatever you need,” he agreed.

  “I need the name and address of the man who shared a prison cell with Gustav Züber.”

  “How should I know who his cellmate was? I was his parole officer, not his prison guard.”

  “Get up,” Jorja commanded, then pointed the gun toward his face.

  Bernárd did as he was told. “Who are you, and why do you want his name?” he bravely asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just do as you’re told and you won’t die.”

  Once again, he did as she instructed.

  “Where’s your computer? I know you have access to the database, so get cracking. The quicker you give me the information, the quicker I leave.”

  He jutted his chin out toward the cross-shoulder laptop bag that rested on the floor next to a lime green sofa in the next room.

  “Get it, slowly.”

  The man moved to pick up the bag, then, as he stood up, swung the bag back, intending to hit the gun from her hand. But his maneuver was too slow for Jorja whose experience had already prepared her for it and, with her other hand, she caught onto the bag’s strap and twisted it around the man’s hand. As she did so, she thrust her heel into the back of his knee while bending his arm flush against his back. As he hunched forward in pain, she planted his face firmly into the lime green cushions.

  The man groaned as his head hit the sofa.

  “I warned you not to do anything stupid. Try that again and you’ll end up with a broken arm. Got it?”

  He nodded.

  “Now, open it up and get me that name and address.”

  * * *

  When Bernárd eventually handed the cellmate’s information to her, she used the back of her gun to render him unconscious, stuffed a sock inside his mouth and hogtied his hands and feet before locking him inside his bathroom. Shutting the apartment door behind her, she struggled to contain the wretched feeling that seemed as if her insides had ignited and threatened to burn her alive. Once outside, she ran as far away from the building as she could, desperate to rid her body from whatever evil was inside her. When she finally stopped at the edge of a small public play area, tears were already running down her face. She hated every moment of what she’d just done. It wasn’t who she was anymore and having to force herself to become that hateful person made her sick to the stomach.

  Hunched over with her hands on her knees, she retched in the nearby bushes, her body convulsing as if she tried to rid it from the evil she now felt was slowly sneaking back into her life.

  And there was no stopping it.

  In the quiet corner of the playground, she fell on her knees and lifted her eyes to the starry night above. I can’t do this, God. Don’t make me do this, please. Her prayerful pleas echoed inside her heart, aching as she begged with God to save her from herself. But, deep down, she already knew that there was no other way and that it was what was necessary if she were to save Ben’s life.

  As the tears slowly faded, and her thoughts became clearer, she looked at the piece of paper Bernárd had given her. She had the name and address she needed but below that, he had written ‘Burn in Hell!’ in big, bold letters. The cursing words stung. She was nothing like Sokolov and Gustav. She wasn’t evil, not anymore. If only he knew she was on his side of the law. If only he knew why she was doing this.

  With numb fingers she tore the words away from the address and scrunched the paper into a small ball before tossing it into the bushes. Her mobile buzzed inside her pocket, forcing her attention away from the self-pity that had suddenly overwhelmed her with fear. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she read the message. It was Andre, sending the details of where she would find her passport: St Pierre’s Cathedral, left aisle, eighth pew from the front. The time stated 10 p.m. She texted him back to thank him then checked the time on her watch. She had less than an hour to get to the church. The inmate would have to wait for now. Not only was the address located in another city, she also sensed getting him to talk might not be as easy as she was hoping it would be. And with Bernárd knocked out and tied up, it was safe to say he wouldn’t manage to free himself in time to warn the guy she was coming for him. Besides, the mere thought of going to a church instead was far more appealing and, as relief washed over her and her heart overruled her mind, her insides instantly warmed to the sudden change of plans. It was precisely the thing she needed now most. A time to soak in God’s presence, to seek His forgiveness once again, and to draw new strength to continue with her mission.

  * * *

  Out of money and without transport, the walk took longer than she had hoped it would. Along the way she had contemplated stealing a car, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She had already decided that she would only do what was absolutely necessary to complete her mission. Nothing more and nothing less, just enough to do what needed to be done to save Ben from Satan’s clutches—and help her keep her soul.

  By the time she reached the banks of the river, her feet ached. In the distance, she heard the first church bell echo into the darkness, marking the time as ten o’clock. She stepped up her pace, navigating the uneven cobbled stones with difficulty, nearly twisting her ankle twice in her haste. Anxious that she’d miss the meet-up, she settled into a light jog and ran faster toward the street that would take her to the church. As she rounded the corner, her body took on a momentum of its own. Unable to stop in time, she crashed into a man, his body hard as steel against hers. The impact thrust her back and pushed her off her feet, delivering her with a thud onto the ground in front of him. With one eye on the church tower’s clock, she peeled herself off the ground, accepting the stranger’s hand to help her to her feet. Her hand easily disappeared into his and she noticed the small tattoo inside his wrist when his black cashmere sleeve pulled away just enough to reveal it.

  “I am so sorry, madame,” his warm voice brought her eyes to his. “Are you hurt?”

  His face was friendly, and she found herself almost fully mesmerized by his strikingly handsome features. Behind him, the last bell chimed and she caught herself having to force herself to let go of his hand. Ignoring his questions, she rushed toward the church without answering or looking back. From behind, she heard the man call out to her again, asking if she was okay, apologizing for bumping into her. But she brushed it off and ran up the large steps before disappearing behind the heavy wood-carved doors of the church.

  Chapter Ten

  The church was as soothing to her soul as she had ached for it to be and the soft glow of candlelight wrapped like a cozy blanket around her. She found the designated row of pews easily and slowly moved toward it, noticing the young, black man who sat sideways in one of the pews two rows behind it, his eyes on the entrance.

  As soon as he saw her, he got to his feet and shuffled into the aisle ahead of her, brushing past her as she got closer. The young male’s head tilted ever so slightly into a nod, silently acknowledging their secret connection. Once he left, she paused next to the row of seats, casting a watchful eye throughout the church. Relieved that it was entirely empty, she slipped into her allotted seat. The silence was welcoming and she drank in the holy atmosphere, basking in the safety it brought her. She could flop over onto the bench and stay there all night, she thought, as exhaustion suddenly caught up with her.

  But sleeping wasn’t an option right now. Time waited for no one and she was nowhere close to locating the painting—not to mention stealing it.

  Once more she looked over her shoulder, making sure it was safe before her hand reached beneath her pew, patting the space underneath her seat. Her fingers found the envelope quickly and she pulled it away from the wood, then reached inside to remove its contents. Her lips curled into a smile when she found a printout of a nearby hotel reservation along with a note. She recognized Andre’s handwriting that read, ’Sleep is the key to winning the battle’. She instantly knew what his words meant, grateful that he had, once again, gone the extra mile for her.

  The hotel was around the corner, one of the more exclusive ones that offered a view across the river. He’d always chosen the best hotels when she was on a job somewhere, claiming she’d be more productive in a pleasant environment.

  She slipped the envelope inside her jacket, securing it next to the piece of paper with the cellmate’s address on. She snuck a quick glance at the scribbled information before she buried it back inside her pocket. As she took a few more moments pondering on what lay ahead, a new plan slowly took shape in her head. Perhaps there was a way to get the information she needed from Gustav’s cellmate without having to use violence. Perhaps she could bribe him with money instead. And, judging from his address, she suspected money would have him singing like a canary in no time.

  From the dark shadows behind the thick columns in the back of the church, Pascale watched in silence. He had seen something in the woman’s eyes, something that caught his attention, made him sense there was something different about her. Perhaps it was curiosity over why she needed to get to the church so badly, or perhaps his instincts were trying to tell him something. He’d been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.

  And then there was the young man who left moments after she had walked in. He had only caught a glimpse but he had seen the look in his eyes, as if he’d recognized her, as if he’d been waiting for her. Why? Who was he?

  When the woman looked over her shoulder, she nearly caught sight of him, and Pascale quickly ducked behind the column, careful not to make a sound. When he was sure she hadn’t seen him, he slowly stepped out again. Once more, his eyes found her and he saw her hunched over, her arm searching for something on the floor. In the hollow echoes of the church, he could hear the rustling of paper and leaned out a bit more, trying to get a better look. But it was impossible without compromising his position. From where he stood, hidden from her, he could only see the back of her head, tipped forward as if she was praying. Guilt set in and he suddenly wondered if he’d seen something that wasn’t there. Might it simply be a widow, grieving the loss of her spouse or her child? Perhaps his meeting with Gerard had his head in a tizzy, blinded by desperation, tainted by the conversations over the painting. It wouldn’t be the first time his emotions clouded his judgement, and it was entirely possible that he’d found this poor woman suspicious only because his mind was already focused on finding the mystery woman they had encountered in Züber’s house.

  Concluding that it was all just a big misunderstanding on his part, he snuck toward the exit, determined not to fall into the trap of suspecting every beautiful woman he crossed paths with again.

  As Jorja soaked up the last bit of holy sustenance she desperately needed, the door to the church echoed loudly into the quiet space around her. She turned to see who had come into the church but saw no one. It made her nervous and she was suddenly reminded of the dangerous game she was a part of. Wasting no time, she jumped up and set off toward the exit. Andre had taken care of everything. He was right. She needed to rest, plan ahead. Fear had her paranoid and not thinking clearly. She had time. She’d find a way. She would get to the bank in the morning, and once Gustav’s cellmate told her where the painting was, she’d do whatever she needed to do to steal it…and get Ben back.

  * * *

  Outside, the streets were quiet and she hurried to the hotel, suddenly more vigilant of being followed than before. She was exhausted, but letting her guard down now could cost her everything. Satisfied she wasn’t followed, she entered the hotel and made her way to the front desk, presenting the reservation number to the friendly girl who instantly greeted her with a red-lipped smile.

  “Ah, yes, mademoiselle, we’ve been expecting you. Your luggage is already in your room. I will have the kitchen prepare your evening meal right away and send it up as soon as possible. Is there anything else you require tonight?”

  “No thanks. I’m sure everything is fine.” She thanked the desk clerk and followed the concierge to the elevator.

  “Thanks, I’ll take it from here,” she told the concierge when he tried stepping into the elevator.

  “Of course, mademoiselle.”

  Preparation was vital and, though she knew Andre’s meticulous planning would have made sure her room had a proper exit strategy in place, she wanted to make sure she was prepared for every eventuality. So, when the elevator delivered her to the top floor, she found the service elevator a short walk away from her room along with the stairs to the rooftop. Two additional exits, over and above the normal stairwell, brought her instant peace, and she made her way back to her room.

  As informed, her luggage was already in the room. The single luxury titanium suitcase stood at the foot of her bed and she quickly moved to open it. The combination was the same number they’d always used and her fingers glided over the numbered dials before it sprung open. Scooping the items of clothing Andre had bought for her onto the bed, her attention quickly moved to the base, where she tapped the keycard against one of the corners. As expected, the mechanism clicked open and she relished in the memory it brought. The clever idea was Ben’s, which he had invented during one of their more complicated robberies. He had designed the tech to synchronize with the hotel’s door key the moment they wheeled the luggage past the door. The process took less than a second and they had used it many times in the past to sneak illegal items past security.

  The hidden compartment in the base of the suitcase lifted easily and she picked up the items that were buried beneath the false bottom.

  A new passport bearing the same identity she always used whenever she was in Geneva, a small pearl-handle revolver along with its dual use thigh or ankle holster, a pair of black gloves, a set of lock picks, sunglasses, and a digital code-grabbing device.

  Andre had considered everything, she thought, as she stared at the items on the foot of her bed. But, as she transferred the items back into the hidden compartment, she couldn’t stop the doubt that settled in the back of her mind. It had been so long since she used any of these tools, since she had to steal a painting. What if she’d forgotten how to do it? What if, this time, she was reckless and got caught? What if she couldn’t deliver Ben’s ransom and Sokolov killed him?

  She shut the case, hoping to shut her mind to the questions that now tormented her weary soul along with it. In the window opposite her, she caught her reflection, barely recognizing the timid-looking woman it belonged to. Behind her image, the city lights lined the banks of the glistening river that snaked past the hotel. Like the mighty waters of the Red Sea, she’d need to cross it to survive, to save Ben, to save herself. And just like Moses, she’d have to place her trust in God, even if she hadn’t fully come to know His power yet.

  She looked away from the river, up into the night sky, and spotted a dark cloud. Its edges were lined with the silvery glow of the full moon’s light that lay hidden behind it. Taking it as a sign that God was indeed in control, she dropped back onto the bed, her eyes fixed on its beauty as she drifted off into a peaceful night’s sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jorja settled into the blue-and-red striped seat onboard the train. She plopped her pastry and takeaway coffee atop the small table in front of her. Glancing at her wristwatch, she knew from having scanned the electronic timetable earlier that the train wouldn’t leave for another seven minutes, and she rested her head back against the headrest.