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.’‘We should try again.’‘Be my guest.Dial as many times as you like.’ Trent gestured towards the desk phone.‘But your call won’t connect.The first thing the gang will have done is to search him.They’ll have found his phone and destroyed it.They can’t risk being traced.’Alain considered the point for a moment, mouth twisted in thought, then he moved alongside the desk and raised the telephone receiver to his ear.He punched a fast sequence into the keypad and stared at Trent and waited.Then a muscle in his cheek twitched and his lips thinned.He lowered the receiver.‘It bounced straight to his message service,’ he said.‘It’ll stay that way, too.I guarantee it.’Trent was about to say something more, to suggest where they might begin, when he heard the sudden fierce growl of engine noise and the scrabble of tyres on the gravel outside.The bass thump of a stereo was loud and intrusive.Some kind of electro-pop.Alain crossed to one of the curtains and peered outside against the harsh white light.He squinted, a pained expression on his face, as if he’d smelt something foul.‘You’re expecting somebody else?’ Trent asked.Stephanie smiled tightly.She picked at her thumb some more.‘My husband’s son,’ she muttered.The noise of the engine and the brash stereo died at the same instant.A door slammed.Trent heard footsteps on the crushed stone, moving at pace.‘Does he know what’s happened?’‘I contacted him,’ Alain said, allowing the curtain to fall closed.He blinked fast, eyes watering.‘I warned him not to speak to anyone.’‘OK,’ Trent said.He didn’t like what he was hearing, but it wasn’t anything he could change.‘There’ll be tough decisions ahead.His input could be useful.’‘You may hope so,’ Stephanie replied.‘For me, I am not so sure.’Chapter SevenJérôme Moreau’s son didn’t approach by stealth.It took him a long time to jiggle his key into the lock on the front door and he was whistling as he came along the corridor.The tune wasn’t anything Trent might have expected.It was fast and shrill and carefree.The skinny young man who burst into the room wasn’t anything Trent might have expected, either.He was drunk or high or possibly both.He swayed as he entered, his stringy arms flailing loosely from a colourful Hawaiian shirt.He wore a dazed grin beneath a mop of sun-bleached hair and he clapped Alain on the shoulder before swerving past Trent and staggering towards a drinks cabinet on the far side of the room.He grabbed a cut-glass decanter of whisky and poured a generous measure into a tumbler.He lifted the glass to his face and sniffed it, then wrinkled his nose.He experimented with a taste, recoiled dramatically, and slammed the tumbler back down.He added ice cubes to the mix.Took a larger sip.Hummed in satisfaction.‘Philippe?’He spun around at the sound of Stephanie’s voice and covered his heart with his hand, as if he’d been spooked by a ghost.‘Maman! ’ He summoned a dramatic bow.‘Sit down, Philippe.’‘As you wish, maman.’He rotated his hand at the wrist in a flourish and dropped into the tan leather chesterfield.His body jolted with the impact and he spilt alcohol on his lap.He chuckled stupidly, as if delighted by the moist patch that had appeared on his jeans.‘You’re drunk,’ Stephanie said, and her tone suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d said those words to him.He swayed at the waist, spluttering with laughter.‘He’s no use to us like this,’ Trent said, voice hard.‘You understand that I’m not his mother.’ Stephanie gave Philippe a withering look.‘We’re almost the same age.Something he resents almost as much as my marriage to his father.’Philippe raised his glass to Trent.‘And you are.?’‘The negotiator,’ he said, and told him his name.‘I’m here to help get your father back alive.’‘An expert.’ Philippe’s teeth chipped off the edge of his tumbler.‘Just like Alain.He’s the expert who keeps my father safe.’Trent turned to Alain.The bodyguard hadn’t moved since Philippe had stepped into the room.His large hands were buried deep inside his trouser pockets, tendons standing out like thick cords on his forearms.His jaw was clenched, his face betraying neither disapproval nor surprise.‘You let him talk to you this way?’ Trent asked.‘He’s the son of my employer.’‘And if he wasn’t?’Alain relaxed for an instant.Just the idea of it gave him a wistful, faraway look.Trent returned his attention to Philippe.He folded his arms across his chest.Summoned his full height.He was just over six feet tall.Athletically built and physically fit.He couldn’t match Alain for physical presence but he could cut an imposing figure when the situation demanded it.Especially when the guy he was aiming to impose himself on was drunk or stoned.Especially when the guy in question was sitting down and Trent was standing up [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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