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)
It wasn’t to be. He was better off concentrating on food.
As he skimmed over faces, trying to find something that would work for a quick breakfast, his heart skipped when his gaze snagged on a short, slender man wearing jeans and a baggy T-shirt. His face was mostly hidden by the bill of the plain black ball cap, but platinum-blond hair was sneaking out from beneath the hat.
It couldn’t be. No. No. No. No. He wouldn’t…
He turned his face toward Soren, eyes sharpened, and a mouth that he knew too well tilted up in a wicked grin. Angel was here.
In the blink of an eye, Angel ducked his head and plunged into a crowd of people. Soren pushed up on the tips of his toes, trying to spot Angel again as he stared over the crowd, but it was as if the man had opened his own portal, instantly disappearing from sight.
Swearing to himself, Soren forgot about plans for breakfast and immediately jumped into the mob, heading toward platform seven. If he was lucky, Angel wasn’t actually looking for him. Just another weird coincidence. He’d lose the man in the throng of people and get safely on his train. No more Paris. No more crazy, sexy man threatening him.
He wove through the crowd, dodging chatting couples, frustrated parents, and slow-moving octogenarians shuffling toward their trains. He became water threading its way between rocks and detritus that tried to hinder him. But he didn’t get far.
As he turned left, heading past the shop that offered amazing smelling breakfast, Angel appeared, that same wicked grin spread across his lips. Soren stopped short and mutely blinked at him. There was no makeup highlighting his eyes and accenting his lips. It was like seeing only a shadow of the man he’d known the previous two days. His traitorous brain briefly wondered if he was looking at the real Angel or if this was just another face he presented to the world.
“I’m leaving,” he snarled before Angel could speak. “This is the first train I could catch.”
Angel smiled at his surly tone. “It seems we have a new problem. I need you to come with me.”
“No, I don’t. I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not, Nick Grant.”
The breath froze in Soren’s lungs, and his heart lurched to a painful stop. Angel knew that name, knew who he was. Or, rather, his alter ego. That couldn’t possibly be good. There was no way he was a contact for this stupid job. He would have been told by his buyer. No, this was something else, and he needed to get out of there now.
Angel reached for him, but Soren jerked his arm away and spun on the balls of his feet, launching himself through the crowd, away from the train platforms. There was no reason to go in that direction. They weren’t boarding his train yet, and it was only a dead end. He had to get out of the Gare du Nord and disappear into the busy streets of Paris.
Angel might have youth on his side, but Soren was no slouch. He had the benefit of longer legs and significant training for this kind of thing. He cut through the crowds where he could and when it became too thick, he simply went over them. Years of rock climbing as well as climbing other difficult surfaces mixed with ample parkour running had left him able to conquer nearly any and all terrains. The city was his playground, and Angel didn’t stand a chance of keeping up with him.
He dodged passengers and porters, leaping over low walls and even using the overhead beams to propel him ahead of the crowds and away from Angel. He glanced over his shoulder for only a second as he reached the main doors to find Angel steadily chasing after him, weaving through the people with his slimmer frame.
Soren busted outside and didn’t stop as he crossed through the barrage of cars passing in front of the station. He darted away from the metro station entrance. If he didn’t time the metro just right, he’d be running into another potential dead end. No, it was easier to disappear in the twisting warren of streets and alleys. Paris was enormous, and it wouldn’t take him long to lose the killer trying to catch up to him.
Horns honked and tires squealed angrily on the asphalt, but he didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He didn’t know Paris as well as some of the other European cities. He would run down one street after another, but if he really wanted to lose Angel, he needed to head up and inside. Find a good hiding place.
Nothing was presenting itself. He switched to some quieter side streets, but he felt like he stood out too much thanks to a lack of foot traffic, so he switched over to the busier streets. But that didn’t feel any better. As he vaulted over a fence into what turned out to be a private parking area, he glanced over his shoulder to see Angel steadily gaining on him. The bastard probably knew this city like the back of his goddamn hand.