“No thanks. I’d barf it up if I ate it. My stomach is in knots.”

“Well, mine isn’t, and I make good sandwiches. You need to calm down and relax. You’ll give yourself a coronary.” Stacey bit into her sandwich and rolled her eyes. It was all lost on poor Jason, who was busily drawing a map on a strip of paper toweling.

Stacey popped a can of Dr Pepper and took a long gulp. “How will I let you know I have them safe at the house?”

“Tomorrow morning in this break room, that’s how. Soon as we report in in the morning. I will just assume you made it safe and sound. If there is a problem or something goes awry, then call this number. I just got it. Here’s the number,” he said, writing it on the map he was making. “Only call the number if something goes wrong. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Listen, don’t follow me out. Wait at least ten minutes. I have to be back on the pavilion. Today, I hate this job. Good luck, and thanks, Stacey.”

“No problem. See ya in the morning. Hey, what about food and stuff?”

“You gotta do it all for them. Make sure you stress to them they are not to leave the house.”

“Okay. Okay, Jason. Please, relax, it’s going to be okay. I got you covered.”

Chapter 9

A look of disgust on his face, Jack looked over at Harry, who sported the same look of disgust. They’d arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, were picked up the moment they stepped outside by a man in a chauffeur’s uniform who did not speak one word of English. He held up a placard with Jack’s and Harry’s names on it, and motioned for the two of them to follow to where he’d parked his town car.

From the airport, he’d taken them to their hotel, a private mansion owned at one time by a royal named Lord de Breluil. Annie said on arrival they should ask for Oliver, the head concierge, and to tell him the countess said hello and to do whatever they asked of him. Such as arrange car services, make dinner reservations at the Le M64 restaurant. He was helpful, but without telling the man what they were really after, they had to do the rest on their own.

The hotel was a short walk from the Champs Élysées, not that either Jack or Harry was in the mood for sightseeing.

“We’ve been here twelve hours and have nothing to show for our efforts other than all that rich food that is lying really heavy in my stomach,” Jack grumbled. “Nikki would kill me if I told her what I ate for dinner. Yoko would string you up by your toes, Harry.”

“The police were no help, and we struck out at the flat Jane Petrie rented. All we know is she registered, then checked out. She turned in her rental car just hours after she rented it. No one we talked to remembers seeing an American in the area where she’d booked her reservation except for the reservation clerk, who said when she checked out she said that she had a sudden family emergency.”