The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

train back to Montreal, so I’ve got to get moving.” The expression on Matt’s face changed to disappointment, and she acknowledged it.

“Call me the next time you’re in Montreal,” she said, smiling. “We can pick this up where we left off. I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant on Crescent Street.” Without leaving him time to respond, Eve stepped off the barstool, leaned in, and kissed Matt on the cheek, and said goodbye, “Au revoir,” and then walked away, leaving only the scent of her perfume and the back of her dress for him to take in.

Minutes later, as he took the first sip of a beer he had ordered, Mercier patted him on the shoulder from behind and asked how his day was going.

“Nothing yet, but who knows what’ll happen once the sun goes down.”

After exchanging very few words, Mercier left Matt to his beer and his thoughts. He ordered a second Labatt and smiled at the bartender, an attractive young woman who had served him the day before. Her look, her French accent, and the tight white blouse buttoned just high enough to make an interested onlooker want for more. Before he could start up a conversation, though, another patron called for service from across the bar. From behind him, something else got his attention. He felt a hand press hard on his shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” a raspy voice whispered in Matt’s ear.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was Tilton’s alpha. The man stepped in close, very close, inserting himself between Matt and the patron sitting on the next barstool. When the tourist began to protest, the look the security agent turned and gave him, a war-hardened glare, shut down that train of thought and any further complaints.

“So, who the hell are you really?” the man asked again.

Stealth, discretion, a fast mind, and quick instincts were at the top of Matt’s list of capabilities. While he had taken part in the physical combat and weapons training offered by the FBI, CIA, MI5 and 6, and Israel’s Mossad, he had opted out halfway through the elite Navy SEAL-type training offered to men and women with special talents like his. He had performed at the highest level of physical and mental testing, his only weakness being under the water. He loved the sea. He just had a problem with almost drowning again and again as part of SEAL training. They had found his Achilles. In addition to being able to detect a lie, Matt had the ability to perform flawlessly and serve up lies himself as needed. To help his cause, Matt turned on a touch of timidity to make this alpha think he was not a threat.

“You’re with Tilton’s team,” Matt exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Thanks for getting me out of that photoshoot this afternoon.” The guard wasn’t buying it.

“Let’s take a walk,” the alpha insisted as he stepped away from the bar and gestured for Matt to lead the way out of the room. Matt dropped a twenty, Canadian, on the bar and winked at the bartender, who was coming to retrieve it.

“I’ll be back,” Matt called out as he led the way from the bar, then down a winding marble staircase to a much quieter area underneath the Chateau’s main level. The conferences were finished for the day, the rooms had been cleaned, and there wasn’t a soul in site. If this was going to end badly for the guard, Matt wanted it to end without a crowd around them. “Matt Christopher, freelance travel writer, and occasional chaperone,” he said, turning to extend a hand to the guard.

“Bullshit.” The man ignored Matt’s gesture and leaned in for effect. “I know you. I’ve seen you before this weekend. I’m sure of it, back in D.C. Who are you working for?”

Matt was blown, at least his Canadian cover most probably was. At another time and place, the testosterone and capabilities of the two men would probably have dictated a different outcome. But Matt knew the man was armed. He could see the bulge under his suit coat. The earpiece indicated he was also in communication with either a dispatcher or the other staffers guarding Tilton way up on the eleventh floor. They could be listening. Better to play out the part and defer to the aggressor, this time.

“Okay, you got me,” Matt responded. “I am from D.C. I travel the world and write for magazines and websites. I took a job to do a story on Quebec City for the American Airlines magazine, and so here I am.”

“And the girl? How do you know the girl?”

“Easy. Well, actually she was,” Matt said with a laugh, the look in the guard’s eyes softening slightly. “I met her in the bar, and she said she was doing a photoshoot and asked if I wanted to tag along.”

“But where would I have seen you in D.C.?” the guard wondered aloud.

“Baseball? You go to Nationals games or hang out on the water?” he suggested. “I do a lot.”

“Maybe that’s it,” he responded, his demeanor softening even more.

“Cool.” Matt smiled, extending his hand, “Like I said, I’m Matt.” The guard ignored Matt’s gesture, uttered “State Department Security,” and then turned and began to walk toward the stairway.

“Can I buy you a beer?” Matt called out, but the guard didn’t turn to answer. He simply waved his right arm to acknowledge the gesture and mumbled something that sounded to Matt like, “see you in the States.”

Matt let out a sigh of relief. He could have handled himself if the confrontation hadn’t been defused. But now he was on this man’s radar, even if temporarily. And that was something that could still come back to bite him. With nothing else on the agenda and Mercier’s phone not making a sound, Matt did what was customary whenever he was on the road. He returned to the bar and the pretty bartender he had left working there.

She was gone, though. Perhaps her shift had ended.