Chapter 10: Standoff by the Pool

The old woman had a delivery van the size of a shoebox, white, with a painted croissant on the side.

The keys hung on a nail by the oven.

I grabbed them. She saw me do it.

She didn't stop me. She threw her apron on the counter and pointed up the hill.

"Allez," she said.

Lexie got in the passenger side still holding an oven mitt.

I drove that van up the coast road.

It wasn't. It topped out at sixty and the croissant rattled on every curve.

"Faster," Lexie said.

"This is faster."

"Trix, he's going to shoot the father of your baby with my baby's father's gun."

"I know who's shooting who, Lex. Hold the door handle."

The villa gate was open.

The gray rental car sat in the drive with the trunk popped and empty.

We heard them before we saw them.

Ciro's voice, sharp. Cillian's, low.

They were by the pool.

The guard knelt on the stone deck in his Eagles cap with his hands on his head.

Cillian stood over him with his gun pointed straight at Ciro's chest.

Ciro stood ten feet away in his shirtsleeves with his gun pointed straight back.

Two of Ciro's men were frozen by the terrace doors, hands half-raised.

"Say it again," Cillian said to the guard. "Say who sent you."

"The Vaccaros," the guard said.

"I never sent anybody," Ciro said. "Look at me, Whalen. I've been in Nice all week trying to find the scooter."

"Convenient."

"It's my job."

I walked straight across the deck in the old woman's apron and stood between the two guns.

"Trixie," Ciro said. "Move."

"No."

"Lexie," Cillian said. "Get her out of there."

"No," Lexie said, and came and stood next to me.

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