Private Monaco

Chapter 92

I looked down at Roman Verde’s body. He would never trouble anyone ever again, and while I regretted the fact that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to question him further, I’d rather be alive without all the answers than dead and gone.

Police officers clustered around Angie and Kendrick Stamp, and one of them checked the tourniquet on Stamp’s leg.

“Is it good?” Angie asked anxiously.

The police officer nodded at her and she smiled.

“You okay?” I asked, staggering over to her.

“Angie, this is Jack Morgan,” Stamp introduced us. “He’s the reason we’re here.”

Her smile broadened and her eyes filled to overflowing.

“Your husband is the reason we’re here,” I corrected him. “He could have taken the shot.”

“And then they would have killed us both,” Stamp responded.

“How did they get you out here?” I asked.

Stamp grimaced.

“I was retired from the Bureau on health grounds. Gunshot wound. They didn’t think I still had what it takes. So, I was looking for jobs in law enforcement or adjacent fields.”

He hesitated.

“And?” I asked.

“Philippe Duval got in touch and asked if I’d be interested in running the Private office he was setting up with you here in Monaco,” Stamp revealed. “He invited me to interview and said I could bring Angie as his guest.”

I shook my head and immediately regretted it.

“I didn’t know,” I said.

“I guessed that when you had no clue who I was,” he replied.

“But I want you to come and see me in Los Angeles when you’ve recovered,” I told him. “I can always use good people, and you’ve shown me exactly how good you are.”

Stamp smiled and Angie hugged him again.

“Thanks,” he said.

Chevalier had been coordinating with colleagues. She walked over to Verde, confirmed he was dead, and then joined us. The pain in my shoulder gradually retreated from a raging blaze to a smoldering fire with occasional flares and sparks of agony.

“There are ambulances on the way,” she said. “Both of you need urgent attention.”

“I’m okay,” I replied.

She gave me a withering look.

“Okay, I’m not okay, but I will be,” I said, and took a seat on one of the ornate Rococo chairs.

Chevalier came to stand beside me. “Secretary Carver is safe, thanks to you and your team. I’ll need a full account for my report, but that can wait for now. I just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done. You saved his life, and you saved this city from scandal and terror.”

I nodded almost imperceptibly. It hurt to move my head.

“And the owner of this house?” I asked. “Raymond Chalmont?”

“I don’t yet understand how he is connected to what happened,” Chevalier replied. “But we’re looking for him.”

A smart man would be on his way out of the country by now, if he hadn’t already left. Nice Airport was a short drive away and could take a person west to the Americas, south to Africa or east to the farther reaches of Europe and Asia, but I didn’t share these concerns with her.

“Jack!” Justine cried, straining to get past an officer in tactical gear who held her at the door.

“Let her in,” Chevalier told her colleague, and he allowed Justine to pass.

She ran over and crouched down level with me, but hesitated when she saw my bullet wound.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice full of concern. “Jack.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I assured her, trying to conceal the pain I felt when talking. “It went straight through.”

She winced and shook her head. “I’d hug you and kiss you if I knew it wouldn’t make you pass out.”

I replied in kind, forcing a smile through the pain. “Me too.”

“And then I’d punch you for putting yourself in this kind of danger,” she said, and my smile grew broader.

“I’d still hug and kiss you,” I said.

“Me too. And I wouldn’t really punch you,” she responded tenderly. “You did a good thing. I’m just sorry to see you suffering. Both of you.” She glanced round at Stamp before her eyes drifted to Verde’s body. “And it makes me angry to see such meaningless violence because of the arrogance of evil men.”

“I know,” I told her. “What happened to Carver?”

“They took him back to his hotel,” she revealed. “I get the impression it’s become a fortress.”

“And the race?” I asked.

“Qualifying restarted. They told everyone it was a technical difficulty.”

“Carver can watch it from the hotel. The Fairmont Hairpin is a pretty spectacular section, and he’ll have a suite with a view.”

Four paramedics hurried into the room and split into two teams. The first pair went to Kendrick Stamp and the second came to me.

“He speaks English,” the inspector told them.

“That’s not his fault,” the lead paramedic said. She was a thin, cheerful woman in her twenties with long blonde hair. “I’ll speak slowly so he understands.”

I smiled and so did her colleague, a man in his thirties with brown hair and a golden tan.

The lead paramedic lifted my shirt collar and I winced as the fabric pulled away from my wound.

“We’ll patch you up in the ambulance,” she said. “But you’ll almost certainly need surgery at the hospital.”

I nodded.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I think so.”

“Then let’s go.”

She and her colleague tried to help me to my feet.

“Please don’t touch me,” I said, rising gingerly.

Kendrick’s paramedics had left the room to retrieve a gurney. He nodded at me.

“See you in Los Angeles, Mr. Morgan.”

“Call me Jack,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“We can get the wheelchair or a trolley,” the lead paramedic said.

I had nothing against wheelchairs, but I felt it was important to leave this place under my own steam, to show the universe and myself that these men hadn’t been able to drag me down.

The paramedics walked either side of me, and Justine followed us out.

The sunshine felt good against my face. As I shuffled toward the waiting ambulance, I was glad to have put our ordeal behind us.