Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

loudly.

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    Fyn Alexander

    Chapter Thirteen

    “Daddy, no!”
    Feeling a combination of annoyance and guilt at the reaction, Kael said, “Sit
    down and eat your breakfast.”
    “You‟ve hardly been home for the last month, and now you‟re going away
    again. Why didn‟t you tell me last night?” Angel sat down at the kitchen table, his
    tie loose and his top button undone. He stuck a spoon into his shredded wheat. “And
    why do we always have to have this boring crap? Why can‟t you buy Froot Loops or
    something?”
    “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? You sound like Zoe and Amelia,
    except they wouldn‟t say crap. Shredded wheat is healthy,” Kael said. “Drink your
    orange juice.”
    “Fine.” Angel flicked his long hair back with a defiant toss of his head. “When
    you‟re gone, I‟m going to buy Froot Loops and have pizza every night.”
    Kael sat down at the table with his cup of coffee. “Fine.” He copied Angel‟s
    rebellious intonation. “When I get back, I‟ll spank your peachy arse.” He grinned,
    trying to make Angel smile. He didn‟t want the boy to be upset, but he had made a
    promise. “I have never seen Froot Loops. You might have to get them mail order
    from America.”
    “How long will you be gone, Daddy?” Angel asked quietly.
    “Probably no more than three days. And when I get back”—he paused for
    effect—“I‟ll take you away for the weekend. We can do something fun together.
    Where do you want to go?”
    “Paris.” Angel sounded half-petulant and half-hopeful.
    Kael laughed. “Paris it is.”
    “Really?” Angel pressed his palms together in an attitude of prayer. “Thank
    you, Daddy.”
    Kael smiled. “Now don‟t be such a brat and finish your shredded wheat.” He
    watched Angel eat his breakfast and followed him into the bathroom while he
    brushed his teeth. Then, standing in front of the mirror, he fastened Angel‟s top
    button and straightened his tie. “No eating pizza every night,” he said.
    Angel slid his arms around Kael‟s waist. “I won‟t, Daddy. I‟ll eat healthy the
    whole time.”
    “Keep the place clean. Do your homework.”

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    123

    “Keep the music down,” Angel said. “Daddy, I‟m sorry I was rude. I‟m just so
    disappointed that you‟re going away again.”
    With his arm around Angel‟s shoulders, Kael walked him to the door and
    helped him on with his blazer. Angel picked up his laptop bag, and Kael walked him
    to the lift. “Work hard, be good, and Daddy will be home soon. Make me proud.”
    Angel slid one arm up around Kael‟s neck and kissed him. Kael pressed his boy‟s
    slender body close and felt his warmth. “I love you so much, Angel.”
    “I love you too. Be safe, Daddy. I‟d die if you didn‟t come back.”
    “Why wouldn‟t I come back?”
    “Because what you do is dangerous,” Angel whispered.
    Kael pushed the button for the lift. “It‟s only dangerous if you take chances,
    and I‟ve learned not to do that.” He kissed Angel tenderly on the lips. “I promise I‟ll
    be home in three or four days, and if for any reason it goes beyond five days, I‟ll
    contact you.”
    Angel stepped into the lift, and their gazes remained locked until the door
    closed.

    * * *
    Paris, France

    By early afternoon, Kael had reached Paris. He had driven to Calais and left
    his car there in a long-term car park and then rented a small, innocuous, gray car,
    using his French identification to drive into Paris. He bought a street map as if he
    were a tourist and sat in a café drinking a bottle of Perrier while he found the three
    addresses Conran had given him. All three were in a relatively close geographic
    area in the Nineteenth Arrondissement on the Right Bank of the Seine, a poor,
    mainly Muslim area.
    For the remainder of the afternoon, he reconnoitered the houses, watching the
    comings and goings. Men went in and came out—but no women. A couple of times
    he saw the faces of young women appear at the windows, and once a young male,
    but no sign of Ekaterina. The only way to find out if she was in any of the houses
    was either to go in through the front door as a customer or to break in, but every
    window and door was alarmed. What they did have was a long, iron fire escape
    down the back of each house. His best bet would be to enter through the front and
    leave through the back.
    It was after ten o‟clock by the time he decided to make the hour and a half
    drive