Under Covers

twenty | paris

twenty | paris

Paris syndrome is a popular-psychology phenomenon where a tourist, faced with the crime, dirt, and unfriendly locals they encounter upon their visit to Paris, are afflicted with so much disappointment that they experience effusive anxiety, dizziness, hallucinations, and other symptoms

JAKE

May 8th, 21:54 (GMT +2)
7 days until it happens

TURNS OUT SHE can be remarkably fast when she wants to be.

It takes her all of seven minutes to change from her gown. I shed my tux and meet her in the hotel lobby. Even dressed in black jeans and a plain long-sleeved top with her hair tied up, she's breathtaking. (Not my breath, to be clear – all the other poor sods too weak to handle her.)

In the car, Rayna dials a number on her phone and sets it to video-call. "Hey, Sam," she greets.

A large Black man with a shimmer of blue eyeshadow rimming his eyes fills the screen. Laugh-lines crinkle the corners of his mouth when he cackles, "Hey you, baby. Where are you? Is that mean ol' English doofus still giving you a hard time?"

I lean my head next to Rayna's shoulder and wave my fingers toodle-doo! "She wishes, mate. She's been asking me to give her a good hard time all week."

Rayna punches me vigorously in the bicep.

"Good lord," the man – Sam – whispers. "Y'all would make the most beautiful babies..."

"Devil's spawn," Rayna shudders, throwing him a salty glare. "Did you look into that stuff I asked you about?"

Suspicion worms beneath my skin. I don't trust anyone at HQ, hers or mine. She must've deciphered the look on my face because she insists, "Sam's on our side. He can be discreet."

"M'kay, so," Sam begins, "You didn't hear it from me, but... about a week ago, seven hundred-thousand dollars Canadian in cash was withdrawn from a shared chequing account registered to Elias and Cassidy Dalton. No other transactions have been recorded under any of Cassidy's accounts since."

Oh, Jesus. "An important detail that was somehow overlooked in our mission briefs," I process aloud. It only further confirms the conspiracy angle.

Rayna nods her agreement. "Obviously Cassidy planned her escape in advance. She's been smart enough not to make any transactions that would trigger a location alert."

"That's not all," Sam continues. "I did some digging about that other thing, Rayna. Turns out..." He screen-shares a photo of an athletically-built Hispanic male in his late twenties or early thirties. "Matias Marin is a member of the Daltons' household security detail. He resigned two weeks ago, citing a personal disagreement with Miss Cassidy Dalton."

"He was her bodyguard," Rayna says.

"Yep."

I fill in the blanks. "He was the bloke in the security stills of Cassidy we scraped."

"Correct, Sherlock Holmes."

Rayna snickers. I roll my eyes, scratching my eyelid with an index finger.

"A personal disagreement," Rayna repeats, mulling it over. Our denim-clad thighs rasp together.

"An affair," I supply simply. "They've probably run away together."

Sam makes a cooing sound. "Aw, look at you, Mr. Darcy! You hopeless romantic."

"You know, I've been trying to think of famous Canadians I could mockingly reference to return the favour..." My lips twitch, "but there aren't any."