Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,24
for two more years. It was convenient to keep him in her life, because she could tell her father that she had a boyfriend, and she could have stable, pleasant sex from time to time. But around Christmastime, she’d decided that the status quo wasn’t right for either of them, and she’d finally told Michel that it was over.
She knew what would happen if she called him again. He’d want her back.
But Michel also had contacts throughout the Canadian and American governments, and he could get answers for her. If she waited too long, she knew she would chicken out, so she picked up the phone and dialed. He answered on the first ring, and she could imagine his heart racing as he spotted her name on the caller ID.
“Abbey,” he said breathlessly. “It’s so lovely to hear from you.”
“Hello, Michel.”
“Where are you? Are you in Ottawa?”
“No. I’m home in Quebec.”
“I’ve missed you.”
She didn’t answer right away. His voice sounded the same, that cultured private school accent that always said the right thing as if he were reading it out of a book. She could picture him in her head, his neat black hair in a stiff pompadour, his face handsome and mostly expressionless, his silk tie making a tight knot under his chin.
“I’m—I’m not calling to talk about us, Michel,” she murmured.
“Well, can’t we do that anyway? I mean it. I’ve missed you.”
“I know. Part of me misses you, too. But we decided—”
“You decided,” he interrupted her. “This was you, not me.”
“Yes. You’re right. It was my call.”
“My feelings haven’t changed,” Michel went on. “If anything, not seeing you for months has made them stronger. I’ve followed what you’ve been doing. I read your stories from New York, and I can’t tell you how worried I was, thinking of you in the midst of that violence. I was immensely relieved to see that you were safe. I just wish it would make you change your mind about things.”
“Michel, please, let’s not do this. Not now.”
She heard him sigh.
“Fine. All right. What do you want, Abbey?”
“Information.”
“About what?”
“Something’s going on,” she told him. “There was a shooting near Château Frontenac last night. No one in the government will talk about it. The Americans are involved. Have you heard anything?”
Michel was silent for a little while. “No.”
“Can you make some inquiries? Can you see what you can find out?”
“I suppose so, yes,” he replied with obvious reluctance. “Do you know anything more?”
“It may be related to the assassination in New York.”
“Abbey, you’re swimming in dangerous waters.”
“So what else is new?” she replied. “Can you help me, Michel?”
“I’ll make some calls, but the Americans hold everything close to the vest. I don’t like the idea of you digging into this story. It’s not safe.”
“I’m fine,” Abbey told him, but she failed to keep the anxiety out of her voice. Michel knew her well enough to know she was hiding something.
“Abbey?” he said. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing.”
But he didn’t believe her. “If you want my help, be straight with me. Are you in trouble?”
“Actually, a man tried to kill me last night.”
“Kill you? My God!”
“I got away. I’m fine for now. But the police won’t do anything. This is all connected to whatever is going on, and that’s why I need answers.”
“What you need to do is to stop looking into something that could get you killed!” Michel told her sharply.
“I don’t walk away from stories. That’s not who I am. Besides, it’s too late for that.”
He sighed again. “All right, let me see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Michel. You’ll call me tomorrow?”
“No. I’m taking the first flight to Quebec in the morning. I’ll meet you for lunch. We’ll talk then.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“It’s not up for discussion. One o’clock at Les Vingt Chats.”
She opted not to protest, because she knew he wouldn’t change his mind. “All right. I’ll see you there.”
“Be careful.”
Michel hung up the phone. Sitting in silence in her apartment, she felt the weight of his absence. It had felt good to hear his voice, like the comfort of putting on an old, familiar sweater. In truth, she liked the idea of him running to her rescue. She couldn’t help but wonder if lunch would lead to dinner, and dinner would lead to her spending the night in his hotel room.
Abbey picked up her carton of lo mein.
Then someone pounded on her apartment door. She dropped the carton on the floor,