Swimsuit - James Patterson [58]
Henri was watching us right now, wasn’t he?
He was watching us all the time.
Chapter 75
HENRI HADN’T GIVEN me my final destination when he mapped out my drive, just said, “Get on the Ten and go east. I’ll tell you what to do after that.”
I had the papers in my briefcase, the contract from Raven-Wofford, the releases, signature lines with flags marked “sign here.” I also had a tape recorder, notepads, and laptop, and in the zipped pocket at the back of the briefcase, right next to my computer’s power pack, was my gun. I hoped to God I would get the chance to use it.
I got into my car and headed out to the freeway. It wasn’t funny, but the situation was so weird that I wanted to laugh.
I had a contract for a “guaranteed monster bestseller,” what I’d been looking for and dreaming about for years, only this contract had a very literal termination clause.
Write it or die.
Had any author in modern history had a book deal attached to a death penalty? I was pretty sure this was unique, and it was all mine.
It was sunny, a Saturday in mid-July. I set off on the freeway, checking my rearview mirror every minute or so, looking for a tail, but I never saw one. I stopped for gas, bought coffee, a doughnut, got back on the road.
Fifty miles and an hour later, my cell phone rang.
“Take the One-eleven to Palm Springs,” he said.
I’d put another twenty miles on the odometer when I saw the turnoff for the 111. I took the exit ramp and continued on the highway until it became Palm Canyon Drive.
My phone rang again, and again I got directions from my “partner.”
“When you get to the center of town, turn right on Tahquitz Canyon, then a left on Belardo. Don’t hang up the phone.”
I made the turns, sensing that we were near our meeting spot, when Henri said, “You should be seeing it now. The Bristol Hotel.”
We were going to be meeting in a public place.
This was good. It was a relief. I felt a burst of elation.
I pulled up to the hotel, handed my keys to the valet at the entrance of this famous old luxury resort and spa, known for its high-end amenities.
Henri spoke into my ear. “Go to the restaurant out by the pool. The reservation is in my name. Henri Benoit. I hope you’re hungry, Ben.”
This was news.
He’d given me a last name. Real or fictitious, I didn’t know, but it struck me as an offering of trust.
I headed through the lobby to the restaurant, thinking, Yes. This was going to be very civilized.
Break out the champagne.
Chapter 76
THE DESERT ROSE RESTAURANT was situated under a long blue canopy near the swimming pool. Light bounced off the white stone patio, and I had to shield my eyes from the glare. I told the maitre d’ that I was having lunch with Henri Benoit, and he said, “You’re the first to arrive.”
I was shown to a table with a perfect view of the pool, the restaurant, and a path that wound around the hotel and led to the parking lot. I had my back to the wall, my briefcase open by my right side.
A waiter came to the table, told me about the various drinks, including the specialty of the house, a cocktail with grenadine and fruit juice. I asked for a bottle of San Pellegrino, and when it came I slugged down a whole glass, refilled it, and waited for Henri to appear.
I looked at my watch, saw that I’d been waiting for only ten minutes. It seemed at least twice that long. With an eye on my surroundings, I called Amanda, told her where I was. Then I used my phone to do an Internet search, looking for any mention of Henri Benoit.
I came up with nothing.
I called Zagami in New York, told him I was waiting for Henri, got a crackly connection. I killed another minute as I filled Len in on the drive into the desert, the beautiful hotel, the state of my mood.
“I’m starting to get excited about this,” I said. “I’m just hoping he signs the contract.”
“Be careful,” said Zagami. “Listen to your instincts. I’m surprised he’s late.”
“I’m not. I don’t like it, but I’m not surprised.”
I took a bathroom break and then went back to the table with trepidation. I was expecting that while