"It's weird to see him this focused," Tom mumbled to Angie as they followed Sam through the streets of Paris, in pursuit of Christine. "He's been pretty high-headed later."

"Don't use the word high around him," she answered with a smile. "He's afraid of heights. A left here, Sam," she called out. "I wish he'd slow down so I could actually lead instead of shouting instructions to him."

"Someone else beside him lead?" Tom asked, feigning shock. "Never!"

"I can hear you," Sam called back.

Tom knew he could. That was the whole point, but it was still fun to tease him. It made what they had to do a little easier to bear. He didn't even know what they'd do once they reached Christine's prison hotel, because they'd been apparently held in hotels. But Sam was back to being leader, so he could afford to turn back into brainless muscle for this assignment.

"Slow down, we're almost here," Angie said and Sam finally halted his progress.

They stopped on a patch of snow which might've been a small green area in the summer. Across the street, behind a row of snow-laden trees, was a tall, handsome building which was undoubtedly a hotel. Two brutes stood on either side of the door, one of them smoking, the other one not-so-subtly clutching a gun which was most likely inside his jacket.

"It's here. I don't know the floor or room number, but it shouldn't be too hard to--" Angie's words died in her throat as Sam darted across the street.

He reached the goons before they had time to do more than stare at him in disbelief because, not only was their target walking straight at them, but he also appeared alone. Sam punched the one with the gun in the chin, and with a very impressive twist-kick, sent Cigarette Guy sliding on the sidewalk. Both men hit the ground. Without sparing them a second glance, Sam entered the hotel.

Tom shook his head to snap himself out of his daze and followed Angie across the street. He knocked Cigarette Guy out and pulled him inside the hotel lobby while Angie did the same with his companion. By the time they dragged the bodies inside, Sam had already reached the shiny wooden front desk and was conversing with the attendant.

"I have no idea what you just said," Sam was saying, "but I didn't like your tone. So let's try this again." He pulled his gun out and rested his elbows on top of the desk, as if waving that thing around was the most natural thing ever.

Tom instinctively looked around, but the few people resting on couches in the lobby were too busy studying their tourist maps to notice that a pistol-waving mad man had just entered their hotel. The attendant however blanched, and for perfectly good reason.

"Have you seen a very beautiful girl, about this high, chocolate brown hair, wearing a pinkish trench coat?" Sam asked, his tone perfectly polite.

The man said something in French. Sam shook his head, steadied his gun and repeated the question. Angie and Tom dropped the unconscious men and hurried to flank him and block as much of him from view as possible. The receptionist didn't seem at all reassured by the appearance of hoodlum backup.

"She left," he finally said, his accent thick and hardly intelligible. "With two men. Hours ago."

"Did you happen to catch where they were going?" Sam asked, his tone just as pleasant as before.

"She was saying to ze men not to take her out of Paris."

"Merci beaucoup," Sam said, finally putting his gun away.

Tom and Angie were more than happy to follow him outside. The moment Sam faltered outside the door, Tom grabbed his arm and dragged him away. In the distance, the blaring of sirens was already audible. They turned a few corners and disappeared deeper into the maze of streets.

"Do you know where we're going?" Angie asked.

"Surprisingly, yes," Tom said. If anyone would've told him a year ago that he would become proficient in the side streets of Paris, he would've laughed.

"They took her out of Paris," Sam added to the conversation. "Which means those two men were decoys and I have no idea what that means."

"It means they've finished searching," Angie said as they finally stopped in a tiny park between rows of identical houses.

"Searching for what now?" Tom asked. And how come she hadn't mentioned it earlier?

"I'm not sure exactly." Angie nibbled on her lower lip. "But they kept talking about it. They raided the Louvre for three nights in a row. And as far as I know, they haven't been discovered."

"Wow, they're being careful?" Tom asked in disbelief.

"That's it." Sam turned to them, enthusiasm and panic battling on his face. "I mean, this has to be it."

"This isn't very specific," Tom pointed out.

"The jewel. They're looking for the jewel. It's obviously here, so of course they're looking for it. You said they've raided the Louvre? Not bad, but a bit too obvious." Sam started pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "My guess is their next target is Versailles. So that's where Christine might be."

True, logical and probable. But that didn't mean possible. "We have no means of getting out of Paris at the moment," Tom said.

"We need to call the others," Sam said. "This is once again a race, and I'm sure the rest of the group is already in France." Out of what Tom assumed was a reflex, Sam started searching his pockets. It was useless, their phones had blown up with the car. "Angie?"

"I dropped my phone and wallet the moment I got pulled out of that van," she answered bitterly. "I couldn't risk them identifying me."

"We can ask for a phone from one of the guys in the fraternity," Tom supplied.

Sam nodded, the shut his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's just hope Jerry has his phone with him this time because his is the only number I know by heart except for Mom's and Dad's."

A heavy knot formed in the pit of Tom's stomach, threatening to smother him. He was even more useless. He didn't even know his own number, let alone anyone else's. By the panicked look on Angie's face, she hadn't memorized anything either.

"What are the chances?" Tom asked.

"Slim," Sam muttered and opened his eyes. "Anyway, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. We need money or something to leave the city. Does the fraternity give us money?"

Tom didn't think they'd actually let them go, let alone give them money to do it, but he wouldn't say that, not until he talked to Mizrelle about it. The simple idea of it made his skin crawl, but he sucked it up and just gave Sam a sarcastic 'no'.

"Okay. We'll figure that one out later. Let's go back to base and try to call Jerry." Without waiting for an answer, Sam whipped around and headed for the nearest entrance into the underworld.

Tom took Angie's hand and followed, hoping with all his might that Jerry would pick up. Contacting the others could solve their money problems if they were already in Paris. But if not... Well, Tom didn't really want to think about it. He could live with himself if he stole, but he wasn't sure Sam could or if he even wanted him to.

"What's up?" Angie whispered.

"Huh?" He looked down at her.

There was a weak smile on her face. "You're actually caressing me. Which means you're either feeling guilty or worried."

He looked down at his own hand. She was right, he'd been absently drawing circles with his thumb on her skin, totally unaware of it. But how did she know what it meant? He was feeling both guilty and worried.

"I never do that?"

She squinted at him, probably noticing his poor attempt at deflecting. "No. Just like you never tell me you love me."

"That's a lie. I told you four and a half times at least."

Angie frowned as if trying to count and he took advantage and pulled her faster after Sam. It sucked so much, but he couldn't get into this conversation with her. He couldn't tell her his suspicions about their situation, not before he was sure he had no other choice.

Fortunately, they reached the manhole that would lead them into the underworld so they had to focus on getting down safely. Though Tom half-feared it, Mizrelle hadn't ordered them locked out for the night, and the crowd seemed less than interested in them. Which was a blessing. He needed rest and a lot of it. And they were so close to their room...

Sam stopped in the threshold and turned to them. "I should ask for a phone..." The hesitancy was an obvious result of the fear and a silent plea for Tom to do it.

"I'll get you one." It was the least he could do. Plus, he needed the excuse to go talk to Mizrelle. Unfortunately alone and while she was in a towering temper. But it couldn't wait. With Christine out of Paris, they had to step on it.

"Angie, are you...?" Sam seemed to enjoy not finishing his phrases. He looked to their incredibly small and cramped room which only contained two incredibly small and cramped beds.

"Yeah, she'll stay with us until we figure something out," Tom answered. Sam and Jerry were so similar sometimes with their obsession with propriety. Not that it was a bad thing, but decency was not a luxury they had at the moment.

"No, she won't."

Mizrelle had decided to join the party, her black lips set in a frown. Tom stiffened, but didn't pull away when she stopped a mere inch away from him. Angie turned to her, too, sticking herself against his side in a clear marking of property.

"Trying to get me killed again?" she asked. Fortunately, her tone wasn't belligerent, but filled with polite interest.

Mizrelle didn't appreciate it, just squinted at her with obvious malevolence. "I think we're past that point. But if you're going to stay here, you'll follow the rules like everyone else. Tommy's girl or not." She turned to glare at him. "So you'll be shaking up with the ladies." She pointed forward. "Straight ahead and to the right. First room on your left is yours."

Angie lingered for a few seconds, as if waiting for Tom to approve of the arrangements, but he had nothing to offer but a weak smile. Pissing Mizrelle off and stepping over her authority at the moment seemed like a very bad idea.

"You need the rest, babe," was all he could say.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Angie said. She rose on the tip of her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. The she turned to Sam and did the same.

Sam smiled like a goofball and Tom clenched his fist, fighting the impulse to bring it anywhere near his twin. After all, he'd saved Angie's life that day. He deserved her gratitude. And it was just a stupid kiss on the cheek. The realization made Tom want to grab Angie and really kiss her, but it wasn't the time or the place. She turned around anyway and headed for her room.

"Hey, Mizrelle, do you have a phone?" Sam asked.

Mizrelle turned her disapproving eyes to him. "Homesick, rich boy?"

Sam huffed. "I wish I were rich. I'd have a phone then. Have one or not?"

She hesitated, but finally sunk her hand in the pocket of her leather trench and fished out her phone. "Don't scratch it or talk for too long." She tossed it to him.

Sam gave her a military salute and disappeared inside the room. Thick, heavy silence filled the now empty corridor. Tom shifted his weight from one foot to another, wondering how to breach the subject.

❄❄❄

I lied. This is a new chapter. I also have not very much happening except Tom having to do some quick thinking and sweet talking. And we all know by now just how good Tom is at that.

Finally, a shorter chapter. One that doesn't take for freaking ever to read. All thoughts on it are welcome. Any idea what gets to happen now? (because fun fun fun).

Vote, comment, pizza.