Rosa

Chapter 12

Around 6:40 am, Rosa and Mr. Massera returned the rental car to a drop-off point near the Santa Apolónia Train Station. They were planning to walk the rest of the way to the station. Before heading out, however, Mr. Massera handed Rosa a small manila envelope.

His demeanor switched back to all business as he informed her, "This is everything my men have gathered on Favreau and Moulin. Put it to good use."

She accepted the envelope from him. "Merci, I will do just that."

For the sake of discretion, Mr. Massera left first. Rosa stayed behind for a few minutes to review the documents and photographs inside the envelope. Once Rosa made it to the station, she purchased her ticket to Madrid after Mr. Massera and went on to board a separate seat in a separate car as though they were two perfect strangers.

Armed with her envelope and bottle of thallium, Rosa headed straight for the car where Mr. Massera informed her that Favreau would be seated. When the automatic door to the Car 7 slid open, Rosa slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses to mask her facial features as she stepped inside.

Right away, in Seat 7-4B, she spied a gentleman who appeared to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties, who matched the photograph of Favreau in her envelope. He had salt-and-peppered brown hair and gray eyes. His skin carried the somewhat unnatural orange hue of a bad spray tan. Dressed like an unassuming office worker in a gray dress shirt and dark khaki pants, Favreau appeared surprisingly clean cut for a caïd's son.

Rosa slipped into the seat, 7-4A, right next to him. 7-4A wasn't her seat, but it didn't matter. She wasn't planning to stay long, anyway. Favreau glanced over as she sat down, once, then, twice, as he did a subtle double take of her braless top. The air conditioning on the train was chilly. A fact—that her hardened nipples seemed to be fully aware of.

As his eyes lingered on her breasts, Favreau frowned at her. "That seat is taken."

It came out sounding more like, "Zat seat ees tah-ken." His French accent in English was thick. Even thicker than hers.

Although, the contents inside Mr. Massera's envelope had claimed that Favreau was supposed to be going solo on this trip, Rosa realized, then, that Favreau might still be traveling with a companion—a bodyguard, perhaps?—given his status as the heir to his father's clan.

Before responding to Favreau, Rosa took this opportunity to do a quick, close-up scan of his belongings. She was pleased when she spotted a brand new water bottle tucked in a pocket on the side of his backpack.

Firstly, Rosa made a mental note of the size and brand of the bottle and hoped that she would be able to purchase the same one somewhere on the train. If not, she would have to find a way to pour the thallium into his water bottle the next time he took a restroom break.

Secondly, Rosa planned to come back later to take a peek at Favreau's companion: Another obstacle that needed to be removed before she could make her move.

For now, though, her work here was done.

It was time to disappear.

A second later, Rosa released a soft, sheepish chuckle as she pretended to double check her seat number.

Once more, to blur her identity, Rosa leaned away from her French accent and leaned into a feigned British accent as she remarked in English, "Oh, bollocks. You're right. I am in the wrong seat. Excuse me."

Favreau gave her a curt nod as she rose to leave, grunting, "Happens to the best of us."

She left him without another word.