The Paris Caper (21 page)

“Maybe,” she said
uneasily, “it would be better if you don’t get involved. We can deal with Beck
ourselves.”

“How?” His gaze bored
through her misgivings. “How are you going to deal with Beck, Ciara?” His voice
was eerily soft.

She licked her lips. She
could practically hear the possibilities running through his head. Would l
e
Revenant
steal even more so she could pay Beck off? Or maybe she’d
sacrifice Sofie...? Perhaps sacrifice herself?

Damned if she did, damned
if she didn’t.

Hell, she was damned no
matter what, and she knew it.

“I’ll find a way,” she
said, and reached for the door again. “I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry.”

His firm grip halted her
escape. “Ciara.”

She looked up at him. For
the first time that day truly looked at him. The fury was still there in his
eyes, but it was tempered by something else. Something that gazed back at her
with frustration and...longing?

Could she be wrong
about him?

“Where did you go this
morning?” he asked coldly. Smacking her right out of that nice little fantasy
world.

She lifted her chin. “I
had errands. I didn’t want company.”

“What kind of errands?
Where?”

She didn’t think so. Her
chin went up even more. “Am I under arrest?”

He didn’t answer. His
face didn’t move a muscle.

“In that case, I’ll be
going,” she said, but then added, “Thank you for the rescue, Jean-Marc. I
know...” She shook her head and this time succeeded in opening the door. She
unclipped her seat belt.

He took it from her and
clipped it back in, reaching over her to slam the door shut. “I’m driving you
home.”

Despite her misgivings,
she didn’t argue. She recognized his tone of voice. It was the one that didn’t
brook any compromise.

Against her will, her
nipples spiraled, her body turned on by his almost casual air of power and
authority. She looked away from him, mortified by her unbidden reaction.

Neither of them spoke
during the stop-and-go return trip to her apartment. The other police had left
by the time he pulled up to the curb in front of her door. She hurried out of
the car as fast as she could. So she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. Maybe
invite him up.

The passenger window
glided down and he called after her, “Ciara.” She stopped and looked over her
shoulder, heart beating fast. “Don’t think,” he said, “that this changes
anything. I’m going to be all over you like a bad smell. Eventually I’ll catch
le
Revenant
red-handed, and then I’m going to put you in jail. Don’t doubt it
for a minute.”

How could she when he
kept reminding her?

She felt the sudden hot
sting of tears behind her eyes, and turned away again. Walked away from him,
hurried into the building, and ran up the stairs.

She knew her time had run
out. It was too late to change her fate.

She’d made her bed. And
now she had to lie in it.

Alone.

♥♥♥

Jean-Marc met with Pierre
in the office at 7:00 am the next morning to talk strategy.

“We’re changing
priorities,” he told him. “Now that we know who
le Revenant
is, our main
goal is obtaining good, hard evidence to prove it.”

Pierre regarded him. To his
credit, his face held only concern, not skepticism...or all-out incredulity.
“You’re that sure it’s her?”

Jean-Marc sighed. “She
didn’t deny it, Pierre. Didn’t even try. If I accused you to your face of being
this thief, wouldn’t you tell me I’m wrong?”

Pierre pursed his lips.
“Daresay I would.”

“There are too many
connections to her. They can’t all be coincidence.”

“Okay. So let’s assume
it’s her. What do we do? How do we get evidence?”

“I’ve put a tail on her.
Day and night. And I’m going to make myself visible, so she knows I’m watching
her. Crank up the pressure. Sooner or later she’ll slip up and give us
something to work with.”

“Like a clue to where she
gets her intel, or the fence she’s working with?”

“Exactly that kind of
thing. She’s too smart to let me catch her in the act. But we’re smart enough
not to need that for a conviction. I want you to find out everything you can
about Ciara Alexander. Friends, family, jobs. Financials, school records. I
want to know about every place she’s ever been, every person she’s ever spoken
to, every breath she’s ever taken.”

Pierre raised a brow.
“Every lover she’s ever had?”

An unexpected coil of
possessiveness tightened around Jean-Marc’s groin, but he ignored it. “Only if
she speaks or breathes when she’s with him.”

“Marc, are you sure
about—”

“I’m sure,” he bit out
savagely. “This one’s not getting away.”

Not like that other thief
who’d made a fool of him. Catching
le Revenant
would do much to erase
the blight on Jean-Marc’s professional reputation the incident five years
earlier had left. But if he didn’t get her... Well, a photo of them together
had already been splashed all over the tabloids. He may as well retire to the
South Pole now, as go through the professional humiliation her escape would
engender for him, both within the ranks of the DCPJ and among journalists
seeking a sensational story. That would
not
happen again.

Pierre nodded. “I
understand how badly you want this.” He paused. “There’s another way we could
try, you know,” he said, glancing up. Looking just the slightest bit
uncomfortable.

Jean-Marc stilled.
Somehow knowing in his gut he wasn’t going to like what Pierre was about to
suggest. Whatever it was.

“Yes?”

“Those kids of hers,”
Pierre said slowly. “We could get one of them to flip on her.”

♥♥♥

Jean-Marc was still
chewing over Pierre’s suggestion an hour later as he climbed the stairs to
Ciara’s apartment.

He’d gaped at his partner
after he’d spoken, letting the distasteful idea float disembodied about the
office for several seconds before forcing himself to face it head on. Then he’d
said just two words before stalking out the door.

“Do it.”

It was a totally fucked
up plan, even if it was standard police procedure. He knew how Ciara felt about
those Orphans, as she liked to call them. They were like her own children. They
were her good reason and her bad excuse for doing what she was doing. She loved
those kids. And he was a fucking prick for even contemplating deliberately
turning one of them against her. She’d take it hard. She’d feel incredibly
betrayed.

Kind of like him.

Alors
,
merde
.
He was a cop, he reminded himself. And she knew the goddamn score. He’d be a
fool not to use every bit of ammunition at his disposal to put
le Revenant
behind bars.

And he would. Better
believe he would.

He raised his fist and
banged on Ciara’s door, adjusting the bag under his left arm. And waited. He
knew she was home from the officer doing surveillance. Jean-Marc checked his
watch. Late sleeper. He banged again.

After several minutes,
her groggy voice asked, “
Qui est là
?”

“
C’est moi
.”

He heard a sigh. “Go
away.”

“Let me in, Ciara.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“Since when does that
matter? I’ve brought coffee.”

Another sigh. But this
time the door opened. “You really are annoyingly persistent.”

“That’s why they pay me
the big bucks,” he said, attempting to step past her into the apartment. He
felt surprisingly calm. Not at all like he was there to ruin the life of a
woman he’d much rather be getting to know better.

Correction: she’d already
ruined her own life. He was just there to dole out consequences.

She blocked his way.
“What makes you in your wildest dreams think I’ll let you in?” she asked
grumpily. She looked delightfully sleep-rumpled, all warm, wrinkly pajamas and
tousled hair. “You’ve made it abundantly clear what you have in mind for my
future. I’d have to be a fool—”

He steeled himself
against her homey girl-next-door image.
She was a thief. He was a cop
.
“During my search I noticed you were out of coffee,” he said calmly, lifting
the bag from under his arm. “I brought Costa Rican. Best in the world.”

She blinked at the shiny
silver package, then gave him a wan smile. “Nice try, Lacroix. I’m going back
to bed.”

The door closed in his
face.

So much for
that
strategy.

Just as well. Distance
was undoubtedly a better option.

He trotted back down the
stairs and went out to the Saab, which was parked a bit down the other side of
the street, but still had a good view of her windows and the front door to the
building. Waving the surveillance officer over, he got in and made himself
comfortable, rolling down all the windows and loosening his tie. God knew how
long he’d have to wait until she decided to come out.

The rookie officer who’d
drawn surveillance today came up to the driver’s side and hunched down. “What’s
the plan, boss?”

“Gonna be a long day,”
Jean-Marc answered. “When she comes out, I’ll follow her. I want you to stay at
your post. Monitor all activity at her apartment—photos and times of everyone
coming and going. Never know who might turn up.”

The other officer patted
the small digital camera sticking out of his breast pocket. “Will do, sir.”

There were plenty of
comings and goings at the building that morning, but it wasn’t until just after
ten that Jean-Marc finally spotted Ciara emerging.

She looked around and saw
him immediately. To his surprise, she waited patiently until he got out of the
Saab, then she took off at a brisk walk down the sidewalk.

He followed easily for
several blocks, wondering if she’d try to lose him again this morning. But when
she went into a local branch of the Zurich National Bank, she glanced back, as
though to make sure he was still there. Strange. Writing the specifics down in
his notebook, he waited outside the entrance, leaning against a bus stop where
he had an unobstructed view through the glass front. She conducted her business
at a teller’s window, then strode back out the door and came up to him. She had
something in her hand.

“Hold this a moment, will
you?” she asked, thrusting it at him.

He took it and looked
down, seeing to his astonishment that it was a bundle of hundred-euro bank
notes.

“Christ, woman, what the
hell is this?” he demanded angrily, and glanced quickly around to find whoever
was pointing a camera at them for blackmail purposes. He didn’t quite believe
it when he saw no one.

Meanwhile she had
withdrawn a largish manila envelope from her shoulder bag, and now she waved it
in front of his face. “Observe,” she said.

On the outside was
written “
Brigadier
Louis Beck.”
What the
--?

The name distracted him
from his avalanche of conspiracy theories. She snatched the packet of bills
back from him, stuffed them into the envelope and licked the flap, gluing it
shut. By the time his cloudy thinking had cleared and his mouth dropped open in
disbelief, she had marched halfway down the block.

“Ciara!” he shouted. She
didn’t turn. Or even slow.

He ran to catch up, but
didn’t make it in time. The eighteenth arrondissement police station was right
around the corner. She halted just outside and leaned close to his ear,
hissing, “For godsake, stay out of sight. You don’t want to be seen with me.”
Then she disappeared through the door.

Christ
. She was
paying off Beck with that stack of hundred-euro notes! Right at the
préfecture
!
For once the cop inside Jean-Marc was in complete agreement with his much
beleaguered male side. Neither one liked what she was doing a damn bit.

He wanted to rush into
the station and do something. But what? Jean-Marc was not usually an impulse
kind of guy. Accusing a fellow law enforcement officer of corruption was a
serious thing, with far-reaching consequences. Before he did anything at all,
he had to think through his actions. He needed to be absolutely sure of his
facts.

Because what if he was
wrong?

He slashed a hand through
his hair as something even worse occurred to him. His stomach sank at the very
thought.

What if she was actually
telling the truth?

What the hell would he do
then?

Ciara felt a certain
amount of satisfaction at Jean-Marc’s horrified face when she came out of the police
station and her meeting with Beck. It almost made up for emptying her Swiss
account in order to make up the difference for the blackmail money. Almost.

It had been a stroke of
genius coming to Beck’s own station to give him the payoff. He had been furious—both
over her showing up there, of all places, and also over her paying the
blackmail at all. He’d obviously never expected them to come up with the money;
his real motive had been getting Sofie under his thumb again. But what could he
do when Ciara presented him with the envelope of cash? Make a scene at his work
place? Arrest her for bribery?

From the look on
Jean-Marc’s face as she emerged, he finally believed her about Beck.

Not that it mattered. The
bastard would leave them alone now that he had his fifteen thousand. Besides,
she had no illusions Jean-Marc ever would have done anything about him anyway.
Still, on the off chance that something bad ever happened to Sofie, or even to
herself, she now had a reliable witness who knew about Beck. She trusted
Jean-Marc that far. If it came down to it, he would do the right thing, she had
no doubt about that much, at least.

“Are you
nuts
?” he
demanded, falling into step next to her. “Do you realize I’m bound to report
this?”