Carnal in Cannes (27 page)

Martine shot Harry a puzzled glance after serving the drinks to the Wilsons, who took up the entire couch, leaving her no place to sit. He angled his head to the bar stool closest to him, and she obeyed his silent command by gliding to the stool.

Sitting, she adjusted her dress, smoothing the fabric to fall evenly, and then folded her hands in her lap.

“You did that on purpose,” she whispered. “Why?”

“You"ll see,” he whispered back. When she frowned, he rubbed away the lines on her forehead and said, “Don"t worry. Trust me.”

Yvonne attempted to draw Honey into conversation, and the two women exchanged brief murmurs before retreating to the safety of sipping their beverages.

For several minutes no one spoke, the void of silence broken by the occasional horn from one of the larger cargo ships that could be seen in the far distance through the lounge"s wall-to-wall window, and the cracking of the ice in Honey"s glass.

Harry relaxed when he heard the creaking of the anchor being raised and scanned the room as the
Glory’s
engines roared to life. Everyone present save the team members cast startled looks in Harry"s direction.

“We"re taking a short cruise around the bay while we conduct the meeting.

After we conclude, everyone"s invited on deck for cocktails and canapés,” Harry explained jovially.

The
Glory’s
route had been designed so they could dock within ten minutes if necessary, if the authorities needed to intervene, or if Harry wanted to eject a participant.

Delora glared at him, and one finger tapped unrhythmically on the chair"s armrest.

Judge Wilson cracked a knuckle, and Honey hissed, “Stop.”

Geoff cleared his throat.

A startled gasp drew Harry"s attention from his wife"s graceful posture.

He didn"t have to wonder about the source but focused on Delora. Her olive complexion had mottled, her fingers curved, and the red talons she called nails bit into her palms.

Geoff stood poised in the archway entrance to the bar area, a woman beside him.

Delora stared at the woman Geoff waved into the room.

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Jianne Carlo

The two dramatic appearances, the Wilsons and Madame Christen, the matchmaker, both designed to throw Delora off balance, had paid off like a Texas oil gusher.

This time Harry let his grin form.

Gotcha.

The pulse working like a donkey pump above the three-carat diamond nestled in the hollow of Delora"s collarbone made Harry"s smile widen. He followed her cornered-rabbit stare to Madame Christen.

The matchmaker"s glamour picture on her Internet site had been Photoshopped to soften the taut features of a woman who knew a surgeon"s knife intimately. According to the dossier Geoff had compiled, the elegant chignon-coiffed blonde was in her early fifties, claimed to be related to the oldest lines of royalty in Europe, and had run a successful matchmaking business for more than two decades.

Trim, dressed in one-of-a-kind haute couture, requisite pearl necklace, and earrings, she didn"t falter once when she surveyed the assembled group and offered a soft-spoken “Bonjour” to the room at large.

Martine stiffened, and she shot Harry a side-glance. Only the slight working of her throat gave any evidence of her emotions. Harry had deliberately not told Martine of the events he"d planned today.

Am I wrong to test her?

“Madame Christen, I believe you know Martine, Austen, and”—Geoff paused—

“Delora Ford.”

Delora clamped her scarlet lips together, and her gaze darted around the room as if seeking a bolt-hole, but Harry paid her only a brief examination as Martine had muttered “Merde” under her breath.

Geoff caught the sound. He frowned and darted a glance their way.

“Please, sit.” Geoff gestured to the only empty chair in the room, opposite Delora.

The seating arrangements had been preplanned by the team. Madame Christen complied with Geoff"s request.

Geoff cleared his throat. “The subject matter of this meeting is to outline a conspiracy to defraud Harrison Indiana Ford of his rightful inheritance.”

Kinky Wilson shot to his feet. “Conspiracy!”

“Kinky, sit down and shut up,” Honey ordered in a tone that brokered no opposition. “Sir Stanford, I intend to be on time for a breakfast meeting in Houston, so make this snappy.”

“Of course.” Geoff cleared his throat again. “We have proof of the following.”

“One.” He lifted a finger. “The will produced by Delora Ford and witnessed by Judge Wilson along with his secretary was in fact signed by Samuel Austin Ford, Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

135

but both Judge Wilson and his secretary knew that Samuel Ford was not coherent when he signed the will.”

“That"s not true,” Delora spat.

Geoff held up his hand. “No interruptions, please. Two, Samuel Ford was dying of liver, lung, and kidney cancer. His wife, Delora, hired private nurses to administer to him during the last weeks of his life. We have sworn testimony from the nurses involved that the mixture of painkillers and pharmaceuticals administered would"ve affected his brain function significantly. We also have affidavits to the same effect from his primary care doctors and several experts in the field.”

“Three. Judge Wilson was a frequent visitor to the Ford ranch during Samuel Ford"s last days.”

“Sam and I"ve been friends since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. Of course I visited often. The man was dying.” Wilson looked apoplectic, his cheeks ruddy, his fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the chair"s armrests. A line of sweat dripped from one temple.

“We provided your wife with a history of the texted communications between you and Delora Ford this morning, sir. The texts clearly indicate the nature of your relationship.”

The texts had been obtained from Casmir"s USB copy of Delora"s hard drive.

Harry winked at Delora, and when her face fell, he knew she"d clued in.

Wilson collapsed into the couch and hooded his eyes with one hand.

“Sir Stanford, the agreement I signed earlier indicates that my husband and I can leave the meeting at this point.” Honey Wilson took a last sip of sweet tea from her the crystal tumbler and placed the glass on a nearby table.

In one lithe movement, she rose, dropped her gaze to the sweaty, bald head of her spouse, said, “Kinky,” and strode to the center of the room. Clutching her alligator handbag in one hand, she passed through the archway without a backward glance, followed thirty seconds later by her heavy-footed husband.

Again silence ruled the room.

Delora no longer sat cross-legged but instead had shifted into one corner of her chair.

The two lawyers behind her had been furiously scribbling notes during the proceedings.

The older of the two rose to his feet. “Mrs. Ford, we advise you to say nothing and to leave this meeting immediately.”

Harry spoke. “She leaves now, and I"ll bring charges against her immediately, freeze her assets, and have her credit cards revoked. I"ll also petition for a postmortem of my father"s body in lieu of the suspicious circumstances under which he died.”

The lawyers exchanged glances.

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Jianne Carlo

“Besides, we"re in the middle of the ocean. No one can get off the
Glory
for at least the next ten minutes.” Harry gestured to the chairs. “Please, sit. Occasionally we encounter rough waters, and the ship assumes no liability if you"re standing.”

The two pasty-faced legal counselors resumed their seats hastily.

“I don"t have to stay in this room and listen to you.” Delora half rose.

“By all means go. We"ll dock immediately where gendarmes will be waiting to take you into custody. Do remember in France you"re guilty until you prove your innocence, and custody is almost always mandatory.”

Not exactly the truth, but not exactly all fabrication either. Harry"d banked on Delora"s ignorance of any laws other than Lone Star State laws.

Delora blanched, and her bottom connected hard with the chair. “And if I stay?”

“We work out an agreement, and nothing goes public,” Harry replied.

“Money?” Delora asked.

“Part of the agreement.”

Delora waved a hand at her lawyers. “I"ll stay, but I"m not answering any questions or admitting to anything.”

Harry directed, “Continue, Geoff.”

Austen immediately lurched to his feet and stalked out of the room.

Yvonne stared at his retreating back, her hand worrying the end of the long scarf dangling from her neck.

Martine, whose head had been bobbing from person to person as each spoke, looked at Harry, eyes so wide he figured her corneas must hurt, brows arched so high she seemed frozen in bewilderment. She shook her head.

He held her hand and squeezed. “Too much to explain. Trust me. It"s okay.”

She chewed the insides of her cheeks and lifted both shoulders.

Geoff cleared his throat.

“Yvonne d"Artagnan,” Geoff said, turning to face the woman. “You and Madame Christen have colluded for years, using each other for referrals. You suggested Madame"s matchmaking services for Harrison Ford, albeit surreptitiously, by mentioning the service to me and to Austen Tanner.”

“A business arrangement,” Yvonne sputtered, her fingers plucking at the pastel-shaded silk scarf. “A common business arrangement. I have done nothing wrong.”

Geoff and Harry exchanged glances.

Harry shrugged.

Austen had predicted Yvonne"s response earlier.

“Delora Ford, you colluded with Madame Christen to defraud Harrison by knowingly providing him with marriage candidates who didn"t meet the Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

137

specifications provided. In addition, you ensured that the sole remaining candidate could be used to invalidate the subsequent marriage.”

“You vetted all the candidates I provided for Mr. Ford, Sir Stanford, and approved of them.” Madame Christen sat spine straight, and her nose quivered like that of a dragon about to snort flames.

Martine stiffened, and she tugged her hand from Harry"s.

He had figured this part of the proceedings would make her uncomfortable.

“The preliminary exams for the candidates you provided said they were all virgins,” Geoff retorted.

“The girls were examined by a reputable medical firm. All were sanctioned.”

Madame Christen jutted her chin. “While I admit to stacking the odds in the favor of Martine Bellamy to assist Mrs. Ford, I provided the services required by my firm.

And I stand by that. I will go to court to prove it.”

“May I speak with you privately, Harry?” Martine didn"t look at him. “It is tres importante.”

Harry"s stomach clenched as if he"d been sucker punched when he saw the gray cast to her complexion. “What?”

“Please,” she begged, staring intently and directly at him. He noticed her clay-colored eye had darkened to wet mud, and both irises shimmered.

Fuck, what now?

All eyes were on them, including Delora"s, whose had a gleam Harry didn"t like one bit.

Shit, had Martine really been involved with the three women?

Without saying a word, he cupped his wife"s elbow, virtually lifted her off the bar stool, and stalked out of the room. The first available doorway was the study.

Harry slammed open the door, hurried into the room, kicked the door shut, and without loosening his hold on her, he barked, “What the hell"s going on, Martine?”

“I made sure I would be the only candidate,” she spoke softly to his throat.

“How?” He folded his arms across his chest, certain she felt guilty about something negligible. “By being the only virgin left standing?”

“Non. By being the only virgin. I knew the others would not pass the test.”

“What?” He couldn"t see her face clearly because of the drawn curtains in the room, so he flicked on the desk lamp.

She hung her head for a few seconds. “After I saw the advertisement in the magazine, I decided to do what my master had always done when he wanted something in Port-au-Prince. Eliminate the competition.”

Eliminate the competition?

He shook his head. A niggle of doubt formed in the corners of his mind.

“Explain what you mean.”

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Jianne Carlo

She blew out a long sigh, did that lift of her chin he"d come to treasure, and met his gaze. “Do you know of the Bandoleer?”

Harry slumped against the desk, hitting the sharp edge midthigh.
How does
my wife know of the Bandoleer? Casmir’s rival without the scruffy ethics.

“What do
you
know about the Bandoleer?”

“He is a Gypsy who can arrange anything for a price.”

Nuts and bolts rolled into place. “He gave you the forged papers. The clothes.”

“For a price,” she agreed.

“The flogging?”

“It"s always the flogging with you,” she griped. “Non. Thirty thousand euros.

The amount doubles every month it is not paid.”

His mind reeled. Did he know her at all? “I know his rates. The amount doubles every week.”

“I am a good negotiator.” She lifted a shoulder. “When you have only so much money but must feed a family for a week or be beaten, you learn.”

“The truth,” he growled. No one was
that
good a negotiator with the Bandoleer.

“I have something he wants,” she said, looking over his shoulder at some unidentified fascination.

Not her virginity.