The French Detective's Woman (20 page)

He shifted in his seat in frustration. Scowled. “What does he want?” he gritted out. Praying it wasn’t her. Because then he really would have to strangle them both.

“He wants money.”

That finally pried his attention off his dick. He turned to her. “Explain.”

She fiddled with her purse strap for a moment, as though deciding what or how much to tell him.

“Damn it, Ciara. Tell me
everything
right now or I swear I’ll tie you to a stake and let him—”

“Jesus, Jean-Marc. Don’t even joke about that.”

“Who’s joking?”

His expression must have convinced her just how close to the edge he was. “All right,” she said. “All right. He wants Sofie. He didn’t appreciate it when I took her off the streets.”

“Where does the money come in?”

“He’s threatened to tell her father where she lives if she doesn’t spread her legs for him. Either that, or pay him an outrageous blackmail. Fifteen thousand. The first is not an option. And the second...” Her words trailed off.

“Have you reported this to the cops?” was his first reaction.

Again she hesitated.

He hit the steering wheel with his fist and swerved the Saab out of traffic and to the curb. “Fuck it, Ciara! You’re the one who called me. Spill it—all of it—or get out!”

His anger echoed through the small confines of the vehicle and she seemed to sink deeper into the leather of her seat, looking unhappily down at her fingers.

“I can’t,” she said quietly. “He
is
a cop.”

♥♥♥

Outside the car, horns blared, delivery vans rumbled, pedestrians clattered along the sidewalks speaking loudly to each other to be heard above the din of traffic. Inside, the silence was absolute. At least for the handful of seconds it took for Jean-Marc to respond to Ciara’s obviously unexpected confession.

She flinched when his snort of disbelief finally came. “You’re telling me a
cop
beat you up? That a
cop
is blackmailing a sixteen year-old girl for sex or money?”

She should have known he wouldn’t believe her. Hell, who could blame him? It wasn’t like she had the highest credibility on the planet. Especially with him. Still, he might at least listen to her story.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing slightly in blatant skepticism.

He really
didn’t
believe her.

How would he react if she told him Beck had been there, pretending to be one of the responding officers, and had even spoken to him? He’d probably turn the car around and confront him. And believe Beck’s lies when the bastard claimed complete innocence. And if she thought Beck was angry now, that would really set him off. But not until later, when Jean-Marc couldn’t help her. Or Sofie.

Lord, how could she
ever
have thought Jean-Marc would help her expose a fellow cop’s corruption? Cops were cops, and they stuck together. She must be completely delusional. With a sigh, she reached for the car door handle.

“
Don’t
,” he said, the single barked word making her jump. She jerked her hand back.

He studied her cheeks, his gaze penetrating below the layer of makeup that covered her bruises. His hand snaked over and lightly drew the hem of her skirt up over her knees. His fingers hovered above the scabs there. Her body shivered, knowing his touch wasn’t sexual but wishing to God it were. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Insanity
.

“What
préfecture
is he in?” he asked.

Damn, she regretted calling him. Why hadn’t she listened to Hugo and Valois? No good would come of pulling Jean-Marc into this. He’d admitted he hated her for what she did, for who she was. God...maybe he’d even join up with Beck, in order to force her to turn herself in! He knew how she felt about Sofie, and could easily use that knowledge against her.

Because of her misguided feelings for this man, she’d left herself totally vulnerable to him, in nearly every way.

“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 la
?”

“
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.