The Paris Caper (30 page)

She just hoped this was
the right decision. It was risky. Jean-Marc and Pierre were smart. Very smart.

And if things didn’t go
according to plan,
she
was the one who might not survive. She...and
Jean-Marc.

♥♥♥

Ciara was up to
something. Jean-Marc could feel it in his bones. Every cop instinct in his body
screamed that she was not the innocent she pretended to be, spending her days
caring for Sofie and slowly easing back into civilian life after prison.

She didn’t move into her
own place, didn’t get a job. When she left the Orphans’ apartment at all, she
went to the shops, took quiet, arm-in-arm walks along the Seine with Sofie, sat
in the afternoon sunshine on a bench in front of the Pompidou Center feeding the
pigeons, reading and chatting to an old man who wandered by.

She didn’t do a single
suspicious thing.

Which was exactly what
made Jean-Marc suspicious.

Pierre thought he was
crazy. But hadn’t objected too strenuously when he suggested they implement Pierre’s
old suggestion and try to flip one of the Orphans. They needed an inside
source, and Jean-Marc hadn’t missed how his partner cast admiring glances at
CoCo every time they’d run into the feisty girl over the past two years. She
was now eighteen, had blossomed into quite the young woman, and started casting
her own glances back. A match made in cop heaven. Jean-Marc didn’t even feel
guilty. Much.

A rap of knuckles tapped
on the car window. Jean-Marc reluctantly looked up through the driver’s side of
the Saab, which today he’d parked directly across from the Orphans’ front
entrance. Ciara stood there holding a Styrofoam cup. She made a circular motion
with her fingers, indicating he should roll down the window, which he did. He
kept his expression carefully neutral.

“Hi,” she said. “Been
sitting here a while. Thought you might like some coffee.” She held it up to
him.

“
Non
,
merci
.
I’ll just have to piss.”

“Charming.” Her lip
curled infinitesimally. “You could come up to the apartment. The kids are all
gone.”

He knew that. He’d
watched as one by one they went off to their jobs, and Davie to his photography
class. He also knew that none of them would be home for several hours.

“
Non
,
merci
,”
he said coolly. “Was there anything else?”

She squatted down and folded
her arms across the window opening. He could smell her hair. Her perfume. He
wanted to plug his nose.

“Why are you watching us,
Jean-Marc?”

“I’m watching
you
,”
he corrected harshly.

“Why? I haven’t done
anything.”

“To make sure you don’t,”
he said. He was having a difficult time controlling his anger. And his hurt. He
needed her gone. Far away from him.

“Jean-Marc I swear—”

In a flash he had his
hand firmly around the base of her throat. The foam cup tumbled from her
fingers and splattered on the pavement.

“Don’t lie
to me, Ciara.
Never
lie to me again.”

She licked her lips. Then
slowly leaned toward him. He could smell the spilt coffee, and the scent of her
skin. Helpless, he watched her come closer and closer. For some reason his hand
felt paralyzed and wouldn’t stop her.

Her warm mouth settled on
his. After a moment her tongue slipped between his lips. He tasted her. And
battled back a groan.

Her hand was on his
cheek, her thumb on his chin. She tugged down and his mouth opened, letting her
in.

Non
!

Too late. His senses
swirled and he started to weaken.

“
Je t’aime
,” she
whispered. “
Aie confiance
. Please, Jean-Marc. Trust me.”

He jerked back. Stunned.
Only a fool would believe she loved him. And
trust her
? He saw red. How
dare
she!

But before he could lash
out, she straightened and started to back up. “Go away, Jean-Marc. Please.
Leave us alone, I beg you.”

Slamming his eyes shut,
he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, controlling his fury. He counted
to ten, then opened his eyes and shouted after her, “I will not go away, Ciara!
So think very carefully before doing whatever it is you’re planning. Because I
will
put you back in jail. And that’s a goddamn promise!”

Ciara believed Jean-Marc.

The man was as tenacious
as a junkyard dog and just as incorruptible. So it was a damned good thing she
didn’t plan on letting Jean-Marc catch her doing anything illegal. She would
keep her activities innocuous and her fingers idle. Right up until the big
laydown. And then forever afterward.

Her only hope was that
someday he would forgive her for deceiving him. And for what she was about to
do. She truly had no choice. Louis Beck was not going away. But everyone had
their price. And she was counting on twelve million being Beck’s.

Half an hour after
kissing Jean-Marc, she checked the drab second-hand dress Davie had picked up
for her at Guerrisol yesterday, patted her unfashionable mousy-brown wig,
picked up her string grocery bag and shuffled through the front gate. Without
sparing the Saab a second glance, she moved at just the right unconcerned pace
for a downtrodden housewife out to buy ingredients for supper, until she was
around the corner. Then she hurried straight to the
métro
and made for
Valois’s antique shop. This was one time she didn’t want Jean-Marc following
her. She’d be back within an hour, well before he’d notice she was gone.

“
Ma petite
,”
Valois greeted her, grinning. “I hardly recognized you.”

She grinned back. “Admit
it, you
didn’t
recognize me. Not until I started tapping my foot because
you were ignoring me for so long.”

He made a face and
ushered her into the back, then down through the tunnel into his secret rooms.
“You do have a gift for disguises.”

“Maybe I can get a job as
a costume designer with the movies when I go straight.”

He chuckled. “Or your
CIA.”

She choked. “Now, why
didn’t I think of that?”

“Too sensible?
Et
voilà
,” he said, spreading out a set of blueprints on the work table.
“Plans for the
Casino Palais d’Or
in Cannes.” He sighed. “And may I go
on record as saying I think you are completely out of your mind?”

“So noted.” She pulled
three color brochures from her string purse and unfolded them on top of the
blueprints. “Okay, next month during the film festival in Cannes there are
going to be several important exhibitions. But the ones that interest us are
these.” The first brochure bore a photo of a lavish painting in shades of blue
and purple. “One of Monet’s famous nymphea series will be displayed in the
salon area of the Casino Palais d’Or. The canvas is small, with only two men
guarding it in a very crowded room. Value: twelve million dollars. And it’s
blue.” She looked up with a grin. “Sofie’s favorite color. She’s already
practicing water lilies on the bathroom walls.”

Valois rolled his eyes.
“You’ll never get close to it.”

“We’ll see,” she said.
“Next—” she opened up the second brochure “—the infamous so-called Anastasia
Faberge Egg. Discovered two years ago by a movie crew in an old barn while
filming in Poland a few kilometers from the Russian border. A mythology has
sprung up around the fabulously beautiful egg that it was left behind by the
Russian Princess Anastasia on her flight from the evil red army after they
killed her parents and family, and left her for dead, too.”

“Complete nonsense,”
muttered Valois. “She was shot just like the rest of them. The egg was no doubt
dropped by some unfortunate Jew fleeing from the Nazis.”

“Probably,” she agreed.
“Or even salted by the film producer himself, looking to cash in on some great
publicity.”

“You’re even more cynical
than I am,” he chuckled. “Where would he have gotten such a treasure?” She
darted him a wry look and he threw up his hands with a grin. “Ah. Of course.
Silly me.”

“Anyway, it is,
coincidentally, also valued at twelve million dollars. Though the producer
refuses to sell it. This setup is even easier. Locked in a bullet-proof,
bomb-proof polymer display case, it has only one guard.”

He picked up the third
brochure and asked, “So what’s the third option? I see nothing to steal in this
one.”

It was a list of the
visiting celebrities and VIPs slated to attend the various festival events. She
pointed to a name listed next to the reception for the South American film
contingent.

“Look. Here.”

He peered at the name,
then sucked in a horrified breath. “Jose Villalobo!? The Columbian drug czar?
You must be joking! What could you possibly—” His eyebrows disappeared into his
scalp—or would have if he hadn’t been almost bald. “
Non
. Do not mess
with that man—
or
his wife’s jewels. At best, you’ll end up as shark bait
in the middle of the Atlantic. Villalobo is dangerous. As ruthless as they
come. He’s a psychopath!”

“True. But he’s a
psychopath with diamonds. Unmarked conflict diamonds. Worth...wait for
it...twelve million dollars on the open market. It’s a sign, Valois.”

“Ciara! You’re planning
to steal
blood diamonds
from Jose Villalobo?” Valois actually crossed
himself. “How do you know about these diamonds?”

“Etienne’s family runs a
couple of the docks in Marseille. I remembered they worked with Villalobo in
the past when he first started gaining notoriety, bringing in his drugs off the
freighters when his regular channels were too hot. When I saw his name on the
guest list for Cannes, I made a few phone calls. Seems he acquired a large
stash of conflict diamonds in a turf takeover recently. He’s looking to
exchange them. Thought I’d save him the trouble.” She winked.

“
Non! Non, non, ma
petite
. I cannot allow this.” He shook his head vigorously. “
Mon Dieu
.
I’ll turn you in to
Commissaire
Lacroix myself if you persist with this
insanity. Better for you to be safely in prison than...”

He didn’t finish. His
face had gone white as the paper the blueprints were printed on, and the veins
pulsing in his temples matched the blue of the drawings. His hand shook as he
rubbed it over his forehead.

She felt such a rush of
affection for the old man she pulled him into a heartfelt hug. “It’s okay,
Valois. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

That was the second time
within as many hours she’d asked a man she loved to trust her, she thought
ruefully. And the second time she’d lied. By the time this job was over, she’d
have done a lot worse than lie. Did the end justify the means? She sure as hell
hoped so.

Valois sighed, looking
bleak. “I do trust you,
ma petite
. It’s Villalobo I don’t trust. If you
value my health...and your own...you’ll stick with the Monet.”

♥♥♥

Sofie was doing much
better. Over the next week she came out of her shell more and more, talking and
even smiling as Ciara took her on walks and encouraged her to practice painting
water lilies. It seemed to be therapeutic. All four walls of the bathroom were
now littered with the beautiful lilac blossoms. Even Sofie’s Hand of Fatima
signature above the bathtub had a lotus flower blooming in its palm. She really
was very talented, Ciara thought proudly. Nobody would mistake the mural for a
real Monet, but Sofie’s lilies were just as gorgeous in their own unique way.

While Sofie painted, the
rest of them studied the blueprints of the
Casino Palais d’Or
and
meticulously formulated several working scenarios for each of the three job
possibilities.

Before deciding for sure,
they had to visit the casino in person, to get the lay of the land. Ciara knew
one could never rely on blueprints. Things changed during construction. Things
changed after a business opened. Layouts changed. Decorating changed. Security
changed. She’d learned never to take anything for granted. And with their whole
future riding on this one night, she wasn’t about to start now.

“Tomorrow morning, you
and CoCo leave for work as usual so Jean-Marc doesn’t get suspicious, but take
the early flight to Marseille,” she told Hugo. “Talk to your uncle about
Villalobo and the diamonds. Find out everything you can. Dig deep.”

Hugo and Etienne’s Uncle
Jacques was the current leader of the Alexander crime clan—the godfather, as it
were. Nothing happened in Marseille that he didn’t know about...and probably
had a finger in. He’d know all about Villalobo, and she trusted Jacques
completely. He was family.

“Should I tell him what
we’re planning?”

“Best you do. But not a
word to anyone else,” Ciara said. “Villalobo undoubtedly has informers
everywhere. Even within the clan.”

Hugo nodded uncertainly.
“Are you sure about this Ciara?”

The only thing she was
sure of was that she was scared to death she wouldn’t be able to pull it off.
But the Orphans didn’t need to know that.

“We’ll all make the final
decision together when we’ve gathered our information,” she said confidently,
then turned to the others. “Meanwhile, Davie, Ricardo and Sofie should take the
morning bullet train to Marseille, then go directly on to Cannes. I’ll take the
noon flight to Marseille. I assume Lacroix will be tailing me, so I’ll lead him
back to Madame Felicité’s place. He’s been there before and won’t be surprised.
CoCo, you have everything ready, okay?”

CoCo gave her a lopsided
grin. “Oh, never you worry. The girls will take good care of him for you.”

“We’re just locking him
up, CoCo. Nothing else.”

He’d be mad as a hornet
by the time the girls let him out. But she couldn’t have him following her to
Cannes. If he found out their plans, it would be all over.