The Paris Game (34 page)

“I’m the one who came after you,” he reminded her.

“You did,” she acknowledged. “And I’m grateful. But that’s all.” She rose, her heart aching.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I have to work tonight—I have debts to pay.” She walked towards the hallway, clutching her bag.

“And last night meant nothing?”

She turned back. “It meant I was alive.” She hated the look on his face, the flash of pain in his eyes before he hid it behind a stony mask. “But how can I trust you when you’re doing business with Royale?”

“I’d never hurt you.”

“You did once,” she reminded him. “You’re trustworthy in business, but not in life. I expect you’ll still honor our wager.”

“And if you lose?” he asked her.

“Will I?” She backed away as he stepped towards her. “You have five days left, Marc.” She bent to slip on her shoes, and when she straightened, he was next to her. She flinched.

“If that’s the way you want it.”

“It is.”

“I’ll speak to you in five days then.” He lifted his hand to touch her, but she stepped back, opening the door. He dropped his hand. She slipped out the door and he didn’t come after her.

Sera glanced at the news kiosk as she crossed the boulevard St. Germain, slowing as she spotted that evening’s edition of Le Monde. She picked up the paper and fumbled for coins in her bag to hand to the proprietor.

“Those gangs are going to be the death of us all,” the woman remarked. Sera looked up. “That story you were looking at—the fire in that old building—the cops say it was probably gangs.” She sniffed, turning the page of her magazine.

“Oh.” Sera looked more closely at the photo. The building where she’d been held was now a smoking ruin. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Cops aren’t saying. Usually that means they found something.”

Sera let her expression settle into blankness, even as her heart pounded. She gave a nod to the woman and continued on her way to the club, the newspaper tucked under her arm. She turned into the side street and saw Jean standing at the door. His tie was loose around his neck and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the gutter.

“So, you decided to show up,” he remarked as she drew level. “How nice of you.”

“I was ill,” she retorted.

“Sure you were,” Jean replied. “You’re not getting anything for last night, so don’t even ask.”

“Fine. I wasn’t expecting it,” she replied. “May I pass?”

Jean didn’t move. “Next time, call in yourself. I know you thought getting Perron to call would be in your favour, but if you do it again, I’ll have you sacked.” Having said his piece, he stepped aside. She pushed open the door and entered the dim club.

Her heels clicked on the old parquet, echoing in the empty room. The old cleaning lady looked up from her mop and gave Sera a smile before going back to her work. Sera paused at the bar. Alain came out from the back carrying a case of imported beer. She frowned.

“I thought Edouard was working tonight,” she said.

“We swapped,” Alain replied, kneeling to stock up the cooler. “That’s why Jean’s in such a miserable mood. We didn’t clear it with his majesty.”

“Typical. Is Edouard back tomorrow?”

“Not until Tuesday I think.” Alain shrugged. “He was telling me about this girl he met. I guess he’s forgotten all about Paula. He sounds head over heels.”

“How sweet.” She itched to call him and find out what he and Sophie were up to. Maybe something in her life would go right.

“Isn’t it?” Alain laughed. “That’s probably why Jean’s mad—he’s jealous that Edouard gets all the ladies.”

“Very likely. See you later.” As soon as she entered her dressing room, she spread the newspaper out over the vanity.

The woman at the kiosk had been right. The police were being close-mouthed about their investigation. How much evidence had been destroyed? She didn’t have to close her eyes to remember Marc dumping gasoline over Jeremy’s body. Would he have burned away? She hoped so. She set the paper aside and leaned forward, reaching for her powder.

She examined her face closely in the mirror. The marks from Jeremy’s fingers were light shadows, hardly noticeable, and she knew she could easily cover them. The bruises on her body would be covered by her dress, long sleeved and ankle length. If it didn’t glimmer under the stage lights, it would be considered quite conservative. She pulled it on, and just in time as she heard a knock on the door. She rose, the dress swirling around her ankles. Benoît stood waiting, immaculate in his usual suit and tie.

“I’m glad you’re here. It was tough doing two sets last night.” He smiled to take the sting from his words. “Are you feeling better?”

“Mostly. I’m sorry I left you scrambling last night.” She pulled the door shut behind her and they walked to the stage.

“It could have been worse,” Benoît replied. “We took requests from the crowd—they seemed to like that. I’m sick of playing ‘
As Time Goes By
’, so we’re not doing that one for weeks.”

She cracked a smile. “Fine with me. What’s our setlist for tonight?”

Benoît pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “There’s a couple of Billie Holiday tunes to start, then some Dietrich, and finishing with Piaf, of course.”

“How about '
Je ne regrette rien'
instead of '
La Vie en Rose'
? I know that’s a favourite, but I’m really not in the mood.”

“Done.” Benoît took the list, placing it on his piano. “Want to warm up a bit? We can entertain the early arrivals until Serge and Patrice get here.” He gestured to the foursome that stood near the bar, debating where to sit.

“All right.” She took the few stairs to the stage. Benoît sat at his piano and began to play. A series of chords segued into the opening bars of '
Stardust'
. She let him play through the first verse, and when he began again, she was ready.

Sera smiled widely to the small audience as they applauded after the last song. She didn’t need to worry about Jeremy haunting the shadows of the club—he was gone forever. She wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder in worry. She felt nearly liberated, and she would be once she paid the rest of her debt.

She retreated to the dressing room to change out of her stage attire and back into her street clothes. She’d kept on the trousers Marc had bought her, but had swapped the sweater for a white t-shirt and a grey cardigan. She pulled her hair back in a simple braid, then dug into her bag for money to pay Benoît. She hadn’t forgotten that she still owed him for the cab.

Her phone buzzed twice. She had missed messages. She took it out and looked at the screen. Marc hadn’t called, but Edouard had, probably to tell her that he wasn’t going to be at work. She put the phone to her ear, but Sophie’s voice came over the line.

“I’m sorry we weren’t there tonight to see you perform,” Sophie said. She lowered her voice. “I wanted to call you while Edouard’s getting dinner, because I just had to tell you—” She giggled, and Sera couldn’t help but smile. “—we were together last night and it was so incredible. I didn’t think my first time would be like that.” She paused. “Oh, I hear him coming in—I should go. Call me when you have a moment!”

Sera saved the message. A grin spread across her face. Sophie had given her the best present ever. With shaking hands, she dialed Marc’s number. Even with the lateness of the hour, he answered.

“Sera?”

“You’ve lost.” She heard nothing but silence for several moments.

“Prove it,” he said tersely. Her grin widened.

“I shall. Tomorrow?”

“Why not tonight, ma chère?”

“It’s late, and I want to go home to bed.” She wanted to be fresh and clear-headed when she saw him, not tired as she was.

“Come by the office tomorrow then, and bring your proof.” He paused, and for a moment she wondered if he’d hung up. “I have a meeting with Royale tomorrow.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’ll tell him what we discussed?”

“It’ll depend on what he wants,” Marc said obliquely. Her relief turned to dread. Would Marc lie as he’d promised?

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Did your answer change because of last night? Because of what happened between us?”

Marc cleared his throat. Last night, she hadn’t thought that he would betray her, but now? “Good night, Sera.”

She stared at her phone. How could he?

Chapter 19

Marc’s office phone buzzed for the fifth time that morning and he glanced at his watch. If he didn’t leave immediately, he would be late for his meeting with Royale. He’d rather spend all day listening to Fournier babble on instead of making this appointment, but he had little choice. He rose, grabbing a light trench coat from its hook to protect against the morning’s drizzle. He let the phone ring.

Aurore caught him on his way out. “Monsieur!”

He slowed, allowing her to have a word.

“You have an appointment in ten minutes. Where are you going?”

“I have another appointment—rather last minute. Can Fournier handle it?”

Aurore bit her lip and bent to look at the day’s schedule. “If Monsieur Labelle is willing to wait an extra ten to fifteen minutes, it might just work.”

“Good.” Marc tied the belt of the coat. “I’ll be back later. Hold all my calls.”

“When is later?” he heard her ask, but he’d already pushed open the heavy door. He took the stairs two at a time and burst out onto the street.

Unoccupied cabs were in short supply, so he walked briskly up to the street, turning onto the boulevard St. Germain. He reached Le Chat Rouge at precisely eleven o’clock. The drizzle had tapered off and he undid his coat. He didn’t bother knocking, but pushed the door open. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness inside the club. He wrinkled his nose at the sickly smell of stale liquor that wafted near as he passed the bar. He’d never felt ill at ease coming here, but he did today. If this didn’t go his way, he wouldn’t have a second chance. At anything. His steps echoed in the empty club and he wondered if Royale had planned to keep him waiting.

“Perron.”

He turned. Royale sat at the far banquette in the corner. A thin cloud of smoke hovered over the table and he could hear Royale cough as he made his way down the steps.

“You’re prompt. I like that,” Royale remarked.

“Of course.” Marc shrugged out of his coat and took a chair across from Royale.

He didn’t waste time. “As I told you on the phone, we have a bit of a situation.”

“You told me very little,” Marc said. He took his case from his pocket and flipped it open, removing a cigarette. He closed the case and tapped the cigarette idly against the cover.

“Things needed to be said in private,” Royale replied. “Now, the building I could care less about—my insurers tell me I’ll get full coverage since I wasn’t at fault.”

“How fortunate.” Marc lit his cigarette.

“However,” Royale continued, “I’ve heard what went on there. It had been my impression that you’d hired Jeremy Gordon to take care of those two bumblers. I hadn’t expected to see them on the club’s doorstep, demanding to see me.”

“Gordon screwed up. They should have been dead.”

“And why didn’t you take care of it?” Royale’s tone implied that Marc should have known better.

“It became more useful to let them live.” Marc leaned back in his chair. He had to stay cool, calm.

Royale snorted. “Instead, you and Gordon were at each other’s throats, and I’ve heard from a contact in the police that his body was identified in the rubble.” He paused to sip from a snifter of cognac. “For some reason, they wouldn’t tell me more, even when I threatened. So what, or who, were you fighting over?”

Marc weighed his options. Royale chuckled.

“So, you don’t want to say anything. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Jean had mentioned that Gordon had an interest in Mademoiselle Durand.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “An unhealthy interest, at that.”

“So why did you ask?”

“Curiosity. She is rather charming, and I can see why you’d be possessive of her. A shame I’m married.” Royale lit a cigarette to replace the last. “So you two fought over her and you killed him. It happens. And I’m not mourning that sadistic bastard. But now I have a problem.”

Marc heard the approval implicit in Royale’s words. There was respect there, as if he were a gangster like Royale and his worth was in who he killed. It chilled him. “And what is it I can assist you with?”

“Gordon worked for an associate of mine in England. Needless to say, the man’s a bit broken up over what happened. I thought it would be best to send him a gift offering my condolences.”

“How much?”

“You’re always so direct.” Royale gave him a genial smile. “I knew I could rely on you. I thought to offer him some art, but that would take too long to arrange.”

“So, money then?” Marc felt a slight relaxation of the tension he’d been hiding from Royale. If he had to pay a bribe, or blood money, to keep things hushed up and Sera safe, he would.