The Paris Caper Read Free Page B

a little louder, casting about for a wastebasket. “They must have thick
walls.”
    “ Club LeCoeur ?
Then you know about the robbery, oui ?”
    He straightened,
immediately alert. “What robbery?”
    “Your Ghost. He’s struck
again.”
    A sharp spike of angry
frustration swamped over Jean-Marc. God damn it. God fucking damn
it. It was like the bastard knew exactly when he’d stopped watching.
    He paced away from the
woman, who’d begun to rearrange her clothing. “The princess?” he asked, cutting
to the chase.
    “Just as you predicted,”
Pierre said. “Say, I thought you were doing surveillance on the Dutch mob?”
    “I took a break.”
    There was a meaningful
pause on the other end. “Ah, pardon . Well, you’d better finish quick. In
three minutes the place will be crawling with gendarmes, the OCBC, and the
Dutch secret service. Apparently the victim has made quite a stink.”
    Jean-Marc swiped a hand
over his sweaty forehead. Dieu . He had to get hold of himself. Any
second now his boss, CD Belfort, would be calling, demanding to know if he’d
caught the thief—even though Belfort and Saville had denied Jean-Marc’s request
for an official police team to follow the princess’s every move. They hadn’t
believed the chances of le Revenant showing up were high enough to
warrant that kind of expense. So Jean-Marc had done it on his own time.
    And now he’d fucked up.
    He glanced at his lover,
who was looking around at the boxes on the shelves, pretending not to listen to
his conversation. And just like that his anger evaporated.
    Damn. She had been so worth fucking up for.
    “When will you be here?”
he asked Pierre.
    “I’m parking now.”
    “Meet you at the entrance
in two,” he said, and hung up.
    He turned to the woman
and opened his arms. “Come here, mon ange .” His green-eyed angel.
    She hesitated, looking
uneasy. “You’re a commissaire ?”
    He nodded.
“ Commissaire de Police Judiciare . CPJ Lacroix. But don’t let that
worry you. It has nothing to do with us. Viens ici .”
    She came haltingly, but
she came, stepping into his embrace. As he took her in his arms, she let out a
nervous giggle. “I can’t believe I let a detective superintendent of the
National Police fuck me in a storage closet.”
    He smiled and kissed her.
“Next time I’ll do it in a more romantic place, I promise.”
    Her surprised gaze held
his for a moment before it slid to the buttons of his shirt. “Do you have to go
now?”
    “I’m afraid so. There’s
been a robbery. Here, at the club.”
    “ Here ?”
    “It’s all right. I can
vouch for your whereabouts, so you won’t have to hang around for questioning.”
He tipped up her chin and gave her another kiss, then softly asked, “Before we
go, I want to know your name.”
    Her lips parted for a
second before she answered, “Ciara.”
    “I’m Jean-Marc,” he said.
He wanted to kiss her again, and keep kissing her all night. But their time had
run out. For now . Pulling a business card from his wallet, he wrote on
the reverse and handed it to her. “My cell phone number’s on the back. I want
you to call me.”
    She stared down at it.
“Really?”
    “Tonight. I should be
finished here in a couple of hours.”
    Disbelief flitted through
her eyes as she looked back up at him. “I, um—”
    “I want to see you
again.” He took her face in his hands. “There’s something between us, Ciara, I
can feel it. Let’s explore this thing, whatever it is.”
    Her tongue peeked out
then disappeared. “I— I’d like that.”
    “ Bon . Good.”
Relief washed through him. For some reason he’d had the crazy notion she would
turn him down.
    He placed her hand on the
crook of his arm and led her out of their private sanctuary, up the stairs and
back into the chaos of the main club. As Pierre had warned, police were
everywhere, taking down names and addresses of the impatient club-goers and
wait-staff who had all been herded into a group in one