Lucky Ce Soir, page 29
I put my seat back as far as it would go—not far in a Ford pickup—and closed my eyes. My ribs ached, but the adrenaline redlining for the past hour or so had taken care of the headache.
“It’s over,” Teddie sighed.
I had no idea exactly what he referred to—his comment could apply to several adventures in my current life.
“Hmmm,” I offered—the only noncommittal reply I could think of. As the adrenaline abated, sleep rushed into the void.
The last thing I remembered was Teddie saying, “It’ll all be okay, honey. You got this.”
Why did everyone think I had all the answers?
One day, perhaps as soon as I feared, they’d all see behind the curtain.
My eyes popped open when we hit the edge of town. “Are you staying at the Raphael as well?” Jordan shared my floor. I hoped to hell Teddie didn’t also.
“Bunking with Jordan.” Teddie’s grin was starting to fray around the edges.
Oh joy. Watching the scenery, I looked for landmarks and tried to get my bearings. Finally, I saw something I recognized. The Eiffel Tower, of course. Triangulating off it, I plotted a course or at least pointed out a general direction.
Teddie ignored me. “I know how to get there.” He eased into the left lane and took the next corner, heading into the old part of Paris.
“You do? Without a map?”
“I studied music here for several years.” He glanced at me. “You may think you know everything about me, but there are a few mysteries.”
He knew curiosity was my Kryptonite. Today I didn’t have the energy. “I’m sure many more than a few.”
I tried not to think about all I didn’t know as I watched Teddie navigate the narrow streets and the traffic like an expert. As I suspected, twenty miles an hour was his sweet spot. Before I knew it, he was making the U-turn onto the small side street that carried hotel traffic, protecting their guests as they entered and exited cars from the faster traffic on Avenue Kléber. Ever discreet and impossible to startle, the valet greeted us with a smile as he opened my door and offered me a hand. I took it with a smile. “Keep it close, please. The police will want to impound it. The bullet holes you see.” I waited for the words to hit. His eyes widened as he scanned the vehicle. “They’re evidence.” With that, I pressed my elbows to my sides, stabilizing my ribs, painted on a nonchalant expression, and sashayed up the steps thankful I’d finally made an impact.
Always good to leave them guessing.
Pauline manned the desk. “Good morning, Ms. O’Toole.” She didn’t miss a beat.
Of course, I’d left my blood-splattered coat in the truck. The police would want that, too, I suspected. “Good morning. What time is it?” My sleep in the truck had been sound and the dreams vivid. I was still working my way back to full cognition, such as it was. Somewhere between the drugs, the bullets, and the blood I’d lost track of life and time.
“Almost six. The sun will be coming up soon.”
Oh, how I wished I’d be going down for the count. “Thank you.” For some reason, the elevator wasn’t waiting on the first floor. I pressed the button and leaned against the wall to wait. I didn’t have to wait long. Through the glass doors, as the car descended, first a pair of slippered feet, then silk-pajamaed legs appeared, followed by the rest of Jordan, also sheathed in silk and radiating worry mixed with relief. He started before the doors even opened. “Lucky, my Gawd! What the Hell? I’ve been apoplectic with worry. Teddie didn’t give me details, but it sounds like you’ve been through the wringer.”
If he had all the details, he would’ve stroked out. “It’s been a night.”
Teddie pressed in behind me as I moved Jordan into the elevator. “We’re fine, Jordan.” With hands on my shoulders, he maneuvered me in and pressed the fifth-floor button. “I’m sorry about the show.”
“No worries. Not your fault. I extended us a couple of nights and gave the audience tickets. They were despondent without you.” Jordan clung to my arm. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. You’re my connection to myself.”
“That’s about the nicest thing anyone could say. I’m too mean to die; you know that.” The doors opened, spitting us into the hallway.
In front of my door, Jordan released my arm and gave me a quick buss on the cheek. He lingered in a hug, then turned to motor on toward his room. “Come, Teddie. Let’s leave the woman in peace. Besides, you have to tell me everything before I’ll let you sleep.” He didn’t look back as he disappeared inside his suite.
“Guess he knew who was the softest touch.” I turned and ran smack into a solid chest.
Teddie grabbed my shoulders and moved in close in a cloud of Old Spice cologne.
Funny how scents triggered memories.
“I knew you’d come back for me.” He clamped his mouth over mine, capturing me in a serious, sensual kiss.
My knees weakened, just a little—a moment as my senses reeled.
My knees snapped straight, and I snapped to my senses. With two hands to his chest, I shoved him away. Reeling back, I let fly. The slap left a red mark on his cheek and a hurt look in his eyes.
“Way overstepping. You lost the right to do that when you left me for another.”
“I apologized. I was wrong. We both know that. Didn’t you feel it? It’s still there.” Anger replaced the hurt I’d heard before when we’d had this discussion.
I felt it. I would always feel it. But that didn’t mean he was the right guy for me.
“Well, that was interesting.” Jean-Charles stepped out of the elevator. He’d seen everything through those damned glass doors.
“What is it with the accusation? It’s like your default. I’m guilty until proven innocent.” I was shouting; I couldn’t help it. A toxic cocktail of fatigue, fear, anger, and hurt had my head spinning, my mouth spewing, and my body shaking. “Well, I am so over that. If you don’t believe in me, if your default isn’t to protect me but to accuse me, then I want no part of it.” I ripped the ring from my finger and hurled it at him. “Take this and go home. I’m sure your mother has your room ready.” I whirled on Teddie. “And you, grow up. Figure out what you really want and stop chasing what you can’t have.” With that, I slid my card into the slot, bolted through the door, and slammed it on the only two men I’d ever loved.
Chapter Twenty
“WOW.”
My eyes flew open, and I bolted upright from my position, leaning against the door where I’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to push away the what-have-I-dones. I felt bad, yet relieved. Above all, I felt completely drained, exhausted to the core.
“Romeo! Shit. You scared the life out of me. What are you doing here? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I pressed a hand over my chest. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest.
“You sent a plane for me.” He looked pressed and polished and ready to go—well, except for the cowlick that stood up straight from the crown of his head. His eyes were bright, his smile high-wattage. “That, by the way, was epic. Did you like have a script or something?”
So not what I needed. I opened my arm wide, gesturing toward the closed door and the hallway beyond. “I don’t know what I just did. And whatever it was, it could’ve been the stupidest thing ever.”
Romeo gave me a smile that made him look wise beyond his years. “What you just did was to demand those simpering idiots raise their game, so they are worthy of you.”
“What?” The word came out in a whisper.
“You are the crème de la crème as they say in these parts. Any guy who wants to hook his wagon to your team is going to have to measure up in a big way. Neither of those yahoos is even lifting a finger to rise to the occasion. If they don’t, they are out of the running. Demand the best, Lucky. You are the best.”
I wrapped him in a bear hug and fought back tears. Sometimes, students really were the best teachers. I let him go before it got super-embarrassing. “Can I quote you on that?”
“I’ll even crow it from the highest mountaintop, and you won’t even have to pay me.”
That made us both laugh, dimming the heat of the spotlight on me.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” I sank into the nearest chair, suddenly too tired to walk another step.
“Breakfast is on its way. Two pots of coffee.” Romeo joined me, pulling his chair closer so we could talk without expending what little energy reserves I had left.
“Now, I’m even happier you’re here.” My brain spinning from, well, everything, I tried to slow it for a moment. There was something I needed to ask Romeo. “Oh, is Chitza still in jail? I mean like physically present behind bars?” All I needed was for Jean-Charles’s murderous ex-half-sister-in-law to show up with a sharpened sword and several axes to grind.
“I spoke with her myself.”
That took one player out of the list of potential murderers.
“This is some room.” He eyed the spiral staircase leading to the second floor. “Bigger than my apartment.”
“Mine, too.”
Romeo placed his hands carefully, one on each arm of the chair, like a kid afraid to touch anything.
“Kid, you can’t hurt anything here. And, if you do, they’ll charge it to the Babylon. Relax. Even in a Gulfstream, it’s a long way between Vegas and here. I don’t know about yours, but no matter how cushy the ride, my body revolts against being hurtled through the air. You gotta be exhausted.”
“Not sure. Excited, amped, but underneath it the dark void of sleep is calling.”
“You captured trans-atlantic travel perfectly.”
“I’m sorry I got here too late.”
“Too late for what?” I kicked off one shoe, then the other. That took all the energy I had. My ribs complained, but my feet were happy.
“Catching the killer.” He still didn’t move, but at least he seemed to be breathing.
“Oh, we haven’t caught the killer.”
“But I thought…”
“We busted a counterfeit ring, but I’m pretty sure the killer is still out there.” The clues were there, pinging around. I knew how to put the pieces together, but I couldn’t make sense of it all through the fog of adrenaline withdrawal.
“What makes you think that?”
God love him, Romeo would make me walk through the clues until they made sense. I pushed myself up in the chair. Before I could begin, a knock sounded. Coffee might be the jump start I needed.
“You sit.” The kid popped out of his chair. “Allow me.”
“Gladly.”
The aroma of fully-leaded serious European coffee started my engine. The fog thinned.
Romeo handed me a cup. “Cream no sugar.”
The kid’s attention to detail hit my heart. “Thanks.” I cradled the cup like it was part of my last meal. I waited until he’d settled with his own cup of steaming joe, then I brought him up to speed, hitting the high points.
Once I wound down, he worked his way through a second cup of coffee while he processed. “You sure Liu wasn’t the killer? Or Moreau?”
“Neither had a beef with the man we first knew as Victor Martin. His real name is Claude Simon. Apparently, he was some sort of undercover investigator. Whether legit or not, I don’t know. Haven’t gotten that far. But he had proof of collusion between Jean-Charles’s father and another man, Enzo Laurent, to keep the pecking order in Bordeaux in place. No new blood and they’re left running the show. Tons of money involved. Liu wanted it as leverage to change the hierarchy and get his chateau into the highest level. Emma Moreau had no idea who Victor/Claude was. I saw her face when she looked at him. So why would either of them kill him and steep him in a whole bunch of what I bet is their own counterfeit wine?”
“And Sinjin?” Romeo shook his head. “That guy is a piece of work. Aren’t you worried he’s got the jump on you and will find the wine and take what he wants before you get there?”
“No.” I felt one corner of my mouth lift. “I got that covered.”
“Tell me about the counterfeit wine. How are you going to prove that?” Romeo leaned forward, cradling his dainty cup.
“I’m not. You are.”
“The bottle you had me bring.” He took a sip of coffee, which drained the cup, then stared into the bottom of it. “Don’t they have mugs here?”
“Please, how crass.” I stuck my empty cup out for a refill. “Keep your hand on the pot; I am far from fully-caffeinated. As you surmised, I need you to take the bottle you brought and the one from the murder scene to an oenological testing expert. They will be able to tell if the wine is the same, and hopefully, they will be able to identify where the juice came from.”
“Seriously?”
“If the French winemakers are as advanced as the Americans. As valuable as the Bordeaux grapes are, I bet they’ve mapped all of them. The test relates to the DNA. I’m not sure, but I think it’s possible to trace the wine to specific grapes and then match them to regional grapes already mapped.”
“I had no idea.” He loomed over me with the coffeepot at the ready.
Even though the coffee was hot, I drained the tiny cup, then accepted a refill. “Wine may present as art, but there is serious science involved.” I leaned back into the embrace of the wingback chair as the caffeine worked its wonders. “You’ll need to get one of the bottles out of evidence held by the local police.”
“I can do that.”
Expecting an argument, I raised an eyebrow.
“You’d be surprised what one can accomplish with Google translate and a badge.”
“Any chance you have a spare?”
“Badge?” He scoffed.
“You could deputize me.”
He pursed his lips and looked like he was considering my suggestion. “Good call on Nigel Wilde, by the way.”
Okay, well, guess not. No pinning a badge to my breast for me. Probably a good thing. “Poison?”
“Aconite.”
“See, I do good police work.”
“No denying that, but I didn’t bring a spare badge.”
His sorrowful look made me want to give him another hug, but that would embarrass us both.
Romeo didn’t retake his seat. Instead, feeling bolder, he wandered around the suite. The windows called to him. “You are one for the views.”
I joined him to drink in the perfectly framed view of the Eiffel Tower. “Being able to see into the distance makes me feel free, optimistic, in a way.”
“How big the world is and how small our problems really are.” The morning light highlighted the wisdom and worry etched into his previously fresh-faced features.
“Good way to put it. Or maybe with a view I have more visible escape routes.” The early light bathed the city in pink. The white stone of the buildings absorbed it until they glowed.
“Wow,” Romeo whispered.
“Magic.” With the city bathed in the fresh start to a new day, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something, something big. All the questions circled back to the murder of Claude Simon aka Victor Martin. An undercover investigator, or so Liu said. First impressions of Victor screamed petty hood, but Vegas had taught me well that appearances most often deflected the truth.
Why kill him?
By his own admission, Liu didn’t yet have the evidence he’d paid for of collusion between Laurent and Jean-Louis. Of course, that could have been a self-serving admission to deflect suspicion. Regardless, even if he already had all he paid for, there was no reason to kill Victor. In making a public accusation, Liu already had let the news loose. So, if he didn’t kill Victor, could Emma Moreau have done it? There was no evidence Victor knew of the counterfeit operation. Even if he had, as a police officer, Emma would be acutely aware of the difference between faking wine and killing someone. Emma was dislikable but not stupid.
So, who else would have a beef with Victor?
If there was solid proof behind Liu’s smoke and mirrors, then Jean-Louis and Enzo Laurent moved right to the top of the suspect list. In his final months, and too weak to spend much time out of bed, Jean-Louis masquerading as a killer was unlikely. If the truth came to light, he’d be dead soon. Of course, that reasoning also worked if he had in fact killed Victor. Still, I didn’t see him as the killer. But I left the possibility open.
Then there was Enzo Laurent, a bit of a wild card.
M. Fabrice placed Enzo at the scene of the murder—well, Enzo’s car anyway.
“Oh!”
I startled Romeo enough that a bit of coffee sloshed out of his cup. “What?” One look at me and his expression changed. “You know who the killer is, don’t you?”
“What time is it?” Oh man, the tumblers fell into place.
“Almost seven, I think. My watch is still on Vegas time. It’s nine hours’ difference, right? Ahead or behind?”
“Ahead here.” For the first time since I arrived, I felt like I wore my own skin. I topped my cup, then headed toward the stairs and the bedroom suite upstairs. “First, a shower, then to catch a killer.”
The bustling warmth of my favorite breakfast place in all of Paris, Carette, welcomed me inside. A quick scan told me my Navy-shower and quick change had been worth it—I was the first to arrive. One other couple had ventured out this early on a cold winter’s morning. They occupied a table in the back, away from the door. I took one of the two-tops along the banquet lining the front window so I could see him coming, and so no one could overhear our conversation. My view was partially obscured but was the best unless I sat in the enclosed porch. To me, that was too exposed. This was a good compromise. Besides, the young man who I had chased to his death died mere feet from where I sat. Any closer would be too difficult, the memories too real. He’d been Sinjin’s mole in the counterfeit ring. Maybe he’d been a good guy. Maybe he’d been the one who sold out Sinjin. Either way, he’d been young enough to pay his debt to society and then live a good life.
“You should order the scrambled eggs; they are always perfect.”
