ENTRAPMENT

by Kylie Brant

  Her hand was not quite steady as she poured the Scotch. Crossing to the freezer, she withdrew some ice cubes and dropped them into the glass. Had it not been for her grandmother, she'd take her chances and make her escape right now. But Tremaine held the trump card, and he knew it. Her head was whirling, but try as she might, she couldn't think of one other way out of the surreal situation she found herself in.

  She stood in the kitchen a moment longer, her hand clasping and releasing around the glass. When cornered, her instincts were to evade, bluff or parry.

  She didn't capitulate to trouble, she punched her way out. There were options here; there had to be. And once she had more information, those options would become apparent to her.

  She took a breath. Right now, however, much as she hated to admit it, her choices were depressingly limited. The realization, dismal as it was, was unavoidable. With reluctance weighing every muscle, she squared her shoulders, turned and retraced her steps, returning with the freshened drink to the half-naked man lounging in her whirlpool.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  "Juliette." Pauline rose from the table at the outdoor cafe and gave her granddaughter a hug. The gracefulness of her movements were in contrast to the fierceness with which she gripped the younger woman. "Are you all right?"

  "Of course, Grandmama." Juliette returned her grandmother's hug and whispered, "I'll make this go away. Just give me time."

  "Ms. Fontaine, I trust your accommodations have been comfortable." At Sam's smooth voice, the two women reluctantly broke apart and looked at him.

  Pauline's brows arched. "Not as comfortable as my own home, no."

  He inclined his head lazily, and held out a chair for Juliette. Once she'd sat, he waited for Pauline to reseat herself before sliding into his own chair. "You'll have to forgive my tactics. Juliette can be a bit … stubborn."

  Pauline eyed him with an expression that Juliette knew all too well. "You mean because she didn't fall all over herself to cooperate with you? We're both well aware of the lengths some men will go to get what they want. Your actions are despicable, but hardly surprising."

  If Sam was bothered by the censure in Pauline Fontaine's voice, it didn't show. His tone was respectful when he answered. "I think you are a practical woman, as well as a very beautiful one, Ms. Fontaine. One does what one must, wouldn't you say?"

  Juliette looked sharply at him. Her grandmother frequently said that very thing, and she wondered if his words were coincidence or if they stemmed from the research he'd claimed to have done. At any rate, he had her grandmother pegged. Pauline was pragmatic to a fault. If he'd thought to be treated to hysterics and demands, he'd be sorely mistaken. The older woman was regarding him with a cool steady gaze.

  "What I would say is that you're a man sorely lacking in breeding. Hardly surprising for an American."

  "My own grandmother would wince to hear you say so. Honesty forces me to admit she did her best to teach me manners. Her lessons didn't always take." He lifted the plate of assorted cheeses and fruits from the table and began loading some on the plate in front of Juliette. When she made a protest, he sent her a narrowed look. "You didn't touch a thing room service brought, which means you haven't had a meal since yesterday. You'll eat. Or, if you like, I can feed you."

  The glare she threw him would have withered most men. It had no noticeable effect on him. With ill grace, she picked up a piece of cheese, laid it on a cracker and lifted it to her mouth, biting it with restrained ferocity. Listening to his orders had quickly worn thin. That, if nothing else, should motivate her to think of a way out of this mess. And quickly.

  She looked up then and caught her grandmother eyeing her and Sam speculatively. "Have you been treated well, Grandmama?"

  Pauline raised a hand dismissively. "Don't spend your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself, I assure you. It would appear that you have enough to concern yourself about with…" She raised a brow in Sam's direction.

  He filled in the pause smoothly. "Sam Tremaine, ma'am."

  "Your name doesn't interest me as much as who you represent."

  As Juliette opened her mouth to answer, he said, "Let's just agree that I'm Juliette's partner for the time being, and leave it at that." He leaned forward to pick up the bottle of wine the waiter had left for them and tipped some more into the older woman's glass.

  Next he picked up the flute before Juliette and filled it as he continued to address Pauline. "Your granddaughter was worried about you. I promised her this meeting to assure her of your well-being. After this there will be no contact between the two of you until our association has come to an end."

  Juliette raised the glass before her and noted wryly, "Given our separation I'm beginning to believe you've gotten the better end of the deal, Grand-mama. Mr. Tremaine has an annoying habit of issuing orders and expecting immediate obedience." She was surprised to see a tiny smile curve her grandmother's mouth.

  "Oh dear, how trying for you, darling."

  "She doesn't appear too experienced at taking direction," Sam observed, sipping some water. "But I think we'll be able to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement." With a deliberate shift of topic he inquired about the other woman's accommodations. Were they to her liking? Was there anything she needed? Was she being treated courteously?

  Juliette flicked a glance at him as he made the inquiries. Were they really supposed to believe he cared one way or another about the answers? But there was a note of sincerity in his voice, and he gave every impression of being interested in her grandmother's replies. His head was inclined toward the older woman, and he was listening intently.

  The umbrella over their table shielded them from the worst of the afternoon's brightness, but his position as he leaned forward placed him in a direct ray of sunlight, turning his hair a blinding shade of gold. It highlighted his hard profile, with its slash of cheekbones, hard lean jaw and straight blade of a nose.

  Her gaze lingered for a moment longer. There was a slight bump on this side of his nose, below the bridge, hinting at an old break. Abruptly she remembered the jagged, barely healed wound on his leg, and knew both injuries were only two on a long list. There had been an assortment of faded scars patterning his muscled body, and she'd been treated to a fine view of them before she'd left him to soak. Separately, each of the injuries would tell a fascinating story. Together they hinted at a life of violence she didn't want to consider. There was too much she didn't know about Sam Tremaine. But it was rapidly becoming clear that he was more—much more—than he claimed to be.

  She did know he worked fast. They hadn't been in her apartment an hour that morning before his luggage had arrived, implying a sense of permanence that even now stung. She guessed he was smart, mercenary and more than a little fierce when provoked. And she knew that despite his injury, he was in prime physical condition.

  Her throat suddenly dry, Juliette tipped her glass to her lips, and forced her attention back to the couple at the table. Sam was writing something on a card and handing it to her grandmother. "If you need anything at all you can contact me at this number, day or night. One of my associates will dial it for you."

  Pauline slowly took the card. "So I'm to enjoy my gilded cage for the duration, hmm?"

  "As much as possible, ma'am."

  The older woman tucked the card in the small bag she carried. "Perhaps a few of your grandmother's lessons were not in vain, after all."

  Sam's hard mouth curved. "Mostly the ones she accentuated with willow switches, ma'am, but she'd be proud to hear you say so."

  "Willow switches?" Juliette sipped at her wine, her interest piqued despite herself. "I think she should have tried something longer and stouter if she wanted to make more of an impression."

  "Bloodthirsty little thing, aren't you?" His gaze met hers over the top of his glass, a glimmer of amusement evident.

  "Not at all. I've just noted a certain single-mindedness that may be the resul
t of lack of discipline as a child."

  He touched his glass to hers, surprising her. "Something we have in common, then."

  Deliberately, she placed her wineglass back on the table. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of drinking to that remark. He couldn't possibly realize the experiences that had shaped her, and she was beginning to resent his insinuations. From the little he'd said, he'd been on Oppenheimer's trail for a long time, as well. They had that in common, and regardless of his motivation, she doubted her goals were any less noble than his.

  A capricious breeze sent a strand of hair dancing, and her hand rose to smooth it back from her face. Her fingers met Sam's as he reached out at that moment to do the same. She froze, her gaze jerking to his. The act was curiously intimate, and from the expression on his face, he was as surprised by the impulse as she was.

  He dropped his hand and turned back to her grandmother, and after a moment she did the same. It would be difficult to miss the gleam of interest in Pauline's eyes, and Juliette didn't regret that the situation made it impossible for her to have a private moment or two with her grandmother. She didn't feel up to parrying the older woman's questions.

  With a discreet movement, she shifted her chair so Sam's leg wasn't brushing against hers. Whether these too casual touches were deliberate or not, she wouldn't allow them to haze her logic. That was one area she could control, and she would. Sam Tremaine could charm the thorns off roses. Already there was an almost imperceptible softening in her grandmother, and Lord knew, the woman was as intuitive as they came.

  But he wouldn't charm Juliette. She reached for her glass and drank, silently toasting the vow. Tremaine had shown himself to be ruthless about getting what he wanted. She could identify with that quality, even respect it on some level. She possessed a certain measure of ruthlessness herself. But the man hadn't been born who could make her lose focus, to distract her from her objective.

  And no man in the world could make her forget.

  With barely concealed impatience she waited as small talk was made, contributing very little to it. The carafe of wine was slowly emptied, the tray of afternoon cheese and crackers eaten and her attention drifted to the two men at a table a discreet distance from theirs. Although out of earshot, their chairs were arranged to keep Tremaine's table in sight, and she knew intuitively that the men belonged to him; the associates he'd spoken of. No doubt they served as her grandmother's captors, as well. Studying them, Juliette saw nothing remarkable in their appearance. Nondescript features, neither tall nor short, they wouldn't stand out in a crowd. She knew exactly how important that quality was. Tremaine obviously did, too.

  When her grandmother finally rose to go, Juliette barely managed to restrain a sigh of relief. That sigh became a strangled gasp when the older woman hugged her again and murmured, "He's not indifferent to you, darling. A wise woman would use that. Sex can be an effective tool." "Grandmother…"

  The rest of her words slid down her throat when fingers closed over her elbow and a low voice said, "Ready?"

  Juliette glanced up to find Sam's face much too close to hers. Had he overheard her grandmother's whispered suggestion? Heat suffused her. She yanked her arm from his grasp and preceded him through the cafe. Embarrassment was a wasted, useless emotion, one she rarely indulged in. She refused to do so now. A woman in her position would be stupid not to consider using any weapon at her disposal to get the upper hand. Juliette didn't lack intelligence.

  But neither was she jaded enough to sleep with someone in an effort to exert control over them. She wondered if Tremaine could say the same.

  Once in the car she didn't speak for several minutes. "This isn't the way back to my apartment."

  "No." The late afternoon sun slanting into the vehicle dusted his whole body with a bronze glow, giving his poet's face an almost saintly look. Her mouth twisted. That only went to show how far apart nature and reality were.

  "I'm taking you to meet another associate of mine."

  Although his words were uttered matter-of-factly enough, she felt anticipation rise. "Am I finally going to be given all the details of this job? It's about time."

  "Juliette." He managed to sound wounded. "One would think you didn't appreciate my efforts on your behalf this afternoon. Didn't seeing your grandmother put some of your concerns to rest?"

  "I'd almost believe that was your intent if I didn't realize that the meeting suited your own purpose."

  Taking wire-framed sunglasses off the dash, he flipped them open and put them on. "And what purpose might that be?"

  "To provide a potent reminder of just what I stand to lose by not cooperating with you."

  Sam shook his head sadly. "You have a cynical outlook. Sad in one so young." He handled the car expertly in the Parisian traffic, navigating the narrow streets like a pro. "I'd ask what shaped it, but you don't trust me enough to tell me. Not yet."

  The inflection he gave the last word was imbued with certainty, as though it were just a matter of time before she'd divulge all sorts of personal details for his dissection. If he truly believed that, he wasn't as intelligent as she'd given him credit for.

  They pulled to a stop before a tall narrow building. Weather had washed the brick to a pale rose, so it stood out among the neighboring buildings like a faded bloom. The crowded surroundings didn't disguise the quiet elegance of the neighborhood. It shimmered wealth.

  She looked around with interest as Sam unlocked the door and ushered her inside. The promise of elegance outside was reflected in the furnishings and the decorations. A Matisse adorned the wall next to her, and with only a quick look she assessed both its authenticity and value. The mental summary was second nature, as unconscious as breathing. When they passed by a glassed collection of Faberge eggs, she gave an inner nod of approval. Wealth was wasted on those without taste. "Is this your home?"

  Sam cocked a brow at her. "Do I look like old money?"

  Juliette didn't even take a moment to consider her answer. "Yes." She couldn't say exactly what there was about him that hinted at it. He obviously was accustomed to the best, but those habits could be acquired later in life. It was more a sense of belonging. Even dressed casually as he was right now, in khakis and a short-sleeved green polo shirt that hugged his biceps, he appeared at home in the place. If he didn't live here, he lived somewhere much like it. It really wasn't difficult to identify the people born to this kind of life. Just as it was glaringly obvious which of them were not.

  Don't touch anything! This is as close to class as white trash like you will ever come.

  The voice slid beneath the door she'd slammed on that particular memory, sly and sneering. The words still had vicious little barbs, and stung as deeply.

  "Juliette?"

  With a jerk she looked at Sam, shoving the memory back in a corner of her mind. "What?"

  "I said it belongs to a friend. I just have the use of it for a while."

  Completely recovered now, she moved easily by him. "Some friend." Once out of the spacious hallway she found herself in a huge living room. Aside from the small kitchen tucked into one corner of the home, the space took up the rest of the floor. This room, too, was filled with priceless antiques and works of art. But it was the man standing near the fireplace who drew her attention.

  "Juliette, meet Miles Caladesh, an associate of mine."

  She slanted Sam a glance. "You do seem to have a number of them, don't you?" Something besides his expressionless tone alerted her. He hadn't bothered to introduce her to the men guarding her grandmother, and they obviously weren't enjoying the opulent generosity of Sam's friend. Something about this man was different. Instincts, always just below the surface, began to hum. Now, perhaps, she'd get the details about the job Tremaine thought was so important.

  The stranger was staring at her, long enough to be considered rude. Rather than let it bother her, Juliette moved into the room and seated herself on a long curved couch that was every bit as comfortable as it looked.

>   Clearing his throat, the other man said, "You're not what I expected."

  She crossed her legs. "I won't ask what you did expect, since the answer is sure to be offensive."

  Sam seated himself in a chair near the couch and watched Caladesh cynically. It wasn't difficult to imagine the cause of the man's unusual speechlessness. Juliette made an impression, and it was all too evident that she'd made one on Miles. There was a burn low in his gut that he refused to identify as jealousy. Emotion had no place in his life, at least not while he was working. And allowing emotion to creep into his dealings with Juliette would be more than dangerous, it'd be downright disastrous.

  He forced his mind off that train of thought and got ready to do damage control if necessary. Caladesh, damn him, seemed intent on micromanaging every detail of this operation. Since Headquarters had already approved their use of Juliette for this job, there was very little to be gained from this meeting.

  Obviously recovered, Miles raked her up and down with a glance. "So you're the notorious thief wanted on three continents by some of the most powerful law enforcement agencies in the world. Are they all really that inept or are you that good?"

  "I'm that good," she responded without hesitation, and Sam allowed himself a small smile. Beneath the stunning packaging was a healthy ego. Having her identity discovered had probably sliced at it more than a bit. But it hadn't altered her confidence at its most basic level. Even while he despised the choices she made he could appreciate the sheer guts, daring and intelligence necessary for her to be so successful at her chosen work.

  Miles folded his arms across his chest. "Let's hope you're half as skilled as you think you are, and it was just Tremaine's good fortune that led him to uncover your identity so easily."

  Her gaze narrowed and Sam tensed, wondering if he'd have to intervene. He'd seen signs of Juliette's temper, although she'd always managed to leash it. But if she decided to take on Miles, he'd place his bets on her.