by Nina Bruhns
But it couldn’t be helped.
When he was deep in dreamless slumber, she gently eased out from under him, skimmed the floor for his trousers, and found the key to the handcuffs.
♥♥♥
“It’s actually going to work!”
Hugo’s excited words boomed through the apartment. It was the next afternoon and they had all gathered to discuss how the previous day had gone. The others nodded in enthusiastic agreement with Hugo. Ricardo slapped Davie a high five, and CoCo hugged Sofie close.
Ciara smiled broadly, but held up her hands. “We still have a few critical pieces to put in place,” she reminded them. “Without those, our plan is as good as useless. Yesterday’s goals and run-through went well. But next Friday everything must come together perfectly, or we fail.”
Again they nodded. More somberly, but no less optimistically. It was only Saturday. They had time.
“We won’t fail,” CoCo said firmly.
“My copy of the Monet is almost finished,” Sofie said, her mood brighter than Ciara had seen it in a long, long time.
CoCo hugged her again. “And it’s beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“How is the box coming along, Davie?” Ciara asked.
He grinned. “Looks just like the real one. The photos I took yesterday of the Faberge Egg to mount inside it should fool anyone. For a few minutes, anyway.”
Ciara grinned back. A few minutes was all they needed. “And the Jag?”
“My parents won’t be back from Rome for two weeks. We’re all set.”
“That’s great.” She turned to Ricardo. “How did your job interview go?”
His hands swirled in an enthusiastic Italian gesture. “The manager of the Casino Palais d’Or kitchens was very impressed with my culinary experience.” He blew his fingernails and polished them on his shirt. “And my considerable charm, of course. Hired me for the whole two weeks of the film festival.”
“Excellent!” Ciara said, feeling a rush of relief. Getting someone inside the casino, with access to door codes and security badges, had been a concern. She hoped they wouldn’t need them, but extra escape routes were imperative, just to be safe. “When do you start?”
“Monday,” he said, laughing as everyone descended on him with hugs and backslaps.
After a moment Ciara pulled Hugo aside from the chattering knot. “What more did you learn about Jose Villalobo and his conflict diamonds?”
Hugo folded his arms and watched the others with a smile. “Uncle Jacques was able to confirm that Villalobo has not yet exchanged the diamonds. He says they are only of medium quality—but unmarked.”
Ciara nodded. “Which makes them perfect for low-end designer jewelry that won’t attract unwanted attention. Easy to sell, and high profit.”
“According to Jacques’ sources, the diamonds are in a high-tech safe on his heavily guarded luxury yacht. Right now it’s moored off Monaco, but he’ll be sailing to Cannes on Wednesday.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Good.”
“Ciara, you’re not thinking of breaking into Villalobo’s safe, are you?” he asked worriedly. “It would be suicide.”
“I know. Luckily, there’s an easier way.”
“How?”
“Valois. I’ll have him set the exchange in motion for Friday.”
The others were listening again, and at the outsider’s name they all looked surprised.
“You mean Victor Valois?” Davie asked. “What does he have to do with this?”
Ciara sat on the arm of an easy chair. “I approached him a couple of days ago with our plan, and he has agreed to help us. Valois works with precious gems all the time. And he is known throughout Europe as a completely reliable fence. Villalobo won’t be suspicious of his offer to exchange the diamonds for money.”
“But why would he do this for us?” Davie persisted with a frown.
“He’s my mentor,” she reminded him. “He taught me everything I know. He likes all of you, and he hates Beck.”
“You’d think a fence would be sympathetic to a corrupt cop.”
“Corrupt, maybe. But not a sadistic animal.”
Her harsh words sliced through the quiet apartment. After a moment Davie nodded. “D’accord.”
“Speaking of which...” Ricardo ventured.
Ciara bit her bottom lip at the final item on their agenda. “Right. Beck.”
They all traded somber looks. One by one their expressions turned hard. Sofie went white.
“How do we deal with him?” Ricardo asked.
“I’ll take care of Beck,” Ciara said grimly.
“But the blackmail deadline is Monday.”
“Which is why you can bet he’ll be coming around soon. I’ll talk to him when he makes contact.”
Hugo glanced at Sofie, his expression softening. “I’m not leaving her side until Friday is over.”
“Probably a good idea,” Ciara agreed.
“Are you sure he’ll give us until Friday?” Hugo asked.
“For twelve million, wouldn’t you?”
That was the beauty of the plan. She would promise him five million. Beck was cruel and brutal, but he wasn’t stupid. He would figure out what they were planning, and come up with a way to take it all. And they’d let him. Because a cop who’d stolen twelve million had only two choices: leave the country fast and never return, or go to jail.
“For twelve million,” Hugo said wryly, “most people would probably sell their own grandmother.”
Which was what she was counting on. And when Beck fell for it, his hold on Sofie would be over forever.
Pulling it off would be tricky. Timing was everything. They had to lure Beck to Cannes on Friday. And they had to make sure he knew exactly where and when the exchange would take place. Ciara wanted him to pull his double-cross right afterwards. No way did she want blood diamonds in her possession any longer than absolutely necessary. Jean-Marc would just love catching her with those.
Davie went to the fridge and fetched a bottle of champagne. “I think this calls for a celebration.” He popped the cork and grabbed some glasses.
“Make mine a small one,” CoCo called to him. “I’m meeting Pierre tonight.”
Ciara winced inwardly at the reminder of what she’d set in motion with that part of the scheme. Pierre always plied CoCo with good food and drink. Ciara didn’t want to think about what else he plied her with.
Early on, she’d changed her mind and begged CoCo not to see him again. Warned her not to get involved in something that would only hurt her in the end.
CoCo hadn’t listened. “He’s important to our plans,” she had maintained, despite Ciara’s insistence that they didn’t really need Pierre. They could feed misinformation to Jean-Marc a different way. “Besides, Pierre won’t hurt me. He’s a good man.”
Ciara wanted to believe that. But in any case she had no real say in the matter. CoCo was of age, and had made her own decisions since she was in diapers.
“Are you ready for his questions?” Ciara asked with real concern. “Under no circumstances can you tell him what we’re really doing.”
CoCo nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m ready for him. I’ve got the cover story down.”
Pierre was the wild card. Ciara had thought to use him only for the setup, to keep Jean-Marc from getting too close. She had no idea what Pierre would do if CoCo really let her guard down and something important accidentally slipped out. Would he guess their real plan? Would he interfere or stop them? Or would he get greedy? Ciara had made contingency plans either way. But it was still nerve-racking.
“Alors,” CoCo said, lifting her champagne. “Here’s to Friday.” They all drank, then she rose from the sofa. “I’d better get ready to meet Pierre.”
Ciara watched her walk from the room with a sudden spurt of uneasiness. CoCo was acting perfectly normal. And yet...
Ciara gave herself a mental shake. No. CoCo was fine. Pierre had not gotten to her. And would not get to her, n
o matter how much good food and drink he plied her with. Or...anything else, for that matter.
CoCo was completely loyal. As were all the Orphans. None of them would ever betray her. Or Sofie, for whom they were all doing this.
Ciara would bet her life on it.
♥♥♥
Jean-Marc called Cheveau first thing Saturday and found out no robbery had been reported in the Marseille area anytime within the last twenty-four hours which even remotely fit Ciara’s MO.
Merde.
He was so fucking tired. Tired of getting nowhere. Tired of seeing Ciara run circles around him. Most of all, he was tired of having his heart stepped on.
Waking up alone on that train, naked and handcuffed to the sleeping berth, had been the final straw. He needed some time away from this. From her. He had to get his professional objectivity back.
The woman was a thief. Her actions since being released from prison had as much as proven she was planning another robbery. She wasn’t going to change. Not for him. Apparently not for anything.
He’d set aside his feelings and put her away the first time, restoring his reputation and redeeming his professional pride. He’d risked all that by warning his boss she was up to her old tricks again. He’d put his very career in jeopardy again by disobeying Belfort’s orders to leave it alone. He was oh, so tempted to let her pull this stupid job and let someone else have the case---and the fallout.
But that would be giving up. And Jean-Marc may be a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. Nor would he trade his integrity for emotional comfort.
He did, however, recognize when a strategy wasn’t working.
So for the entire weekend he went into Zen cop mode and put Ciara Alexander out of his mind. He entrenched himself in his office at 36 Quai des Orfèvres and caught up on all the other work he should have been doing for the past few weeks. And firmly ignored the urge to drive out to rue Daguerre and sit in his car waiting for a glimpse of her.
In his zeal, he solved two open cases.
On Monday morning Belfort called him into his office to congratulate him.
“Good work, Lacroix. See what happens when you follow orders and devote yourself to solving real crimes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It pleases me you’ve given up your ridiculous notions about that woman, le Revenant.”
He bit his tongue and accepted two new case files. Then quickly went back to his office before steam started coming out of his ears.
“Hey, mec, what’s up?” Pierre said, plopping himself in the visitor’s chair with a grin. “Heard a rumor you met some hot babe on the train back to Paris Friday night. About time you stopped pining over your lady thief.”
“I’m not pining. And it was her.”
“Who?”
“Ciara.”
“Non, this was a redhead. Sounded like a princess, I hear. Sexy as... Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. Who ratted?”
“When I didn’t hear back after you jumped that train, I got worried. Called railroad security. They did a little investigating.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Hey, what are friends for? So, um, anything? I assume you conducted a thorough search.” His grin broadened.
Jean-Marc gave him a withering glare, then sighed. “Nothing.” Head in hands, he leaned his elbows on the desk. “Pierre, I’m losing it. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, she’s got me so twisted around. Why am I not seeing what she’s up to?”
Pierre clucked his tongue. “Emotions, mon ami. You are letting your emotions for the woman interfere with your usually logical policeman’s mind.”
He snorted. “You know me better than that.”
His partner gave him a sympathetic look. “I used to.”
“There’s never been a choice, here, Pierre. I’m a cop. First, formost and always.”
“You want to put her away again?”
“Have to, if she’s doing something illegal.”
“What if she’s not?”
“Give me a break.”
Pierre tipped his chair back and studied his fingers. “I don’t know.”
“Pierre,” Jean-Marc said, studying his friend just as intently. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
His partner swiped a hand over his face. “I’m not sure.”
“Spill, buddy.”
“It’s CoCo. She’s acting...different.”
“Like?”
“One minute she’s all sweet and happy. The next she’s a million miles away, looking like she’s wrestling with the weight of the world.”
Jean-Marc made a dismissive gesture. “Sounds like guilt to me.”
“Maybe. I’ve tried to get it out of her. But she just rolls on top of me and insists I’m imagining things. Very distracting.”
Jean-Marc didn’t like that image. Didn’t want to think of CoCo on top of Pierre. Because it conjured too-vivid, too-recent memories of Ciara.
He clenched his jaw. “Do you think we’re being played? Both of us?”
Pierre chuckled. “Mec, I think we’ve been way out of our league from day one.”
Jean-Marc winced. That was so true it wasn’t even funny. “No more, Pierre. It’s time to turn this bus around.”
“How?” his friend asked in an interested, if unconvinced, tone.
“Stop chasing after Ciara. Get in front of her instead. Predict her next move.”
“I thought that’s what we’ve been trying to do?”
“But in all the wrong ways. We need to go back. Do the same things we did the first time we caught her. We have enough information on her new behavior.” Jean-Marc stood and leaned over the desk, slamming his hands on the top. “Hell, Pierre, let’s do another profile.”
♥♥♥
Beck was furious when Ciara asked for another week on their deadline. Right up until she told him about the five million. That got his attention real quick.
“You’re offering me five million? Euros?” he asked incredulously.
“In unmarked diamonds.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
“To keep you away from Sofie. Permanently.” Ciara flexed her fingers, readying herself for his reaction. “Either take the diamonds and get out of France, or we’ll keep them ourselves and go where you’ll never find us. Your choice.”
Beck’s mouth flapped like a beached cod. Then his eyes narrowed. “You think I’ll fall for that bullshit? I’m no fucking idiot!”
She shrugged. “Fine. You don’t want five million in untraceable diamonds. You’ll get your ten thousand cash in a week, then. Look for it in a package mailed from Rio.” She turned on a toe, heading for the mouth of the grungy courtyard where they’d met.
“Arrête! Bitch!” She felt him lunge for her.
God, how she’d been waiting for that. She whipped the gun from her jacket pocket—a Sig Sauer 9mm 2022 borrowed from Valois specifically for this meeting—and jammed it into his forehead. His fist came to a screeching halt, mid-swing.
“Don’t. Even. Think. About it,” she growled.
His eyes bugged and his hands raised above his head. “You are a lunatic!”
“Are you telling or asking?” she sneered.
He backed off, arms held carefully out from his body. “I’m reconsidering.”
“Too late, asshole. I’ve decided you’re not worth five million. Think I’ll kill you instead.”
Sweat popped out around the red mark the gun barrel had pressed into his forehead. “A cop? In broad daylight in the middle of Paris? You’ll never get away with it.”
“Who said I’ll do it here?” she said. “I can wait. Until you least expect it. Then--” She aimed the gun at him and mouthed a silent, “Pow.”
“I’ll take the money,” he rushed to say, his voice hoarse with swallowed fear. “I’ll disappear. I swear.”
She laughed. And put the gun back in her pocket. “I thought you’d see it my way.”
&n
bsp; “Where are you getting five million in diamonds?” he asked, his shoulders notching down slightly. Even scared shitless, his gaze had turned calculating.
She laughed again. So damned transparent. “You don’t want to know. This guy’s South American, a drug lord. He’ll slit your throat as soon as look at your ugly mug if you mess with his diamonds.”
“And yet, you’re willing to take the chance? Just for me?” Beck’s smarmy face wreathed in a smarmy smile. “I’m touched.”
She smiled through her teeth. “Nah. I’m hoping you’ll get greedy and pull something stupid, so he kills you. That way I’ll get your five million as well as my seven.”
That brought him up short. While he wallowed in speechlessness, she walked away. She had to physically restrain herself from laughing out loud.
Damn, she was good.
♥♥♥
Jean-Marc and Pierre had spent the morning working on their revised profile of Ciara, master thief and ex-con, trying to predict what she was planning next.
“Something’s changed with her,” Pierre said. “Something meaningful to her crimes. Today’s the last of the month and she hasn’t pulled a single job.”
“Which means paying the rent is no longer a motive.”
“So why is she still doing it? What’s driving her?”
“The reason is personal now. Compelling.”
Pierre nodded speculatively. “She wants the money for herself. To have her own life.”
“More likely Beck’s blackmail. He raped Sofie to show how serious he is.”
“That would be compelling.” Pierre shifted slightly. “Then there’s you, of course.”
Jean-Marc frowned. “Me? What do you mean?”
“Your relationship. Your pursuit of her. You, Jean-Marc, are bound to be a factor in Ciara’s change of criminal behavior.”
Jean-Marc stared, then laughed. “I seriously doubt it. Other than that she’s gotten a lot more devious, maybe.”
Pierre shrugged. “Which is a factor.”
“Granted,” he conceded, making a face. “Okay, so other than me, what do we have?”
Pierre held up one finger. “Motive? Likely Beck’s blackmail.”
Jean-Marc nodded. “I’ll go along with that.”