“I’m going to enjoy beating that son of a bitch when this is over.”
Six
The 13th arrondissement was a largely industrial part of Paris on the Left Bank. They passed a series of small restaurants, boutiques, and office buildings, finally pulling in front of a derelict six-story building topped with something like a turret. Jenna had been surprised the first time she’d seen the place. It had seemed entirely out of character for Christophe Marchand until Farrell explained that it had once been called “Les Frigos” after the fact that it had been a giant refrigerator in the early 1900s. The turret had been a water tower, and the building had fallen into disrepair, used by vagrants and drug dealers, until Marchand bought the property ten years earlier. Even with the little she knew about Christophe Marchand, it had made sense. Marchand clearly revered his city and everything about it.
They avoided the giant front doors facing the street — they knew from experience they were locked — and circled to the side of the building and a pair of pristine metal doors. Farrell had been tense since they’d left Marchand’s house, and Jenna had kept quiet, knowing he needed time to process the altercation. Had Marchand’s final words to them been a threat? A warning that the clock was ticking and that Farrell and Jenna were on borrowed time, either because Marchand would sell them out or because someone else had already done so?
Jenna didn't know, but she had the sense that events were unfolding beyond the edges of her vision, wheels in motion that she couldn’t yet see. Farrell would talk about it when he was ready.
They stopped in front of the metal doors and pressed a buzzer near the door. A whirring sounded from above, and Jenna looked up, watching as the security camera mounted to the building’s facade swiveled from side to side. A moment later, a click sounded from inside the door. Farrell turned the knob and they stepped into a cool, dimly lit room with a concrete floor.
A glass enclosure stood at the front of the room. It was empty, though it was clearly used as some kind of reception desk. A couple minutes later, a familiar woman emerged from a locked metal door next to the enclosure.
“Monsieur Black, Mademoiselle Carver,” the woman said. “How nice to see you again.”
She was petite, with a pixie face and short black hair that conformed to her head like a sleek cap. Unlike Marchand and those that worked at his side, she was wearing black jeans and combat boots, attire in keeping with her work in the digital lab used by Marchand to run his business.
“Nice to see you, Julie,” Farrell said.
Jenna smiled. “Hello, again.”
The woman named Julie headed for the metal door leading to the rest of the building. “Monsieur Marchand says you need access to some information.”
“That's right,” Farrell said.
“Follow me. I’m sure Sebastien will be happy to help again.” She unlocked the door and held it open. They stepped into a large open space occupying the entire first floor of the building. She locked the door behind them, then turned for the stairwell next to the door.
They made their way up a narrow staircase to the second floor. Here the space was divided into several light-filled offices, the glass walls allowing them a view out the original floor-to-ceiling factory windows with black mullions. Beyond the glass, men and woman worked at computer terminals, some of them alone, other in pairs or groups, all of them so focused on their work they didn’t bother looking up as Jenna and Farrell followed Julie down the hall. They stopped at one of the doors and Julie knocked, then opened it.
A slender middle-aged man sat at a computer terminal, his eyes still on the screen in front of him. Dreadlocks spilled over the shoulders of his printed tunic, and his arms were covered in woven bracelets made of multicolored rope adorned with beads.
“Sebastien,” Julie said, “Monsieur Marchand has requested that we give Monsieur Black more of our time.” She turned to Jenna and Farrell without waiting for the man to respond. “Please let me know if there is anything else we can do to be of assistance.”
She left the room, and Jenna turned her attention back to the man in front of the computer. Farrell was uncharacteristically patient, but she was beginning to think the man didn’t know they were there when he finally swiveled in his chair to face them.
“Monsieur Black.” He nodded at Jenna. “What can I do for you?"
“CBT Financial is moving. I suspect they’re a shell company for something else — we couldn't find anything on them last time I was here — but they’re moving, and I need to know when and where.”
Sebastien had turned back to his computer even before Farrell finished speaking. His fingers flew over the keys, and Farrell and Jenna stepped closer, watching over his shoulder as he tabbed between several screens, one of them with code moving rapidly across the monitor. Jenna tried to keep track of the changing display, but most of the websites were in French, and the screens switched so quickly she was still getting a grip on one when it morphed into another. After about ten minutes, Sebastien spoke.
“Nothing.”
“But it’s only been ten minutes…” Jenna said.
“There's nothing,” he said. “No new leases under the name of the company or the members of the board. No information on the board at all, for that matter, as we discovered last time. No building permits and nothing to indicate the company might be leaving the country either.”
“There must be something,” Farrell said. “This company has employees, clients.”
The man turned to look at them. “Are you certain about that?”
Farrell rubbed his jaw. “About the employees, yes.”
“And the clients?” Sebastien asked.
“No,” Farrell admitted. “Can you hack their system and find out?”
Jenna tried to hide her surprise. That’s why she’d been working Alain Bouchard: so he could get them into the system at CBT. But if Sebastien could do it, she might not have to use her friendship with Alain.
“It will take some time,” Sebastien said. “There are no guarantees.”
“I’ll take that gamble. Let Marchand know when you find out.”
Sebastien nodded, his attention already back on his computer screen.
“Thank you,” Jenna said.
He nodded absent-mindedly.
Farrell tipped his head at the door, and Jenna followed him out of the room. They stepped back into the hall and were immediately met by Julie as if they had some kind of tracking device attached to their shoes.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Farrell said. “I asked Sebastien to keep looking. I hope that’s all right.”
“We work at the behest of Monsieur Marchand. He has asked us to assist you, and so it will be done.”
Farrell nodded.
“I’ll see you out.”
They followed her back down the stairs and into the empty reception room.
“Thank you,” Jenna said. “We appreciate your help.”
She smiled. “I hope we can be of assistance.”
The door slammed shut in her face, and a moment later she heard an ominous sounding lock engage from inside the frame.
“Why have been lying to Alain Bouchard if Marchand’s people can hack into the CBT system?” she asked.
“I don’t think they can,” Farrell said. “But I figured it was worth a shot if we were asking for favors anyway, and it would be better than tipping our hand to Alain if it can be avoided.”
They hadn’t talked about the possibility of Alain refusing to help them — or worse, finding a way to report them — but Jenna knew it was possible. Then they’d be back on the run, every bit of their energy used to stay hidden instead of getting the people behind the virus that might at that very moment be weaponized.
But she could tell from Farrell’s expression that he wasn’t holding his breath. It was one of the only times she’d ever hoped he was wrong.
Seven
They parked the car back at the
flat and walked through the neighborhood to L’Estaminet, a local restaurant where they often had dinner. The sun had set, and the streets of Paris were alive with people out for the evening. They got a table outside near a stone wall trailing old vines and watched a couple pass arm in arm, friends fully immersed in the blush of youth, a young family walking with a small girl about Lily’s age.
Farrell watched the family walk past and thought of his daughter — the daughter he and Jenna had made — far off in Italy. He made a point not to tell Jenna how much he missed Lily, how he felt her absence like a vacuum in his heart. How he missed her laughter and the way she twined her small hands around his neck when he carried her to bed. It was his purpose to comfort Jenna. He wouldn’t seek comfort from her.
But he did miss his Lily. And he missed his brother, too. He’d dared to call Huntington Hills only twice since they’d left Germany, not wanting to bring the wrong kind of people to the one place Ethan found comfort. The one place that was home.
Not with Farrell, but within the walls of the hospital that made him feel safe.
And while Farrell was glad he’d been able to provide for Ethan, to arrange for his care in such a beautiful place, he couldn’t help wishing for more. Couldn’t help wishing he could hear his brother play the piano near the big window in his loft overlooking the Thames instead of in the piano room at the hospital. He wanted to show Ethan Paris. To have a beer with his brother in a pub and talk about football.
But those things would be for Farrell. Ethan didn’t care about them. Didn’t know about them, and therefore couldn’t miss them. Farrell should have grown accustomed to the distance he was forced to keep from his brother. Somehow he never did.
He looked up to find Jenna looking at him. He smiled at her across the little table.
“Don't try to fool me with your smile, Farrell Black,” she said softly.
“Now why would I do that, love?”
She turned the wine glass in her fingers. “Because you don’t like to talk about your feelings. And that’s okay.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “It is?”
She nodded. “As long as you know you can.”
He reached across the table for her hand. “I know.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“I was thinking about Ethan.” The words escaped his mouth before he had time to consider them. He was glad when she didn’t flinch, didn’t make a big deal of it.
“You miss him,” she said.
He nodded. “I hope he’s all right.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’ve seen to everything. I’m sure he’s all right. But if you’re worried, you could send Leo to check on him.”
“Leo doesn’t know.”
A flicker of surprise passed over her features. “I see. So you’ve been carrying it alone then. All this time, as with everything else.”
He pulled his hand away, felt his defenses rising in spite of himself. “Don’t pity me,” he said. “It’s a privilege to take care of those one loves.”
She shook her head, then took his hand in her smaller one. “I don’t pity you. You’re strong. Fierce for those you love.” Her voice was calm and sure. “It’s who you are.”
He searched her eyes, looking for doubt, for fear, for any of the things that used to be there. There was nothing but love. The realization sent a spark of lust roaring through his veins, and he was suddenly overcome with the desire to possess her. To push into her. To occupy her body and her heart the way she occupied his.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Her eyes were like liquid gold in the candlelight, her chest rising and falling like she was out of breath. Like she could read his mind and knew what he wanted to do to her.
“What about our order?” she asked.
“Fuck our order.”
A minute later, they were rushing hand in hand toward the flat. She’d already given herself to him. Had promised to take him as he was. To love him as he was.
But this was was something else. Not approval. He may never get that from Jenna. She was too honest. Too principled to lie about something like that. But a kind of understanding she hadn't expressed before. He was surprised to find that it was an aphrodisiac, another barrier between them lifted like a floodgate. Now he had no appetite for anything but her.
They were still a block from the flat when the lust simmering in his veins boiled over. He pulled her into the shadows of a shop that was closed for the day, pressing her up against the door, shielding her body as he took her face in his hands, lowered his mouth to hers, claimed it with all the violent passion surging through his body.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him as she opened her mouth, meeting his tongue with urgent strokes of her own as his hands roamed her body. He slipped a hand under her shirt, cupping her breasts and thumbing the peaks, already hard for him, through her bra. His cock strained against his trousers as her nipple grew harder, the desire to suck it into his mouth, to rake his teeth against it, almost overwhelming.
He slid his hands over her waist, tracing the curve of her hips. The soft fabric of her skirt brushed against his hands as he ran his palms up her thighs. He was frantic now, the plundering of her mouth too much like what he wanted to do to her body. There was only one thing standing between him and the glory of her heat, and he bunched her panties in one hand and got rid of them with one swift tug.
He kissed his way to her ear and down the silken expanse of her neck, and she tipped her head against the door of the shop, her hands running over his back as his fingers finally found the glory of her pussy.
She gasped when he found her soaking cleft, the satiny petals enveloping his fingers as he coated his skin with her creamy juices. He was kissing her collarbone when he plunged them inside her. She cried out, and the sound of it almost caused the pressure building inside him ti boil over. He fucked her with his fingers as she slid her hands up his shirt, letting them run over his chest, squeezing his nipples between her fingers as he repositioned his hand to give his thumb access to her clit. When he found it, she moaned, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were still in the shadows of the street. The sound unleashed a fresh wave of arousal that set his cock pulsing more urgently, and he had to resist the urge to tear off the rest of her clothes. The barrier was an erotic frustration: her body so close and yet mostly hidden to him, available only in the sensation of touch as he pumped her with his fingers, felt her hips move against the flat of his palm as he circled the seedling of her clit in time to the movements of the fingers pillaging her pussy.
Then her hands were on his belt buckle, unbuttoning his trousers, freeing his swollen cock from it’s prison. He was so fucking ready for her, so sensitive to her touch he hissed when she wrapped her hand around him, rubbing the tip with her thumb, spreading the drops of come beading there until he was slick with it.
He was lost to her, lost in the heaven of her skin and her body and her hands and the breathless moans escaping her swollen lips. He needed her to come. Needed to give her the release she wanted before he fucked her, because once he was inside her, all bets were off.
He moved his fingers more urgently, matching the rhythm of her hips, her hand as it stroked him, making him grow bigger and harder under the magic of her touch.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze searing his as they played each other’s bodies like instruments they had mastered long ago. She was ready to fall. He could see it in the way her eyes clouded over, could feel it in the tightening of her inner walls as her body clenched in anticipation of the ultimate release.
“Farrell…” she gasped.
She closed her eyes, overcome by the emotions rolling through her body, and he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Come for me, Jenna. Come for me now so I can give you my cock.”
The words sent her over the edge.
“Oh, god…” she moaned.
It was fuel on the flame burning at the center of his body. It had been a surprisin
g discovery all those years ago: that sweet, sensible Jenna was turned on by dirty talk. That telling her what he was going to do to her unlocked the secret garden of her body until everything she kept buttoned up spilled over in an unfettered rush.
He moved his fingers faster, and she ground against him, pushing down on his fingers with her hips as she climbed. She reached the top a moment later, biting down on his shoulder as she shuddered around his fingers, her hand still gripping his cock as she spasmed, coating his fingers with her nectar. He kept moving until she slumped back against the wall, her breath shallow.
He brought one of his slick fingers to her mouth, and she opened her lips, drew it into the moist heat, and sucked. The sight of her tasting her own come and the pressure of her sucking his finger made his cock throb, and he nestled himself between her thighs, positioned his already weeping crown at her opening.
She hooked an arm around his neck, lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip, opening herself to him. He could already feel her heat, like standing in the doorway and feeling the heat of summer just beyond the shade.
He grabbed her bare ass under the skirt and drove into her, pulling her into him as he invaded her body, pushing himself all the way inside her until his balls were up against the lips of her pussy.
“Fuck, Farrell,” she said.
He gave it a few seconds, let her body stretch to accommodate him. Then he dragged himself out of her until nothing but the tip was still inside her. He waited a split second before plunging into her again.
It was all the teasing he had the patience for. He needed to own every inch of her, and he held tight to her hips as he drove into her like a madman, pulling out and pushing back in again in a frenzy that obliterated all else. There was nothing in the world now except her.
Eternal (London Mob Book 3) Page 4