by Elise Noble
“His clothes are creased like he slept in them,” Monica said through the speaker.
“Maybe he did,” Remi said. “He’s fond of running after Coco, and sprinting onto the street in pyjamas or even naked would draw attention he doesn’t want.”
Rhys was on Team Whipped Cream. Coco could barely see his French toast underneath it.
“I’m worried that he keeps chasing her.”
“As am I. And I’m concerned about why—surely if he believed she truly was a ghost, he’d understand that catching her was impossible? We need to convince him that although he can see her, she’s not really there.”
“How?” Coco asked. “I mean, I am there.”
“Perhaps we could hire a magician?” Rhys suggested. “A conjurer? We’d only need Coco to vanish before his eyes once to shake him.”
“What about using a hologram?” Celine asked.
Remi shook his head. “All of those ideas would mean involving others in our scheme, and I’d rather avoid that.”
Good point. It was hard enough keeping Coco’s identity secret from Monica and Bones as it was, and the plan would only work as long as Jocelyn’s remarkable resurrection remained hidden from the world. No victim, no murder. Not for the first time, a shiver of fear and doubt ran through Coco. What if, after all their efforts, Hatcher got away with his crime?
Then a gleam appeared in Celine’s eye. “I have an idea.”
Remi groaned. “How much money will it cost me? I’ve seen that look many times before.”
“Like, thirty bucks? All we need is a digital recorder and a notepad.”
“A digital recorder?”
Celine laid out her plan, and before she even got halfway, Remi was shaking his head again. “No. No, a thousand times no.”
“It’s not a terrible suggestion,” Rhys said, and Celine beamed at him. She really did have a beautiful smile.
“Hatcher’s dangerous.”
“We’ll be in public,” Celine pointed out.
“I don’t care.”
“You met with him.”
“That’s different.”
Celine folded her arms and stared him down. “Whether you like it or not, I’m my own person, and I can make my own decisions.”
How could Remi argue with that? He might have created Celine, but the soul and backbone she’d ended up with were all hers.
“For the record, this is a terrible idea.”
“Your objections are noted. Isn’t that what you always say to your colleagues when they tell you one of your ideas is bad?”
“My ideas always work. I just associate with a lot of overly cautious bureaucrats.”
“Well, my idea will work too.” Celine hit her husband with that killer grin. “Please don’t turn into an overly cautious bureaucrat. I like you exactly the way you are.”
***
Two days later, Celine straightened her jacket as the team prepared to leave for Sun Valley.
“You’ve got the digital recorder?” Remi asked. He still wasn’t entirely on board with the plan, but short of spiriting Celine back to France in the middle of the night, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. She was determined to play her part, and for that, Coco was thankful. Besides, if Hatcher had an eye for the ladies, Celine would be hard to resist.
“Of course I do. What reporter would forget something so important? I have a chewed pen and a notepad as well.”
When Hatcher had received a call from the editor of a new sustainable-living magazine—who was actually Monica—he’d jumped at the chance to be interviewed. Maybe he thought it would help to restore his reputation after the disastrous performance at the conference? He never had finished his talk, and the Q&A consisted of the audience asking each other what the hell just happened.
Yesterday, Celine had spent hours researching sustainability, and Remi helped her to compile a series of open-ended questions designed to get Hatcher talking, not that they cared about anything he had to say. They merely wanted him present while Coco made her appearance.
The location—Fredericks Café in Sun Valley—had been chosen in the hope that Hatcher wouldn’t be familiar with the area. The prospect of a forty-minute drive hadn’t fazed him. He’d told Monica it would be an excellent opportunity to take his Porsche out for a spin. Rhys and Remi had spent a day walking around the area, mapping out the streets surrounding the café and planning several getaway options in case the worst happened and Hatcher decided to give chase again. Coco was definitely wearing sneakers under her dress this time.
Another advantage of the meeting place was that Hatcher would be out of his house for at least three hours on a day when his wife took their daughter to a music-and-movement class at the Lark’s River community centre. That meant Bones would have the opportunity to make a few more modifications to the place unnoticed—alterations that would come in useful for Phase B of Operation Justice.
Remi looked more nervous than Celine as their departure time loomed.
“I hate her being involved in this,” Coco heard him tell Rhys.
“It’s risky, but the whole of life’s risky, isn’t it? Look at her—she’s smiling. I know you think that keeping her safe is the most important thing, but making her stay in the château all the time is like clipping a bird’s wings. Sure, she’s alive and out of sight, but a bird’s always happiest when it’s allowed to fly.”
Remi glanced at his wife, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as well. “I understand that, but what if somebody recognises her?”
“It’s a valid fear, but consider the context. If you took her out to a gala, then you’d obviously have a problem. But what if she and Coco went for lunch together in another town? Celine could wear a disguise—a wig and glasses or something. Who’s going to notice? Or the two of you could go on a quiet holiday somewhere out of the way.”
It was strange to hear Rhys giving advice to Remi, but Coco had come to realise that underneath the veneer of money and his standoffish personality, the Frenchman was human after all. He had the same foibles and insecurities as everybody else.
“Perhaps I have been stifling her.”
“Give her some freedom. It would make you both stronger.”
“First, let us see how I cope while she does this interview.”
***
Holy hell, what a rush!
They’d been back at the rental house for ten minutes, but Coco was still riding high on adrenaline. A smile had replaced Remi’s earlier frown, and Celine was relaxed in his arms, basking in the glory of a mission completed.
“Will someone tell me what happened?” Rochelle asked. “It sucks having to work while the rest of you plot revenge.”
Rochelle had run out of vacation days—she’d used most of them after Jocelyn’s death to arrange the funeral and cry—and her boss was a bitter divorcee with the body of Dolly Parton and the personality of Satan. Asking for personal time was out of the question.
“Chill, we recorded everything,” Celine told her. “You won’t miss a thing. Listen, listen…”
She placed the digital recorder on the kitchen table as Remi got busy with the coffee machine, and the hairs on the back of Coco’s neck prickled as she heard her ex-lover’s voice. He sounded so…so egotistical. What had she ever seen in him? He talked—no, lectured—on energy-saving building materials and the benefits of solar power with the arrogance of a man who was always right, even when he was wrong. After a couple of minutes, Celine got bored and fast-forwarded through that part.
“No offence, but the man’s a jerk.”
“No offence taken. Jocelyn must’ve been brainwashed.”
Rochelle squeezed her hand. “Sometimes, love does funny things to us. Or so I’ve heard.”
Why did she glance towards Bones when she said that? Surely not…
“Love? More like a lobotomy.”
“It looks as if your brain’s in working order again now.” Rochelle jerked her head in Rhys’s direction and dropped her voice to a wh
isper. “He seems like a real nice guy.”
The prickles turned to warmth. “He is. He really is.”
“Hey, hey,” Celine said. “This is the good part.”
Oh, she was right about that.
“Mr. Hatcher, are you all right?” fake-reporter Celine asked on the tape. “Did something happen outside?”
Silence.
“The car? Is there a problem with that car?”
“It’s… It’s…”
“A Mustang? It’s a Mustang, right?”
“Not the car. The girl.”
“What girl?”
“Beside the car.” Hatcher’s voice was tight, his words clipped. “The girl standing beside the car. I’m sure I know her.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see any girl.”
“She’s standing next to the fender. A dark-haired girl in a white dress.”
Coco had been hiding behind a pickup farther along the street, and when Remi gave the command, she’d popped up in Hatcher’s line of sight. Their timing was perfect. Remi had been enjoying a latte in the café, hidden away in a corner with a hat pulled low over his eyes but on hand in case any emergencies arose. He’d wanted to stay close to Celine, and nobody could blame him for that. True, he needed to loosen up, but baby steps were better than no steps at all.
“The fender of the red car?” Celine asked on tape.
“Yes, right there.”
“I still don’t see her.”
“She’s looking at me.” Hatcher’s voice took on a pleading tone, but it seemed that he wasn’t only trying to convince Celine, he was trying to convince himself as well. “Now she’s pointing. How can you miss that?”
“Mr. Hatcher, did you happen to have a little something to drink before this interview?”
“No, I did not!”
Remi had given Coco the order to disappear at that point, and while Hatcher was looking at Celine, she’d ducked behind the car out of sight. A very shocked cat that had been preening itself in the sunshine bolted under the car while Coco pretended to look for an item she’d dropped.
“Okaaaaay,” Celine said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “It’s just that you seem to be seeing things that aren’t there.”
“She is there.”
Perhaps Celine had also been an actress in her previous life, because her dramatic silence said more than words ever could.
“You think I’m crazy.”
Still Celine said nothing.
“I’m not crazy. I’m not,” Hatcher muttered. “I’m not.”
“Uh, do you want to end the interview here? I have enough for the article.”
“Yes. Yes, that would be best.”
They gave him one more glimpse of Jocelyn before she hopped into Rhys’s Honda and headed back to Lark’s River. The performance had gone perfectly—Hatcher was getting more unnerved by the day. Remi already had the customary bottle of champagne ready.
“Let’s step it up a notch. How did the installations go?”
“As planned,” Bones said from his seat in the corner. He didn’t touch the champagne. The man seemed to live on smoothies and protein shakes. “Ready when you are, boss.”
Remi smiled a devious smile. “Technology is a wonderful thing.”
CHAPTER 37
HATCHER HAD FIVE senses, and so far, they’d only messed with one of them. Since ignoring the other four seemed like such a waste, Bones had installed an array of tiny state-of-the-art speakers in Hatcher’s home while he was out, tiny widgets hidden in the fixtures and fittings. One among the branches of a weeping fig tree in the atrium, a pair in the living room, another in the bedroom… Hatcher’s ears were about to take a haunting.
“We can activate them in any combination?” Remi asked.
“Yes, but it’s beneficial to activate several at once. That way, your target can’t tell where the voice is coming from. The batteries will last a week, and then I’ll have to pay another visit to change them.”
“I hope this will be over in a week.”
As well as the speakers, Bones had added a trio of scent diffusers to waft Jocelyn’s favourite perfume through the house when Mrs. Hatcher was out. According to Rochelle, she’d favoured Hugo Boss Femme, and there had been an almost full bottle that Rochelle had gifted Joss last Christmas in one of the storage boxes. Coco found it hard to think of herself as Jocelyn, even though she and Rochelle had fallen back into an easy relationship. In truth, she didn’t much like the person that Jocelyn had turned into, and she was starting to think that the opportunity to start over with a new identity was a blessing rather than a curse.
A true once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Remi must have been generous with the surveillance budget because Bones’s additions also included fourteen cameras that transmitted to a secure viewing portal. Now they could watch Hatcher’s descent into madness if all went well. Secretly, Coco thought that Remi was enjoying their vigilante espionage a little too much, but since he’d spent years holed up in a stuffy castle, she couldn’t entirely blame him.
The champagne was out again when they settled in for their evening viewing. Rhys had jokingly asked Remi if he had shares in a vineyard, and he answered in all seriousness that he did. It was in Vallée de la Marne, tours ran daily, and they were welcome to visit any time. Maybe a vacation was on the cards when they returned to France? Rochelle came in with a plate of chips and dip, and Celine had made two different flavours of popcorn. Was this a revenge mission or a party?
Because at this moment, Coco didn’t have much to celebrate. Just the sight of Hatcher going about his daily life made her feel sick.
“He’s so two-faced. How can he tell his wife he loves her when he was flirting with Celine earlier?”
“Practice,” Remi said. “He’s probably been doing this for years.”
“Seven years,” Bones added. “That’s how long they’ve been married. Emily Hatcher comes from a good family.”
Monica went home each evening, but Bones had started hanging around. He said that he wanted to be on hand in case the equipment malfunctioned, but he seemed to spend an awful lot of time sitting with Rochelle. Coco wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Bones was kind of scary, but now that she’d spent more time around him, she’d come to understand that he was also loyal and dependable. Unflappable. Would it be terrible if he was interested in her sister? Maybe not. And nothing could be worse than dating Carl Hatcher.
“The Hatchers of this world like to hide their sordid indiscretions beneath a veneer of respectability.”
And the prick also liked to get his rocks off. When he stripped off his clothes and fisted his mediocre cock, Coco rushed from the room and puked in the downstairs bathroom. Even though his wife was a willing participant in the act, the fact that they were having sex still turned Coco’s stomach. Yeuch. The whole relationship was based on secrets and lies, and she’d been one of those secrets.
Gentle hands held her hair back, and she felt Rhys’s presence. When he was close, he soothed her soul.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Sorry. That was a dumb question.”
“I don’t want to watch that or even listen to it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“He’s such a slimeball. I feel so, so sorry for his wife. If only I could apologise to her for what I did…”
Rhys gripped her wrist. “Oh, no. No way. Your visit to Rochelle was bad enough. I doubt that Emily Hatcher would be quite so understanding.”
“I’m not going to go. I swear, I’m not.”
Coco spoke the truth, but Rhys still poured the drinks for the rest of the evening and watched her carefully to make sure she took her sleeping pill. Yes, she probably deserved that.
She’d learned her lesson, though, and she wouldn’t do anything else stupid. She wouldn’t hurt Rhys, Rochelle, or Remi and Celine. Life might not be perfect, but she had too much to lose now.
***
Phas
e B of the project started the following day when Hatcher decided to spend the morning working from home. Or, at least, his own special version of working from home, which involved his credit card, a webcam, and a box of tissues.
“Ugh,” Celine said. “That man has a problem.”
Remi covered her eyes. “He does seem to spend most of the time thinking with his dick.”
Hatcher was a psychopathic sex addict. “He’s disgusting.”
“So why don’t you tell him that?”
“Really? Now?”
“I can think of no better moment.”
Hatcher was on his way back from flushing the evidence when Coco whispered into the microphone.
“You make me sick.”
The camera in the hallway gave them a great view as he jolted violently and dropped his phone. The video’s resolution was good enough to show the colour drain out of his face as he stared wildly around, trying to work out where the voice had come from.
“I’m watching you. I’ll always be watching you.”
Thankfully, Remi shut off the microphone before she burst into giggles. This was actually fun. Tormenting a tormentor. Giving him a dose of his own medicine. When Jocelyn was alive, Hatcher had turned her into a wreck long before he’d killed her.
“W-w-where are you?”
“Don’t answer,” Remi instructed. “Make him paranoid.” He turned to Bones. “Try the perfume.”
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Unsmiling typed commands into his laptop, and on-screen, Hatcher sniffed the air and turned a shade whiter.
Maybe, just maybe, this would actually work.
***
“How are you feeling?” Rhys asked Coco later as they lay in bed.
“Okay, I think. As long as I don’t start analysing things too much. Then the worries come and I start to get stressed.”
Talking about her feelings was easier now, and a problem shared really was a problem halved. Or quartered. She’d made good friends. If only Jocelyn had done the same, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Although that would mean she’d still have been scraping by in Lark’s River, working her ass off for twelve-hour days at Hatcher, Marquez and Phillips. Perhaps the old saying was right—all things happened for a reason.