The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) (26 page)

JP laughs mirthlessly. “Perhaps you would like to speak with the
Police Nationale
and request their assistance? I think they will give you the same reception that your
Bureau Fédéral
will give
me.
”

Alright. He has a point.

As the French say:
Touché.

But I’m not about to give up on a technicality.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I say. “Let’s ask him.”

Over the protestations of both JP and Dominique, Marcel gives me a burner cell phone.

I remember Mailin’s number from the other day, when Grant was on the phone with him during the Eiffel Tower bust and had me repeat it back to him.

The memory hurts. All I can think of is Grant’s face – smiling, cocky, alive.

No.

Stop.

Just put one foot in front of the other and DO THIS.

I dial Mailin’s number and say a silent prayer.

Please God, please let him be alive –

Someone answers after a couple of rings.

“…hello?”
Mailin’s voice says cautiously.

“Oh thank God,” I breathe out in relief.

“EVE?! Are you okay?!”

“Yes – but they got Grant.”

“Oh shit…”

“Yeah,” I say, and my resentment boils over. “Do you believe me now?”

“I always believed you, Eve. But Duplass is definitely convinced.”

“So he’s alive?”

“Yeah. He got shot, but it was minor. He’ll be fine.”

I almost say,
Well, that’s too bad,
but I refrain at the last second. Not the best move to wish death on the people you need help from.

“Are YOU okay?” I ask instead.

“Yeah. I got banged up, but I made it. Jones and Martin… didn’t.”

I’m assuming Jones and Martin were the other two guys in the SUV.

Shit. Now I feel horrible.

No matter how much of an asshole Duplass is, he doesn’t deserve to get murdered. And those other two agents certainly didn’t.

“Do you want the asshole responsible?” I ask.

“The manhunt’s already on for the shooters. The French government has – ”

“I meant Epicurus.”

“Oh, believe me, whoever’s behind this is going away forever when we catch him. And we will – every resource the Bureau has is going into this as of thirty minutes ago.”

“No – I mean, do you want him
today?”

There’s a long pause.

“…what are you not telling me?”

“Grant swallowed a GPS chip before the mercenaries got him. I’m currently tracking him on a plane that looks like it’s heading for the U.S. – probably straight back to Epicurus.”

“Holy SHIT! That’s fantastic!”

“There’s a catch.”

“What?”

“I have the tracking software. You need it to get to Epicurus – and I need your plane to get me to Grant.”

“That’s it?”

“No. I have two friends of Grant’s here with me. They’re French, and they’re going to help me get him back. I need you to take them, too, and I need you to promise not to turn them over to the French authorities when this is over.”

“So they’re criminals.”

“Small-time, nothing violent. And I can promise you they’ve never committed a single crime on American soil.”

JP makes a face like,
Uhhh, that’s not EXACTLY accurate…

I ignore him. “So there’s no reason why the Bureau should care about them.”

“We don’t need their help. We can handle it just fine.”

“Doesn’t matter. They go on the plane with me, and they walk away scot free after it’s all over, or no deal.”

“We both know that’s bullshit, Eve. You’re not going to torpedo the only chance of getting Grant back over a couple of French crooks.”

“Mailin… I need you to promise me,” I say, my voice on the edge of pleading.

He sighs.
“That’s not even the big issue here. You know that if we save Grant – and by ‘we,’ I mean the FBI – if we save him, we’re arresting him. We’re not going to help him out just so we can cut him loose.”

Life behind bars, or tortured to death by a serial killer?

It’s no contest at all.

“Fine,” I say. “You save him, you keep him.”

I comfort myself with the hope that he can break out of jail.

“I can’t make any promises about you, either. I don’t know how this is going to play out.”

I feel remarkably calm as I say, “I thought I wasn’t going to face any charges.”

“We just lost two agents. I can’t promise anything at this point.”

I hold my breath.

Save Grant, and maybe sign away my freedom forever?

Or stay in France and hope the FBI can do the job?

Again, no contest.

“…alright. Whatever happens to me, I’m fine with it. Just help us go after Grant, and make sure that his friends walk away after all this is over.”

“Eve – we can’t just be transporting French nationals – ”

“Jesus Christ, Mailin – do you want the guy who killed your friends, or not?” I shout.

Silence.

“Okay… meet us as at Charles De Gaulle Airport as soon as possible. Call me when you get there, and I’ll tell you where to go.”

The first thing I do is go shower the Seine River out of my hair.

My new clothes are waiting for me outside the bathroom door when I’m finished. As ordered, they’re comfortable: jeans, tennis shoes, and a selection of blouses and t-shirts. I go with a silk top that straddles the line between pretty and casual.

Before we leave for the airport, Dominique brings up a very good objection. “I do not think we can trust your friend.”

I recall the base of the Eiffel Tower and the fifteen French plainclothes cops. She has a point.

“Mailin and Duplass want my help,” I say. “There’s no way they can trace Grant – and get Epicurus – without the tracking info, and I won’t give it to them unless they leave you guys alone.”

“I think we know that is not accurate,” JP says. “If they only give you one choice, you will do everything you can to help Grant. Even if that includes letting them arrest us.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I do not say that you will
intend
to let it happen, but – ”

“I won’t let that happen,” I repeat more forcefully.

“How?”

I think for a second, then look at Marcel. “Are all of your restaurant employees… um… do they have records?” I ask diplomatically.

He smiles. “You mean, are they criminals.”

“Well – ”

“No. I keep my restaurant workers separate from my other… ‘employees.’”

“Can we take two people with no criminal records to the plane with us? JP and Dominique can hang back in another car while I see if the FBI arrests your two restaurant workers. If they do, they’ll find out your guys have no records and they can’t hold them. If they don’t arrest them, then JP and Dominique can show up safely.”

“I cannot give you restaurant workers, because they will lead your FBI back to me – but I can get two individuals with no records, as you request,” Marcel agrees. “And a car with no connection to me, as well.”

“Great,” I say, then turn to JP and Dominique. “What about that?”

“Not bad,” JP admits.

“The problem is not just when we go to the plane,” Dominique says. “The problem is when we finish.
That
is when they will arrest us and give us to the French authorities.”

“That I have no control over,” I say. “I’ll do my absolute best to make sure they don’t, but… you know and I know I can’t promise anything 100%.”

She takes a moment, then nods. “Okay. I will… how do you say?” she asks JP, then spouts off something in French.

“I will take my chances,” he translates.

“Yes. I will take my chances.” She hesitates, then adds, “I do not trust them… but I trust you. And I will do anything to save Grant.”

“Thank you,” I say, and for the first time since I’ve met her, I feel warmly towards Dominique.

The last thing I do before we leave is give Marcel a slip of paper with a bank account number in the Caymans, and a username and password.

“That’s for Pierre and the boat,” I say. “It’ll more than cover it.”

“Thank you,” Marcel says.

“And thank
you
for all your help. Are you, uh, okay with your payment? Considering everything you’ve done for us?”

“More than okay,” he assures me. “Thank you for asking.”

“Do you need me to pay you for the two guys going to the airport?”

He waves a hand. “No, I will attend to that. I am sorry I cannot go with you, but my own past would be enough to raise many suspicions if they give me to the police.”

“I understand.” I hold out my hand. “Thank you for everything.”

He gives me a bear hug instead. “Goodbye, and good luck.”

I try to remember how to say ‘goodbye’ in French. The only things I know are
au revoir, mon hyprocrite lecteur
from Epicurus’s letter, and
adieu
from what Dominique said:
he tells me he loves me en français…but he tells me adieu in English.

Not that quoting Dominique is exactly comfortable, but I don’t even want to think of Epicurus. So I say,
“Adieu.”

“No,” Marcel corrects me.
“Au revoir. Au revoir
 means ‘until we see each other again.’
Adieu
means until we see God. So…
au revoir,
Eve.”

“
Au revoir,
Marcel.”

Until we see each other again… or until we see God.

Regarding Grant, I fervently pray it’s the former, and not the latter.

Ten minutes later I’m in a car with two strangers. I’m alone in the back, ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ style.

The two guys both look decidedly nervous. I’m guessing that Marcel or somebody told them what might happen.

“It’s going to be okay,” I assure them.

The guy in the passenger seat looks back and smiles weakly. “Euh…
je ne parle pas anglais.”

I look at the driver. “Do you speak English?”

“Euh…” He puts his forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart, like he’s pinching something in the air. “A leetle.”

Great.

I settle back and take stock of what I brought with me. There’s the new laptop; the backpack with the cash, GPS trackers, handgun, super glue, and various credit cards; and the burner cell phone Marcel gave me.

Not a whole lot to work with when you’re going up against a psychopath. Especially when you’re trying to save the love of your life.

I start seeing signs for ‘Charles de Gaulle,’ so I call Mailin on the cell phone. “Okay, we’re close. Where do we go?”

“You’re actually going to a nearby airfield for private planes – Aéroport de Paris, Le Bourget,”
 Mailin instructs me, saying the French words with a pretty impressive accent.
“Tell your driver that.”

“Hey, we’re going to the air-o-poor duh Pair-ee… uh… what was that again?” I ask Mailin.

“Le Bourget.”

“Luh Bor-zhay,” I repeat to the driver. “Do you know that?”

“Ah,
oui, oui,
” the guy says, and switches lanes.

“Your French is impeccable,”
Mailin teases me.

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I’m holding you to your word on my friends.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“Before they were ‘Grant’s friends.’ Now they’re yours.”

Huh. Slip of the tongue.

“Did they get a promotion?”

“Sure, whatever. Now promise me.”

“I promise.”

“What about Duplass?”

“He’s given his word, as well.”

“Yeah, we know what
that’s
worth,” I say dourly.

“We lost two agents today, Eve. He wants to get whoever’s behind this, no matter what.”

“I’m trusting you, Mailin.”

“I know. Don’t worry, we’re going to get Grant back.”

I swallow hard.

God, I hope that’s true.

“At the Bourget gate, tell them you’re with the FBI. They’ll let you through and direct you. We’re at Hangar 5.”

“Okay.”

“See you soon.”

I immediately call JP and Dominique and let them know the plan.

Now we’ll see just how much I actually
can
trust my own government, regardless of what Mailin says.

The guard lets us through, and we drive to Hanger 5 where a small jet is waiting for us. Mailin and Duplass are standing outside. Mailin’s right arm is in a sling, and one of Duplass’s forearms is bandaged. Though his ever-present Bluetooth earpiece is still in place.

Both of them are without jackets and ties, and they’re wearing different shirts from earlier. Maybe to get rid of any bloodstains.

As the car slows down, I catch sight of airport workers carrying something aboard the plane. It appears to be a black body bag.

Jesus.

The car stops.

“Wait in the car,” I say to the French guys. “Understand?”

“Oui,”
the driver nods.

As I get out, Mailin greets me somberly. “Hey Eve.”

“Mailin,” I reply – but I stay by the car with the door open.

Duplass waits, then barks, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

“I need your word that my friends won’t be turned over to the French authorities. Now
or
after all this is over.”

Duplass’s face crinkles with rage. “Agent Walker already
told
you – ”

“I want to hear it from you.”

He huffs indignantly. “
No,
we’re not going to turn over your fellow criminals to the French cops. Are you satisfied now?”

I look around. I don’t see anywhere 15 plainclothes cops could be hiding… although they could be onboard, I suppose…