The Paris Caper (34 page)

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, no 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.”

“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.”

Pierre held up a second
finger. “Means? Three trips to Marseille in the past weeks. That has to be
significant.”