The Paris Game (28 page)

“The last thing we need is anyone else knowing,” Marc said. “I don’t want to go to jail on an assault charge.”

“Or for something worse, if they start digging?” she asked, remembering the gun she’d found in his apartment. “I doubt Edouard would tell anyone. He’s loyal.”

“You should have asked me first.”

“Since when are you my keeper?”

In one swift movement, Marc downed the rest of his scotch and rose. “Maybe you need one, Seraphina. Your lack of gratitude astounds me. Not even a thank you for last night.” He seized her chin and kissed her, hard, the way she liked it. She didn’t want to like it. She wrenched her head away.

“How dare you.”

“You won’t forgive your rescuer a few liberties? What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged, giving her a contemptuous glance. “Maybe next time I won’t interfere, ma chère. Think on that.” He tucked a bill underneath his glass for Edouard. “Bonsoir.”

Fear tightened her throat but she didn’t let on. “You only have a week,” she told him as he began to walk away. He laughed, not bothering to look back at her.

“Easy,” he called back.

“What was that about?” Edouard asked as he came out from the hallway, carrying a case of liquor. “You’re all flushed.”

“Nothing. Marc has a talent for infuriating me.”

“I suppose he would—you’ve known each other long enough,” Edouard commented as he restocked the bar. “After this is done I’ll be ready to go.”

The house lights came up and Sera blinked at the glare. She watched the final few patrons make their way out, Jean bidding each a friendly good night as he stood at the door. Edouard put the last bottle away and flattened the box.

“I’ll just grab my jacket.” He retreated to the hallway and returned, pulling on his light coat. “Let’s go.”

“See you tomorrow.” Jean gave them a wave as they left. Once they were on the boulevard, Sera asked the question that had been bothering her.

“What were you going to tell me earlier?” she asked. “When Jean came by and you clammed up?”

“You need to be careful, Sera.”

She waited for him to say more.

“One night I saw Jeremy coming out from the back corridor. No one goes back there except to talk to Monsieur Royale.”

“You think he’s working for Royale?” A chill sank into her and she huddled in her shawl. She could just imagine Royale telling Jeremy all about her. Even arranging to pick her up in the bar, and do all the things that Royale wanted to do to her, yet couldn’t.

“Working for him, or knows him.” Edouard gave her a worried look. “If he finds out what happened last night, there could be trouble.” He flagged down a taxi and opened the door for her.

“You’re not coming?” she asked.

“I’m meeting a few friends for a drink. Take care, Sera.” He bent and kissed her cheek.

“Good night, Edouard.” Sera settled into the back seat and gave the driver her address. She surveyed the nearly empty streets, but there was no sign of Jeremy, hardly a relief. If Jeremy had been working for Royale, then the events of last night would give Royale an excuse to demand full payment, or worse, make good on his other threats. For a moment she thought she could smell the stale cigarette smoke and Royale’s rancid odor. He’d manhandled her so easily.

She wished again that she’d never borrowed money from him; wished that she had enough money to repay him and leave it all behind. She could disappear: leave Paris, go to England, or the United States. Anywhere out of reach, if she could last one more week, and if Marc failed.

She paid the driver and walked down the street, holding her keys in her hand and listening to the click of her shoes on the cobblestones. She thought she saw a flash of movement in the corner of her eye, but when she turned, there was no one there. She reached her door and let herself in, releasing a relieved sigh as the door clicked shut.

Chapter 15

At first, Sophie didn’t answer. Marc glanced at his watch. It wasn’t especially early. He tried again, shifting his chair to peruse the tapestry and ignore the stack of files Aurore had left on his desk. Still no answer. He set down his mobile phone and buzzed Aurore on the office phone.

“Could you call up Miss Harper for me please, Aurore?”

“You don’t want to call her yourself?”

If she would answer, he wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I have things to take care of. See if she can come in later this morning. There will be paperwork to do to employ her.”

“She’s decided?”

“And transfer her to my line when you’re done, if you would,” he finished, ignoring her question. Sophie wouldn’t ignore a call from the firm. The internship was too great an opportunity to pass up, whatever she thought of him now.

“Of course, monsieur.”

He rose and paced towards the window, tucking his hands in his pockets. His suit was a stark black, his shirt and tie a dark, almost charcoal grey. It had matched his mood this morning when he recalled seeing Sera last night. It wasn’t much to ask for even a hint of gratitude; instead she’d hit him with accusations—true ones, but she didn’t know that. His pride had gotten the better of him. If only he’d taken Sophie home instead of to the club—

He stopped himself. Conjecture was useless. Sophie was frightened and now he had less than a week to undo the damage.

What was taking Aurore so long? He stalked back to his desk and was about to call her when the phone rang.

“Oui?” He leaned against the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles.

“I have Miss Harper for you on line one,” Aurore told him crisply. “It sounds like she’s rethinking the internship.”

“Put her through. I’m sure I can change her mind.” A slight pause followed and then the click as the call connected.

“Good morning, Sophie. I hope I didn’t interrupt your work.”

“Hello, Marc.” She hesitated. “You didn’t interrupt, but I’m leaving shortly.”

He had a moment of panic, but kept his tone level. “Leaving?”

“To go to the Louvre,” she answered. “Edouard was going to meet me.”

“But?” he prompted. She sighed heavily.

“But he wasn’t able to make it.”

“That’s not like him.”

“No, but his mother needed him. I suppose I should be sympathetic.”

“It’s hard not to feel let down,” he commiserated. She made a noise that could have been agreement and he decided to be upfront with her. “I fear I frightened you, Sophie. If I’d known this would happen, we wouldn’t have been in that situation.” She started to reply, but couldn’t seem to get past the first syllable. “That man was disturbed, and I had to protect you and Sera. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

This time, Sophie managed to be more articulate. “I’ve never seen so much blood.” She paused, and he waited for her to continue. “I can’t get it out of my head, Marc.” Her voice wavered. “I’ve hardly slept; I keep waking from nightmares where that man has killed you, or come after me, or...”

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” He sighed. “If I’d had any say in the matter, I would have prevented it.”

“I know.”

“I was worried yesterday when you left with no warning,” he chided in a gentle tone. “You should have woken me.”

She cleared her throat and he imagined that she would be shifting her feet or squirming in her chair, feeling guilty. The silence grew.

“As Edouard has let you down, could I take you to the Louvre?” he inquired before the silence became too awkward. “And a meal afterward?”

“I—” Her voice wavered again. “I don’t know.”

“If you’d prefer to go alone, you only need say so.”

“No, I—”

He waited, and the silence dragged again. Was she so horrified of him that she couldn’t stand to be near him?

“I think I need company,” Sophie said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” This time, her voice was stronger.

“Where shall I meet you, ma chérie?” he inquired. “Would you like me to come pick you up?” He kept his voice gentle, nonthreatening.

“No, I’ll meet you. That’s so far out of your way.” He heard a shuffling of papers. “What about the Palais Royale stop?”

“Shall we say an hour?”

“All right.”

Marc heard the click as she hung up. He pinched the bridge of his nose. His mobile phone vibrated against the desk and he picked it up, hoping it was Sophie calling him back to suggest a more intimate date.

“We’ve decided, monsieur. We don’t want five thousand. It’s not enough.” Claude Girard’s voice came through loud and clear.

“It’s a bit late to be telling me this, Girard. I only have what you asked for.” He shifted in his chair, opening a drawer of his desk. He had a box of petty cash, and he could tap into the money in his safe if he needed to.

“By tomorrow, we want our full payment, and ten thousand extra,” Claude said. “We will meet you in the apartment where we left the sketch.”

“Why did you change your mind?” There was something strange going on. Claude sounded more confident than before, more sure of himself.

“Can’t do much with five grand, can you?” Claude said. “Just bring the money. Noon, and don’t be late.”

The phone went dead in his hand.

Marc spotted Sophie sitting primly on the bench nearest the metro stop’s multicolored gleaming entry, her hands clutching her sketchbook. She glanced warily around her, skimming the crowd.

“Good morning, Sophie.” He came up beside her, bending to kiss her. She offered him her cheek. He gave her a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late.” He’d gone to the bank and withdrawn five thousand euros, to the surprise of the bank employee. For now, the money was in his safe.

“Good morning.” She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes as he straightened. She looked paler than usual, her features drawn.

“Should we get a coffee before we go?” He kept his tone light, hoping that she would relax. She looked ready for a day at the Louvre, having worn sneakers and jeans. He could tell that she’d made no effort beyond the basic to her appearance, but if she thought that would dissuade him, she was mistaken.

“I suppose I ought to.” He held out his hand, but she ignored it, getting to her feet sluggishly. “I could use the caffeine.”

“As could I.” His hand slid to the small of her back, but she stepped away. He let his hand fall back to his side. They skirted the line of motorcycles parked at the curb and crossed over to the Brasserie du Louvre. Sophie took a seat on the terrace, finding a spot where the sun could warm her back. He sat across from her, just out of the sun. She set her sketchbook on the table and he reached towards it.

“May I?”

She gave a reluctant nod. He opened it and slowly flipped through the pages, pausing on a sketch of Notre Dame cathedral. Even though it was a sketch, the lines were crisp and clear; the detail more than he had expected.

“Will you enlarge some of these sketches? They’d be beautiful as paintings.”

Sophie cracked the first smile he’d seen that day. “Maybe. I’d like to have a small exhibition if I can manage it. But if my thesis takes too long, I won’t.”

“If you do, I’d buy one of your works.”

Her cheeks went pink. “That’s kind of you.”

He chuckled. “Remember what I said before?”

The waiter interrupted their conversation before she could reply and instead she ordered a café crème and a croissant. He ordered his usual espresso.

“Right, you’re not kind. I should take that more seriously now than I did before, shouldn’t I? You’re not who I thought you were.”

“I don’t normally have to defend myself. It’s hardly all that I am.”

She looked away, across the square. “I still think we should have called the police.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but it’s too late now.”

“You’re not at all bothered that we left a man unconscious in the street? What if he died?”

Marc restrained his irritation. “What if he did? He threatened Sera, threatened us, and he drew a knife.”

Sophie turned back towards him. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. He got to his feet and drew up a chair next to her. “My only goal was to get all of us out of that situation unhurt. And I managed that. Mostly.” He took her hand. “Sophie, I’ll always protect you.”

“How is your arm?” she asked, wiping away a tear that escaped down her cheek.

“I’ll be fine. It was only a scratch.”

She gave a choked laugh. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated. The waiter came with their order. “Now drink up. We have a lot of art to see today.”

By the time they finished their coffees and walked over to the Louvre, Sophie’s mood had lightened, though she still skittered away at his touch. He forced himself to keep his hands off her, even though it was second nature to want to put an arm around her waist as they moved through the throng of people clustered at the gate. Sophie shaded her eyes as the sun glinted off the glass pyramid marking the centre of the museum.

“How strange,” Sophie said in an undertone, more to herself than him.