Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

Dangerous. The mere fact she had declined to provide her identity raised a red flag. It took balls to enter a police station and let the whole force see one’s face, but it could simply have been a ploy. And he didn’t want to waste time thinking about her. Already up to his neck in the whole casino gang business, he didn’t need any further complications.

Rashid told him about how she’d paused when he’d mentioned the bistro. Tonight, they expected her there, both of them knowing she’d rise to Rashid’s bait back in the
commissariat
.

Gerard swallowed some beer from the bottle in his hand, placing it back on the table when his friend slid in the booth next to him. From where they sat, they had a clear view of the front door.

“What do you think?” Rashid asked.

“She said it was personal?”

Rashid nodded, giving him a mischievous grin. “You been seeing someone on the sly?”

Gerard chuckled. “Not that I know of.” He barely had time to sleep lately. Where would he accommodate a woman in his hectic schedule?

Rashid’s smile disappeared. “You think this could be connected to the gang?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. The announcement on TV was premature. The
Préfet
wanted to reap the positive returns of such news on the population, paying no heed to the fact that we’ve uncovered only the tip of this iceberg.” He took another swig. “Damn if everything doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass when we least expect it.”

Uproar gripped the café, the men rising as one when their local team,
l’Olympique de Marseille
, scored a goal over its archrival, the
Paris Saint Germain
, on the big screen above the bar.

Rashid tapped his arm when the crowd returned to their seats and the view to the front door cleared. “That’s her there.”

Gerard sucked in a breath when his gaze landed on her. A beauty, all right. The flowing dark pants and long red coat made her look tall, but her frame would be small underneath the clothes, and she wouldn’t top out much above five feet. Her short hair had been brushed back, baring the perfection of her profile to the roving perusal of every male in the room.

He shook himself after a few seconds. He knew not what she was doing here and what she wanted from him, so he’d better stay on his guard.

She stood in the middle of the bar, stance erect and focused. The bartender, Sami, called out, asking if he could help. She shook her head before slowly scoping out the room.

Rashid was right—too much purpose in her. Bad sign.

“What will you do?” his friend asked.

Gerard fixed his focus on her. “She’d be stupid to try anything in such a crowded place. Let her come.” He paused. “You know the drill?”

“Sure do.” Rashid left the booth as quietly as he had come.

She hadn’t spotted him yet, if she even knew what he looked like. He had no doubt she did, though. One always knew the target when on a mission. She confirmed his suspicions a few seconds later, when she turned towards the inside of the room and saw him at the booth.

*

He is here.
She breathed out a sigh of relief.

At the back of the bistro, he sat alone at a table. Shadows hovered around him but couldn’t conceal his face. Even in the dark interior, she could make out the hard, chiselled lines of his features and could imagine the flash of his sea-blue eyes in the dimness. His clothes, especially the denim jacket, gave the illusion of a casual stance, but the calm composure would be deceptive, a façade for inherent danger and ruthlessness.

Steeling herself with a deep, fortifying breath, she started in his direction. Halfway there, his keen stare on her made her squirm. The closer she got, the more she could feel the magnetism and raw sex appeal emanating from him. Was that what had led her to his bed?

He made no move towards her, though. His straight, poker-worthy face betrayed no emotion. No recognition. No joy at seeing her. Could she be
persona non grata
to him? Or was he one of those bastards who forgot a woman once he ditched her?

She’d know when she talked to him. She’d journeyed this far; she couldn’t and wouldn’t back out, come what may.

When she reached the front of the table, their gazes locked, holding for long moments. She lost herself in the brilliance of the aqua hues that seemed more intense in the dark surroundings.

This is bad
. She had trouble tearing herself from the hypnotic depths.

He chose that moment to lift the beer bottle in his hand and take a small swallow, yet never broke eye contact.

He would play it the hard way. She had no choice but to align herself in the game, too.

Cocking her head, she indicated the free seat across from him. “May I?”

His eyes narrowed before he nodded.

She slid onto the banquette and placed her handbag next to her.
Don’t beat around the bush
.

Looking up into his face, she took a deep breath. “You and I were lovers.”

*

Thank goodness he’d already swallowed or he’d have choked. Lovers. Right. He didn’t know her from Eve.

She remained silent when he didn’t respond, her face betraying no emotion. Strange. He’d expected some reaction. Lures usually jumped into the deep end of the seduction pool when unleashed on a target. The one across from him came across as way too cool.

Proceed with caution
, his gut told him. He wouldn’t play into her game but he also would take whatever information she gave him. She’d spoken in English, and he replied in kind. “Is that so?”

A small frown touched her forehead, but she didn’t so much as blink. Good act—she knew what she was doing.

“How can I convince you?” she finally asked.

Direct, if anything, and confirming what he already suspected. She’d been sent to seduce him, and with her methods, she didn’t beat around the bush. No qualms and no pretences. All the more dangerous.

He leaned forward, placing the bottle between them. With his face close to her, he let his gaze roam from her lush mouth to her clear blue eyes. “You can’t.”

Her gaze narrowed and blazed into his. He’d contradicted her plans. Perfect. Looked like she hadn’t thought it possible he’d refuse her offer. He chuckled but smothered the sound. He’d been known to chase skirt in the past, but if the criminals he was after thought knickers still lured him as easily as one could lead a rookie—a
bleu
—astray, they were in for another think. Dangling a pretty thing in front of him wouldn’t make him a bumbling idiot, but would in fact achieve the opposite. He’d grow even more suspicious.

He stood and moved away from the table. In his peripheral vision, he saw her turn in his direction. He dove into the crush of the crowd in front of the bar, knowing she would lose sight of him.

Once through the door, he moved to the dark alley alongside the bistro. The place looked like a lair for petty criminals of all sort, but only an idiot would attempt to ply his illegal trade there, the eatery being the favourite meeting place for most of the cops who worked in the
Vieux Port
area.

Rashid waited for him, immersed in the shadows. “I was about to call you.”

“No need,” Gerard replied. “I managed to walk out without the need for an excuse.”

His friend nodded. “What did she want?”

“Honey trap.”

Rashid swore. “Sent by who?”

“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”

“You need me?”

“No. I can manage.”

Gerard slid into the darkness while his right-hand man melted away. Watching the dimly lit cobblestone pavement in front of the bistro, he waited. She’d have to come out this way.

He didn’t have long to kill. She walked out and stopped at the mouth of the alley, her head turning left and right, probably searching for him.

Biding his time, he snuck in a breath when she took a step back, closer to the dark alleyway. Then, with a lunge, he swept her into his arms and pulled her back, braced against his chest. With one arm, he restrained her torso while he brought the palm of his other hand against her opened mouth.

Instead of kicking and screaming, she went still. That should have alerted him something was off, but he didn’t listen to his gut feeling, intent on getting answers out of her.

“Who sent you?” he growled in her ear, but he had no time to say more, because a sharp jab tore into the sensitive flesh under his arm.

*

His hold softened a little. Without pausing to think, she listened only to the instinct that had first told her to freeze and then to attack, the same one that had taken over in the mall the day before. Lifting her leg, she kicked her boot heel into his shin with as much momentum as she could swing. He took a step back, carrying her along, and she released the hold of her fingers near his armpit, then jammed her elbow into his ribs.

His body lurched back, and he released her. She sprang forward and spun around to face him, but he proved quick, too. He lunged at her. The weight and brute masculine force of his big body ploughed into her and knocked the breath out of her. Her mouth opened to scream with the pain, but more agony cut her vocal chords when she slammed into the hard, solid, cold brick wall. She squeezed her eyes shut with the pain.

His crouching body pinned her, his knees pressing hard against her thighs. His torso shifted, and she heard a click. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.

Too close, darling.
With one swipe, anyone could slap that gun away, the way he held it to her face. He better be prepared to release that trigger quickly if he hoped to do any damage.

And it looked like...a Sig Sauer Pro SP 2022.

Seriously?
How did she know
that
? She knew a gun was a gun, full stop. At least, she’d thought so...until right this moment. Specs about that particular model flooded her mind like a video pushed onto fast-forward.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

Forget about the gun
; she better focus on him. Murder lay clearly written on his features. Even in the dim surroundings, she couldn’t mistake the coiled tension in him. She let her frame relax, the pressure from his lower body pinning her even more as she sagged against the wall.

“You’re hurting me,” she said. A part of her remained aghast that she had a 9mm Parabellum semi-automatic pointed at her, yet another part already spun how she could extricate herself from her situation.

“I’ll do a damn lot more if you don’t start giving me some answers.”

Like what?
His heat seeped into her from the front, the cold humidity of the bricks numbing her back and buttocks. The way he leaned on her, the bulge in the front of his trousers pressed against her core.
Lord, he’s getting hard!

“Danger thrills you,” she said softly.

In reply, he moved the gun closer to her face, barely an inch away. She could lick the barrel if she wanted. An image of her tongue on his hard-on flitted through her mind.

Get a grip!

“I won’t ask you again.”

He thought someone sent her? For what?
Damn it, more questions.
“I don’t know what you mean.”

He gave a small, sardonic laugh. “Of course you don’t, sweetheart.”

He leaned down, bending his knees and crouching farther before her. He held one arm across her shoulders, his forearm crushing her throat. His breath fanned warm and moist on her face as he lowered his head to be at eye level with her. He stood tall, a good foot taller than her. With her thighs still immobilized, and with his arm cutting off her air supply, breathing became a feat. Her lips parted and she tried her best to inhale. But she managed nothing more than to catch a whiff of the spicy scent of his skin. Her senses swam, and then she froze when the cold tip of the gun pressed against her temple.

“Whoever he is,” the
commissaire
said in a husky whisper against her ear, “tell him a honey trap won’t work.”

He remained like that for what felt like forever. His raspy, rapid breaths echoed in her mind, merging with the sound of her own gasps. She was going numb, blackness engulfing her brain. She needed air.

Then, suddenly, he sprang off. She sagged, the flat of her hands sliding down the wall, the coarse brick chafing her sensitive palms while she forced air into her lungs.

You bastard
, she couldn’t help but think while she struggled for breath. He’d moved out onto the main street, leaving her here in the darkened alleyway.

Who did he think he was? And who did he think
she
was? She hadn’t been sent to lure him. She just wanted some goddamned answers, for God’s sake.

Peeling herself off the wall, she took a step, then winced when pain shot through her thighs. The back of her coat hung damp, making her shiver when the cold seeped through to the camisole she wore under it.

He hits hard.
A small smile touched her lips. No wonder he already sat on the top rungs of the ladder in the French police. Admiration grew in her, as well as some other emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Engulfing warmth? Affection? A tug inside her existed for him.