French Connection Vol. 3, Page 2

  Then I heard Pierre's voice in the back of my head, warning me what would happen if I told. I thought about all the people who would suffer if we were right about Alizee. If she was able to hide her operation because I couldn't put others above my personal life, I'd never forgive myself.

  I went with the first excuse I could think of. “I feel like shit,” I snapped. “It hurts to sit or lay down because you spanked me yesterday.”

  Gavin flinched, his eyes filling with hurt. It cut my heart, but I couldn't take it back, not without spilling everything. Besides, the anger inside me needed to go somewhere.

  “My nipples hurt and I have a fucking hickey on my neck like I'm some high school slut whose boyfriend couldn't control himself.” I put my hand over the mark I hadn't bothered to use concealer on.

  Even as I said it, I hated myself for lying. I loved that he'd claimed me, that he said I was his. True, my ass did sting and my nipples were chafing against my bra, but the sensations turned me on more than they hurt. They were reminders of last night and how Gavin had let himself go.

  “Carrie?”

  The expression on his face was one of shock and pain. The way he said my name almost made me break, but then I remembered what it had felt like when I'd seen him kissing Alizee.

  “I just need some space.” I turned away before he could see the tears threatening to spill over. I was halfway to the room when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, finally thinking to ask, “Why are you so wet?” But before I could ask the question, my phone rang.

  I grabbed it out of my pocket, desperate for a distraction. I didn't even care if it was a sales call. I'd talk to anyone at the moment if it meant a few more minutes of not having to look at Gavin.

  “Hello?” I answered without looking at the caller ID.

  “Carrie?”

  I instantly recognized Pierre's voice and a flare of annoyance went through me. Was he calling to check up on me?

  “What?” I was definitely not in the mood to deal with him acting like I was some kid who needed to be handled.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No. Now, what do you want?” As much as I hated to admit it, at least being pissed at him was a diversion, helping keep my mind off of the fact that I could feel Gavin's eyes on me.

  “I have a file you need to see.” Pierre didn't seem too concerned with my attitude. “Do you want to meet tomorrow?”

  I saw my out and took it. “Now's better.”

  “Really?” Pierre sounded surprised, with a hint of amusement. “I had the impression you were quite cross with me.”

  “That's one way to put it,” I said dryly. “But if it's that important to you, I'll come now.”

  “Shall we meet at your hotel?”

  “No,” I said. “The Jean Luc Pele La Table.” I named one of the smaller restaurants I'd seen in Cannes.

  “I will be there shortly.”

  I hung up the phone, took a shaky breath and turned to face Gavin again. One glance at his face, however, told me I wouldn’t be able to look at him. He was pale and his hands were clenched into fists.

  “I have to go.”

  “It's him, isn't it? That journalist.” Gavin's voice was hard. “You're going to see him again?”

  My lips flattened. Funny… him acting like it was a big deal that I wanted to go meet Pierre when he'd been lip-locking with Alizee not more than an hour ago.

  “Is that what this is about?” he asked as I started toward the door. I found the jealousy in his voice ironic. “You don’t want me to touch you because...” There was a pause, and then he continued. “Have you been... spending time with him?”

  “While you were out with Vincent earlier?” I stressed the name as I opened the door. “There's an idea. Why don't you give your buddy a call? Maybe you can have another 'business meeting.'”

  I slammed the door behind me as I stalked out into the hallway. I didn't run, but I hurried, afraid of what would happen if Gavin came after me. I wasn't sure I could handle going through that a second time. But I apparently shouldn't have worried. He didn't come after me. He let me go.

  Chapter 4

  Carrie

  I walked to the restaurant, using the time to regain my composure. The day was just as bright and sunny as it had been earlier, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate any of it. In fact, at the moment, I was thinking about how spring in the city might actually reflect my current mood better. I didn't like being angry and hurt while the sun was shining down from a bright blue sky. It made me feel petty.

  Was I being petty?

  I had to consider the question as I made my way down the street. Hadn't Gavin proven himself to me more than once? Shouldn't I give him the benefit of the doubt? When he'd shown up at the hotel, soaked to the skin, shouldn't that have been a clue that something was wrong? Why hadn't I asked him what had happened instead of lashing out at him?

  Because, I realized, even after all of this, I was still insecure.

  As I neared the restaurant, I pulled my curls up behind my head and twisted them into a knot that would keep them out of my face. I stopped, closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Whatever Pierre wanted to show me had to be important for him to have asked to meet twice in the same day, especially since he didn't want Gavin getting suspicious about what we were doing. As much as this was tearing me up, what Pierre and I were doing was bigger than the relationship between Gavin and me.

  I didn't see Pierre at any of the outside tables, so I walked into Jean Luc Pele La Table and looked around. He wasn't there yet, but I wasn't going to stand around looking like the tourist I was. I walked over to the display case and looked at my choices. The young man at the counter spoke better English than some Americans so I placed my order, then took my food outside and found an out of the way place to sit.

  I spotted Pierre before he saw me. His expression was serious and I didn't see even a hint of that charming smile until his eyes met mine. Even then, it was a shadow of what it was the first time I'd seen it. That alone told me he had something important.

  He didn't bother going into the restaurant itself, but rather came straight to me. As he approached, I saw that he was holding a manila envelope. My curiosity piqued, I leaned forward, my partially eaten sandwich forgotten. All of this shit with Gavin would be worth it if we could get something real against Alizee. If Pierre and I could find enough for him to write an article and me to present the evidence to the local authorities, Alizee would be exposed and Gavin would see her for who she was. Who knew how many hundreds, if not thousands, of people we'd save from horrible fates. The time and effort it would take to patch things up with Gavin wouldn't seem so awful if I helped accomplish all of that.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Pierre said as he slid into the seat next to me. His knee brushed against mine.

  “You said you had something important to show me?” I started to scoot my chair to the side to put more distance between the two of us, then stopped. He wasn't flirting, so there was no need to establish boundaries. He was just sitting close so he could show me what he had without risking anyone else seeing.

  “I have a... contact in the police,” Pierre began. “When I first began investigating Alizee, I asked for him to pass along any information he saw about Alizee or any of the property she owns.” He opened the envelope and pulled out two light tan folders. He handed them both to me without a word.

  I hesitated, then took them. I was pretty sure I didn't want to see what was inside, but I opened the top one anyway.

  And immediately regretted it.

  I forced myself not to push it away. Doing the kind of work I'd done for the past year, I'd seen some pretty gruesome things, but it never got any easier. I had more than one person tell me that when it started getting easy, that's when it was time to get out. If this was the indication, then I was still good because the crime scene photo I was looking at made me regret having eaten.

  “North Star,” Pierre said. “Or, that i
s the name she used at work. There is no record of a real identity.”

  “Stripper?” I forced the word past the bile threatening to rise.

  “At one of Alizee's clubs,” he confirmed. “And rumor says she was paid for more than taking off her clothes.”

  “So she was a prostitute.” I made it a statement. I flipped through the pictures, each one showing another brutal angle to the crime.

  He nodded. “Three prior arrests for solicitation.” He gestured toward the paper I was currently on. Her mug shot showed a once-pretty blonde who'd definitely lived a hard life. She looked decades older than her twenty-three years.

  “The last page is the...” He frowned as he searched for the word. “Death report?”

  “Autopsy report?” I asked as I turned to that page. He nodded, but I didn't need the confirmation. While it was written in French, I'd seen enough of these to recognize the similarities. I glanced at it and then looked to Pierre for translation.

  “She was strangled,” he said. “But the other injuries happened when she was alive.”

  I inhaled a slow, shaky breath. Whoever had done this had enjoyed it. I closed the first file and opened the second. Even though I was prepared this time, it didn't make things easier. Especially since half of the girl's face was missing. I managed to keep myself from being sick, but it was a close call.

  “Daria Petrova. Sixteen-year-old runaway from Russia.” Pierre said, leaning close enough that his arm brushed against mine. “Shot in the back of the head.”

  “Also a prostitute?” I asked the question even though I was pretty certain of the answer.

  “Yes,” he said. “Found beaten, raped and shot two days after North was found.”

  “Did she also work in one of Alizee's clubs?” I breathed a sigh of relief as I closed the file, even though I knew I'd never truly get those images out of my head.

  “There is no record of her,” he said.

  “Which doesn't mean she wasn't working the same place North was,” I reasoned.

  Pierre nodded. “Both girls were last seen at the club where North worked and were found in the same alley.”

  “You think Alizee had something to do with this,” I said, another statement, no question.

  “I do,” he admitted. “I believe North did, said or saw something she wasn’t supposed to and Alizee killed her for it.” He took both of the files and slid them back into the envelope. “I believe Daria saw the murder and was executed.”

  “Did you tell your police contact that?” I asked.

  He frowned. “I did, but there is no evidence to support my claim. My contact will not present this theory without more than my word.”

  “What's the theory they're working with now?”

  “They were prostitutes. Their lives were full of danger,” he said. “It is to be expected that they would have a violent and young death.”

  “So they're not even going to look for the killer or killers?” I knew similar atrocities happened back home, a person's status prompting the intensity in which an investigation was done. It didn't make it any less wrong.

  “They will look,” he said. “But only if they have the time.”

  “And you're sure Alizee did this?”

  “I’m certain she gave the orders,” he said. “And I wish to see her in jail for it. Someone must speak for these girls.”

  I nodded in understanding. I had the same passion for my work. So many of these girls – and boys – were tossed aside like garbage, treated as if they didn't matter. They needed an advocate, someone to step up and say it wasn't okay to treat a human being this way. I felt a surge of warm admiration for Pierre and what he was trying to do.

  “This is why I was so adamant that you not speak to Gavin about being at the docks,” Pierre said.

  My heart twisted as the pain returned. “I didn't say anything.”

  “If Alizee knows we suspect her of wrongdoing, she will go to any lengths to ensure she cannot be connected to these deaths, to cover her tracks. I need hard evidence that will force the authorities to pursue her as a suspect.”

  I put aside my own feelings for the greater good. “How can I help?”

  He smiled at me. “I was hoping you would offer. I need you to spy on Alizee.”

  “Spy on her?” I echoed. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Go to the meetings with your boyfriend. Try to get close with her, encourage her to confide in you.”

  “You think she's going to confess to me just because I make nice?” My nails bit into my palm and I had to force my hand to relax.

  “No,” he said. “That would be foolish. I believe she will provide you with information that may lead us to clues that will provide the evidence we need. It may be a confirmation of places she has gone, of people she knows.”

  I didn't say anything and he let the silence stand. I could tell he knew how difficult this decision was for me to make, especially after what I'd seen, but it wasn't just that. This whole thing brought back memories of Howard and everything I'd gone through a year ago. I didn't regret the decisions I made then, not for a moment, but it wasn't something I wanted to go through again. Now, I found myself in a similar situation, though I doubted I'd be in as much danger. Alizee might be a murderous bitch, but I’d already survived a lecherous sexual sadist. More importantly, I was an American citizen in a tourist city. If I went missing or turned up dead, Cannes would get negative press as well as international pressure to find the person responsible.

  Small comfort since it'd still mean I was dead.

  But that wasn't the point. I had to decide if I was willing to put my relationship with Gavin, as well as both of our lives, on the line to stop Alizee.

  “Please,” Pierre said softly. “Help me.”

  I reached out and put my hand over his. “All right,” I said. I gave him a grim smile. “I'll help you.”

  He gave me that dazzling smile that made his dimples appear. “Then let us put that bitch behind bars.”

  I nodded as I chuckled. It was dark business we were doing, but at least we were doing something.

  Chapter 5

  Gavin

  Carrie pushing me away when I kissed her had been a surprise, but I'd thought, for a moment, it was because I was wet and cold. Then I saw her face and it wasn't the swim that was making me cold. When she started in about the pain she was in because of the sex we'd had last night, it was like a punch in the gut. And then she'd taken a call from Pierre, that journalist she'd been spending time with while I was at business meetings. I wasn't sure which was stronger, the jealousy that surged through me at how easily she spoke to him after what she'd just said to me, or the pain her words had brought.

  When she said she was meeting him, I couldn't stop myself from wondering if he was the reason Carrie was pulling away from me. Was it possible I freaked her out so badly last night that she'd turned to Pierre?

  I was barely able to keep my voice steady when I asked the question. Then she said I should have another “business meeting” and stormed out. I stared at the door as it slammed shut. What had she meant by that? Was she angry I had another meeting with Vincent? I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me not to go this morning. I would've been happy to stay. There had to be something she wasn't telling me.

  And I needed to know what it was so I could fix it.

  That broke my paralysis and I went after her. The elevator doors were already closed by the time I stepped into the hallway, and I knew I'd be too late to catch her if I waited for it to come back up. I headed for the stairs.

  I wasn't quite running, but I wasn't walking either. I had to catch her, tell her that whatever I had done, I'd make it right. If she wanted me to break my contract with Vincent, I'd do it. I'd give up the club here and back home if she didn't want me involved with any of it. I'd find another job. Anything to fix this.

  I caught a glimpse of Carrie's hair shining in the sun as she pushed open the lobby doors and I hurried after her.
I considered calling out to her, but didn't want to have this discussion in public. I heard her say the name of the restaurant where they were going to meet, so I wasn't worried about losing her. I knew she was meeting Pierre. I didn't know the guy, but I didn't like him.

  I frowned as I walked, closing the distance. Somehow, I didn't think going off on Pierre would put me into Carrie's better graces. She seemed to like him. I just didn't know how much. I needed to know. I needed to know if what had happened between Carrie and me was because of Pierre. And this was the perfect time and place to find out.

  I slowed down until my pace matched hers. I could still see her, but I wasn't getting any closer now. It wasn't about catching up to her now, not yet. I had a different plan. I'd wait until I had a better idea of what I was dealing with.

  Carrie went inside and I situated myself so I could see the patio without obstruction. If they ate inside, I wouldn't be able to see anything, but I was counting on Carrie wanting to be in the sunshine. A few minutes later, she came out and found a table.

  A voice in my head said I was being unreasonable, that I should just walk over and talk to her. That was the smart thing to do. The right thing. We needed to talk about what had happened.

  I tossed the voice away as I noticed a handsome man walking toward Carrie, carrying an envelope in his hand. I watched as they talked, their bodies only inches away from each other. He kept leaning closer to her, their arms brushing. She didn't make an attempt to pull away and I felt sick. She'd pushed me away and now she was letting this man touch her. When she smiled at him and put her hand over his, I turned away.

  I couldn't watch. Part of me wanted to leave. Go back to the hotel and face Carrie when she returned.

  Movement caught the corner of my eye and I looked up in reflex. Pierre was walking by, carrying the envelope and looking like he'd just achieved some sort of major accomplishment. Anger burned the pain and made it more manageable.