The French Detective's Woman (14 page)

What was wrong with him?

“She takes care of us, you know,” the girl said solemnly. “All of us. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

The quiet statement brought him back to reality. “How?” he asked, interest piquing. He felt instinctively that in the answer lay a key to the puzzle that was Ciara Alexander.

Sofie’s lips parted, as though he’d caught her off guard. She shook her head, dipping her brush into the Aegean blue.

“I want to understand,” he said. He also wanted to know who “all of us” were, but one thing at a time.

The design on the wall was nearly complete. He followed her graceful movements as she filled in the thumb and put finishing touches on the curls and flourishes surrounding it. When she was done, she climbed down from the ladder.

“Aren’t you going to sign it?”

She looked at him, startled, then back at the wall. “That is my signature,” she said.

He frowned, not understanding. But before he could question her meaning, she slid into the chair opposite him. Wiping her fingers on a bright orange cloth, she studied them like she had something to say.

Her hair fell over her eyes, making her look extremely young. How old was she? Fifteen, sixteen, max. He thought about what she’d said and wondered why Ciara was taking care of her, and not her parents.

“Ciara has very little money,” Sofie said, barely above a whisper. “But what she has she shares with us. Without her help, we would all be living on the streets instead of having a decent place to sleep and food in our stomachs. She keeps us on a good path.”

After a pause to digest that unexpected information, he gently asked, “We?”

“The Orphans. There are five of us.”

What the hell? “Street kids?”

She nodded at her hands.

He leaned back in his chair, slightly taken aback. His vivacious, sexy Ciara was caring for five young runaways? Of all the things for her to be doing, of all the reasons for her to avoid him, that was one he’d never seen coming.

“She’s afraid to get involved with me,” he deduced aloud, “because she thinks I’ll contact social services. Take you all away from her.”

Sofie swallowed but didn’t look up. “Something like that.”

Was she right? Would he?

He was a sworn officer of the
police judicaire
, bound to uphold the law. If the kids were underage, he’d have no choice but to report the situation, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

He blew out a breath.
Merde
. Had Ciara pegged him so accurately after three nights in bed? He didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

Across the street, the bell above
Valois Vielli’s
door tinkled and he realized he’d completely forgotten about calling for an officer to keep watch over the place. A sophisticated woman with short black hair and large sunglasses emerged from the shop, looked both ways down the sidewalk, then over toward the café. High heels clicking smartly, she crossed the street and came in, seating herself at a table on the other side of the room.

Jean-Marc turned back to Sofie. It was time for him to go. Before he overstayed his welcome and she got suspicious.

“Thank you for explaining,” he said, and rose. “Next time you see Ciara, would you tell her—”

Tell her what
? That she’d been right in her assessment of him? That he was a heartless bastard who saw life in black and white, with no room for extenuating circumstances? That it was better she had made the choice than he? Because although in his heart he admired what she was doing more than he could say, he’d always be a cop first.

“Tell her I still want her,” he murmured. Because that much was also true.

Ignoring Sofie’s blush, he tossed a ten on the table and started to walk away. But before taking two steps, he went back and handed her a hundred euro note. “Buy her something pretty,” he said, “Something she’d like.” Then he turned and strode out of the café.

As soon as he’d rounded the corner, he pulled out his cell phone.

“Pierre?” he said when his partner picked up. “Send me an officer. I need someone watched.”

Chapter 9

Ciara averted her face and held her breath as Jean-Marc’s tall frame disappeared through the café door. Her heart beat like thunder. She couldn’t believe he was here! Talking with Sofie! But how?

He’d walked right past her table, close enough to reach over and touch. She hadn’t done it, but she’d been tempted. Oh, so tempted.

The faint smell of his cologne lingered in his path, triggering a deep yearning, way down inside her. Sometimes when she thought about Jean-Marc, the physical craving was almost unbearable, God help her. She took a deep breath and shuddered it out. She was so messed up.

Lowering her sunglasses, she met Sofie’s large, luminous brown eyes. They were filled with sympathy.

“What did he want?” Ciara asked, blocking out the insane feelings assaulting her insides.

Sofie came over to the table. “To find you.”

Ciara’s pulse sped. “But...how? How did he know?”

Sofie glanced toward her painting, then back. “Fatima’s Hand. He recognized it. From over your bed.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Ciara’s mind scrambled. She’d never thought of that. What other details had she not thought about that could give her away? “You didn’t tell him where I moved, did you?”

“Never,” Sofie assured. “Never, ever.”

“Thank God,” Ciara whispered, relief pouring through her. For as much as she longed to be with Jean-Marc, it would be pure disaster if he found her again. That kind of complication she did not need.

“He seemed nice,” Sofie said. “I liked him.”

“Yes. I liked him, too,” Ciara murmured.
Unfortunately
.

“Too bad he’s a cop, and not a gangster, eh? Like Etienne.”

She smiled wearily. “Too bad I didn’t meet him before I met Etienne. Our lives might have been very different.”

Sofie’s dark brows tilted. “If you’d met him first, you’d never have bothered with us Orphans.”

“Don’t be silly.” Ciara stood and gave her a heartfelt hug. “I’d be the same person inside. And I’d love you just as much as I do now. How could I not? You’re my family.”

Sofie’s smile glowed. “I love you, too.” She reached up to touch Ciara’s short black wig. “I can’t believe he didn’t recognize you when you came in.”

“I’m not. He didn’t at the Michaud’s either. Nobody sees through my disguises.”

“A lover should.”

“I guess that tells you something, then.”

“You’re wrong. He loves you, Ciara.”

She let out a weary laugh. “Sweetie, we’ve only seen each other three times. He couldn’t possibly love me.”

The young girl shook her head slowly. “
Non
. You didn’t hear his voice. He loves you. And you love him. Why didn’t you tell us?”

Good Lord. How could a child who’d gone through such hell still have such a ridiculously romantic view of life?

“Honey, there’s nothing to tell. Yes, I’ll admit, I have a wicked terrible crush on the man. But...it’s impossible, and we both know why. End of story.”

Sofie shook her head. “There must be a way.”

“There isn’t.” Ciara gestured to the painting equipment by the far wall. “I’ll help you clean up. It looks gorgeous, by the way. Your best one yet.”

Sofie stood mulishly for a moment, stubborn in her optimism. Then she pushed out a sigh and joined her in picking up the paint and brushes. “Thanks. I’ll paint another over your new bed tomorrow. Perhaps it will bring you a miracle, just like Fatima’s. So you can be with your man.”

She kissed Sofie on the forehead. A miracle. That’s exactly what it would take for that to happen. And if there was one thing Ciara had never believed in, it was miracles. The things she believed in were hard work, determination, and having realistic goals. And right now, her number one goal was to get enough money to pay off Beck so she and her kids could get on with their education, and ultimately their lives. Just a few more years and they’d all be able to support themselves. But until that happened, it was up to her to keep things afloat.

The only miracle Ciara needed right now was another job to pull off.

And soon.

♥♥♥

“I’m returning the Picasso,” Ciara told Sofie as they strolled the half kilometer from the café to the
métro
. The day was beautiful and they weren’t in any hurry.

Sofie’s eyes widened. “Return it? Are you serious?”

Ciara shrugged. “It’s a fake, not worth a fraction of what we need. If I let the cops have it, that should redirect the investigation back onto the Micheauds and take the heat off me. Long enough to lift something else, anyway.”

“Give it to the cops? Sounds dangerous.”

“I just have to be sure not to leave any traceable—”

Suddenly, an iron grip latched onto her wrist and her arm was yanked practically from its socket. She was dragged off the sidewalk through a broken outer doorway and into a garbage-filled courtyard.

“
Putain
!” the stocky man attached to the grip spat out. “You think you can protect my whore?”

Beck!

Sofie yelped, looking wild-eyed, welded to the spot as the heavy wooden door swung back at her. “Stay there!” she called. She didn’t want her anywhere near Beck or what was about to happen.

Beck jerked Ciara’s arms painfully, slamming her back against the filthy alley wall. “The little whore missed her deadline. She’s mine now,” he hissed. “To do with as I want. Nothing you can do about it.” He raised his fist.

Ciara forced herself not to react or resist. Men like Beck got off on a woman’s fear and struggles. “We’ll get your money. We just need more time.”

A vicious slap stung her cheek. “How much time? A day? A month? A year?” A backhand to her other cheek whipped her head back against the hard brick.

She cried out in pain. “A week! Give us a week.”

“That will cost you five thousand more,” Beck snarled. His face twisted into an ugly smirk. “Unless...” He grabbed at her breast, ripping the buttons off the pretty silk blouse that she’d spent an hour bartering down at the
Puce de Montreuil
flea market. “You’d rather take it out in trade...eh,
morue
? You and the little whore together.” The smell of cheap red wine scorched across her nostrils. His fingers squeezed into her flesh.

Bile filled her throat. She wanted to knee him in the balls so hard he’d stay doubled over for a year. But she resisted the urge. That satisfaction wouldn’t be worth what Beck would do to Sofie in retaliation.

“You’ll get your fucking money,” she gritted out, twisting her body away from his hands. “Now
let me go
.”

He narrowed his black eyes, breathing heavily into her face. She almost gagged.

“Fifteen thousand. One week,
connasse
. Or—” he jerked a thumb at Sofie, who cowered at the courtyard entrance, tears streaming down her face “—after I’m done with her she’ll be back in the loving care of her dear old daddy. And you, little bitch—” he jabbed his finger into Ciara’s breast “—you’ll be wishing you were dead.”

The last thing she was aware of was a sudden horrible, blinding pain in her kidney as she stumbled for the outer door. Then everything went black.

Chapter 10

“Ciara?
Ciara!
”

The frantic sound of Sofie’s weeping finally penetrated the excruciating, twisting void Ciara was being sucked into. She groaned and tried to move, gasping at the sharp pain in her side that resulted.

“Please, Ciara. Wake up!”

“
Mademoiselle
, are you all right?” A concerned male voice mingled with Sofie’s soft sobs.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. The man bending over her was dressed in civvies, but his haircut and official demeanor immediately identified him as some kind of law enforcement.
Great
.

“Really, I’m okay,” she said, ignoring her pain and sitting up. She had nearly made it back to the sidewalk before collapsing.

“What happened here?” the cop asked, lifting a cell phone from his jacket pocket.

Quickly, she put her hand on his. “No need to call
le flic
,” she said, smiling past her stinging cheeks. “It was just a misunderstanding. My fault. Honest.”

The cop scowled down the street in the direction Beck had disappeared. “Was that guy a police officer?”

Beck had covered his uniform shirt with a light nylon windbreaker, so Ciara feigned surprise, waving off Sofie’s alarmed mewl behind her back. “No, of course not. Just my neighbor.” She did her best to look embarrassed. “I, um... My dog messed on his doorstep. Again. It was the third time, and he stepped in it. I don’t blame him for being angry.”

The cop didn’t look the least bit convinced. “What about her?” he asked, indicating Sofie. A thin trail of blood trickled from her nose.

Ciara sent him a beseeching look. “He was really mad. My friend accidentally got in the way. Please, we’re all right. Honestly.” To illustrate her point, Ciara climbed to her feet, hiding a wince and swallowing a groan. Straightening her skirt, she surreptitiously smoothed a hand over her wig to make sure it was still in place. Sofie took her arm.

He looked dubious, but relented at their united front. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you there.”

“That’s very sweet, but we’re on our way to my friend’s place. It’s some distance.”

“I’ll hail you a taxi then,” he insisted.

“You’re very kind,” she relented, just to be rid of him.

In less than a minute he’d flagged down an empty cab and helped them inside. With a grateful wave at the cop, she gave the driver the Orphans’ address on rue Daguerre and leaned back against the seat with a groan.

Once the car rounded the corner she turned to Sofie. Her heart sank. Along with the bloody nose, the girl’s left eye was swelling black and blue.

“The fucking bastard,” Ciara gritted out.