by Jones, Gwen
“Sadly, no,” he said, tucking his phone in his inner pocket. Then he grinned. “But we will have an invisible car.”
“Now that,” she said as she led the way out, “I can’t wait to see.”
Once downstairs Charlotte led him to the back of the living room where there was another pair of French doors out to the backyard. She pulled the curtain aside to a night clouded over, perfect for stealing through the dark. “We’ll cut through the neighbors’ yards to get to the beach a block over. Do you mind?”
“I think I can manage it,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Just a second.” She trotted to the kitchen, returning with a string-tied white box. “To go with our coffee later,” she said, holding the éclairs aloft.
His brow narrowed. “Not the scenario I had in mind for them.”
“And it’s too late for that now,” she said, moving past him toward the door. “Besides, I’m hungry and they’re not getting any fresher. But don’t worry. I’ll let you feed them to me.”
“In public? Chérie, you’re more adventurous than I thought.” He came closer, his hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Charlotte, I don’t want you to worry about that car we saw last night.”
She was trying to put it out of her head, but apparently it still showed. “I’m trying not to, but it was so weird. Don’t you think?”
“It was strange, and I’m working on it.”
And why was that? “Do you think you know who it was?”
He paused a moment, seeming to weigh whether or not to tell her. “I have my suspicions.” Then he pulled her into his arms. “And if you were just this beautiful woman I’m finding I want to know more and more about every day, I’d tell you. But seeing that you’re also a lawyer, well . . .” He paused again, this time, his eyes darkening. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Charlotte, I know how tenacious you are. And I don’t want to make accusations until I know for certain. As an attorney, you operate on facts, and I’d rather wait and learn a bit more. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” she said, pulling back. “Because I wouldn’t lie for you or anyone. That’s not the way I roll.”
“I realize that. And I’d never want you to.”
“So knowing how our relationship has”—how should she put this?—“changed, do you still want me as your lawyer?”
“Oh, oui,” he said, his embrace tightening a bit. “Even more than I did before. Just know for now, you have nothing to be afraid of. And as soon as I learn more, I’ll tell you everything.” He kissed her cheek. “Does that make you feel better?”
She smiled, feeling somewhat relieved. “It does but even so, I’m glad you’re taking me with you.”
“And I’m happy you’re coming.” He kissed her forehead. “In fact, I always am. Let’s go.”
They entered into a sandy yard scattered with pea gravel, outdoor furniture still waiting for its winter bundling of plastic. All around them the houses sat dark, both from vacancy and the early hour, and without seeing anything stirring, they crept through a couple of unfenced yards and into the street one block over. At the head of the beach, Charlotte kicked off her shoes.
“Aren’t you going to take off yours? Roll up your pants?” she asked, pumps dangling from her fingers.
“My heels aren’t three inches,” he said, stepping over the short seawall and into the sand. “Plus my legs aren’t half as gorgeous as yours.”
“I think your legs are dead sexy,” she said, taking the hand he offered as he helped her over the seawall. “See, it all depends on perspective.”
He eyed her up and down. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He kept her hand as they walked across the sand to where the surf hardened had it, the mottled clouds settling an eerie cast upon the water. The beach was quiet and deserted, sunrise still a few hours away, the ocean a sonorous blanket of rippling dark. They walked along, not saying much, until Charlotte broke the silence.
“So,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
“Ha,” he laughed mirthlessly. “You act as if I had one. All I know is I have to get to Lilith and find out what she knows, not to mention I’d like to get my phone back. I’ve got half my life on that thing.”
“Christ,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of iCloud?”
He slanted her a glance. “Haven’t you ever heard of hackers? I don’t cloud my information, ma p’tit. I keep it close to my chest.”
She let go of his hand. “Excuse me for thinking you’re running a shipping company and not Interpol.”
“They’re much the same thing,” he said, pulling her back beside him. “I don’t think you realize just what Mercier does, what it encompasses. There’s only one shipping company that can come close to Mercier. Their name is Richette.”
“I’ve heard of them. You see their containers being trucked down the turnpike.”
He slanted her a glance. “Along with quite a few Merciers, I’m sure. But they’re publicly traded. We’re private—still run by the same family for over a hundred and fifty years. We have a hundred ports in over forty countries, employing over one hundred thousand people. We ship oil, food, medicine, lumber—anything you want or need. A company like that can make or break countries. Or the governments who try to run them. With that kind of power the head of a company is always open to sabotage.”
“Why, is someone out to get Marcel?”
“Not personally,” he said. “Just what he controls.”
She thought a moment, then looked up in realization. “Someone’s looking to take over the company, aren’t they?”
Rex nodded gravely. “It’s starting to look more and more like it. The directors have been rumbling lately about going public because they still see Marcel as incapable. But they’d do well not to underestimate him. He is brilliant. So much like his father, who expanded the company beyond his predecessors’ wildest expectations. You may have heard, though, his father had a stroke a few years back.”
“Yes, I did. That’s when Marcel’s brother, Andy, stepped in to take over as CEO, right?”
“Oui. But only until Marcel could find his footing. He’s almost there now, and probably this marriage is just the stability he needs. But a lot happened when he was running around. Mercier was almost swallowed up in a hostile takeover, and if it weren’t for André’s quick thinking and skill with negotiation, it would’ve happened. You see the dirty little family secret is his mother, Viviane Mercier, was behind it.”
Charlotte stared at him. “His mother? How could she do that to her own son? Oh wait. Was it because her husband left her for another woman?”
He waved her off. “Merde—that’s a simplistic American justification. It goes much deeper and much further back. Their first mistake wasn’t taking her serious enough as a director. Viviane’s a shrewd, shrewd woman, and she didn’t take kindly to being passed over as CEO, not for her then twenty-three-year-old son.” He stopped, turning to her, his eyes even darker in the thin light. “You see there are people out there who haven’t forgotten what almost happened. People who see Marcel as still vulnerable.”
“Leaving him open for it happening again.” Then it hit her. “That was his mother in the Rolls last night, wasn’t it.” When he didn’t answer, she knew she was right. “Rex, please. You can trust me, really you can.”
Rex stopped, turning to look at her, weighing again, no doubt “I know I can,” he finally said, touching her cheek. “But I’m only guessing about this. I didn’t actually see her, so I can’t know for sure. But if it is her, then it’ll be up to me to protect Marcel again.”
“Wait a minute.” She thought she misheard. “What do you mean—again?”
“It was me André came to see at Richette,” he said. “I was the COO at the time. Marcel’s mother had approached us along with a couple of Mercier directors. But then André off
ered me a deal that would not only make me very rich, but would also tip the balance of Mercier shares to thwart his mother’s scheme.”
“So you double-crossed her.” She stared at him a moment before she laughed. “God, she must hate you.”
He laughed as well, though a bit harshly. “There are a lot of people who do. And that’s why I’ve been thinking this dredging bill’s passage is the link to this mess. Because if it passes, we can expand, and then Mercier only becomes more valuable. So if someone is truly out to discredit me, it could be the whole scenario starting up all over again.”
Maybe it was the sloping surface, or maybe because her shoes were in her hand, but up until then she hadn’t quite realized how large and imposing Rex really was. As was the enormity of what he was saying. “You do realize this complicates everything. Between us, I mean.”
“Because it means I’ll have to trust you.” His hands slid up her arms. “Can I?”
“Of course.” She knew she could do the same with him.
“C’est bon.” He pulled her closer, his thumb smoothing her jawline. “Because I think I’m going to have to.”
He kissed her, but it was a kiss different than any of the others he’d given her, and that made it all the more intimate. This wasn’t a kiss of lust or even longing. This went deeper than all the physical places he had taken her. Charlotte knew this closed and secretive man had never given this kind of kiss to anyone. This opened a door to his inner workings. And quite possibly to his heart.
“You can,” she said, her hand over his.
“Ma belle Charlotte,” he said, kissing her again. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
She set her hand to his cheek. “Just tell me what to do.”
He threw his arm over her shoulder and glanced toward the dunes, shivering a bit from the wind. “How about getting us the hell off this beach?”
She snaked her hand under his jacket and around him. “Follow me.”
From there they walked another couple of blocks to a bus stop, riding it into Atlantic City, to arrive just after four-thirty.
“Caesar’s is just up the street,” Charlotte said. “I know a little coffee joint around the corner. Let’s grab a couple of cups and have our éclairs.” Soon after they were sitting on a bench facing the casino sipping coffee, pastries in hand.
“A shame,” Rex said, staring at it. “I had such plans.”
“That’s the lovely thing about plans,” Charlotte said, biting into her. “You can always make more. Along with éclairs.”
“A shame, nonetheless.” His was gone in two bites. “Come on, let’s go into the casino. I’m running low on cash and I need some pocket money.”
“What? Your big, black AmEx run out of gas? I thought you one-percenters didn’t believe in folding money.”
He downed the last of his coffee, tossing it into a nearby trash can. “Merde, that tasted like shit. I could never get used to coffee in a paper cup. Listen avocate, first rule of thumb—paper money, no paper trail.”
“Ah, now I get it.” She stood, bending at the waist. “I bow to your superior conspiratorial skills. Lead on, Dreyfus.”
“Jeune fille sarcastique,” he muttered, grabbing her hand.
They wandered into the casino from the boardwalk, the floor subdued on the weekday morning. Most of the pits were closed except for a select few blackjack, roulette, and craps, the meandering cocktail waitresses serving more coffee to the pit bosses and clerks than drinks to the players.
“You know it’s getting close to five o’clock,” Charlotte warned as they strolled past the craps pits. “Don’t we have to pick the car up by five-fifteen?”
“This won’t take long,” he said, scanning the floor, bypassing craps as it fed into the roulette wheels.
“Why am I not surprised you’re not a craps man,” Charlotte said. “Roulette, of course. Si français.”
“And so wrong,” he said, aiming for the blackjack pits. He picked the only hundred-dollar table open and walked up to it, just as the dealer stifled a yawn. He threw a bill down, standing behind the chair.
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Charlotte whispered from behind.
He set the single black chip to the table. “It won’t take that long.”
Five minutes later they were walking to the cashier’s window with a short stack of purple chips. “Holy shit, Rex—how much did you win?”
He gave it a quick count. “Only sixty-five hundred dollars. I could’ve won more if we had more time, but how much do you need?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you a counter?”
“You’re joking, right? I’m almost offended.”
“An evasive answer if I ever heard one. You know, you’re quite good at that.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Never mind anyway. I don’t want to know or before long I’ll be representing myself at my own trial.” They stepped up to the window.
He walked away with mostly hundreds and a selection of smaller bills. “Here,” Rex said, passing her a fold of cash. “We don’t want to keep all our eggs in one basket.”
“Christ.” She shoved the wad in her purse. “You’re like an ATM, aren’t you? Oh hurry—there’s the elevator.” They ran, catching it.
“Push four,” he said, the door closing.
They exited to a mostly empty floor lit by pale neon. Outside the sun hadn’t yet risen and a chill permeated the open structure, aided by the elevation and the cool ocean breezes. With a couple of cars slowly working toward the exit and hollow sound of their heels clicking against the tire-scarred concrete, Charlotte couldn’t help seeing the whole milieu as a bit sinister. She tightened the belt at her waist, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Chickening out?” Rex said, glancing toward her.
“What?” She glared at him. “No. It’s just cold in here.”
“Not that cold,” he said flatly, checking the numbers painted on each space: “402, 403, 404—it must be on the other side. Come on.”
They didn’t even walk halfway there before they found it, a sleek black Lincoln looking right out of the showroom. He went to the back of the car.
“Diplomatic plates, huh?” Charlotte whispered.
“Oui,” he whispered back.
She nodded her head slowly. “So that’s the invisible car.”
“Précisément.” He checked his phone, then punched the entry code into the door. The lock clicked open. Reaching in, he found the fob under the passenger side floor mat and opened the other door for Charlotte.
Rex slipped the seat belt over him and hit the ignition, the car roaring to life. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Roger that,” Charlotte said, strapping herself in.
Chapter Fourteen
Everyday Folk
SOMEWHERE PAST THE Maryland border, Rex pulled into one of those down-homey restaurants normally seen near interstate exits. The huge parking lot was crowded with people in transit, businessmen and the usual assortment of big-chain denizens, including truckers, RVers, screaming children, and a healthy dose of the Great Unwashed. As they climbed from the car, Charlotte could almost swear there was a look of horror on Rex’s face.
“Mon Dieu. M’épargner le commun des mortels,” he muttered, wincing.
“You insufferable snob.” Charlotte slipped her arm in his, slapping it. “Seriously, their breakfasts aren’t bad.”
His Gallic nose lifted. “I’m not a snob,” he said pointedly. “I’m only bemoaning the sad decline of the average American.” He winced again. “Deplorable.”
“You wouldn’t know an average American if he bit you in your Guccis.”
He put an arm around her as a trio of kids ran past. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have waited until Washington. I know a place in Georgetown that serves a great kippers and
eggs.”
“Because we’ve been in the car for over two and a half hours, and that’s all my bladder will stand.” He pulled the door open and they entered into a huge space that looked like the inside of a barn, filled with overflowing displays of knickknacks in every genre imaginable. She pointed toward the back. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. If you don’t have to go, amuse yourself with this”—she grabbed a book from a display of them and shoved it at him—“until I get back.”
He glanced at it. “Uncle Jack’s Bathroom Reader?” She thought he might gag. She left for the bathroom.
As she washed her hands, Charlotte noted that although they’d had a significant breakthrough on the beach, he’d really told her nothing about what he planned to do once they got to Washington. Did he really expect to walk into the dining room at the Hay-Adams and confront Lilith Millwater right there, out in the open? Charlotte was sure the congresswoman fully expected Rex to remain cloistered in Philadelphia after his arrest, but then again . . . She couldn’t help smiling as she dried her hands. If the congresswoman did, she hardly knew him at all. Then all at once she sobered. But if she didn’t . . .
She found Rex exiting the men’s room as she came out, every remaining strand of his beach-blown hair smoothed back to perfection. He reached for her hand. “Well, the best thing I can say about that experience is at least I didn’t have to tip anyone.”
“There is that,” Charlotte said as they approached the hostess.
A few minutes later Charlotte sipped coffee as Rex considered a plate of biscuits and apple butter. “I recognize the biscuits, but what’s that?” he asked, glaring at the dark sauce.
“Apple butter,” Charlotte answered, breaking off a piece of biscuit and smearing a dollop of apple butter on it. “Try it, it’s pretty good. Quintessentially American.”
He eyed the biscuit suspiciously, but took it, popping it into his mouth. He shrugged, chewing. “Pas mal,” he admitted, reaching for his coffee. “At least this is in porcelain.”
“Thank God for the little things.” She broke off a piece of biscuit for herself. “Anyway, I was thinking. You can’t just show up at lunch at the hotel. If you walk into the dining room the congresswoman’s going to bolt as soon as she sees you. That is, if she’s there at all.”
