She replaced the checkbooks in their drawer and went to the small hidden closet in the paneling. She retrieved her coat and put it on. Before she left, she sat down in her chair and unzipped an inside pocket in her handbag, extracting an Altoids tin from it. She opened it very carefully and looked hungrily at the white powder inside. With a fingernail, she scooped up a portion of the powder, then lifted it to her nose. She snorted the powder up one nostril, then licked at her fingernail, making certain that she'd left none of the precious powder there. Using the Hermes scarf in her coat pocket, she wiped at her nose. No telltale traces of powder would be seen by anyone.
She replaced the tin in its pocket and zipped it shut, then closed her handbag. She could already feel the crystal meth beginning to work its magic in her system, could feel her spirits lift, could feel a pleasant urgency about completing her tasks. Knowing that she would succeed.
She left the office quietly, went to the elevator, and pushed the button. A night flight to Paris, she thought dreamily. Then she and Paul could drive to their beautiful little hideaway in Provence. The idea of holing up in Saint Remy appealed mightily after the hectic pace and vulgarity of New York. Just the two of them for a few days to decide what they would do and where they would go from there.
The elevator arrived and she stepped in, her eyes glittering with the possibilities that lay ahead. Allegra had done her a favor. It was time for Sylvie to escape the country she thought uncouth, primitive. It was time for her to get back to a civilized place where people knew how to live.
CHAPTER 15
The little cell phone on the bedside table rang and rang, but Hilton shut his ears to its relentless chirping. Kitty, her silky black hair splayed out across his hips, was slowly working her knowledgeable tongue around his engorged shaft, and he was completely absorbed in her every sensuous flick and lick. He thought that he would explode at any minute, but he was trying with all of his might to hold off because he wanted to mount her at the last moment and release himself inside her. He knew that she would love that, and he wanted to give her as much pleasure as she gave him.
When he felt the tip of her tongue delve into the tip of his cock, he knew that it was now or never. He put his hands under her arms and drew her face up to his, then began kissing her passionately as he rolled her over onto her back and mounted her. Her large breasts pressed against his chest as he entered her, and Kitty moaned as his hands caressed her hard nipples and his shaft filled her. Her body immediately responded, moving urgently against him, engulfing him in the sweet nectar that anxiously awaited him between her honey-colored thighs.
Hilton groaned with desire, his whole being focused on the ecstasy of the moment, and he began moving rhythmically against her, quickening his pace, unable to control the passion that held him in thrall. When Kitty cried out and began to tremble beneath him as waves of orgasm overcame her, he exploded in a final plunge.
He held her tightly, completely enraptured by this woman who gave him such sensuous pleasure, and lay catching his breath as she gasped beneath him. When at last they had both recovered, he eased off her, but kept his arms around her shoulders, kissing her tenderly, his lips brushing her eyes, her ears, her nose, her cheeks, her neck, her lips.
'I think you're possibly the best thing that ever happened to me,' he said with a smile.
'I know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me,' Kitty said softly.
The cell phone began its relentless chirping again. 'Damn,' Hilton swore.
'That's your private number,' Kitty said. 'Hadn't you better get it?'
Hilton glanced over at the offending instrument. 'Yeah,' he said, 'but it's probably nothing. There are only ten or twelve people with that number.'
'It might be important,' Kitty said.
'Might be,' he agreed, 'but not more important than this.'
Kitty laughed. 'No, not more important than this.'
The phone continued to ring. 'But somebody is certainly persistent,' she said.
'Aw, shit.' Hilton reached over for the phone and depressed the TALK button. 'Hilton Whitehead,' he said.
'Mr. Whitehead,' the voice said. 'It's Allegra Sheridan.'
He immediately sat up in bed. 'Hey,' he replied. 'What's going on? Everything okay?'
'Yes. No. I mean, something's happened that you should know about right away. In fact, a lot has happened that you should know about.'
'What is it, Allegra?' he asked, as Kitty stroked his back. He gently brushed her hand away and got out of bed, blowing her a kiss on the way to the bathroom. He didn't want her to overhear this conversation.
Allegra told him about Sylvie and Paul and then, at Todd's urging, about meeting Ramtane Tadjer and the subsequent shootings. 'And you and your boyfriend are okay, Allegra?' he asked worriedly when she had finished.
'Yes,' she said. 'We're fine. I'm just glad that Todd flew in. If he hadn't, Paul would be gone with the emerald.'
'Jesus!' Hilton expelled a breath of air that was almost a whistle. 'I don't believe this. Sylvie, of all people.'
'I'm really sorry to have to tell you,' Allegra said. 'I can hardly believe it, either. We've known each other for quite a while, and I thought we were friends.'
'Well, I'm sorry you've been put through all this,' he said. 'This Tadjer. You say he owns Jules Levant?'
'Yes,' she replied.
'He worries me a hell of a lot more than Sylvie and Paul,' Whitehead said. 'I can take care of her from this end. She may still be downstairs in the office in fact, but I don't like the idea of you seeing any more of Tadjer. Do you think he has any idea where you are?'
'No,' Allegra said. 'Not unless he's got some spies watching me. We got a taxi outside the building, then drove all over Paris while Todd used the cell phone to find a hotel room.'
'Where are you?'
'Practically around the corner from where we started out,' she said, blurting a short laugh. 'At the Hotel de la Bretonnerie.'
'And you're pretty certain nobody knows where you are?'
'Absolutely,' she said.
'When we hang up, I'm going to get on the phone,' he said. 'If we have to, we'll get the Surete, Interpol, whoever we have to involved in this.'
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Allegra said. 'If you do, then I'm going to end up being stuck here for days. With the emerald. And, like you said, you can take care of Sylvie from your end. If the police get involved here, then they're going to be talking to Dufour, Tadjer, the museum staff, me, and God only knows who else. I really could be kept here for days until they decide to let me leave. Todd, too, since he's involved now.'
'I see what you mean,' he said. He didn't like the idea of not following through with an investigation into the purported mix-up at Dufour, Tadjer's involvement, and the rest of it. There was one consideration, however, that was paramount in his mind: the emerald.
'Listen, Allegra,' he finally said. 'The only important thing right now is to get the ring to New York safely. We'll try to find out what we can about Tadjer and the shootings, but we'll wait until you and the ring are back here. Okay?'
'That's fine,' Allegra said with relief. 'I wish I could follow through here and find out what's caused so much interest in this emerald.'
'Forget about it,' Whitehead advised. 'Your job was to buy the ring and get it back. That's all. So get it to the bank the first thing in the morning. Monday, after the driver picks you up, get it out of the bank on your way to the plane. You understand?'
'Yes,' she replied. 'Understood. It's just the rest of the night that worries me.'
'Listen to me,' he said.
Allegra heard him out before finally hanging up the telephone.
'Feel better now?' Todd asked.
'Not really,' she said. She told him about her conversation with Hilton Whitehead. 'I don't think I'll feel better till the ring is in New York.'
'In the meantime,' Todd said, 'why don't we get something to eat?'
'That's a great idea,' she replie
d, wishing that she really felt that way.
When they stepped outside the Hotel de la Bretonnerie, Allegra stood on the narrow sidewalk, nervously looking both ways, deciding in which direction to walk. Even with Todd at her side, she felt vulnerable, especially outdoors.
'Does it feel uncomfortable?' she asked him.
'No,' he said, smiling, 'but if I do a sort of a duck walk, you'll know why.' He put a big arm around her shoulder and gave her a pat with his hand. 'What say we go . . . that way?' He pointed with a finger.
'Sure, why not,' Allegra said, and they began strolling down the street, Allegra looking to see if she could detect a noticeable difference in Todd's walk.
'I don't think your average Joe—or your average thief—is going to look for an emerald ring where I've got it tucked away.'
As they walked arm in arm down the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie, neither of them was aware of the dark eyes monitoring their every movement from the direction of the rue Vieille du Temple. The sidewalks were crowded with window-shoppers and restaurant and bar patrons coming and going from the multitude of trendy establishments that lined the block. As Allegra and Todd fell into the leisurely pace of the pedestrians surrounding them, yet another pair of eyes were observing them from the direction of the rue des Archives.
'Look,' Todd said. 'What do you think about this place, huh? Looks like it might be really good.'
'I love it. It's so tiny and quaint,' Allegra said. 'Let's look at the menu and see what they've got.'
They stood in the window, looking at the menu posted there, oblivious to the attention focused on them from just down the block.
'Looks like pretty basic French fare to me,' Todd said.
'And reasonably priced, too,' Allegra said. 'Plus this place is practically next door to the hotel. Just think. We can eat and then go collapse.'
Todd kissed her cheek. 'I don't know if we'll collapse when we get back to the room. What do you think?'
She looked at him. 'No,' she said, 'I didn't mean literally. What I meant was that the bed's a stone's throw away.'
He kissed her again. 'You're definitely my kind of woman.'
He opened the door, and they stepped inside the small restaurant. The room was noisy with the lively conversations of twenty or more diners, and the smells emanating from the food were like perfume. The maitre d' approached them immediately.
'Two for dinner?' he asked, looking from Allegra to Todd.
Todd nodded. 'If you have a table, we'd love it.'
'Follow me,' the maitre d' said, turning and expertly skirting his way through the small maze of tables toward a back corner. When he reached the tiny table, he turned to them. 'Will this suffice?' he asked.
'It's perfect,' Allegra said, noticing the romantic candlelight and the little vase of fresh flowers on the table.
After they were seated and had ordered a carafe of the house white wine, they studied the menu. 'I think I'll have a salad and the duck with seasonal fruit,' Allegra said.
'Same here,' Todd said. 'Then the chocolate soufflé for dessert.'
'Me, too,' she said.
Todd reached across the tiny table and took her hand in his. 'I can't tell you how happy it makes me to be here with you.'
Allegra smiled. 'I'm thrilled that you're here, too,' she said. 'And you saved my neck today.'
'That was nothing,' he said. 'Even if Paul had gotten away with the emerald, you'd have put two and two together in no time, and Whitehead would've had him tracked down some way.'
'Maybe,' she said, 'but you never know. Anyway, tonight you're my hero.'
He gently squeezed her hand. 'You're always my heroine.'
They ate and drank with relish, enjoying the basic but delicious French cuisine, and when they were back out in the cool air of the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie, they walked arm in arm.
They reached the hotel and went into the little lobby with its ancient beams and antique furnishings. They had failed to notice the men across the street, one directly across from the hotel, speaking into a cell phone, the other down the block, speed-dialing a number on his cell phone.
Mimi, a Provencal-patterned scarf knotted around her gray hair and a heavy apron covering her from ample bosom to arthritic knees, shuffled into the old mill's beamed salon. In her thick, gnarled hands was a heavy silver tray laden with smoked-salmon sandwiches made with trimmed toast, lots of capers, thinly sliced onion, freshly squeezed lemon juice, and a mere hint of Neufchatel cheese, just the way the princess liked them. She'd heard laughter on her way in from the kitchen, and it warmed her heart. There had been little reason for joy in her mistress's life of late, and she was glad that Marcus Setville-Penhurst—useless perverti she considered him to be—could bring tears of laughter to the princess's eyes.
She set the tray down on the massive oak coffee table, then straightened her back and cleared her throat.
'What is it, Mimi?' Princess Karima asked. Clad in a white silk caftan trimmed with gold braid, she lay sprawled on one of the tapestry- upholstered sofas, her black hair loose and flowing below her shoulders. She held a crystal old-fashioned glass of Jack Daniel's in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Kitty-corner to her, Marcus lay on a matching sofa, holding a glass of Scotch on his stomach.
'The man called from Paris,' Mimi said. 'He found the lighter you lost.'
Princess Karima bolted upright. 'Wonderful,' she exclaimed. 'And?'
'He said not to worry. He will take care of it for you.'
'Did he say when?'
Mimi shook her head. 'No, madame, but he assured me it was not a problem.'
'Thank you, Mimi,' Princess Karima said. 'If he should call back, I want to speak with him.'
'Yes, madame,' Mimi said. 'Will there be anything else?' She looked from the princess to Marcus, who lay staring at her with a blank expression.
'No, not tonight, Mimi,' the princess said.
The old woman turned and shuffled back out of the room.
'What was that all about?' Marcus asked when Mimi had disappeared into the kitchen.
'I left a gold lighter in a restaurant the other day,' Princess Karima told him airily. 'That must have been the maitre d'. They'll send it to me here.'
'Remarkable,' Marcus replied. 'I should have thought it would've been pawned the minute you were out the restaurant door.'
'There are a few decent people left in this world,' the princess said, swirling her drink around in its glass.
Marcus laughed. 'Introduce me,' he said. 'I've yet to meet them.'
'I can't share everything with you, Marcus, darling,' she replied. 'A woman must have her secrets if she doesn't want to appear to be common.'
'How right you are,' Marcus said. 'Though I do wish you would share the telephone number of that young man you've told me about.'
Princess Karima threw her head back and laughed. 'Never!' she said through her laughter. 'I would never see either of you again.' She took a sip of her drink, then set the glass down on the coffee table, her body tingling with excitement.
How odd that Marcus should mention him now, she thought. Just when I've had a call from him. He's proving to be such a useful young man. In more ways than one. He has found the young American woman, and if anybody on the planet can get the emerald out of her, he can. She lay back against the soft cushions and took a long drag off her cigarette, looking thoughtfully at the fire that burned on the ancient stone hearth.
It had been very clever of her to hire the young man for the job, she decided. He was handsome, charming, smart, and very sexy, and he was also a heartless, merciless hustler. Yes, he was perfect for the work, even if unproved outside the bedroom. She could hardly wait for the morning, for he would surely make his move tonight.
Ram flipped his tiny cell phone shut and placed it on the table next to the sofa bed in the little apartment on the rue des Rosiers. His lips smiled as he looked at the ceiling thinking about Allegra Sheridan. What a stupid girl. She might be beautiful in that
American way, but she was also very careless. And the man Ram assumed was her boyfriend must be a typical Neanderthal American male. Probably clean-cut and good-looking, but thickheaded and uncivilized, without a bone of sophistication in his body. They were right in the neighborhood, only a few blocks away, when they could have been out of the country. Gone. And the emerald gone with them.
He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table and lit one, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling after inhaling deeply. He would have the emerald after all, he thought. Plus, he could hardly wait to get his hands on the girl. She had caused him no end of problems. He'd wasted the entire evening with the police after Gerard had been killed, and he had no more idea than they about who was responsible. The one thing he was certain of was that it had to do with the emerald.
He wondered who else could be after it, though it really didn't matter. What was important was that he would have it soon. Kadar would see to that. He'd been on her trail ever since she and the boyfriend had left the apartment on the rue des Archives, and Kadar would figure out a way to get to them in their little love nest at the hotel tonight. Otherwise, he would be there to greet them when they left it in the morning. Like Ram, Kadar had grown up in les Bosquets, the bleak projects that were the perfect breeding ground for ruthless killers. Kadar would get the job done.
He heard the toilet flush and looked toward the bathroom. The girl opened the door and, when she saw him staring at her, smiled tentatively before walking toward him, her pert young breasts bouncing slightly against her skinny rib cage. Under the sheer black thong that was the only thing she wore, he could see that she was completely shaved, and he felt a powerful stirring in his groin.
Hmmmm, the perfect antidote to all my problems, he thought, relishing her pale skin and nubile young body, her long blond hair and hungry, painted mouth. She was pathetic, really. Nothing more than a cheap, strung-out street urchin. And he would make her beg for whatever he chose to give her. She deserved it.
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