Most casinos are content with banning such sharks from swimming in their waters. Kadar would be quite within his rights to tell the manager to evict her immediately from both the tables and the hotel. I sit, holding my breath, hoping that he’ll let her stay. If only until I can catch up with her. I can’t offer to make good any losses; the type of money Danielle could be amassing would be way beyond my pay grade.
Kadar’s hands are steepled in front of him, his familiar gesture showing he is giving the matter careful consideration. We’re silent as we finish our meal, waiting for him to announce his verdict. Then, at last, with an exaggerated sigh, he gives his pronouncement. “I’ll let it go, for now, Sean, but I do want her stopped before she breaks the bank. Let’s get you there fast. The Kassis jet will made be available to fly you to Dubai in the morning, and you’ll be able to get a connection to Paris from there.”
I breathe again. Yes! I feel like doing a fist pump myself, but manage to control myself. The fact that Kadar wants it sorted quickly fits in well with my desires. By this time tomorrow I could be meeting the mother of my daughter, and finding out what the fuck is going on. I thank him profusely, but he waves away my grateful comments with a dismissive wave of his hand.
The next hour passes quickly, the conversation animated and interesting, a welcome distraction from my problems. Everyone carefully avoids the two topics which would cause discomfort for myself and Nessa, namely, there’s no further talk of dungeons and BDSM and no more unanswerable questions about how I ended up holding the baby. Eventually, a servant enters to tell Cara that Zorah is restless, and needs her mother’s touch. Both Cara and Nijad leave the room to go to their daughter. Zoe pleads tiredness as her excuse to make an exit, and Kadar almost knocks over his chair as he speedily leaps to his feet to help his seven-month pregnant wife out of her chair.
After polite ‘goodbyes’ Nessa and I make our way back to our temporary home in the compound, and spend the rest of the evening repacking the few possessions we brought with us. Well, Nessa does, I’m too used to this life and never bother to unpack. While she’s busy, I treat myself to one last glass of whisky as I try to get everything straight in my mind. Finding Danielle had been far easier than I’d expected, and the question I ask myself is, why? Does she need help, or have her problems now been sorted and she wants Mollie back?
Another sip of the amber nectar, and I rest my head back on the sofa. Kadar was right, all she had to do was to pick up the phone. Why the subterfuge? And what the fuck is going on? And now I know what she is, if she wants to reclaim her daughter, I’m reconsidering that she’s the best person to bring her up.
Finishing my drink, I go upstairs to bed. The myriad of unanswerable questions rolling around my brain lead predictably to a restless night. Not being one to function well on lack of sleep, I’m not at my best when the following morning we leave the never-ending blue skies of the desert country behind, and eventually land to rain and dark, cloudy skies in Paris. I know I’ve not been good company, but Nessa seemed to accept I’ve got a lot on my mind and kept herself to herself, reading for most of the time.
The French capital can be a glorious sight, but not so much when you’re trying to hold an umbrella in gale force winds, and the swift climate change doesn’t do much to lift my mood. But on landing and receiving a welcome text, I appreciate how much I owe the emir. As well as giving us the use of his private jet for the first leg of this journey, I find Kadar has also arranged our accommodation in the extensive hotel complex attached to the Kassis casino, L'Oiseau Bleu.
From Charles de Gaulle airport we take the Metro, the Parisian equivalent to London’s underground, to the station close by the hotel. It wasn’t worth taking a taxi from there as it was only a short distance. But the atrocious weather means we’re both disheveled with water dripping off us by the time we arrive at the entrance to the casino beneath the huge neon sign which, unlike others in the area doesn’t flash. Instead, it shows its ostentatiousness by the number of bulbs and fine detail in the gorgeous blue bird that gives away the identity of the place even for people who don’t speak the native language. Pushing through the revolving doors, we step inside.
The building hums as we enter. Immediately the dismal day is left behind, and it becomes impossible to say whether what time it is, let alone whether or not the sun is shining outside. To reach the hotel’s reception we make our way past the temptations of gaudy slot machines looking deceptively eager to pay out, and tables with croupiers calling for bets to be placed. It’s nothing new to me, but an eye-opener for my companion. Her steps falter as she looks around, and I place my hand on the small of her back to encourage her along.
Once we get to the desk to register, I’m amused that Kadar has arranged a suite for us, but then, emirs probably don’t think in terms of basic digs. Personally, I’d have been happy staying in any of the rooms here. Like most casinos around the world, they are all about encouraging people to stay in their opulent surroundings and lose more money than they can afford to at the gaming tables. Everything anyone could need is on site, a variety of restaurants suiting all pockets and tastes, as well as shops selling whatever you could wish for, from clothing to suit every mood to condoms. Despite only being a stone’s throw from the attractions of the centre of Paris, I doubt many staying here often emerge into the light of day, seduced into eating, drinking and, of course, gambling their money away, in the building specifically designed to provide everything they might want. All in all, there are worse places to stay.
Receiving the golden keycard, I suspect we’ve been given one of the suites reserved for high rollers, and for which it’s not unusual for the hotel not to receive payment. Keeping punters happy and returning is part of the casino business, and the Kassis family know their industry well. Taking the lift to the penthouse floor, we, at last, arrive at our room.
Nessa’s entranced by the opulence of the suite. Moving quickly forward, she stands in the middle, twirling around as she takes everything in. “Wow!” she pronounces, before turning to me with a look of rapture on her face, “Good to have friends in high places, isn’t it?”
“This is the norm for Kadar,” I chuckle, “Doubt he’d have even thought about it. It’s probably where he stays when he’s in Paris. Looks like there’s two bedrooms―take whichever you like.”
She picks up her bag and takes it across to one of the open doors and peers inside. It seems sufficient and meets her requirements as she doesn’t bother to check the other, so I guess that one’s mine. After dumping my small case, I then return to the sitting room. I stand, undecided. Do I wait for Danielle to come to me? Or take the initiative myself and try to track her down?
Crossing to the desk, my hand hovers over the phone. I know Danielle’s suite number, should I call? Or should I go to her room and confront her in person? I’m so close to getting answers but know there’s a need to play this right. I don’t want her to slip through my fingers again. And it’s still up in the air as to whether her being here using such an obvious name was an invitation, or whether she's just become overconfident. The last thing I want to do is to scare her into running before I’ve had my chance to demand answers from her.
As I stand, wondering what might be my best move, a rap sounds on the door of the suite. Going to answer, I find a bellboy with an envelope in his hand. When I go to take it, he holds it a second longer than he should before releasing it to me. Inwardly grinning, I reach into my pocket and pull out a handful of Euros.
“Merci, Monsieur,” he nods, pocketing the notes and making them vanish like a magician’s conjuring trick, before disappearing down the hallway.
Closing the door, I lean forward and rest my head on it for a second. Is this it? Is this what I’ve been waiting for? Then, putting it off no longer, I straighten, tear open the letter that I’ve been given, and extract the piece of paper inside.
There’s no greeting or salutation, and the message is clear. “Meet me in the bar at four o’clock.”
I don’t have to ponder who the note is from. And it’s confirmation I’d been half expecting that Danielle has been in control of our merry dance, and probably, our every movement. She’d wanted me to trace her here.
Heaving a sigh of exasperation, realising I’m being played every step of the way, I get out my phone and check the time. It’s just gone three now, so we haven’t got long. Wrapping my fingers around the paper I’m still holding in my hand, I wonder how I’m going to take back control, hating feeling like a puppet with someone else pulling the strings.
“Nessa!” I call out, then hearing no response, go to the open door of the room she chose. Oblivious to my shout for her, she’s neatly putting her clothes away, folding them and selecting which drawers to put them in. Tunnelling my fingers through my hair in frustration, I pause to watch. Knowing how quickly things can change on this job I just live out of my suitcase, a quick getaway being always on the cards.
So intent on her task, I have to clear my throat loudly to get her attention. At last, she looks around and I tell her about the message I’ve just received.
Her eyebrows rise, “So soon? I thought we’d have a problem finding her.”
Slowly, I nod, “So did I. But it seems like the mountain is coming to Mohammed for once.” And thank fuck for that. Soon, perhaps, I’ll be able to get the answers I’m looking for. And will be able to get back to Mollie.
Chapter 17
Vanessa
I thought I’d have more time to mentally prepare before meeting the mother of Sean’s child. But no, before I’d even got halfway unpacked, Sean told me to get a move on as we were about to meet her. And now I’m dreading what we might discover. Despite her dubious profession, if you could go so far as to call it that, and the bizarre fact the police want to speak to her in several countries, will Sean overlook her shortcomings and want to be with her for the sake of his baby?
Sitting at a table, a glass of orange juice in front of me, I glance across at my companion. His styled but longish hair flops down, framing his face, the muted light complimenting his features. He’s such a handsome man, only just the right side of being too pretty to be a member of the male sex but his shortly trimmed beard and light moustache corroborate his masculinity. What would it be like to have all his attention focussed on me? To have him under my command, to be able to tell him what I want him to do to me? I feel myself becoming wet, and my nipples start to peak as I imagine it, and I try to resist squirming in my chair. And then try to knock some sense into myself. With Danielle in the picture, who he’d obviously thought attractive enough thirteen months ago, I would never get a chance. He’s told me in no uncertain terms that he’s got no interest in me.
I shiver at the thought he might decide to make a go of it with this unknown woman, and he chooses that moment to catch sight of me.
“Cold?” He sounds solicitous, and looking up, frowns at the air con unit that’s right above our heads. “Want to move?”
“A bit.” I lie, and a flush of betrayal comes to my face. “But I’m alright sitting here.”
His eyes are watching me too intently, and he smirks. Bloody man, how could he know what I’m thinking? I turn my head away, and it’s at that point I see her. It’s easy to recognise her from the photo I’d seen.
Danielle’s beautiful, just as her picture had suggested she’d be. But it hadn’t shown me she was also tall, statuesque, with colouring like a Nordic blonde, blue eyes matching Sean’s own. She’s gliding toward us, her dress flowing around her as though it’s been programmed to show her off in the best possible light, clinging in all the right places, showing off her cleavage, but just the correct amount. Her makeup is flawless, her skin unblemished. Confidence radiates from her, and I feel myself sinking into my seat as she approaches, knowing there’s no way I could compete with someone like her. Sean gets to his feet, his hand outstretched, a cautious half-smile on his face, just one corner of his mouth turned up as though he’s unsure how to greet her. She’s got no such reservations, she pulls him to her and hugs him. For far too long, in my opinion.
In the end, it’s Sean who pulls away, holding her at arm’s length and examining her closely. Well, he is meeting the mother of his child, for the second time, of course. Or perhaps the first when they’ll get into any conversation. They clasp hands; something goes between them; a recognition of sorts, and I wonder whether she’ll end up warming his bed tonight. Oh shit, God, why didn’t I let him come to this meeting alone? She’s so glamorous she makes me feel like a clumsy frump in comparison. Giving myself something to do, to avoid looking at the suave, well-matched pair, I reach for my drink and take a gulp of my orange juice. But it’s too big a mouthful, and I choke, noisily.
It breaks the spell, Sean thumps me on the back, and gives me a curious look, then with a gesture, he invites Danielle- I can’t think of her as Dannie—she’s far too sophisticated for such a shortening of her name―to sit with us. She puts her hand around his back one last time before taking a seat, and then I watch Sean watching her as a waiter appears out of nowhere to take her order. She unashamedly demands a glass of champagne; why am I not surprised? As she issues her order, Sean’s drinking her in with his eyes, the flare I see showing me whatever attracted him the first time is still there. And why wouldn’t it be? She’s perfect.
“So,” As soon as the waiter leaves us, Sean leans forward and cups one elbow and rests his chin on the fingers of his other hand. “Danielle, I think you have some explaining to do.” He wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter.
She laughs, a tinkling sound, “No pleasantries? No ‘how are you’ after all this time?” Her voice is husky, seductive.
Shaking his head Sean tells her, “We didn’t know each other long enough for that. As I recall, you left me in the middle of the night. I didn’t even know your name.”
Shrugging, she laughs again. “You got used by a user, Sean.” She scans the room, as though looking for someone. The waiter comes and puts her drink on the table. Looking up she tells him, “Put it on my tab, please. Suite 105.”
“I’d have bought that.”
“I’ve taken too much from you already.” After throwing her strange comment, she puts her perfect lips to the tall glass and takes a mouthful of the fizzy liquid. I note the bubbles don’t tickle her nose, and neither does she choke.
“I’d have phrased it more that you’ve given me something.” Sean’s eyes narrow, “Can we talk about that? This isn’t a social meeting, Danielle.”
It surprises me that he sounds harsh; he can’t possibly be immune to her charms.
“Call me Dannie, please.” She smiles seductively, and it’s at this point I realise she’s not once looked at me, it’s as though I’m invisible, insignificant.
It spurs me on to make my presence known. I join in the conversation. “That’s your real name?”
Looking almost surprised to hear someone else speak, she at last deigns to acknowledge my presence, “Yes, actually, it is. I use others, of course, but Dannie, Danielle Smith, is who I am.”
“Thirteen months ago, I was in Amahad, Dan.. Dannie. We had… a one night fling. Obviously, there was a problem, I know we used contraception, I’ve never gone without, but…” Sean’s hesitant as he describes the little he knows about their encounter.
“But you left me pregnant. And you think the story starts there, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t?” Sean asks, his eyes opening wider.
Dannie shakes her head, her smile teasing. “You got played, I’m afraid.”
Now his eyes narrow once more, and his mouth compresses into a thin line. He leans back in his seat, his hands clasped behind his head. “Well, why don’t you tell me about it, then?” It’s probably only noticeable to me, but there’s a tinge of impatience in his tone.
After another scan of the room, she nods and puts down her drink. Her hands cross one over the other in her lap, the movement drawing attention to her perfectly manicured nails. “I’m a t
hief. I don’t need to be,” self-depreciatingly she indicates her designer clothes, “Despite the common surname I was born into riches, Mother left when I was small, Daddy dear died a few years ago, and left me his fortune. But I found I had the knack for taking things, so I do.”
Why would this rich, gorgeous woman want to steal anything when she doesn’t need to?
It’s what I’m thinking, but it’s Sean who voices the question. “Why?”
Another dismissive shrug, it’s a gesture that looks far too common for her. “It’s who I am, how I’m wired. I can, so I do. I chase thrills. Life’s so boring without some excitement.”
“You stole my wallet,” Sean states.
“Yes, but I gave your wallet back.” She doesn’t look at all concerned that he’d recognised she’d been the guilty party.
“Minus fifty pounds which, presumably, you didn’t need.” His voice is censoring, but there’s no shame on her face.
Instead, there’s another grin, “No, but the homeless man hovering around outside did. I gave the money to him.” She doesn’t stop and wait for us to comment, but continues, “I also stole the condoms you had in there.”
Sean looks baffled. He runs his hands through his hair, and then gives her a sharp look as a memory comes back to him, “We used your condoms.” It was almost an accusation.
Her mouth widens in a broad smile, almost as if he’d said something clever. “That’s right, my carefully prepared condoms full of little holes. I was hoping some of your swimming buggers would get through.”
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 13
