The French Detective's Woman

by Nina Bruhns

  Ciara was grateful for the long gown that covered her suddenly quaking knees. With his pinstriped suit, slicked-back hair and thick, menacing scar running along one jaw, the drug dealer looked exactly like someone straight out of a bad gangster movie.

  “Shall we do this?” Valois prompted.

  “I’ll need to see the money first,” Villalobo said silkily, beckoning over one of the gorillas, who produced a small wireless computer and set it on the green felt of the table.

  “Naturellement.” Valois went to it and typed for a minute, until the screen filled with account information from a well-known Swiss bank. “As you can see, it’s all there.”

  Villalobo jerked his chin at the other gorilla, who went to fetch a case sitting on the floor in the corner. When he poured the diamonds from their red velvet pouch onto the felt table, Ciara sucked in a sharp breath of awe.

  The stones were absolutely gorgeous. Even in the low light of the smoky game room, they sparkled and shimmered like stars against a dark green heaven.

  “They’re larger than I expected,” Valois said with a frown.

  “That’s a problem?”

  “Diamonds of such size and quality will be much more difficult to dispose of. I’m afraid—”

  “Enough!” Villalobo spat out, making Ciara jump and her pulse go into hyperspeed. “Not my concern. Do not try to renegotiate the price, amigo. You will regret it!”

  To his credit, Pierre stepped forward as though to shield Valois. Villalobo’s face turned so red, for a second she thought maybe he’d kill Pierre right here and save her the trouble.

  But Valois waved Pierre back. “Mademoiselle?” In keeping with her role as gem expert, he handed her the jewelers loupe he carried on a chain like a pocket watch. “Your opinion?”

  It was all for show, of course. But thankfully, he’d taught her enough over the years to look at the stones and pronounce a rough but respectable range of color, clarity and carats. Even if the terror-induced adrenaline made focusing difficult.

  “Can we get twelve for them?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and said what they’d rehearsed. “Eleven to twelve. Perhaps a bit less. Of course, without a microscope...” She did her best to lift her shoulder casually.

  Valois nodded, and told Villalobo, “Very well. You’ll have your six million. “Pierre, gather the stones while I—”

  “My man will do that,” Villalobo snapped.

  Valois swiftly transferred the money and shifted the wireless computer to Villalobo to check that it had been deposited to his own account. With a smile that sent chills down Ciara’s spine, Villalobo then rose from his seat, took the velvet pouch from his man and tossed it to Valois.

  Pierre reached out and caught it, offhandedly sticking it in his inside jacket pocket. “I’ll need my weapons back.”

  The gorilla reluctantly handed them back under the suspicious eye of the other guard.

  “See them out,” Villalobo ordered, dismissing them with hardly a glance. “And send the others back in.

  “A pleasure doing business,” Valois said with a parting bow, then turned to her and took her arm. “Walk with me ma petite. All this excitement has quite taken the wind from my sails.”

  Alarmed, she helped him to the door, even more distressed to feel his arm was shaking. “Valois! Are you—”

  “Shhh. Find me a comfortable chair and a cognac and I will be just fine.”

  So concerned she was with Valois that she forgot about Pierre and the diamonds, and everything else. It wasn’t until they were well out into the corridor that she noticed the line of armed police officers pressed to the wall on either side of the door. What the—

  Someone grabbed her, yanking her away from the opening. She landed with a thump against a solid wall of chest at the same time she heard Pierre say, “Jose Villalobo, you are under arrest.”

  She looked up just in time to see Jean-Marc pull out his handcuffs. Before she could exclaim, he spun her around and slapped the cuffs on her wrists—just as Pierre and a quartet of officers hustled Villalobo and his two gorillas out of the Palm room, also in handcuffs. The waiting phalanx of uniforms surrounded them, guns drawn. To her dismay, she saw another cop take hold of Valois’ arm.

  “Oh my God, Jean-Marc. You’re not serious—”

  But apparently he was. “You are under arrest,” he shouted above Villalobo’s curses and threats at Pierre, who was reciting a litany of charges against him.

  “Put your hands behind your back, old man,” the other cop yelled at Valois over the din as Villalobo was led away, heading for the elevator. To her shock, right before disappearing around the corner, Pierre turned and gave her a wink.

  What the hell...

  She turned to Jean-Marc in confusion. “Wh-what’s going on?”

  “We’re arresting the right-hand man of one of the world’s most notorious drug lords. Thanks for setting him up for us. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  She gaped at Jean-Marc’s serious face, more confused than ever. She had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin.

  “You knew?” she managed. “About the diamonds?”

  “Of course I knew. You didn’t think I’d fall for that old flowers on the bathroom wall routine, did you?” He honestly looked offended. “Really, Ciara. Give me a little credit.”

  He guided her over to the side of the corridor and tipped her chin up with a finger, inspecting her through narrowed eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Other than being arrested?” she muttered, still dazed by how this could have happened. “How did you know?” Then it hit her. Of course. “CoCo. Your spy strategy worked.”

  He looked pained. “No, actually, it didn’t. She wouldn’t tell Pierre a thing. Very loyal, that one.”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more angry. Jean-Marc had beat her at her own game. She jerked her chin off his finger. “You were ahead of me every step of the way, weren’t you,” she said, disgusted at her own overconfidence.

  Hell, she deserved to be put away. Her plan had failed on every possible level. Beck was free and a millionaire to boot, so Sofie was in more danger than ever. Valois would spend his autumn years in prison. And her—

  “As a matter of fact, no,” Jean-Marc said dryly. “I wasn’t ahead of you.”

  She blinked. “Then...how did you figure it out?”

  “Hugo.”

  She stared at him. “Hugo?”

  Her face must have fallen, because Jean-Marc gave her a crooked smile. “For the record, he was very hard to convince. In the end, I took a page from your book. Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  She was almost afraid to ask. “What kind of offer?”

  “Immunity.” He touched her cheek. “For you and Valois.”

  She gaped. Not believing her ears. “What exactly are you saying?”

  “You’re not really under arrest. That was just for Villalobo’s benefit, so he wouldn’t think you and Valois had betrayed him.”

  She blinked again. And darted a glance at Valois. He was laughing and slapping his cop on the shoulder like they were the best of friends as they turned to leave. Catching her gaze, he gave her a cheerful wave. “Come by the shop in a few days, ma petite. Right now, I have a date with a very large cognac.”

  With that, he and the cop walked off toward the elevator.

  She was so stunned her only thought was, “He looks remarkably cheerful for a man who just lost twelve million euros.”

  “He didn’t,” Jean-Marc said.

  “But...”

  He clucked his tongue. “Twenty-first century rule number three. Never use wireless technology to do important transactions. Too easy for bad guys—or cops—to tap into.”

  “You stopped the transfer?”

  “In mid-air.”

  Gladness soared for a split second, but then deflated. “That was only half the money. Beck took—”

  “Brigadier Louis Beck was arrested on his
way out of the casino.” His eyes softened. “Don’t worry, Ciara. Valois’s money is safe and sound. And so is Sofie, now.”

  “Thank God,” she said, closing her eyes against the flood of emotion that hit her at the news.

  Could it really be over?

  She battled back tears that threatened, and whispered, “Thank you, Jean-Marc.”

  He peered down at her, a funny little smile on his face. “My pleasure.”

  Suddenly, she realized they were all alone in the ominously silent corridor. Her heartbeat kicked up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she quietly asked. “You could have trusted me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he echoed. “You could have trusted me, too.”

  They gazed at each other for a long moment.

  “Point taken,” she whispered, properly chastised. “It won’t happen again.”

  “No?”

  “Never.” She’d learned her lesson the hard way. When you loved someone you trusted them. Completely. No matter what.

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  A warm, melting sensation burrowed itself into her heart. Did that mean they had a future?

  “I’m really not under arrest?” she asked again, her voice coming out a bit breathier than she’d intended.

  “You’re really not.”

  She jingled her wrists. “Then why am I still in handcuffs?”

  The corners of his lips curled up. “I could take them off.” He stepped closer, raised a brow. “Or...not.”

  Her breath sucked in. The man was incorrigible. “Isn’t there something we need to discuss first?”

  She had to know. Now. Before this went any further. Despite the fact that her body was little by little dissolving under his slow, half-lidded perusal.

  “Oh? And what would that be?” he asked.

  He knew damn well what that would be. He was taunting her. Deliberately. The rogue.

  “The blackjack game. Your final hand...”

  He leisurely raised his fingers to the edge of her gown’s plunging neckline and touched it. Not her. The fabric.

  “You want to renege on that bet?”

  She swallowed. As much as it killed her, she had to do this.

  “Yes. Well, half the bet,” she said. “I don’t want—”

  Her words choked off as his hand slid under the slippery silk, enveloping her breast. Goosebumps shimmered over her flesh, the nipple hardening and shrieking with pleasure.

  She licked her lips. His eyes zeroed in on the movement. “You don’t want...?” he prompted.

  How could she ever live without this? Without his touch? Without his love? Her heart filled to bursting with the knowledge that everything she ever wished for, everything she ever needed, was right here, within her grasp. Jean-Marc. That’s all that mattered to her.

  But he had to understand how much he meant to her.

  “The money,” she whispered, her lips meeting his. “I don’t want the money. All I ever want is you, Jean-Marc.”

  Under hers, his mouth curved. “That’s good,” he murmured. “Because I already gave it to the Orphans.”

  She laughed softly, happily. Her job was finally done. Her kids were taken care of, their futures secure. Now she could at last look to her own.

  She leaned into his long, languid kiss. It went on and on, until her knees were jelly and her body was on fire for want of him.

  “Jean-Marc?” she whispered, hoping his suite wasn’t far.

  He lifted his mouth to change angles. “Hmmm?”

  “About these handcuffs...”

  ~The end~

  Thank you so much for reading The French Detective’s Woman. I hope you liked the story of Jean-Marc and Ciara!

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  About the author Nina Bruhns

  #1 Bestselling Romantic Suspense author Nina Bruhns' adventurous romantic thrillers contain a unique blend of interesting characters and settings, twisty suspense and sizzling romance. To date she has published over 25 award-winning novels.

  Awards and honors for Ms. Bruhns' books have included two RITA nominations, three Daphne du Maurier Awards for the Year's Best Overall Mystery-Suspense Book, two Romantic Times Reviewer Awards for Best Book of the Year, a National Readers Choice Award, an Eppie Award, and five Dorothy Parker Awards, just to name a few.

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