Coco du Ciel

by Elise Noble

  “Yes, really,” Rhys said. “I still pinch myself when I wake up beside you in the mornings.”

  He was so damn sweet.

  “You’re lying, but I’ll take the compliment.”

  Coco wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, but they’d barely got to tongues before Remi cleared his throat behind them.

  “We don’t have time for that. Are you ready to go?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Hatcher was a creature of habit. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday he left his office at five o’clock on the dot and headed to the gym in his shiny red Porsche. And on the way to the gym, halfway along a busy street, there was a crosswalk. At ten past five, Coco was standing in place with an earpiece hidden under her hair. The hood was pulled low over her eyes as she waited for the signal.

  “He’s turning the corner,” Rhys said from his spot fifty yards away.

  Bones had come up with the communications system, and it felt like something out of a spy movie, minus the martini. He didn’t elaborate on where it had come from. Bones seemed to be a “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of guy.

  Coco’s heart jittered as she caught a flash of red in her blurry peripheral vision.

  “Okay, I see him. I’m about to step out.”

  The plan called for her to walk in front of Hatcher’s car, pause, take the hood down and make eye contact, then continue to the other side of the road. From there, she could dart through a service alley to the parking lot where Remi and Celine were waiting in the rental car. Once they’d picked her up, they’d circle back for Rhys. Bones and Monica were farther along the street, one in each direction, in case of any problems.

  Right, here goes…

  Coco stepped off the kerb, then slowed so Hatcher would have to stop or run her over. And he couldn’t run her over, not with so many witnesses around.

  He stopped.

  She stopped.

  He fiddled with the radio.

  Asshole.

  Then he looked up and their gazes met. He did a double take, and Coco gave him what she hoped was a slightly eerie, slightly mysterious smile, stifling a laugh when the car lurched forward and stalled.

  Got under your skin, did I?

  Coco made it to the alley, and the sound of a horn and then Hatcher’s alloy wheels scraping the kerb as he drove off was music to her ears.

  Phase one of the plan: complete. A point to Team Jocelyn.

  ***

  “Oh, he was definitely rattled,” Rhys said as Remi twisted the muselet off a champagne bottle—because apparently that metal cage thing that went over the top had a name—and popped the cork. There wasn’t much to celebrate yet, but Coco had discovered that Remi didn’t need much of an excuse to break out the good wine.

  “Excellent.”

  “Maybe he’ll have a stroke?” Celine said cheerfully. “Do you think he’ll have a stroke?”

  Rhys held out two champagne flutes, one for himself and one for Coco. “If he does, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  Coco closed her eyes for one delicious second, remembering Hatcher’s face. “He went white. Whiter than me, and I was a ghost.” A giggle burst out. “How much do alloy wheels cost?”

  “Original equipment? Around five thousand dollars each,” Remi said, because of course he knew these things.

  Rhys spluttered into his champagne. “Are you serious? That’s more than my whole car.”

  “Deadly serious. And don’t even get me started on the cost of Ferrari wheels. Canapé?”

  This was a whole other world, wasn’t it? And where the hell had Remi managed to find foie gras in Lark’s River? What had he done, sent the jet back to France to pick up groceries?

  “I wish I’d been there,” Celine said. “What are we doing next?”

  “Hatcher’s presenting at a conference in Reno on Monday. I thought it would be beneficial if Jocelyn made an appearance. If he’s on stage, he won’t be able to do anything without looking as if he’s gone quite mad.”

  “What’s the conference about?”

  “It’s called Homes of the Future. Something to do with renewable energy and sustainable living—Hatcher actually mentioned it during our meeting last week. And while Coco is occupying Mr. Hatcher, Mr. Bones has agreed to make some minor modifications to his home.”

  Rochelle stuck her fingers in her ears. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that part.”

  “What about his wife and kid?” Rhys asked. “Won’t they be there?”

  “On Mondays, Emily Hatcher goes to yoga while her daughter is at preschool. And this Monday, Emily also has a lunch date with her friend Lauren.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Monica is good at her job. I don’t pretend to be an expert in everything—far from it—but I do know how to hire good people.”

  Not for the first time, Coco sent a silent thank you to the stars for bringing Remi and Celine into her life and Rhys’s. Remi might have been grouchy at times, but without them, untangling her past would have been so much harder. And she wouldn’t have had Celine as a friend either.

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “Pas de problème. And I should thank you as well—Celine and I were long overdue for a vacation, but I needed that push to take the leap.” He held up his glass of champagne. “Santé.”

  Everyone followed suit. “Santé.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “DO I LOOK like a businesswoman?” Coco asked.

  Today, she wore a plain black skirt suit borrowed from Rochelle, and Bones had supplied her with glasses containing a hidden earpiece. Rochelle had also painted her nails in red, blue, and gold—the colours of the Wonder Woman logo. She swore it was lucky.

  Celine gave Coco a thumbs up.

  “You’ll knock him dead.”

  Here’s hoping.

  “What if it goes wrong? What if he doesn’t see me?”

  “Then we try something else,” Rhys said. “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

  “You’ll be there the whole time?”

  “Right behind you. Just remember not to turn around.”

  “I won’t. I mean, I won’t turn around, not that I won’t remember.”

  Three of them were going into the venue—Coco, Rhys, and Remi. Only Remi seemed vaguely comfortable with the idea.

  “When you’ve been to one conference, you’ve been to them all. A compère who likes the sound of their own voice wrangles speakers who may or may not want to be there, and during the breaks, delegates compete to see who can collect the most business cards. Quite frankly, they bore me to death. I only go when I have to.”

  “What if somebody asks me a question?”

  “Make up an answer. It’s unlikely they’ll know whether you’re lying or telling the truth, nor will they care either way.”

  Even so, Coco had spent a couple of hours last night reading up on sustainable building techniques, just in case. She didn’t want to sound like a complete idiot if someone engaged her in conversation.

  According to the schedule, Hatcher’s presentation was due to start at ten o’clock and last for fifty minutes, including a Q&A session at the end. Coco planned to take her seat at five past ten. If she arrived right after he started speaking, it would be all the more difficult for him to excuse himself and come after her.

  Plus it would give him more time to squirm.

  ***

  At five minutes to ten, Coco waited outside the auditorium with Rhys, focusing on her breathing. In on five, out on seven. Celine swore that would help her to stay calm, but it wasn’t bloody working, was it?

  “You’ll be okay?” Rhys asked.

  “Oh, fine.”

  A lie, but she had to do this. The way to inner peace was through justice, and she couldn’t afford to be the weak link in the team. Rhys didn’t look as if he believed her, not completely, but he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

  “Really, I’
m okay, I swear.”

  Then Remi tapped on his microphone three times—his signal for Rhys to come inside—and it was showtime.

  “Remember, give me a minute’s head start. We don’t want people to think we’re together.”

  “A minute. Got it.”

  When Coco walked into the auditorium, she felt rather than saw Rhys standing by the back wall. She’d feel him anywhere—double entendre intended. But she ignored him and slipped into an empty seat on the end of a row halfway to the front.

  Hatcher was talking about the merits of green roofs and rainwater-harvesting systems, which on another occasion might have been interesting, but not today. The butterflies flapped and flitted in Coco’s belly as she waited. And waited. And waited.

  The moment when Hatcher finally noticed her was beautiful. Just beautiful. He tripped over his next sentence, then gaped like a catfish. Whispers started in the audience when he tried to speak again and choked on his words.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Is he having a stroke?”

  “Perhaps it’s dehydration—it’s awful hot in here.”

  Good. Hopefully it would give Hatcher a taste of hell. Did hell even exist? Coco sure hoped so because Hatcher deserved to spend the remainder of his miserable life dancing in the flames.

  Their eyes met, and this time, she mouthed, “You’ll pay,” as the colour drained from Hatcher’s smarmy face. She was tempted to give him the finger as well, but somehow that seemed…unprofessional.

  Then Hatcher took a shaky step towards the edge of the stage. Oh. Oh, shit. Coco froze until Rhys spoke into her ear.

  “Leave, sweetheart. Leave right now.”

  Heart thumping, she came to her senses and hurried to the door. Damn these pumps. How the hell did Rochelle walk in them? How could anybody walk in them? The sound of feet clomping down the steps at the side of the stage sent her into a cold sweat, and she stumbled into the wall. Now people were staring.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Rhys whispered. “Just go out the emergency exit like we planned.”

  Would she make it that far? Hatcher was taller and probably hopped up on adrenaline by now. What if— Then she heard the sweetest sound in the world and took back every bad thought she’d ever had about Remi.

  “Carl? Are you okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I… Maybe…”

  “Can somebody get this man a glass of water? Now! Is there a medic here? He’s gone quite pale.”

  The emergency exit was right there, and Coco burst out into the October sunshine, blinking in the glare. Where was Monica? Coco spotted her SUV idling thirty yards away and walked to the passenger side as fast as Rochelle’s stupid shoes would allow. There was a lot to be said for sneakers. Or even ballet flats.

  “That went well,” Monica said as she pulled smoothly away.

  Was she being sarcastic? Or did she genuinely not realise how close Coco had been to having a coronary? A quick glance suggested she was serious.

  “Uh, I guess it went okay.”

  “You shook up the suspect and got away clean. That’s a win in anyone’s book.”

  Right. Okay.

  Score two to Team Jocelyn.

  ***

  Remi and Monica said it was essential to keep up the pressure, so that evening, Coco found herself dressed in Jocelyn’s prom dress. Rochelle couldn’t bear to throw it away, so she’d folded it between layers of tissue paper and tucked it into one of the boxes stacked in her room.

  “Did I really wear this? It looks like…like someone took a wedding dress and chopped parts out of it.”

  What was left of the layers of chiffon was filmy rather than poufy, and the sparkles stitched to the bodice twinkled under the overhead light. The dress barely did up anymore, but as long as Coco didn’t want to breathe, it was okay.

  “That’s exactly what you did do. You found the dress at Goodwill and customised it with scissors and a million diamantés.”

  “I sewed all of these on?”

  “No, you glued them on. And somehow, they got stuck to everything. I was still finding them months after you died.”

  “Sorry.”

  “At first, I cried every time, but then I told myself it meant that you were still out there somewhere, trying to cheer me up. And I guess it was true.”

  Tears pricked at Coco’s eyes, and she sniffed them back. Now wasn’t the time to ruin her make-up. But she was so damn lucky to have people who still believed in her, even after everything she’d done. After all the mistakes she’d made.

  “I can take a turn at vacuuming now that I’m back?”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Hey, how about wetting your hair? You know, to emphasise the drowning part?”

  “Why not? Every little thing helps.”

  Tonight, they’d be paying a visit to Hatcher’s home, a postmodernist behemoth with a wind turbine in the backyard. Had Coco been there before? Did the philandering prick sneak his mistresses inside when his wife was out? The thought made her sick. Or perhaps that was the nerves? Either way, she felt nauseated. Death sure took a toll on a girl’s life.

  The others were waiting in the living room, nibbling from platters of snacks on the coffee table. Bones had prepared a video tour from his earlier trip to the house, and Monica had put together a map of the grounds. The mansion sat on a two-acre lot surrounded by a manicured lawn and meticulously pruned trees. Hatcher had been bitching at the homeowners’ association for years to let him build a wall, according to Monica’s research, but they were standing firm on the “no fences” rule.

  “They called the house Emica,” Bones said, rolling his eyes. That was the most emotion Coco had seen from him. “Short for Emily and Carl—get it? Tacky.”

  Urgh.

  Jocelyn had been such an idiot.

  For the next hour, Coco concentrated on learning the layout of the grounds—every terrace and tree, every bench and bush. And there were a lot of benches. Stone benches, wooden benches, even one made out of plastic. Hatcher made a habit of watching the news in his living room at nine p.m., usually with a glass of red, and the plan called for Coco to stand at the window, mouth her words, and then leave before he could get outside to challenge her. They’d decided to stick with “you’ll pay” for the moment. Simple and to the point.

  Remi had rented a second car to give them more flexibility, and when Rhys pulled over a hundred yards away from Hatcher’s home, Bones left the vehicle first, melting into the darkness like a shadow. Remi and Celine were in the BMW half a mile away in case backup was needed. Naturally, Remi hadn’t wanted Celine to come, but Bones said that a couple sitting in a parked car wouldn’t arouse suspicions in the same way a single man did, and Monica had gone to her daughter’s dance recital that evening. She’d offered to cancel, but nobody wanted her to break a promise, and Bones assured her he could handle Hatcher.

  Coco had shuddered at the words, but then she thought about it and decided Hatcher deserved everything he got.

  “He’s sitting down,” Bones said over the radio. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I don’t feel ready. I don’t think I ever will.”

  “You want to abort this?” Rhys whispered.

  “We can’t. It’s not just about me, is it?” Her chest felt tight as she sucked in a breath. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Rhys gripped Coco’s hand as she walked to Hatcher’s gates, and when they got there, he took the black coat she’d borrowed from Rochelle to hide her bastardised wedding dress from curious neighbours.

  “Good luck, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting right here with the car when you come back.”

  The ornamental trees provided a little cover as Coco hurried across the yard. The living room was at the front of the house, on the right-hand side as you faced it. She headed for the lit window, which didn’t have any drapes, just a wooden blind that appeared to be more decorative than functional. Certainly Hatcher never seemed to lower it.

  And there he
was.

  Jocelyn’s former boss didn’t look entirely relaxed, but he had his feet up on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand. Red wine, white leather. Brave man. Coco stifled a smile as she tapped on the window, and the sight of the wine splashing all over Hatcher, the couch, and the floor when he dropped the glass was a memory to treasure. His jaw dropped when he realised who was watching him, and he clutched at his chest as she mouthed, “You’ll pay.” Was his heart…? No, shit, he was coming after her again. He practically sprinted out of the living room, heading for the front door, and Coco ran. Thank goodness she’d worn sneakers this time.

  Where was the car? Rhys?

  A branch whipped against her arm, but she couldn’t afford to slow down. Security lights flashed on as Coco spotted the Honda to her left. Five seconds later, she wrenched the door open, breathing hard.

  “He’s coming! Go, go, go!”

  Coco ducked into the footwell as Rhys pulled smoothly away, not a care in the world. By the time Hatcher appeared in the mirror, they were almost out of sight.

  Bones chuckled into the radio. “He’s standing on the sidewalk, confused as fuck.”

  “Did he get a good look at the car?”

  “Doubt it. You timed that perfectly.”

  A fluke, but they needed that sort of luck. Score three to Team Jocelyn.

  CHAPTER 36

  WHEN HATCHER LEFT for work the next morning, Monica reported that he looked more rumpled than usual, and he hadn’t shaved either. She was on surveillance duty while the rest of the team ate breakfast. Celine had made French toast—which didn’t come from France, according to Rhys—and served it with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and mixed berries. But Rochelle insisted the only way to eat it was covered in maple syrup, and Coco had to concede that she was right.