Parisian Affair (27 page)

'What?' she asked.

'This guy Tadjer sounds very suspicious to
me. You say the ring originally came from the shop he owns. He was
at the auction. He came to your rescue at the auction house. He
took you to the bank, but too late. Then he takes you out for a
drink and you nearly get killed.'

'It doesn't look very good, does it?' she
replied. 'But, on the other hand, everything he did might have been
perfectly innocent.' She sighed and said in an exasperated voice,
'I just don't know what to think.'

Todd took her hand in his. 'Nothing right
now,' he said. 'Let's get your stuff together and get out of here.
We'll find a hotel. Then we'll call Whitehead from there.'

'Okay,' Allegra said. 'First, let me run to
the loo.' She got to her feet. 'I'll be right back, and it'll only
take me a minute to get packed.'

She went down the hall to the bathroom,
closed the door behind her, and took the lid off the big wicker
hamper. Then, pulling the dirty linens out, she tossed them on the
tile floor until she saw the gleam of metal at the bottom of the
hamper. She lifted the small snub-nosed pistol out and looked at
it, thinking it might come in handy.

Hardly believing what she was doing, she
slipped it into the toiletries bag still perched at the edge of the
bathroom sink where she'd left it, then quickly gathered up her
various articles and cosmetics, and stuffed them into the bag. She
zipped it closed, then replaced the dirty linens in the wicker
hamper. Finally, hoping to fool Todd, she pulled the chain that
dangled from the old-fashioned toilet tank mounted on the wall near
the ceiling.

She took her toiletries bag, opened the
bathroom door, and went back out to join him. He was already on his
feet, his overnight bag in hand.

'I'll just be a couple more minutes,' she
said, stopping at the closet.

Sylvie slowly replaced the receiver in its
cradle and began tapping her carefully manicured fingernails on the
desktop. She felt as if all the nerves in her body were stretched
as taut as piano wires.

Jerking open a desk drawer, she rummaged out
a pack of unfiltered Camels. Her hand shook as she lit one with the
gold-plated Cartier lighter that Paul had given her for Christmas.
Taking a long drag, she blew out a stream of smoke and watched it
poison the pristine air in the brightly lit office. Hilton would
have a fit, but Sylvie knew her run with him was over.

Racking her brain to come up with a solution
to her dilemma, she couldn't think of a satisfactory explanation to
give Hilton Whitehead. She could play the innocent girlfriend who
had told the sweet, harmless boyfriend she'd left in Paris about
the auction setup and place the blame on Paul, professing to be
guilty only of giving away a secret she shouldn't have. But if
Hilton Whitehead decided to investigate, she knew that Paul
wouldn't take a fall for her. No, she thought, the little shit
would start screeching like a spoiled schoolgirl that I planned the
whole thing.

With a final tap of her nails, she quickly
got busy. Pulling open a desk drawer, she took out a small metal
box and opened it with the key that had lain in the drawer next to
it. There was always at least five thousand in petty cash that she
used for tipping building employees, catching cabs, and sundry
duties. Not much, she thought, but it was a start. She took the
cash out and stuffed it in an envelope, then shoved the envelope in
her handbag.

From another desk drawer, she took out two
checkbooks, one small— a personal account of Whitehead's—and a
large one for one of his business accounts. Flipping to the back of
the small one, she carefully tore out ten checks. Any more than
that and it might appear obvious that checks were missing. She
opened the hard-covered business checkbook and flipped to the back
of it. After opening the metal ring binder, she took out five pages
of checks, fifteen in all. She folded these along the perforations,
then stuffed them along with the personal checks in another
envelope. Between the two accounts, she estimated that she ought to
be able to garner another few thousand this afternoon if she worked
quickly, going to different bank branches to cash them. His
signature was no problem. She'd signed it countless times.

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.

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 replied, 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.