Page 30 of French Escapade

Élodie

I’m about to spill the story I’ve rehearsed when the hostess behind the reception desk frowns at me. I hesitate for a second.

“Good evening, Madam, may I see your invitation?” she asks, with a heavy Russian accent.

I look at her as if she and I share some secret, and I come closer to the desk to speak very softly.

“I do not have one…well, not an official one.”

Uh oh. She scans me from head to toe. Roll the drums. She glances at her watch and says, “You’re early.”

“Well, I was only told about this today, so it’s my mistake,” I answer, acting naive.

She ignores me, picks up her phone, and starts talking in Russian. Thanks to my understanding of the language, I catch a few words. Something about a pretty brunette who could be of some interest to the person she’s talking to. At least she declared me pretty.

Acting as if I have no clue she’s talking about me, I look around at the decor.

She hangs up. “Sergei will come for you.”

I smile politely and step aside to wait while she greets two men who were getting their pictures taken a few minutes ago.

Taking advantage of this time, I look closely at all those who walk by, just in case I learn something useful. I spot a couple of familiar faces. A few celebrities. Do they have any idea how this evening will end? I doubt it.

I’m assuming only a handful of selected people will be invited to the second part of the event. The others are being used as decoys and do not know better. A nice little birthday party, as fancy as it gets, to hide the sad truth about what’s happening backstage.

I didn’t spell it out in front of the men because I didn’t want Ken to freak out, but I’m sure they got it. I could be wrong, but my gut says that the so-called items put up for sale tonight will be real, live human beings. Someone’s daughter, sister, or friend. Someone who has vanished. Someone whose family is searching for them. The very idea makes me sick to my stomach.

A few months ago, when I said that Arkady was into that sort of business, my colleagues laughed in my face. At the time, I didn’t know that those who claimed I was crazy were actually being paid to look the other way. Later on, I knew, but I was unable to collect enough evidence to take the Russian down. That’s when he vanished.

In hindsight, I now know he was off scouting for fresh blood.

If this is what I think it is, I’ll kill two birds with one stone: I’ll get Madison home, and I’ll bring this bastard down, lock him up, and throw away the key.

Why didn’t I talk to my boss? It would have made things so much easier to have serious backup tonight. But past events have left their mark. I always hear this nagging voice…what if I’m wrong?

It’s the nagging voice that convinced me to fly solo tonight. If I got the unlikely green light from the top floor for this operation, and it turned out that this auction is perfectly legit, I could kiss my job goodbye.

A man almost as buff as Ken appears. He looks at me and says, “You’re not Ludmila.”

I have no idea who Ludmilla is, but he seems upset I’m not her. And since it looks like this is the Sergei who decides who can come in, I offer a bluff. “Ludmila will arrive later. She’s the one who told me to come.”

I bat my eyes like crazy, hoping the man will find me charming.

With a move of his chin, he signals for me to follow. As soon as we get into the next room, I spot Ken and Jimmy standing on the opposite side.

“You must not leave this room, got it?” Sergei says, looking at me over his shoulder.

I nod, and as soon as we walk by the bar, he adds, “Do whatever it is you usually do, but do not go anywhere near the men wearing a red rose on their lapel.”

“A red rose?”

“Yes. If one of them approaches you, you can talk to him, obviously, but you cannot monopolize his attention. Be charming, but as soon as the auction starts, you need to let him go.”

And now I understand. The escorts, like Ludmilla, are here to entertain the single men attending the party. Seems there’s many of those, but only a happy few have the key to the auction room. That key is the red rose. The others will need to make do with the Ludmillas of the main room.

Sergei points to the barman. “You can drink with the clients, but don’t be surprised if your drink is watered down. The last thing the boss wants are girls who don’t know how to behave.”

I’m tempted to ask who’s the boss, but I can’t think of a better way to blow my cover. So instead, I go for an easier question.

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