Page 37 of French Escapade

Élodie

If I have to laugh my head off once more listening to one of their lame jokes, I may need to use my own service weapon to put an end to my misery.

Who ever said being an escort was easy? Look good, and pamper the ego of the losers. That’s clearly not my calling.

Dessert has been served. A huge elaborate cake, wheeled in a few minutes ago to the center of the space which serves as a dance floor. A real show to impress the guests, with sparkling candles and all the works. Everyone singshappy birthdayin their own language.

The waiters are moving around the table. It’s a well-oiled routine. They called meMadameevery single time they brought me a plate, though I have no doubt they know precisely why I’m here—well, what I’m supposed to be here for, since I do hope no one has figured out that I’m a cop.

A few minutes later, it’s another choreography. One by one, the men with a red rose on their lapel stand and vanish mysteriously. Most of the guests do not even notice.

It’s time for me to give the slip to my two new besties. They introduced themselves as Polish businessmen, Andrzej and Jaroslaw. I need to find an excuse that allows me to go away for a bit without them noticing. I can’t say I’m going to the sandbox. I’ve used that excuse too many times during the evening.

While I try to come up with an answer, one of the servers asksif I’d like some more champagne.

I shiver. It’s not the question, it’s the voice.

I look up, acting as normally as I can despite the curiosity eating at me, and meet the gaze of Christophe, one of the detectives I share office space with at the station. He steps back, startled, and then he gets his act together again.

What the heck is he doing here?

It’s safe to assume the same question is going through his brain. But it’s neither the place nor the time to answer it. I smile politely and present my glass.

“With pleasure.”

Spotting something in his gaze, I know we’re on the same page. While he lowers the bottle, I move my glass away very slightly and …

I scream spontaneously when the very cold liquid falls directly into the décolletage of my dress. This catches the attention of my two companions.

Christophe apologizes endlessly. Before Andrzej or Jaroslaw have a chance to try anything—I certainly do not want their grabby hands all over me—I grab a napkin and attempt to wipe away the damage.

“Excuse me, I’m going to clean up this disaster.” The two fellows nod and, in a gallant gesture that makes me want to laugh, stand as I do.

“Follow me, ma’am,” Christopher says. “I have everything you need.”

We go silently toward the kitchen. I look for Ken, but I can’t seem to find him. I didn’t get a chance to check my phone for messages, and now is not the time.

The double doors close behind us. Christophe catches my elbow to drag me into a quiet hall.

“What the heck are you doing here, Cossa?” he asks, clearly furious.

“I could ask you the same! Please don’t tell me you’ve taken this job to make ends meet!”

We stare at each other. He gives up and sighs. “I’m undercover.”

“Undercover? But I thought you were working on the Cannes murder case.”

“Yeah, well, we got word that one of our suspects would be here tonight.”

“Are you alone?”

“Rossi’s here, hiding with the crew in charge of lighting, and we have three cars down the block ready to jump in. They are parked by the main door, next to the docks, and by the Golfe Juan parking lot. We want to catch the guy as he leaves, without rocking the boat. The plan is to keep eyes on him and wait. What about you? What are you doing here? I didn’t see you during the briefing. You’re not part of this op, are you? Does the boss know you’re here?”

My silence is all the answer he needs. I don’t know what to tell him. I still don’t trust him, and his presence in the building where Arkady is operating doesn’t help.

Fuck, Cossa! “Don’t tell me…“

“I’m on a missing girl case,” I interrupt him.

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