French Connection Vol. 2

  A journalist? The fear I'd been feeling at being accosted by a stranger was replaced with confusion. Why was a reporter in France trying to talk to me? Better yet, how did a reporter know who I was? Even back home, once the insanity surrounding Howard had died down, no one really paid that much attention to me. It was actually one of the most frustrating things about what I did. I tried to get the media to do stories about human trafficking¸ but they were always overshadowed by the more “important” stories. Like whichever celebrity had posed nude this week.

  “I was at the party the other night and saw you speaking with Kelsey Larson.”

  I relaxed slightly, but still kept my guard up. No respectable New Yorker would accept only that for an explanation. I clutched the strap on my bag, remembering the instructions from my self-defense class that explained how to use a purse as a weapon.

  “All right, Mr. Bastillo,” I said. “But that still doesn't explain how you know who I am.”

  “Pierre, please.” He gave me an easy smile, flashing white teeth against tanned skin and showing off a single deep dimple. His eyes were a bright, sparkling green. “I am sorry if I frightened you.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I assure you, it was not my intention.”

  “Well, intention or not, it does cause worry when a stranger knows her name but doesn't say how,” I said wryly. I'd stopped thinking I was in trouble, but I didn't relax my stance. Again, growing up in the city had taught me to be cautious, especially when talking to a strange man. No matter how good-looking or seemingly polite.

  “I apologize,” Pierre said. “When I saw you speaking with Ms. Larson, I wondered who you were as Ms. Larson appeared to know you. I researched and discovered your firm in New York.”

  That made sense at least. It wouldn't have been hard to get a picture of me at the party. Show it around a bit and get a name. My name plus a photo would easily lead him to my firm. I had to make myself easy to find. What good was an attorney who specialized in helping victims if the victims couldn't find them? Gavin had been nervous about me putting myself out there, asking what would happen if a sex trafficker decided to come after me. I'd told him that I couldn't ask the victims to be brave and stand up to their abusers if I wasn't willing to risk myself. He hadn't been happy about it, but he hadn't mentioned it since.

  “Yes, I'm a lawyer,” I said, giving Pierre a small smile. “I'm still not sure why that merits being approached by a French reporter.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “That is the saying, is it not?”

  I nodded. He actually spoke English better than a lot of Americans, and with only a hint of an accent.

  “I have been asking my editor to allow me to write a piece on sex trafficking in the French Rivera, but he has not been very... supportive of the idea,” he said. “I wanted to speak with Ms. Larson, but was unable to set up an official interview until next month.”

  “You want to interview me?” I tried not to sound too suspicious. Back in New York, when reporters had wanted to talk to me, it hadn't been to shed a light on the horrors of the modern-day slave trade but rather to pry into my sex life with Gavin or to sensationalize what Howard had tried to do... or both.

  “That would be one option,” he said. “But I would prefer to use your expertise in the field.

  “In the field?” I echoed.

  He nodded and reached into his pocket. “I have decided to pursue the matter without my editor's approval in the hopes of writing a story that he will insist on publishing.” He held out a business card. “Or one that I can perhaps sell to another publication.”

  I took the card. Pierre Bastillo, journalist. There was a number and an address on the front. I flipped it over and saw another number hand-written on the back.

  “The number on the front is for my work phone. The one on the back is to my personal mobile.” He gave me another of his charming smiles.

  I was willing to bet he was used to that smile getting him a whole lot of things. To be honest, if I hadn't been with Gavin, it might've worked on me too. Now, however, I was only interested in the work offer.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked. “You want to know about the kinds of cases I've worked? The sorts of patterns I've noticed?”

  “That would be the first step,” he said. “And I would share the things that I have found here in Cannes. I would want your opinion about them, if my instincts are correct or if you believe I am wrong.”

  I glanced behind me to see if Gavin or the others were coming, but there wasn't anyone. I turned my attention back to Pierre. “I'm waiting for my boyfriend. We could talk a bit now.”

  Pierre glanced at his watch. “As much as I would love to chat with you now, I’m afraid I have an appointment I cannot miss.”

  “I'm only here for two weeks,” I said. “But my boyfriend will be taking care of some business periodically. I could contact you then.”

  “That would be perfect.” Pierre hesitated, and then added, “I was also wondering if perhaps you would not be adverse to also participating in some field work. Interviews and the like.”

  I knew what Gavin would say to that. Absolutely not. There was no way he'd want me to go wandering around Cannes alone, much less with a stranger. And definitely not a stranger who was a reporter digging into a dangerous crime. Gavin had already told me back home that he didn't like me getting personally involved with the cases I worked. At least there, I had to be careful I didn't overstep my bounds because I didn't want to risk having a case thrown out for misconduct or anything like that. Here, I didn't have to think about any of that. I was a tourist tagging along with a journalist. This was about exposure and awareness, not prosecution. It wasn't my job to build a case.

  “I'm in,” I said with a smile. I dug into my bag until I found one of my business cards. I scrawled my cell number on the back. “I'd prefer to call you from the hotel to avoid roaming charges on my phone, but if something big comes up, please let me know.”

  “I will,” he said. “I really must be going now, but I am grateful that you are agreeing to do this. I believe it will make a real difference.” He held out a hand.

  I shook it. “Thank you for coming to me, Mr. Bas – I mean, Pierre.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said as he held my hand just a moment longer than necessary. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “And I do you.” I quickly added, “I can't wait to see what we'll be able to accomplish.” I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. I wasn't certain he was flirting with me, but better safe than sorry. I might've been able to spot a woman flirting with a man from a mile away, but I was more clueless when it came to men flirting with me.

  He gave me another of those smiles and then headed back the way he'd come. I watched him go. I was definitely feeling better about having time to myself while Gavin was off with Vincent planning things. He'd said that the only thing he had to do was check out the location and close the deal, but I knew my boyfriend. He was a perfectionist and he wasn't going to leave the details to people he didn't know, no matter how much he said he trusted them. As soon as I'd heard the excitement in his voice when he was describing what he thought the club should look like, I knew he'd want to be involved in the design. I also knew he'd feel guilty and not do it unless I convinced him that I had things I could do while he was busy. I just had to figure out how to sell it right.

  I also needed to figure out how to get this story back home. The international exposure would definitely help put pressure on Congressman White to throw his support behind my proposal. It always made politicians look bad when other countries were dealing with problems and they weren't. Americans never cared about a problem as much as they did when they were being ridiculed for not caring.

  Between how well things were doing with Gavin and me, and the possibility of being able to do some good while I was here, this trip was definitely turning out to be better than I'd ever hoped.

  Chapter 9

  Gavin

  I could
tell Carrie was getting bored before saying she was going to step outside. She was the kind of person who had ideas to improve once the main things were set. Once the space was designed and she could visualize how everything looked, I was sure she'd have suggestions about how to make things flow more smoothly, or she'd spot potential problems. And while I knew she liked hearing my ideas, when we started getting into the real business-type stuff, that was beyond her usual involvement and I knew she wasn't enjoying herself.

  When she left to call Zoe, I was able to focus solely on the club. Vincent had been right. Alizee really knew what she was talking about. She had suggestions to make the process go faster, names of companies who'd do the best work for the best price. I was starting to wish I had someone like her back home to help me with the renovations when she put her hand on my arm.

  There wasn't anything overtly sexual about the move and she didn't keep it there longer than was appropriate, but it seemed like it was much more personal than our relationship called for. If one of Carrie's friends had done it, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but I'd known them for a year. Alizee was a wonderful businesswoman and she apparently had a history with Vincent, but I barely knew her.

  “Should you wish to go with your curtain idea, you will want to contact Fleur Roux,” she continued what she'd been saying, seemingly oblivious to how I'd tensed at her touch. Either that or she was just too polite to say anything. I was betting on the latter. She was far too intelligent to have not noticed.

  “Is she in Cannes?” Vincent asked.

  “No, Corsica,” Alizee said. “But her prices and quality more than make up for the short distance you would have to travel.” She handed Vincent a card to keep with all of the others she'd given him. “Mention you know me and she will give you a discount.”

  “I'd like a copy of the city's building code,” I said. “I want to read it before solidifying designs for approval. I don't want to do something that will have to be undone because it's against some obscure subsection.”

  “You will find,” Alizee said. “Anything, and anyone, can be bought for a price.” She brushed her hand against mine, the gesture so casual that I wasn't sure if it had been intentional. “Design as you will. Let Vincent handle how to make sure it is allowed.”

  I wasn't about to turn a blind eye to another partner's illegal dealings, even if it meant I'd have to tweak certain aspects of my plans. For all I knew, I wouldn't even have to change anything. Yet another reason I wasn't going to say anything now. I'd talk to Vincent later if the issue came up.

  “Will you be hiring local women as the entertainment?” Alizee asked.

  That was as good a lead in as I'd get to make sure my partner knew where I drew the line for sex in the club. “I suppose we'll hold auditions for any dancers or singers,” I spoke before Vincent could. “But I've found it's a good idea to have both male and female waiters and bartenders. I'd also recommend both genders for dancers and singers. You'll want to draw both men and women as customers to allow for proper pairing ratios.”

  I saw a brief frown crease Alizee's face and then it was gone. Vincent's smile looked a bit forced, but neither of them said anything. I moved on.

  “Of course, I'm sure once the club's popularity takes off, we'll have plenty of managers contacting us to have their singers perform. Anyone who wants to put a little sexuality into their reputation will line up to get in here.” I motioned toward the far end of the room. “That's the perfect place for the stage.”

  The temperature in the room had chilled slightly when I'd made my little speech, but things warmed up again as we started going over the technicalities of wiring and sound systems. A few minutes later, I found myself between Alizee and Vincent as we walked the length of the bar. Vincent was in the middle of a story about how he'd found this place when I felt a hand on my upper arm. I looked over at Alizee.

  “Are you going to be designing places for customers to indulge their fantasies? Their desires?” Alizee squeezed my arm, then slid her hand down, staying in contact until she reached my wrist. “Vincent said you have a room in your club in New York.”

  My thoughts flashed across the ocean. Club Privé did indeed have a private room for members. I'd used it with Carrie the night she'd shown up at my club. It had also been where I'd found her naked and tied to a bed while Howard suggested we rape her together.

  “There is one,” I said vaguely. “But there isn't a second floor here. I'm not sure how that would work.”

  “I have a thought,” she said.

  She took a step closer to me, invading my personal space. I thought about taking a step back, but I didn't want to offend her.

  “Couches,” she said in a low voice. “Surround couches with curtains. They are sensual, allowing for some privacy while providing the excitement that comes with exhibitionism.” She looked up at me. “You do find that exciting, no? Knowing others are hearing you? That they could interrupt?”

  I did take a step back now, but I combined it with a turn so that I was starting to walk again. “Not really my thing.”

  That was at least mostly true. The suggestion of being caught was exciting. Fucking in the middle of a large room where only curtains kept others from seeing me... that wasn't really my thing. Especially if it meant others would see Carrie. That wasn't even negotiable.

  “A shame,” Alizee said from behind me. “It can be very arousing.”

  I was suddenly very glad Carrie was outside. Since we were discussing a sex club, it wasn't weird that we were talking about sexual preferences, but I had a feeling Carrie wouldn't see it that way. And that's all it was. Alizee knew I had a girlfriend and we were working together on a business. Anything else was just me worrying about how Carrie would take things.

  “So, Gavin, what do you think?” Vincent asked as he made a sweeping gesture to include the entire building. “Should I make an offer or look elsewhere?”

  “If you do not take advantage of this opportunity,” Alizee said. “I will. This is prime real estate. With your joined vision, I believe it will go far.”

  I looked at Vincent and shrugged. “I think she just said it for me.”

  “Excellent!” He beamed. He rubbed his hands together. “This calls for a celebration. Drinks?”

  I didn't point out that it was barely afternoon. “I'd love to, Vincent, but I think Carrie and I would like to spend some time together. See the sights.” I smiled at him and then at Alizee, taking care not to stay longer on one than the other. No need to give her the wrong idea. “Besides, if we're going to be coming to Cannes on a regular basis, we need to learn the lay of the land, right?”

  “Enjoy this beautiful city with your beautiful lover.” Vincent winked at me. “May I suggest the beach? I am sure Carrie would look quite stunning in a bikini.”

  “Shall we three meet tomorrow for lunch?” Alizee said. “I will bring my contact information and advise the best scheduling to complete your project in the most timely manner.”

  Yeah, I really did wish I had someone like her back in New York. I hadn't even wanted to call the foreman to see how things were progressing.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Vincent said. “Will you be able to complete concept art by then?”

  I thought for a moment. Carrie and I could spend the day together and then I could spend tonight and tomorrow morning putting things together. I nodded. “I'll have some options together.”

  “Very good,” Vincent said. He looked at Alizee. “Thank you again for all of your assistance.”

  “My pleasure,” Alizee said. “Shall we get that drink now, Vincent, my dear?”

  She took his arm and the two of them headed toward the exit. I followed. When I stepped outside, I looked around for Carrie. She was standing a few feet away, watching a good-looking man walking across the street. Puzzled, I started toward her.

  “Hey, Babe,” I called.

  “Hi!” she said brightly as she turned. “You're never going to guess what just happened to
me!”

  I kissed her cheek as she told me about the reporter who'd just asked her for input into a story on sex trafficking in Cannes. I smiled down at her, enjoying the way her entire face was lighting up. I loved seeing her that way, even if the situation was something that I found a little concerning. If we were back home, I'd do some checking up, making sure no one was taking advantage of her, but I didn't really see some random person in France tracking her down for a story that was all over. As long as she stayed in public, I wasn't going to tell her I didn't think this was a good idea. Actually, I thought it was a great idea. Just the thing to keep me from feeling guilty while I was working on the club with Alizee and Vincent.

  This trip really was turning out to be great in many ways.

  Chapter 10

  Carrie

  Pierre was thrilled to hear from me so soon, probably more so than was a good idea, but I wasn't going to read too much into it. Gavin and I were here for a week and a half. I fully intended to spend the time we had together having fun. When Gavin was busy, however, I wanted to do some good.

  We'd had a great time yesterday, checking out the sights. We'd watched the boats, walked along the public beaches. The weather had been perfect and the people great. I loved my hometown, but Cannes was definitely ahead in those two columns. One of the ways the two cities were alike, unfortunately, seemed to be the same thing going on in every big city in the world. Today, I intended to do something to at least shed some light on that problem.

  Pierre was already sitting at a table in the café where we'd agreed to meet. He smiled and stood as I approached.

  “Ms. Summers,” he said and gave a little bow.

  “Carrie, please,” I said, sitting down across from him.

  “I am thankful you called,” he said. “I was hoping to begin some investigations today.”

  “So where do we begin?” I asked.

  “With coffee.” He winked at me.