Young Love Murder Part 15

"Believe me when I say that I haven't forgotten anything. He's constantly on my mind." Something I probably shouldn't admit to, but this is one subject I know my brother won't tease me about. He feels too d.a.m.n sorry for me.

Jackson's expression turns sympathetic. "What if he wants to hurt you?"

My head shakes in denial. "He's not like that Jacks. He's too good of a person for that. He loves me."

"Loved you," Jackson corrects me. I shoot him a dirty look at the reminder. "Remember what he said the last time you saw him."

Choosing to ignore Jackson, I stare sullenly out the car window. I've always loved Paris and the familiar timeworn sights cheer me up a bit. Our father was French and our mother was American. Paris is where they met. I feel closer to them whenever I'm here, like I'm in their company when I'm in this city.

As soon as the taxi parks in front of Marie's home, I jump out, leaving Jackson to pay. Running up the steps, I'm anxious to see her. Besides Adala, my former nanny, Marie's the closest thing to a mother figure I've had. Of course, most mothers don't tutor their daughters in all the ways to pleasure a man or how to use your femininity to reel in the male gender. But perhaps they should. From the teen girl madness I witnessed in Miami, it could be lifesaving, because that affliction is contagious. They could teach a cla.s.s, How Not To Act a Fool For a Man 101.

Glancing up at the gray clouds as I wait for the door to be answered, it looks like it may rain. Her house is in a posh area of Paris. Pimping paid off well for Marie. She's old school, so a butler opens the door. Ralph recognizes me even though it's been months and my hair is a new color. He knows I speak French, but he addresses me in accented English, "Miss Annabelle, Marie has been expecting you. Please wait in the front salon and she will be down in a moment."

"Jackson's here too," I tell him as I step into the elegant foyer, hearing my brother pound up the steps behind me. Ralph's worked for Marie for about as long as I've graced the earth with my presence and he's her most trusted confidant. Now in his early fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a craggy face, he's conservative as can be. But I've always known that, in a time of need, he could get down and dirty. The guy's a closet bruiser. I mean, someone had to keep all of Marie's admirers on the doorstep. He's a stocky man and still fit, despite being middle-aged. He's served as both butler and bodyguard to Marie since her early days as a procurer of women. On more than one occasion, I've thought it'd be fun to spar with him. Not in this dress, though, it was kind of pricey.

Marie's now retired from the Madame business, but at one time, she had over thirty girls working for her. We're not talking your common French streetwalkers either. Marie's girls were in high demand and highly paid. From what Simon says, she was good to them as long as they stayed in line. An odd relations.h.i.+p, but it worked.

I don't know how serious she and Simon were back in the day. She had many lovers in her younger years, probably still does. Despite being in her forties, she's still beautiful and can pa.s.s for being a decade younger. Although they no longer see each other as lovers that I know of, Marie and Simon are close friends.

Before leaving the foyer, Marie appears at the top of the stairs. Waiting at the bottom of them, I get the expected hug when she reaches me. "My sweet Annabelle, you have come to see me so quickly. I did not expect you for a couple more days."

"I'd just finished a job when I got word," I explain.

The door shuts behind Jackson and Marie looks in his direction. "Jackson, you have also come to see me, huh?"

"Yes, Marie," Jackson says shyly. I think he's always had a bit of a crush on her. Don't know the extent of his "lessons" with her, but I know they were more extensive than mine, with her bringing in one of her girls to a.s.sist. He's my brother, so no way in h.e.l.l will I ever be asking him the specifics. Disgusting!

Marie leads us to her formal sitting room off to the left of the foyer. The room looks straight out of the 18th century. The walls have velvet wallpaper with an antique fleur-de-lis pattern. The furniture is dainty, but wide, with carved wood and silk upholstery. A large gilded mirror centers over the marble fireplace and gold sconces adorn the walls with ivory candles. Ivory, creme, rose and gold come together to make you think of soft skin and beautiful women. It's exactly the sitting room you'd expect of a Madame who used to deal in those things.

As soon as we're seated, Marie goes right into it, "A young man and a private detective came to see me a few days ago." Marie is direct as always. It's the male gender that she likes to play games with.

"Gabriel." Confirming, my heart skips a beat.

She studies my face carefully as she continues, "Yes, I believe it was you that they were looking for, Annabelle. The sketch was alarmingly accurate."

I wave off her concern. "It was definitely me."

She pats her platinum blonde hair with her right palm. "Of course, I told them nothing."

"I trust you, Marie," I a.s.sure her with a soft smile.

"Who is this young man, Annabelle? He seemed very determined to find you."

My heart flutters from her words and I try to keep my face blank because Marie is really good at reading people. It was a valuable resource in her line of work. "He's the son of a target from last fall."

Her face turns serious. "Oh, I see." Then she turns her attention to Jackson, who's been standing just inside the doorway, listening. "Jackson dear, could you please give us a moment? I wish to speak with your sister privately."

He looks annoyed, but leaves the room, mumbling about raiding her kitchen. Once the door closes, Marie leans forward, reaching out with her perfectly manicured hands, wrapping them around mine. "Tell me everything, Annabelle."

I sigh, knowing it's a lost cause. "I received the a.s.signment last October from Simon. At first, it was just like any other a.s.signment. Get in, kill the bad man and get out. But Marie, I didn't expect to fall in love." My eyes start to water and she reaches over to an end table to grab a tissue.

"First love is hard," Marie croons sympathetically, patting my hand.

"It was a more than hard, Marie. It was a freaking disaster." Resolutely, I pull myself together, using the tools that Simon taught us to control our emotions. Crying should be done in private. Once I'm satisfied, I go on, "He fell in love with me too, Marie. He was so wonderful in every way. I was going to give it all up for him, after I killed his father, of course."

She nods in understanding even though she's never been in that exact situation. Marie has lived a full life, though, and has had enough dramatic situations of her own. "So anyways, I killed his father, but not before he walked into the room and saw it all happen. He made it clear that he hates me and doesn't love me anymore so I did what I had to do. I left, tried to forget him." I shrug one shoulder helplessly.

"And now he is searching for you," Marie adds, bringing us to present day.

I close my eyes, trying to hide from her the hope that I have at the thought. Keeping my voice cool, I ask the both dreaded and antic.i.p.ated question, "What did he say when he came to see you?"

I open my eyes to watch her face as she answers, "Not much, I am afraid. He just showed me the sketch of you and gave me a description, with a different hair color than you have now, obviously. He said that your name was Anna Walker and that you were a possible kidnap victim. He was looking for any information that may give him a lead. He said that you witnessed the murder of his father and may have become frightened and ran away."

I almost feel like laughing at that bit of absurdity. What Marie's revealed doesn't help me much. But, if I just go straight to Gabriel's hotel, then I'll be sure to get my answers. In my thinking, I may have no choice but to confront him. Simon and Jackson may disagree but I'm a grown woman now.

"What exactly did you tell him?" I ask her.

"I simply told him that I did not know anyone by the name of Anna Walker and that I was sorry for the loss of his father. He left his number with me in case I remembered anyone with your description." She places an index finger under my chin, staring at my face thoughtfully. "I think he still loves you."

I shake my head in denial. "He hates me, Marie." Maybe if I keep repeating it, I'll be able to accept it.

She quickly shakes her head. "No, you should have seen him. He was like a man obsessed. And when he talked about you . . . ." She shakes her head again at the thought. "A person can both love and hate someone at the same time. I believe that boy is torn in half with both emotions where you are concerned."

The thought actually makes me happy. Not about him hating me, but if there's still love there, I'll take it. I feel no hate for Gabriel at all, just pure love. He's still my angel, albeit an angry one. Maybe I can still be his Anna.

I have to see him, now. Grabbing Marie's shoulders, I hug her. "Marie-"

She pats me on the back. "I know my sweet. I will distract your brother with some cheese and pastries that I just had delivered. You run along and see your beau." My heart races at the idea of seeing him again after so long. It's the only birthday present I want.

"Thank you!" Jumping up out of my seat, I rush for the door. Slowing myself down on the marble foyer, I sneak out quietly. Jackson is in the back of the house, kitchen most likely, and Marie is already walking down the hallway to distract him with food.

Walking two blocks away from Marie's, I find a taxi and give the driver the name of Gabriel's hotel. Thanks for the info, Simon. On the drive, I'm so excited that I'm shaking my leg nervously. My a.s.sa.s.sin cool is gone, replaced by the nervousness of a girl in love. During the drive, it begins to rain lightly. A few people on the sidewalks pull out umbrellas.

The driver lets me out across the street from the hotel and I add a big tip to the fare. Standing across the busy wet street from his hotel, nervous and anxious, I see Gabriel step out of the gla.s.s lobby doors with the private investigator at his side.

Taking off my sungla.s.ses, we lock eyes. He's so handsome, even more so than I remember. Smiling tentatively at him, his gaze remains one of cold shock. Even through the sprinkling rain between us, I see the hatred flash in his eyes. My smile falters, my heart stutters. I'm unsure what to do as he says something to Steven Russo. The private investigator is now looking at me intently.

Marie was wrong. There's no love left, at least not for Gabriel. My already beat up heart takes another hit, going cold again. As another taxi parks nearby, I put my sungla.s.ses back on and step inside. The sungla.s.ses hide my tears from the driver as I tell him where to take me.

Gabriel Seeing Annabelle step into the taxi, I rush across the busy one-way street in an attempt to catch her before she can get away. I almost get hit by a bus in the process. It's too late. She's gone by the time I get across the four lanes. Staring at the retreating taxi in the distance, I curse the traffic while the rain begins to pour down harder. Punching a brick wall in anger, I only succeed in b.l.o.o.d.ying my knuckles.

I was so close. I almost had her, G.o.d dammit!

When I stepped out of the hotel to see her across the street, I was held immobile by shock at first. Steven snapped me out of it by asking me what was wrong.

My G.o.d, she looked so beautiful. Her hair was different, black instead of the reddish-brown she had in Miami, but still beautiful. Seeing her was like a shock to my entire system. I've felt so dead for the past four months and it was as if seeing her jump started everything in me, especially my heart. I feel the adrenaline coursing through me. I feel alive.

Even though she got away, I'll take her appearance as a sign that I've been looking in the right direction. Somehow she's in the same city as me and I think it's because someone I questioned let her know about my search.

I can only hope that she comes to me again. The smile that she gave me was puzzling. Why did she smile at me? Was it because she's enjoying this game of cat and mouse? Is she pleased with herself for killing my father and getting away with it? Is she trying to throw it in my face? My internal thoughts serve to increase my anger. I can feel my face twisting tighter.

Someone like her has no heart. She probably relishes the thought that she hurt me, that she murdered my father and broke my heart. She probably feeds off of the misery she causes. I have a few surprises up my sleeve for when we next meet, though. Things she won't be expecting. When I kill her, I'll be doing the world a favor. Then, maybe, I can finally move on.

Chapter 20.

Gabriel Instead of going with Steven to search Paris for Anna clues, I tell him I'm going to stay at the hotel and go over the information we've gathered so far. Secretly, I'm hoping she'll show up again. She obviously knows where I'm staying, so you never know.

Spreading the paperwork out on the bed, I scour through the files that Steven has compiled. Unfortunately, there isn't much here that's useful. The list of Madams in Paris is pretty much all we've got. All of which we've already visited. None of them knew an Anna Walker, or someone who could be her, based on the sketch and description. But then again, someone must have or why else would she show up outside my hotel?

Thoughts of our encounter earlier today keep flas.h.i.+ng through my head. Even after all these months and all my anger, I still want her. She's like a disease there's no cure for. At least no cure yet. Her death might be just the thing I need. It's a shame that such a beautiful girl is full of such malicious evil.

As I'm staring at the same papers for the tenth time in the past hour, my cell phone rings. Leaning across the bed, I reach to where it's resting on the nightstand. I don't recognize the number on the caller id. The thought enters my head that it's Anna.

"h.e.l.lo?" I answer anxiously, sitting straight up with my socked feet flat on the carpeted floor.

"Gabriel Sanchez," a female voice with a French accent inquires.

"That's me," I confirm expectantly.

"You need to come see me," the silky sounding French woman says.

"I don't know who you are."

Her response is immediate, "Marie Perrot, of course."

Then it all clicks together. "You're Anna's friend aren't you?"

"Oui."

"When I came to see you before, why did you say that you didn't know her?" Cautiously, I consider that this may be another game of Anna's.

"Because I didn't know you."

"And now you do?" I ask skeptically.

"I believe so," her melodic voice sounds amused.

"I'll be there in a half hour." I'm not sure where this may lead, but jump at the chance to meet with a friend of Anna's.

"I will be waiting, Mr. Sanchez." Her voice is singsong at the end, like she's enjoying the situation.

Pus.h.i.+ng the 'end' b.u.t.ton, I grab my suit jacket off a chair. This is our first real lead since arriving in Paris and it's a big one. Not wanting to wait for Russo, I decide to meet with Ms. Perrot alone, thinking she may be more forthcoming that way.

My heart's racing as I rush to the elevators, hitting the down arrow b.u.t.ton repeatedly until one of them slides open. Pacing back and forth, impatient to be off the d.a.m.n thing, I have to wonder why Marie's had a change of heart. No answer comes to me. I steal a taxi from another man before he can climb inside, causing him to curse at me in French. At least I a.s.sume he's cursing at me. I don't understand much of the language.

Offering the taxi driver a large tip to speed, I'm at Marie Perrot's door twenty minutes later. After ringing her buzzer, the same big older man from the other day answers. "Follow me, Mr. Sanchez."

Following him through the ornate foyer to a small sitting room, Marie is relaxing on a chaise lounge wearing a blue c.o.c.ktail dress and fur wrap. The last time I was here, Russo and I weren't let in past the entryway and she was wearing a white designer suit. Maybe she's going out for the evening after our meeting, because I really doubt the fancy duds are for me.

She slowly looks me up and down as I stand in the middle of the room. In reaction, I glance down at what I'm wearing, checking to see if I forgot to zip or something. "What?" I ask, confused by her perusal.

She waves her hand through the air in front of her, with an aloof expression on her face. "I was simply getting a good look at the man who stole my Annabelle's heart."

I laugh humorlessly before realizing what she just said. "Annabelle . . . ."

Her grey eyes go wide and she covers her mouth in an 'uh-oh' gesture. However, something tells me that was no slip. I get the impression from her mannerisms and the cunning look in those steely eyes, everything this woman does is intentional.

When she doesn't say anything, I carefully ask, "Annabelle Claire Blanc?" In the pause after my question, the moment is surreal.

"I have said too much already," she finally says with a look of dismay on her face.

That is her name! The toddler girl in the picture was her! Not a friend or relative. The thought had crossed my mind, but I'd dismissed it as too easy. "Who's Jackson Antoine Blanc?" A brother? A cousin? He had brown hair and brown eyes like her. That much I remember from the picture. Does her family know what she does for a living? Maybe she keeps the picture as a memento of a family she's lost. If she had a family, how'd she end up where she's at now?

"That boy no longer exists," she says sadly. Did he die? Does Anna not have a family? Is that why she ended up an a.s.sa.s.sin? Marie brings me out of my thoughts when she announces, "Now, we shall go."

I lift my eyebrows at her, asking sardonically, "To see Anna?"

"No, young man, to dinner." The quirk of her scarlet lips hints at her amus.e.m.e.nt.