Harlequin's Shadow

Chapter 2: Leila

During the taxi ride to the prison, Neal enjoyed regaling Peter with stories about La Santé—not that he'd ever been incarcerated there, of course. He was still expounding on some of the more lurid cases while they waited in the interrogation room for Gordon to be brought in. "Did you know that the guillotine continued to be used at the prison until the 1970s?"

"And it was abolished in 1981 along with capital punishment," Peter riposted promptly. "I hope you don't have designs on executing a Scarlet Pimpernel rescue?"

"I was born too late." Neal added just the right amount of theatrical overtone to his moan to let Peter know he was joking ... mostly. Surely Peter understood he was simply embracing his new role. According to the guidelines, as advocated by no less an authority than Reese Hughes, Neal was supposed to play the part of an out-of-control cocky criminal who lived to thumb his nose at the authorities. "Just think, Peter, we could have worn cloaks and tricorne hats and carried sabres."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're no longer content with playing d'Artagnan?"

That was the response Neal hoped for. When he and his friends Richard and Aidan called themselves the Three Musketeers last fall, Peter had been kept out of the loop. "But you weren't able to take part, and I know how much you regretted it. Now's your chance."

Peter didn't appear to particularly value the opportunity, but before he had time to make a rejoinder, Gordon was ushered into the room. In France, prisoners were allowed to wear their own clothing. Neal was glad Gordon was spared the humiliation of an orange jumpsuit. But the expensive sports clothes he had on made it difficult to believe he'd been incarcerated.

Neal made the introductions, and Gordon was as gracious as if he were welcoming them into his home. "Gentlemen, I'm sorry I can offer you no refreshments. Unfortunately, we'll have to wait for a later time."

Neal took the lead in the discussion as they'd already agreed, but Peter wasn't reticent to join in. He displayed a confident and straightforward manner that augured well. As they talked, Neal watched Gordon's eyes. They were telling a different story from his words. To listen to him, Gordon wasn't concerned. He was sure his lawyers would be able to secure his release. But his eyes said, "Get me outta here! I've been trapped and I don't know how to escape." Neal knew that look of panic. He suspected his own eyes had broadcast something similar on occasion.

"Your friends tell me," Peter said, "that this type of crime is not something you'd commit."

"They're quite correct." A slight smile played on Gordon's lips. His eyes were more forthright. They blared: "You're bloody right."

Peter crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "So who framed you?"

"The police," Gordon said promptly. "For years, they've tried to arrest me. They decided their only recourse is to fabricate evidence."

"There's another option," Neal murmured. "Your rivals."

Gordon shot him a calculating glance. "Anyone in particular you'd care to suggest?"

Neal nodded, pausing a minute before he replied to let Gordon mull over whom he'd come up with. "Ydrus. We suspect it's on a campaign to become the dominant player by eliminating its competition. Your fame must be known to them. You likely have been targeted as an obstacle to their goal. It would be helpful to know if they tried to recruit you."

Neal sat back to assess his reaction. Their room didn't have any listening devices, but Gordon couldn't be sure they weren't wearing bugs. If he'd been approached by Ydrus, he likely wouldn't tell them. A flat denial would mean he considered Neal and Peter to be untrustworthy. In his eyes, they could be either treacherous or working with the police.