A Paris Melody

Paris Connection

"But Marc, I can't . . . Marc, please!" Jill McDonald was moaning in her sleep, her eyes flickering restlessly beneath closed lids. "Ohhhhh, Marc!"

Mesdames et messieurs, veuillez attacher vos ceintures!

"Huh?" The polite voice of the female flight attendant echoed crisply over the sleek jetliner intercom. Gradually the long-legged girl stretched out in the reclining seat began to stir and stretch.

"The pilot says fasten your seatbelt, ma cherie. We're about to land!" The tall, athletic woman on her left reached over and snapped Jill's seatbelt into place. Golden-haired Christina Martel was a real stickler for the rules. Rubbing her eyes, Jill remembered that the long-distance runner and tennis champion had worked for Air France as a security specialist for many years.

"We're lucky to be hitting Martinique in January," remarked the chic little brunette on Jill's right, closing her tiny guide book. Dark-eyed Nicolette LaValle was petite, witty, and vivacious. But she was also a shrewd bank investigator who specialized in detecting fraud. "The island's dry season runs from December to about mid-April, bringing warm, sunny weather and calm waters. Ideal for swimming and snorkeling!"

"I guess . . . I'll be doing a lot of that." Jill blinked sleep from her eyes as her seat rose smoothly to the upright position. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that her luxurious Caribbean vacation was part of an ongoing criminal investigation.

"Whatever it takes to find the missing girl, cherie." Christina's grim, no-nonsense demeanor matched her firm grip on Jill's arm. The three women exited the sleek silver jetliner together, emerging from cool semi-darkness into brilliant afternoon sunlight. The scorching heat instantly hit them, the sun high overhead as hot as a burning oven.

"Something tells me we're overdressed!" Bright-eyed Nicolette gave a knowing chuckle as she surveyed the sexy, suntanned throngs of bare-chested men and bikini-clad women crowding the busy narrow streets just outside the island's international airport.

"Jill will fit right in, once she's had time for a rest and quick wardrobe change." Christina was clearly taking charge as she ordered up a taxi cab for the three of them. The noise and bustle of the chaotic street scene didn't seem to slow her down at all.

"Aren't we going to check in with the Martinique police?" Jill remembered Marc Moreau spelling out her responsibilities very clearly just the night before. It was their last night together in Paris, and the aura of danger and uncertainty had only intensified their sense of urgency, fueling a fiery shared passion.

"Bientot, cherie. Soon enough!" Inside the hot and stuffy cab, Christina gave Jill's wan features a sympathetic look. "First a rest, a hot shower and perhaps a nap, so you can recover from jet lag."

"First a rest, and then some serious shopping!" Nicolette waved a thick stack of Euros under Jill's nose. "You won't catch that missing girl lying down. We need to spend this money in a hurry!"

"Well, I suppose I can manage that." In spite of her tense mood, Jill found herself laughing. Nicolette's bubbly high spirits made the whole trip seem like an adventure. All three women were laughing their heads off by the time they checked into the five-star hotel.

"Right! Bed in there, bath over there." Nicolette went up on tiptoes and kissed Jill smack on the cheek. "Fill the tub, put your feet up, and relax. Pretend you're someone glamorous, like Cleopatra!"

"Just ignore Nico's babbling, please." Christina rolled her eyes, the look on her face that of a big sister used to minding babies. "That was a hell of a long flight from Paris. Try to rest, Jill. Martinique is lovely, but it gets fearfully hot in the afternoon. Get a little sleep and we'll wake you when it's cooler. Plenty of time to hit the hottest dance clubs . . . and explore the fabulous shops!"

Jill smiled politely, but she didn't really fancy the idea of lying around the hotel all afternoon, resting in her air-conditioned suite. The moment she was alone she sat down on the enormous bed and picked up the very old-fashioned gold and white telephone.

"Get me Paris, please. Central office, city police!" The Paris connection wasn't all that clear at first. The Paris operator sounded sleepy, since there was a five hour time difference. It was already night there. Jill was put on hold for several minutes, and it was very irritating.

"Ah, she calls right away!" Marc Moreau's sexy voice was teasing. "Don't tell me you're broke already and need more money."

"I haven't spent a single Euro," Jill growled. There was a bowl of candy on the bedside table. She reached for one without thinking. "Look, Marc, I'm not sure how Nico and Chris fit into all this. I mean, they seem to think they're here to babysit me. But I can't find the missing girl if I'm always being shadowed!"

"Meredith's going to turn up," Marc assured her. "You'll find her. In the meantime, let Nico and Chris show you around the island. Keeping an eye on you is the main reason they tagged along!"

"But it isn't necessary!" Jill crunched down on a peppermint.

"What's that racket?" Marc demanded, half-joking and half-serious. His rough yet knowing voice reminded Jill of the way his hands felt on her bare flesh. "That sounded like broken glass. Are you throwing things, Jill? Did you break something?"

"I'd like to break something," Jill muttered. Without thinking, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. "Look, Marc. Last night you said I was in charge. Me, Jill. Well, I can't be in charge with those two women telling me what to do!"

"All right, I'll talk to them." Marc surrendered with a casual shrug. "In the meantime, contact the number I gave you, and tell the Martinique police you want to look over all their paperwork on missing tourists this year."

"All right." Jill was grateful. Yet she felt foolish, and a bit of a brat, calling long distance and telling a veteran cop like Marc how to do his job. It was late in Paris, and she reckoned he'd had a hell of a long day. Jill yawned, jet-lag making the soft bed feel like heaven. She'd had a long day too.

"Rough flight?" Marc always got her moods, just like they had an automatic connection. His sexy voice was like a soothing caress.

"A little bit." Jill chuckled, remembering the frantic day she'd had. "We were late getting to the Paris airport. There was a mixup about my passport. A lot of running around and various headaches. Then Nico insisted on ordering champagne! Now she wants to take me out shopping for a bikini."

"I can see you in a bikini," Marc growled. He filled in all the details.

"Oh, Marc!" Jill set down the phone with a shaky laugh, her pulses racing and her cheeks flaming hot. It was embarrassing, the way the sexy French cop pushed all her buttons. Yet he listened to her, too. Jill closed her eyes, meaning to rest for a moment before she picked up the phone and dialed the local police.