A Paris Melody

Paris In The Rain

"Ouvrez! Open up, it's the police!" Jill's heart was racing frantically as the island police pounded on the door. Bang! Bang! Bang! Suddenly the door splintered, shattering under the heavy blows of the iron ram. With her heart still hammering, the slim, long-legged girl raced into the deserted beach bungalow right behind them, desperate to find her fat, no-good uncle before it was too late.

"Nobody here!" The CRS team checked the parlor, the kitchen, and the bedroom, their guns still ready. Yet all they found was empty bottles, dirty dishes in the sink, and dirty sheets on the bed. Judging from the mess, Jill reckoned several men must have been living in the tiny beach house. Was her uncle one of them?

"Someone must have warned them." Christina Martel spoke crisply. The seasoned French security officer stepped across the messy kitchen, carefully avoiding the spilled food and drink on the white tile floor. She lifted a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator, careful not to leave any fingerprints on the door itself.

"Right, somebody must have warned them," Jill repeated, her heart still beating fast. "Quelqu'un a dû les previnir."

"So what's our next move?" Dark-eyed Nicolette hadn't rushed in with the others. She came strolling into the parlor of the beach house with her dark blue Chanel suit still neatly pressed, her lustrous dark hair still perfectly coiffed. Noticing that young Jill was still panting, her face flushed and her long legs trembling, the experienced financial-fraud investigator gently guided her to a seat on the nearby sofa.

"My uncle must have got away." Jill couldn't conceal the surge of relief that washed through her. Yet she felt ashamed of her loyalty. Her shoulders slumped as harsh reality sank in. Exhausted. A night of frantic activity, ending in failure. She'd come to Martinique to bring Uncle Simon to justice, not to help him evade the law!

"Here, drink this." Christina handed her the bottle of mineral water.

"It looks like Simple Simon might be smarter than we thought." Nicolette was rubbing Jill's shoulders, and the back of her neck, calming her down just like a tired racehorse after a race. "Relax, baby. You were marvelous. Now we need to fly back to Paris!"

"Paris!" Jill swallowed her water in one gulp. "How will I explain all the trouble we caused to Marc?"

"Marc will understand if you explain everything from the beginning," Christina said softly. "Remember, you're the one who caught Gunner. You were brilliant! I'm sure Marc will want to hear all the facts. Come on, your flight is waiting. Nicolette will get you on board safely . . . while I handle the local police!"

Six hours later . . .

Marc Moreau stood in the rain at the Paris airport, watching the passengers debark after a mid-winter vacation in the Caribbean. Most of them looked quite happy, deeply suntanned and relaxed. But the last passenger off the plane was a majestic blonde with a sour expression on her face. Her frown deepened as she caught sight of the tall, dark-haired French policeman waiting by the gate.

"You!" Jill walked right up to the big, hard-muscled man with the bright red umbrella. Her mind flashed a vivid memory of the two of them sharing a kiss in the rain. But she didn't want that. She felt like shaking Marc till he confessed the truth. "You knew my uncle wasn't in Martinique," Jill said breathlessly, fighting the enticing image of Marc welcoming her back to Paris with a kiss. "You just wanted me out of Paris. You sent me on a wild goose chase!"

"True. But I never expected you to shake things up as much as you did. You are a tiger!" Marc's bewitching dark blue eyes expressed admiration, even if his tone was lightly mocking. He kissed Jill thoroughly, then shifted the umbrella so that it sheltered her from the icy rain.

"Did Christina and Nicolette tell you how I found Gunner?" Jill felt a surge of pride, even though the two older women had acted like a couple of traitors. After the raid they'd hurried her aboard the luxurious Air France jet, stowing her luggage in the rack overhead and tucking her into her seat. Jill was tired and fell right into the embrace of sleep. And the next thing she knew, she was back in wet and rainy Paris! Her foolish uncle had slipped right through her fingers.

"They told me you were marvelous," Marc assured her. He was steering Jill towards a waiting car, keeping his arm around her and his umbrella over her head so she stayed warm and dry. "Eh bien, I think we'll need a full report over dinner. Are you hungry?"

"Oui, je meurs de faim." Jill didn't trust Marc. And she didn't like the way she'd been treated in Martinique. But it felt good to escape the rain, and climb into the sleek French sports car. Jill closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of leather upholstery.

Alors, tres bien. The French detective wanted the full story, and she had plenty to tell him.