I halted, the surprise not feigned, as I hadn’t thought I’d run into them this fast. “Detectives! What brings you here?”
Bellamy hurried to take my luggage, even though it had wheels and I obviously didn’t need help. “Mademoiselle Reed. A pleasure to see you again. We’re here to interview people who knew the shooting victim. Thank you for your help with that.”
“My pleasure.” I headed toward the reception desk at the side of the lobby, with the detectives following. After the Casino, the off-white marble and wood interior seemed wonderfully calm—and incredibly boring.
“Are you here to meet Monsieur Reed?” Gagne asked. I halted and whirled to him, my eyes large with—feigned—surprise.
“He’s here?”
He cocked an amused brow. “Come now, Mademoiselle, we’re all adults and you’re not doing anything wrong.”
I shot him a withering glance. “I do not have weekend assignations with men I’ve only just met.”
With that overly prim comment—I was probably pushing this role too far—I turned to the receptionist with a polite smile. “I have a reservation with the name Reed.”
I didn’t, but I had to throw the detectives off the scent.
The woman behind the desk clicked her computer and, to my utter amazement, smiled. “Ah, yes. Monsieur Eliot Reed has already checked in.”
I pulled straight. “Not Eliot. Ada.”
I ignored the chuckles behind me.
The receptionist looked more worried now. “I’m sorry, but there is no reservation for Ada Reed.”
Of course there wasn’t as I hadn’t made one, but I didn’t let that stop a good show. “What do you mean? I reserved the room ages ago.”
“I do not understand what has happened. Maybe two reservations with the same name messed with the system. It probably assumed a double booking by a married couple and cancelled the extra,” the woman said apologetically.
Their system couldn’t be that lousy, but I wouldn’t say that to her. “And naturally it’s the woman’s reservation that is deleted.” I was getting into the spirit of things, my anger sounding natural. I brushed with my hand. “Never mind, just book me into another room and there’s no harm done.”
“I’m truly sorry, but we’re fully booked. There are no rooms.”
I inhaled, incensed, ready to give the woman a piece of my mind, when Eliot spoke behind me.
“Is there a problem?”
I swirled to him and unleashed the ire on him. “You! You’ve ruined my holiday!”
He lifted his hands and stepped back. “I only got here. How did I manage that?”
“They’ve given my room to you!”
For a moment he looked like he would argue and reveal I hadn’t even booked a room—or point out that it wasn’t possible. But then he turned to the receptionist and flashed her a warm smile so effective I could practically see her melt.
“I’m sure there’s a special room kept free for occasions like this. Book Miss Reed there.”
The woman looked even more apologetic. “That’s gone too.” She leaned closer over the desk and lowered her voice. “A special celebrity guest. I’m can’t tell who, but they’re opening in Cannes tonight.”
Eliot rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking. “That’s unfortunate. I have a spare room with twin beds, but that’s for the detectives.” He gestured at the men who had remained mercifully quiet through my act. Then he gave me a sideways glance.
“But I have a large double bed…” I glared at him. “…there are large couches in the sitting room.”
“I will not sleep on a couch!”
He flashed me a smile. “Fine, I’ll take the couch. But I’ll need to use your bathroom.” He addressed the receptionist. “Would that be possible?”
“Of course,” she said, relieved that the matter was solved so easily. She checked us in and gave us our keys. “And here are complimentary drink coupons and tokens to the hotel casino, with our apologies.”
We took the offerings with the keys and headed to the lift that would take us to the top floor. “That went well.”
I was rewarded with laughter.
“We have a problem,” Detective Gagne said after we’d settled into our rooms—Alan, as he’d introduced himself now that we were sharing a suite.
The entire suite was excellent if a tad dated and oddly appointed, with faux-wood and red walls, stone floors and an occasional Barcelona chair by Le Corbusier. The greatest attraction, however, was the Mediterranean view that opened from the windows in all rooms and a loggia type of balcony in the sitting room, deep and covered to protect the occupants from the glaring sun. The sitting room wasn’t large, but it had room for a dining table for four, and the red leather sofas were roomy enough for even Eliot to sleep on.
Not that he looked happy about it when a hotel maid came to make a bed on one of them.
“This is not how I imagined my vacation…”
For our part, the detectives and I were happy with our accommodations. My room had a huge bed where Eliot and I could’ve spent a perfectly chaste night, but I didn’t want the detectives to get the wrong idea.
Besides, the mere notion of spending the night with Eliot, no matter how innocent, was just too much. I hadn’t spent a night with a man since Danny, and I wasn’t in the right space of mind to start now. It was bad enough that the room smelled of him and that his clothes filled the closet already.
How much clothes could a man need for a short holiday anyway?
“What sort of problem?” Eliot asked Gagne.
Eliot was looking a bit rumpled, having walked back to the hotel. Not that the detectives believed he had, judging by their knowing smiles. They clearly thought that he’d been having a good time with Natasha and had taken a taxi like a sensible person, but they didn’t want to say it aloud, in case I’d be upset.
It was impossible to make them believe we weren’t here together.
“The local authorities weren’t happy that we’d operate on their turf in a case this big. We tried to say that it’s only an interview, but since it’s related to two murders and a drug bust, it needs to go through proper channels.”
Eliot dipped his chin. “What’s that, then?”
“Me,” I told him with a smile. “That’s why Interpol exists in the first place.”
He smiled. “Good thing you’re here, then.”
“Not what I thought I’d be doing on my holiday…”
It was exactly what I’d hoped to do, but the detectives didn’t need to know that.
I picked up my phone and made a call to the local Interpol office. Nobody answered. It was a small office, and it was close to five p.m. on Friday, but I would’ve thought someone would be manning the place over the weekend.
Unfazed, I called my boss instead. That man never left the office before six. “You want to work on your day off?” he asked, amazed—and approving. “Naturally I’ll authorize it, but why would you want to?”
“It’s related to a case I’ve been investigating,” I told him. “It would be helpful.”
“Very well. I’ll mark today as a workday for you, and you can take the Monday off instead. But since you’re already there, you can’t deduct the travel expenses.”
I’d be back at my desk by Monday, and I definitely wouldn’t deduct the expenses even if I could—the rental of a luxury sportscar wasn’t exactly easy to explain, especially since I hadn’t done it with my own name—but I thanked him and placed a call to the local police.
It took a surprising amount of diplomacy and sweettalking to arrange the very simple matter of interviewing a person who wasn’t even a Monaco citizen. I groaned when I was put on hold for a second time.
“Maybe we should wait until he’s home so we could do this on the French side of the border,” I suggested to the detectives.
“He’s on duty tonight. I’d rather not postpone it,” Bellamy said. “You’re doing fine. He’ll cave.”
Bellamy was right. We got the permission to operate in Monaco, provided that I was present at all times—yay—and that we’d call them the moment we needed to make an arrest. They would come and handle it for us.
Gagne rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. “Now that that’s sorted out, let’s talk about what you know about the case that we should be aware of before we go in.”
I didn’t glance at Eliot, but it took an effort. “It’s mostly circumstantial,” I hedged. While I had more facts about the case than they did, the speculation Eliot and I had done didn’t stand on very solid ground, especially since I’d falsified some of the evidence. But the link between the drug bust, Lepine, and Travert was real.
“It’s still more than we have.”
I tried to set my words so that I didn’t accidentally reveal my role in acquiring the external drive. I’d never had to balance between my two roles like this before and I had no tools for it.
“I’ve been tracking the movements of a Bulgarian drug and human trafficking organization in the Mediterranean. For that, I’ve studied the evidence of all the drug busts done within the past year—which isn’t all that many. The list I gave you is from one such bust.”
Gagne nodded. “And how does it link to the shooting of Fabre?”
“I’m not sure it does. However, Fabre might be linked with one of the main operators of the organization, one Artem Melnyk.”
“How?” Bellamy asked.
“Among his phone contacts was Arctos. That’s the name of Melnyk’s yacht.” I paused and they looked suitably intrigued.
“And where is the yacht currently?”
I smiled. “Here at the hotel marina.”
The detectives pulled back simultaneously. “You’re not here on a holiday, are you?” Gagne said with an admonishing smile. I shrugged.
“I was supposed to be. Him being here is a wonderful coincidence. Of course, having tracked his movements for months, I could be reasonably certain he’d show up here this weekend.”
“But nothing links Lepine to Melnyk or Fabre,” Gagne pointed out, and I nodded.
“Not that we know of.” Or could reveal, at any case. “But based on Lepine’s clothes, he had a wealthy sponsor of some kind. He wasn’t working for them full-time, because he had a job at the casino, but he clearly had extra income and a need to wear a designer suit.”
“Maybe a part-time bodyguard?” Eliot made the same suggestion as earlier. I smiled at him for nudging the conversation for the right direction.
“Yes. Melnyk usually docks at this hotel when he visits Monaco. A good chance for Lepine to make some extra cash between his own shifts.”
Bellamy pursed his lips. “Lepine used to work here, but that was a year ago.”
“The arrangement could still have continued. Or he could’ve had a similar arrangement with a client at the Casino.”
“That may be so, but it doesn’t explain why Lepine was in Lyon getting shot,” Gagne said.
I spread my arms. “No idea. Was there anything interesting in the external drive he was carrying?”
“Cooked books,” Bellamy told us what we already knew. At least they’d figured out that much. “Though we have no idea whose or how to interpret them.”
This would be so much easier if we could tell them where the drive originated. I glanced at Eliot, who shook his head minutely. He wouldn’t want to be outed as an expert on money laundering then.
We could let the contents be for now. “That it was masked as a gift suggests a need for secrecy. Maybe Lepine was transporting the drive, to or from Lyon. Maybe to Melnyk, or whoever he worked for on the side. Or maybe he’d stolen it and was shot for it.”
Gagne perked, but Bellamy shook his head, clearly figuring out the essentials. “The shooter would’ve taken the drive in that case.”
Eliot rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did that a lot, as if marveling at the shape. “Maybe Lepine didn’t steal it. Maybe he was supposed to deliver it somewhere days ago, only he didn’t and was shot for the delay, the shooter unaware that he had the hard drive all along.”
That was a good way to direct the focus to what we suspected was behind the shooting. But Bellamy was still skeptical.
“Then how did the shooter know where to find Lepine? Lyon is a long way from Monaco. Both had to be there on purpose.”
“Did his colleagues tell you why he was in Lyon in the first place?” I asked. Eliot hadn’t mentioned it. But Gagne shook his head.
“They hadn’t even known he’d gone there, so they likely hadn’t alerted the shooter.”
“Maybe the client lives in Lyon,” Eliot suggested. “Lepine might’ve been there on a job for them. Perhaps the client asked him to deliver the external drive back to Monaco. Maybe the shooter travelled with Lepine or had agreed to meet him there.”
The detectives looked baffled. “How does that work?”
Eliot shrugged. “It’s the most logical explanation. Drive-by shootings usually take place outside the victim’s home or workplace. Somewhere regular and fixed. Lepine was on a random errand in a random place, in the middle of the night. The shooter had to be Lepine’s ride, or the person he was there to meet, and they’d agreed to meet outside the Palace of Justice, or maybe the client lived near there, but Lepine was double-crossed and shot.”
“And the shooter can’t be the person Lepine was delivering the external drive to, because then the shooter would’ve taken it,” I added.
Bellamy rubbed his eyes. “None of Lepine’s colleagues make a promising suspect. I’m putting my money on Travert.”
“As the shooter?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“At least someone who might have more information about Lepine’s side business. They were both on that list, after all.”
I nodded. “Let’s go talk to him, then.”
Gagne shot Eliot an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but you can’t sit in on this one.”
“That’s all right,” he said with an easy smile. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to hit the beach the whole day.”
He disappeared into the bedroom to change, and I decided it would be best we left before he emerged. The way he’d affected me this afternoon, I don’t think I could’ve handled seeing him in nothing but swimming trunks.
“Are you really here for Arctos?” Bellamy asked when we entered the lift, one brow cocked and looking a tad hesitant. “Because if there’s nothing going on between you and Eliot, I could ask you out.”
He managed to take me by surprise, and I struggled to come up with an answer. The proper one would’ve been “I’d like that,” because he was a good-looking man with a steady job and I hadn’t really been out since my husband’s so-called death.
“No?” he quizzed before I managed to speak, and I blushed lightly.
“Maybe once we’re back home?” I suggested. “I don’t want holiday flings to follow me home.”
I couldn’t afford anything to follow me home.