A Life Betrayed (Montreal #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

F rances had just turned off the highway into Montreal and was heading to the Quebec divisional office when she got the call from the security dispatch office at Montréal-Trudeau International Airport. She’d returned from her brief visit to Ottawa to meet with the deputy commissioner and had received instructions to stay on in the city until the end of the week. After that, she would head back to HQ and be reassigned to another case.

Part of her dreaded returning to her life in Ottawa. She’d replayed the interaction with Ethan in her mind, unable to shake the lingering humiliation. He’d been gracious—as expected—even offering to meet up for coffee when she was back in the city. Fortunately, she’d had the sense to refuse. After showing him the depths of her painful desperation, she thought it best for both of them that he keep his distance.

It wouldn’t take her long to pack up the Montreal apartment. She figured she’d dump everything she needed in the trunk of her car and let work figure out the rest. The divisional office would be happy to see the back of her. Frances certainly wasn’t expecting a going-away party.

“Inspector,” the airport security officer said over the phone as she slowed for a changing light. “We’ve received an electronic alert from the Air France counter that Mathias Beauvais has checked into a flight departing for Paris at twenty hundred hours.”

There had been a list of things Frances was still working through in her wrap-up of the investigation. Following the deputy commissioner’s instruction after Mathias’s botched arrest, she’d already removed his plates from the automated recognition watchlist with Transport Canada. But she’d neglected to cancel the airport travel alerts she’d set up after securing his arrest warrant. Half convinced he’d run before they could take him in, Frances had figured it didn’t hurt to be proactive.

So, Mathias thinks he can just walk away from everything and leave the country, scot-free? The thought set off a wave of fury. Her hand might have been forced, but she still had some power.

Before she could think about what she was doing, Frances spoke. “Detain him. I’ll be there momentarily.”

It was blatant insubordination. She’d received clear instructions from Gill to suspend all activities associated with the investigation. There was no longer any reason—or legal precedent—for her to detain Mathias.

“Roger that, Inspector,” the security officer said and hung up.

Frances sat staring at the screen of her phone as though she’d imagined the call. I know it’s hard for you to admit when you’re beat. Behind her came a loud honk, then another, and she glanced up, startled, to see the light was green.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, making a hard turn through the intersection and heading back in the opposite direction, toward the airport, not entirely sure what she would do when she got there.

Mathias had said he’d be in touch, but knowing what was involved with a maneuver of this kind, Rayan had expected it to be some time before he heard from the man, so when he received a call from him the following afternoon, he was more than a little surprised. Mathias spoke quickly, and his tone was clipped. Rayan was to get his things, only what he could carry, and be at the airport in an hour. Mathias would meet him there. It was as though the entire plan had been condensed, launched forward at speed. But Rayan knew not to ask questions.

He was already half-packed, so it didn’t take him long to collect his things. He moved around the safe house, unplugging switches and turning off lights, not sure exactly what would happen to the apartment once he stepped out the door. Rayan walked several streets before hailing a taxi and paid in cash once the driver dropped him at the airport.

It was busy, and he took advantage of the crowds to blend in as he made his way through the terminal. Following Mathias’s instructions, he located the Air France counter and purchased a one-way ticket to Charles de Gaulle. They would travel separately, Rayan’s flight departing first, with Mathias following later in the evening.

Stepping back from the counter with his ticket, he caught a glimpse of Mathias standing by the book rack in a nearby convenience store. Their eyes met for an instant before Rayan looked away as though he hadn’t seen him. He walked casually toward the store, navigating around a couple wearing matching khaki shorts, and busied himself by examining a display of sunglasses.

“You’re on the flight at six?” Mathias asked quietly from across the aisle, his eyes lowered to the paperback he was idly flipping through.

“That’s right.”

“I’ll follow at eight,” Mathias said. “Everything else remains the same: wait forty-eight hours at the meeting point. Otherwise, continue on alone.”

The thought made Rayan’s throat constrict, but he’d agreed to the plan the evening Mathias had laid everything out at the safe house. At the time, they were accounting for contingencies so hypothetical Rayan hadn’t given them much weight. But here they were, only two days later, summoned by an urgency Mathias didn’t have time to explain, and suddenly the prospect that one of them might not make it out seemed very real.

He glanced over to see Mathias looking up, his gaze following a group of uniformed airport security personnel as they advanced across the terminal in their direction. Rayan felt his stomach drop. Fucking Allen. She had given him her word. That was what he got for trusting a cop.

Mathias snapped the book in his hand shut, tossed it back on the shelf, and strode past Rayan. “Go. I want you on that plane.”

“No.” Rayan’s hand shot out and grabbed his elbow.

“Of all the times to be difficult—” Mathias wrenched his arm free, and his face darkened in anger.

That look used to frighten Rayan, but not anymore. Nothing about the man frightened him anymore. “I’ve run before, and I don’t want that life if you’re not in it,” Rayan said, staring him down.

Mathias dug his fingers into Rayan’s shoulder, his face inches from his own. “And I don’t want this one if they take you too.” His expression briefly softened. “Do it for me.”

Rayan felt the hand drop from his shoulder, and then Mathias was walking out of the store, staring straight ahead, cutting an imposing figure in his designer suit.

“Mathias Beauvais!” one of the officers called out, breaking into a stride. “Airport security—you’re coming with us.”

Rayan thought of all the times it had been him standing between Mathias and trouble, putting himself in harm’s way. He wasn’t accustomed to the sight of Mathias’s back, placed as it was in front of him, shielding him from impending danger. Two security officers flanked Mathias and restrained his arms while a third slapped a set of cuffs on his wrists. The image was so confronting that Rayan found himself moving forward on instinct, compelled by years of conditioning—Mathias’s protection his sole objective.

He froze mid-step when he saw Mathias’s face, turned slightly to look at him as airport security led him through the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered. His eyes bored into Rayan’s for the briefest of seconds but long enough to ensure that the message was clear. Rayan had spent years intuiting the man’s expressions, and this one needed no elaboration. This one he couldn’t ignore.

Frances arrived at the airport in time to find security officers cuffing Mathias by the Air France counter. As she approached, she saw Mathias glance behind him, his expression changing before her eyes. Gone was the hardened scowl, that threatening stare—instead, his features shifted to reveal a flash of tenderness that made her stop dead in her tracks. Following his gaze, she was stunned to spot Rayan Nadeau standing stock-still by the entrance to a nearby store, watching the unfolding scene. Mathias gave a curt shake of his head and looked away, his face slipping back into a blank mask.

And then she knew. The apartment in Toronto, Mathias’s assistance in extracting Rayan from the family, Rayan’s desperate bid to intervene on the man’s behalf. Mathias Beauvais, one of Quebec’s most notorious criminal figures, had almost succeeded in concealing his biggest vulnerability. But she had seen it now—the missing piece of the puzzle.

Frances made her way separately to the terminal’s security office, where she was informed that Mathias had been detained in one of the interrogation rooms. She told the officers waiting outside to leave and closed the door behind her. Mathias sat with his cuffed wrists resting on the table in the center of the room, his eyes darkening when he saw her. She reached for the recording console mounted to the table, disabled the camera, and flicked off the audio.

Mathias raised an eyebrow, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. “Is this the part where you take to me with your fists?”

Frances dropped her bag and took a seat across from him. “Tell me, do you think people are capable of change, or are we cursed to repeat the same mistakes for the rest of our lives?”

“Do the Feds hawk their inspectors out for free therapy now?” Mathias sneered. “This is all inherently fascinating, Allen, but I’ll save my answers for when my lawyer’s present.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder. She’d left the original photos Rayan had given her with the deputy commissioner, but she’d made copies to bring back with her and file with the rest of the investigation paperwork at the Montreal office. She opened the folder, took out the photos, and splayed them across the table between them.

“Appreciate the help, by the way,” she said.

Mathias could not hide the shock that transformed his face. Frances suppressed her own surprise. She’d never before succeeded in unseating his herculean self-control.

Mathias stared at the photos for a long time before looking up at her with that familiar piercing gaze. “Where did you get these?”

“Nadeau didn’t tell you? He seemed willing to do anything to get us to step back.”

“Idiot,” Mathias hissed.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, recalling how expertly Rayan had negotiated his terms. “This was enough to get you off the hook—for now.”

Mathias’s forehead furrowed, his eyes narrowing.

“He made a deal—the photos in exchange for turning a blind eye to your involvement with the shipments. A municipal police chief in bed with the Red Reapers? You couldn’t buy that kind of negative publicity. No doubt, the prime minister will order a full investigation.”

Mathias tutted. “Police corruption. How disheartening.”

Frances scowled. “Meanwhile, without you, I’ve got nothing to justify the funding to keep the investigation open.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“Because I know you were behind it,” she snapped. “The shipments—God knows what else—and if I’d just had more time, I would’ve nailed you for it.”

“Seems we’ve both run out of time,” Mathias said cryptically.

“Optics be damned,” Frances continued, bringing her hand down on the table. “My superiors might be happy doling out resources based on what appeals to the government’s yardstick of success, but I’m more concerned with the concept of justice. So now I’m put in the unfortunate position of deciding whether to follow my principles and stop you from getting on that plane.”

“You’ve gone rogue?” Mathias mocked. “On some moral crusade—or worse—a personal vendetta? You wouldn’t be the first.” He gave a bitter laugh. “You ground me, and you’re going to need something that sticks. Then try to scrabble together the funds to take me to trial—and I can assure you, Inspector, you will need them. Even if you make it that far, do you think the prosecution is immune to bribes, threats? What about the judge or members of the jury? And if you still believe I’ll accept a plea in exchange for names, you haven’t learned a fucking thing.” Mathias sat forward in his chair, utterly fearless. “The way I see it, you let me leave, and you still get something.” He tilted his chin toward the photos on the table. “You try to keep me here, and I’ll make life very difficult for you. You’ll find your ass at some reception desk back in Ottawa, taking messages.”

He wasn’t wrong. As she’d walked into the room, seeing Mathias cuffed yet entirely composed—drawing from a deep well of resilience neither Frances nor the RCMP could possibly hope to run dry—it had dawned on her that he would never bend to her will or repent or plead remorse for his crimes. He would pay his expensive lawyer, and they would distort the truth to match their story. Or they would find someone else to pin it on, paid handsomely for their troubles. And Mathias Beauvais would continue his challenge to the law, unencumbered.

Unless… There was one thing that would change the entire state of play, one thing that clearly meant something to the man, that could be twisted and wielded against him like a knife.

“Are you wondering if he got out?” Frances asked quietly. “Or if he’s being held in the room next door?”

Mathias’s shoulders stiffened, but this time, his face gave nothing away. He glared at her, silent and unmoving.

“The reason he was wiped from the records—that was you, wasn’t it? You were protecting Nadeau, obscuring his involvement.”

“If you took him in—”

The threat hung empty in the air, and she knew he felt it. They both did. The unspoken shift. His one exploitable weakness coming into view.

If they were both here at the airport, then they were leaving together. And to leave with Rayan meant Mathias was willing to give up everything. Frances felt a hard spike in her chest. He was doing what she’d been unable to.

She dug her nails into the flesh of her palm under the table. She couldn’t fucking do it. She couldn’t use Rayan against him.

“I didn’t.”

Mathias set his jaw, his lips pressed shut.

“I closed his case. There was nothing there. Not enough worth pursuing, anyhow. But you, on the other hand…” Frances fixed him with a hard look. “Why did you intervene that night with Truman?”

“I didn’t do shit.”

“You sent Nadeau to get me out. If you hadn’t, I take it I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Mathias said nothing.

“It would’ve solved all your problems—sit back and let the cop investigating you get killed.” She let out an ironic laugh. “Maybe you’re not entirely devoid of decency.”

She thought of Ethan’s words: You win some, you lose some. And then you move on.

If Mathias left, he would be out of Canada and out of her jurisdiction—cut off from the family that had funneled him to power. Perhaps that was enough of a victory. She would still have succeeded in getting him off the streets.

“And I’m not entirely incapable of leniency,” she said. “There’s a list. Your name gets on it, and you’re never let into the country again.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Mathias said in a low voice. “Going on vacation?”

Frances shook her head ruefully. “I thought I had you figured out, Beauvais. Now I’m not so sure. What I do know is I don’t want you here. Which is something I think we both agree on. You leave today, and you’re not ever coming back.”

Mathias leaned back in his chair, returned to his former state of impenetrability, those cold gray eyes meeting hers. “Don’t worry, Allen. You’ll get the next one.”