Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jean-Marc leaned over his diagrams, sipping at his glass of whiskey.
He never drank wine—it was too civilized for him.
Glancing up, he surveyed the hideout Luc had found for him among the torturous pathways of the catacombs.
It consisted of three subterranean rooms, damp and barely habitable, but it was safe and far away from curious tourists, and as long as Flambeau and Luc kept quiet, it served him well enough.
A job of this complexity required a great deal of planning, and Jean-Marc couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Someone had cleared the bones from the rough wooden shelves, which amused Jean-Marc.
They were in the business of death—why not have it around for décor?
But Flambeau was superstitious, and he suspected Luc wasn’t too happy with the bones, so off they’d gone to join the other skeletons in the winding underground rooms.
Leaning back, he surveyed the empty room.
He needed a woman, had been needing one for weeks now.
Sex was something that didn’t matter when you had it, but it grew to mammoth importance when deprived, and Jean-Marc had been deprived for too long.
He knew perfectly well that he couldn’t afford to complicate matters by bringing someone else into their fold and he certainly didn’t want to have to factor another human being into his plans.
Still, his need to fuck was quite bad, and it was getting more and more annoying.
It wasn’t as if planning an execution, even a high-stakes one, wasn’t child’s play for him. But he had an unfortunate habit—the more he thought about death, the stronger his needs, and it was overwhelming him that evening.
If only he weren’t so damned foggy—he couldn’t remember any of the women he used to work with. Well, there was Maureen, but she’d disappeared and he had no idea where she’d gone, and the rest were all a blur. Like most of the last decade and a half.
He should take another pill. Luc doled them out to him, and he was grudgingly grateful.
The pills put things back into focus, even if they didn’t answer any questions, and they kept his thundering headaches at bay.
It would all come back soon enough, as soon as he’d accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish, and in the meantime, he just needed to concentrate, and it would all begin to make sense.
He heard the noises from a distance and he cursed, pushing away from the table and folding up his papers.
Flambeau was back, and there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate with him around.
Why they’d chosen him as his…what was Flambeau?
His bodyguard? His assistant? His keeper?
Why’d they’d chosen him was a mystery, but then, too many things were a mystery to him nowadays.
He wasn’t even certain who was behind this particular high-profile job.
It was Le Faucon, the Hawk, who made the arrangements, but apart from that, Jean-Marc knew nothing.
He simply told Flambeau or Luc what he needed and they supplied it.
He wondered what they’d say if he asked for a woman.
He hated to think what Flambeau would drag back.
And then Flambeau walked in with a woman tossed over his shoulder.
“Is that for me?” he said. He didn’t remember asking but then, unless it had something to do with his job, he didn’t remember much at all. All he could see of the woman was a pair of long legs and a nicely rounded butt, but that was good enough. He liked a good butt.
“You could say so,” Flambeau said, letting the woman slide down onto the hard floor. “She’s the one looking for you.”
Jean-Marc stared at her. She was a pretty woman, not a beauty, somewhere in her mid-thirties, he guessed, with streaky brown-blond hair and a sweet mouth. He’d never seen her before in his life.
“I told you to get rid of her,” he said, poking her with his booted foot. She was out cold.
“We needed to know how she came to have a picture of you that she was flashing all over the place.” He shoved the crumpled photograph at him. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Jean-Marc surveyed the photo. “Looks like me,” he allowed. “But it’s not me. He looks too fucking cheerful.”
“Yeah,” Flambeau said. “But still, it looks like you. Or your twin brother.”
“He’s not me,” he insisted. “And I’m an only child.” Though how he knew that he wasn’t quite certain.
“Then I’ll get rid of the woman.”
“How are you planning on doing that? You already dragged her down here, and missing American women cause too much attention.”
“Luc was the one who found her, and he told me to pick her up and bring her to you. I know what I’m doing. She won’t be found.”
Jean-Marc looked at the picture of his doppelganger again.
It wasn’t him, but it was fascinating, nonetheless.
The man stood in a place he’d never been, with an entirely too peaceful expression on his face.
He was a stranger. He looked down at the woman and let out an irritated sound.
“Maybe we’d better question her. If I have a double, I’m better off knowing about it. He might come in handy some time.”
“Up to you, boss.” Flambeau said. “She’s just another complication.”
“I’m wondering why she showed up here, and now,” Jean-Marc said. “You can get rid of her after we find that out.”
Flambeau shrugged his massive shoulders. “She’s pretty enough. I’ll take my time.”
Jean-Marc looked at her again, considering. She wasn’t his type, apart from her nice ass, and he couldn’t let himself get distracted. “We can’t afford noise down here.”
“Don’t worry, boss. I know what I’m doing,” he said again. He leaned down and scooped up the unconscious woman again. “Where will I put her?”
“Tie her up,” he said without thinking. “I’ll decide what to do with her later.”
Flambeau pawed at the woman’s breasts, another annoyance, and not for the first time, Jean-Marc considered getting word to his employer and getting the man removed. Le Faucon was a hard man to find, and it would be easier said than done. But Flambeau was a pig, a distraction rather than an asset.
“Sure thing,” Flambeau said cheerfully enough. “Just give me a taste when you’re done with her.”