Bree looked over. Judge Alsace and Judge Les Freres were following their colleague and acting as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
“How’s the duck?” Carole asked.
Bree turned back to the bartender. “I won’t tell my ninety-year-old grandmother-in-law, who is an incredible cook, but this may be the best meal of my entire life.”
“The veal is excellent too.”
“Tomorrow night,” Bree promised.
“Same dessert? Crème br?lée?”
“Please, and with a decaf espresso?”
The bartender nodded and walked off.
The big bald guy signed his check and left.
Bree took another bite of the duck, savoring it, before sensing something in her periphery. She pivoted slightly in her seat.
Philippe Abelmar was standing beside her and studying her with some amusement. “The duck again?”
“I could not resist,” she said, trying not to act taken aback by his sudden presence.
“I warned you that the duck can be an addiction,” the billionaire said.
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
His eyes danced and flickered over her face and chest as he said, “Do you know how an African lion keeps his dominance over a pride of lionesses?”
She thought about that. “Constantly fights other lions?”
“Not if he’s smart,” Abelmar said. “Not if he wants to live a long life. If he wants that, then he is actually sedentary much of the time, lying about in the shade with a bellyful of meat his lionesses have killed for him. But even then, in that sated state, the lion is still alert to anything new or out of place. The merest whiff of a threat and he acts, goes to the source of danger immediately and confronts it.”
“He protects his perimeter.”
Abelmar smiled and nodded. “That’s right. And if he needs to fight, he attacks right then, without hesitation. But more often than not, just the power, speed, and aggressiveness of the dominant lion is enough to send all inferior threats running without so much as a bite or a scratch.”
“Is that why you came up to talk to me?” she asked, frowning. “You considered me an inferior threat?”
“You?” he said and he laughed in a rather nice way. “No. I came because I wanted to see if you liked the duck and because you are a very beautiful woman.”
Bree smiled and said, “I appreciate that.” She held out her hand.
He hesitated and then smiled and took it. “Philippe.”
“Bree,” she said.
“Your accent is…interesting,” he said, letting go of her hand.
“Saint Martin,” she said.
“Are you here on vacation or business?”
“A little of both.”
“Your business?”
Bree paused before saying, “I work for a law firm in Saint Martin. We set up shell companies for people interested in moving their business or their money offshore.”
Abelmar cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Saint Martin. Who knew?”
“It’s overlooked,” she said. “But I still love it.”
“You are doing this—building shell companies—for someone here in Paris?”
“I’m talking with prospective clients.”
He thought about that, reached into his jacket pocket, and retrieved his business card. “I may be interested. Call my office. Come see me and we’ll talk, Madame…”
“St. Lucie,” she said, taking his card with feigned curiosity. “Bree St. Lucie.”
Chapter
27
Pasadena
As soon as we understood the scope and the motivation behind the murders at the home of Amelia White’s parents, I went outside and phoned Sampson to bring him up to speed while Loughlin called in an army to process the scene and Mahoney arranged to put multiple heavily armed agents around the late Catherine Hingham’s home in Alexandria, Virginia.
We didn’t want more retribution killings on our hands if we could help it.
After I’d described Special Agent White’s confession and the massacre of his family to John, he told me about seeing a man outside Billie’s church whom he recognized from years before. John always had an incredible memory for faces.
“Who is it this time?” I asked.
“I ever tell you about a guy named Hayden Brooker?” Sampson said. “I knew him in the army?”
“You did two tours, John. You knew a lot of people.”
“Brooker was Delta Force. Snuck into hooches. Slit throats.”