Chapter Ten

Ten

"W hat the hell!" Jeannette exploded.

Daniel gave her a quick glance. He almost smiled. She had just managed to scare the hell out of a ghost. Henriette jumped back as if she'd been touched by a branding iron.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I just... I'm so stunned, and not even because of what you've told us but by the fact that we didn't know!" Jeannette apologized quickly.

Henriette still seemed a bit confused but she nodded solemnly and said, " De rien. It's nothing. It's all right."

"Thank you, thank you, and again, I'm so sorry," Jeannette said.

"You're sure about what you heard?" Daniel asked Henriette.

" Mais oui! I was right there, I heard clearly," Henriette said. "But...perhaps she is not really his maman , perhaps it was a word of affection for an older woman."

"We'll find out," Daniel told her.

Jeannette moved closer, as if she'd take Henriette's hand if it were possible. "And we do mean thank you, and if you will—"

"Oh, I will continue to watch! It is my extreme pleasure to help you in any way. I longed, always, to be a voice of the people. I was in life perhaps a bit ahead of my time. But now here with you, if I can help save the life of one woman, it will be my greatest joy."

"You are amazing," Daniel told her. "And we are grateful to have you on our team." He turned to Jeannette and said, "I think his show has run long tonight—but if he's already seeing his people with backstage passes, we'd best get over there."

"Go. I will be here each night—if you are not able to make it, I will wait for the next night," Henriette told them.

They repeated their thanks and started back out to the sidewalk and then down to the theater.

"How is this possible? How could he be her son? She is a Matisse—known and respected in this region. He said nothing to us—while giving us information that he'd known the girls and all—about having any relationship with the wineries whatsoever. Jules Bastien. Why an assumed name? And worse than that, how did our tech departments not find the connection—and even worse, why didn't Gervais tell us?" Jeannette asked, shaking her head.

"Maybe Gervais didn't know," Daniel suggested.

"How could he not know? He's worked in Paris and the environs for years. He knew all our suspects in the vineyards, at least casually. He has been privy to the murders from the beginning. Oh! When we were speaking to Madame Matisse at her bed-and-breakfast, her son was giving the tour for her. How did we not see any of this?"

"All right, as Henriette suggested, maybe he was just calling her Maman with affection for a rich supporter. And Paris and its environs are the largest metropolitan area in Europe—over eleven million people and that doesn't include Reims. So that adds in another couple of hundred thousand people. Gervais LaBlanc's expertise is Paris, where—as in most major cities—he has enough crime to deal with. Now, I do think that other vineyard owners might know if he is or isn't her son, but we asked about employees, not family. I don't know. I just don't know. Let's talk to this bloke and then when we return to the house—"

"You think anyone will be awake by the time we get back?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Someone will be."

"Oh. I get it. Someone is always awake and on guard?" she asked him.

He smiled and nodded. "I think we're doing three-hour shifts. Gervais isn't staying at the house, so that means there are six of us, giving each person a night on and a night off for however long it takes. I think I heard Mason talking about doing something like that with Della and Luke."

"Good plan," Jeannette murmured. "And here we are."

They moved through people leaving the theater, and reached the hallway where those with backstage passes were in a line to speak with the magician.

They walked quietly to the end of the line and waited. They could hear children laughing with pleasure, and Daniel realized he was hoping against hope that Jules Bastien, the young and charming magician, was not involved in what was happening.

And yet...

The bodies of the dead had been found in fields surrounded by the working vineyards. And he hadn't seen fit to mention the fact that despite the name he went by, he was the son of one of those small family-owned vineyards where the dead had been found.

Jeannette glanced at him while they waited and then gave him a nudge.

Marni was sweeping by them, carrying a bag that appeared to be filled with little boxes of children's "magic" toys. She saw them and stopped dead. One of the little "Disappearing Coin!" boxes fell to the floor, and Daniel quickly bent to retrieve it.

When he stood, she was staring at him and Jeannette in surprise.

"You're back?" she asked, frowning. "I didn't see you in the audience!"

"We need to speak with Jules," Jeannette told her.

"Oh. Oh... I thought he had told you everything he could. He is so upset by all this and since you spoke with him, he's been so worried about Shelley," Marni said.

"Shelley is fine. She's being guarded by the best," Daniel told her. He smiled. "We'll make sure to let Jules know she really is okay."

And would Jules want to speak with her? Find out where she was? Perhaps...?

There would be no way he would be told where Shelley was being guarded. No way in hell.

"Oh, that would be great. I didn't get to know that group the way he did. I didn't go to the coffee shop with them, but it is heartbreaking that girls were killed, and that Shelley remains in danger," Marni said. "I'm sorry. Death, I guess, is what you deal with all the time. But to Jules, I'm afraid, this is all personal."

"Of course. And it's heartbreaking to us as well," Jeannette assured her. "It doesn't matter how long you're in law enforcement, it's never easy to deal with. The death of innocents with their lives stretching before them remains tragic and heartbreaking. And that's why we try to stop it," she finished softly.

"Of course, of course!" she murmured.

The woman in front of Jeannette with a small boy at her side spoke quickly to Marni in French, and Marni gave them a nod to reply to the woman.

"That lady is not patient," Daniel explained softly to Jeannette. "She wants Marni to hurry the people in front of her."

"Good thing we're patient, right?" she asked him, smiling sweetly.

"We're just a pair of saints," he told her. "So, while we're being patient," he told her, "why don't you tell me a story?"

"Ah...you want Goldilocks or Rumpelstiltskin ?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "No. You worked with Mason Carter before?"

"I worked with Mason on one of my first cases. And it was... Well, it was the best. No, I mean, it was horrible. There was a murder, but a very patriotic ghost stepped in and helped. There were some longtime Krewe agents working with us. Of course, Angela and Jackson were on the computer with us all the time, but we were also with Jake Mallory and another agent Whitney Tremont, both of whom had been with the Krewe for years and years. They're great agents. Anyway, the case ended with a good resolution, but...I never met Luke, Carly or Della before they arrived here."

"They are why I'm here," he told her. "I don't think I'd have ever been comfortable in my own skin if it hadn't been for them. I got to learn I wasn't imagining things, creating phantoms in my mind, and I knew..."

"You knew?"

He shrugged. "I love Scotland. I loved working with the National Crime Agency. But once I had worked with the Krewe—or with our Blackbird unit—I knew that being with such a group was what I needed for my sanity."

"See, you should have just played the guitar and become a rock star. Then you could be unstable and no one would care!"

He laughed and she whispered, "Shh! The impatient lady is going in at last!"

The woman went in just ahead of them, leaving them standing in the open doorway.

Jules Bastien looked up, frowned curiously, gave them a wave, and turned his attention to the woman and her little boy.

It seemed she was determined to take her time with the magician—she had waited, after all.

But eventually, Marni, now at Jules's side, explained to her that others were still waiting, and the show had gone on very late that night.

She left, pushing past Daniel and Jeannette.

Jules had been seated, but he rose to greet them as they came in.

"Bonsoir!" he told them, right before growing anxious. "Did something else happen? Shelley! Oh, no. Has someone else been found, is everything all right? I can't help it; I am so worried about Shelley!"

"Shelley is fine. And trust me, she'll remain fine," Daniel assured him.

"Then—" Jules began, but he shook his head and murmured, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Let me grab you a couple of chairs. Oh! Marni is here—is that all right?"

"It's fine," Jeannette assured him. "And we can grab a few chairs!"

But Jeannette didn't have to get a chair; Daniel dragged one over as did Jules as Marni grabbed the chair she'd been using to sit at his side and pushed it in a bit closer.

"I've given LaBlanc every bit of surveillance video, and I've thought and I've thought—" Jules began.

"Except you didn't think to tell us that Delphine Matisse is your mother," Daniel said.

The man looked truly confused. He was a magician. A performer.

And an excellent actor.

Daniel wondered if he was going to disavow the relationship. And if he did, maybe referring to Delphine as Maman had been just a term of respectful affection.

But he didn't disavow the relationship.

"I'm sorry. I don't see the relevance. Yes, Delphine is my mother," Jules stated.

"But you don't go by the name Matisse. Which, I think, might be a gold mine for you here," Jeannette said.

Jules shook his head. "I wanted to be a magician since I was a little kid. I saw a few movies and a few documentaries on the great Harry Houdini. I was fascinated, and I watched everything I could on David Copperfield, Criss Angel and more. At first, when I was a child in the single digits, my mom was happy to humor me. She thought I would grow up and fall in love with the vineyard and the excellence of our wines—especially our champagne. Magic is my passion. I love what I do. I love it when the children are so excited and amazed. I'm only here—at this theater—for another two weeks. Then I have a run in London and after that, on to New York City!"

"Didn't you give the welcome speech for your mother the other day?"

He sighed deeply. "She told me she had to see Gervais LaBlanc, and she was desperate. She said I had plenty of time to speak and get back here to Paris. I told her that I would do what she needed, but she really needed to understand I didn't want to manage the vineyards. I was grateful—she and my father have been wonderful parents—but I love magic."

"All right," Daniel told him. "I think your loving magic is fine. It's great to have that kind of passion for your work. But...you know the dead were found out by the vineyards and...you never mentioned your relationship to us? And what's with your name? Our techs didn't even make the association."

"My name?" he asked. He looked away and then back to them. "I changed it legally."

"How did you do that, leaving no record?" Daniel persisted.

He looked away again, shaking his head. "Paris is one thing, but...the Matisse name is renowned—for champagne and wine. And I wanted to make it on talent and the art of my craft. I meant to work hard. I didn't want favors—or an audience—because of my family name."

"That's understandable," Jeannette said, "and applaudable. But I still don't understand why you didn't tell us."

He shook his head. "I don't ever use my family connection. Ever."

Daniel leaned forward. "Monsieur Bastien, it's time you start thinking about that family connection. Don't you realize how serious this is for you? You knew the girls. We have on video that one of the murdered women was taken from just in front of your show. The bodies have been discovered near your family estates. Think about it. If you were an investigator, wouldn't that raise a few flags for you?"

Jules Bastien stared back at him, shaking his head in bewilderment. "But... I know you've met my mother. She's amazing. I didn't turn away from the vineyard because of her. I'm out here with my name changed to pursue the dream I've nurtured since I was a small child. My mother would never hurt anyone. She goes out of her way for people. I have never seen her be anything but friendly and nice to everyone," he said.

"Maybe your mother is the nicest human being in the world," Jeannette said gently. "But here you are. Victims were seen at your shows—"

Marni broke in angrily. "They were here, but they were all over Paris as well! Those girls might have been taken from anywhere—"

"But we know one was taken from here," Jeannette said quietly.

"But—but—" Marni began.

"Do you know anything about all this?" Jeannette asked her.

"No!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jules protested. "I have tried. I have been helpful. I'm the one who gave LaBlanc most of the video surveillance he has—"

"Along with traffic cams and bank cams and more," Daniel reminded him.

Jules just shook his head. "I will do anything you want. I'll provide DNA, fingerprints—blood samples, if you want. I will help in any way. But I promise you, neither I and my mother nor the House of Matisse could possibly have had anything to do with any of this!" He winced, shaking his head suddenly. "Why here? Leticia Montague is a horrible human being. At any moment, she is in the middle of a tirade. Her husband, George, isn't much better. He's quieter, but he's meaner. When I was a kid and my mother took me to their place, they were talking about trials with the weather. I was just playing and strayed into the wrong place on what I thought was the lawn. He practically ripped my arm off, dragging me back to where I was supposed to be and he told my mother I needed a good thrashing. And that Deauville place! Giselle has been known to kill stray cats that dare wander onto her property, and Tomas is known to have throttled a dog once. I don't understand why you're...asking me about my mother and about...me!"

"Really! How dare you!" Marni muttered.

"We aren't accusing anyone of anything. We're investigating, trying to get all the facts," Daniel said. "And we couldn't begin to understand how you never mentioned to us that Delphine Matisse was your mother. And, Jules, it's because you knew the girls, and because bodies were found near your family property. But we have had the pleasure of meeting George and Leticia Montague, as well as Tomas and Giselle Deauville. And we can agree they are not the nicest people."

"No matter what facade they put on for guests!" Marni announced.

Daniel inclined his head and rose, waiting for Jeannette to do the same.

"Thank you," she told Jules. "We do sincerely appreciate all the help you have given us. But any little detail could be extremely important. We just wish that you had thought to tell us about your name change. Oh, by the way! Why is there no record of your birth as Jules Matisse?"

He looked back at them and shrugged. "I don't know. I swear to you, it's not anything I did. I went through the courts. Bastien is also an old family name. The records should have shown my birth and my name change. I never asked that anything be hidden—not where it would be illegal. Then again..." he murmured.

"Then again?" Daniel asked.

"Money can buy just about any kind of corruption, despite the very good and decent people who are usually working in such areas. Not me—or my mother—I swear it. I have no idea why you couldn't find the association through legal searches," he said.

"Well, to be honest, we weren't doing the searches. Our brilliant tech and computer people did them," Daniel said.

That made Jules smile. He nodded. "I swear to you, I know nothing about records, how one pulls up records, what can be proved and what can't be proved."

"By the way, was your mother angry?" Jeannette asked.

"About me changing my name?" Jules asked.

"Yes—and becoming a magician," Jeannette added.

He smiled and shook his head. "She still thinks I'm going to wake up one day and want to become a master of the vineyards. She isn't angry. Maybe disappointed? I don't think she'd care at all if the Deauville and Montague couples didn't express how sad it was that I had no interest. That's why I was glad that, although it put me in a bit of a rush, I could get out there and help. Don't get me wrong! I love my home, love where I grew up... The endless fields are beautiful. But I love magic."

"And you're very good at it," Jeannette assured him. "Not just the magic itself, but you're excellent with a crowd."

"And your love for what you do comes through," Daniel told him.

"Thank you," Jules said.

"He is the best!" Marni announced. "You need to get back out there and attack the right people!" she said.

"We aren't attacking anyone," Daniel said patiently. "We're trying to get to the truth, trying to save the lives of other young women. Oh—and we do plan on getting out there."

"If and when you want or need me, I'm more than happy to go back out with you and my mother. I will help you tear apart anything you want on any piece of property that is owned by the House of Matisse," Jules said determinedly.

"We'll get out of your hair," Jeannette said. "Thank you again for the time you've given us. And," she added pleasantly, "Marni, thank you, too."

Marni nodded. She didn't stand with Jules to say goodbye.

Daniel set a hand on Jeannette's shoulder and they headed out.

When they reached the street, well out of earshot, she turned to him. "Well?"

"Marni was angry."

"And Jules was not," she murmured. "But..."

"Yeah. There is the connection between the girls, his magic show and the Reims wine region. No matter how mean and nasty the other vineyard owners might be, they weren't in Paris that we know of. And we now know Madame Matisse was here, and Jules had a connection... I don't know," Daniel said.

"He wasn't angry. He wasn't angry with us at all over what might be construed as an accusation," Jeannette reminded him.

"No. He acted like an innocent man."

"Well, hmm. Are we on guard duty tonight, do you think?" she asked.

He laughed. "No, we're already past the division of time. Way past. But let's get back. I almost said something to him about tomorrow, but I thought you wanted to get back out to the fields without any suspects involved. I wonder if anyone saw anything else on the video. I'm sure they've arranged to get a few stills. But maybe, if you want to spend the day in the fields, Gervais or someone else could go to the estates—"

"Well, that would be good. But since we're the ones who saw the man at the Deauville estates, perhaps we need to get there first. Of course, they're going to be using every possible means to find this man—Aristide Broussard—who seems to have disappeared from France. I'm just curious if..." Daniel let his voice trail with his thought.

But Jeannette picked it right up.

"You're curious if this happened to be an upright and decent man who didn't like something about the people he was working for. Maybe he didn't like getting yelled at as if he were a child or an indentured servant and didn't like to see it happening to others, either," she said.

"Well, obviously, the techs will be doing all the usual steps. Getting information on his cell phone, following up on his credit cards—everything should be on record," he said.

"Should be," she agreed.

They reached the car and drove back to the house and keyed in the codes to the gate and the door.

The house was just about dead silent, but Daniel knew someone was still awake. He walked through to the dining room and, as he had expected, he found Mason seated at a computer.

He looked up at Daniel. "Anything?"

"Yeah. We had quite a talk with Jules Bastien—after learning he'd been born Jules Matisse. Our very friendly revolutionary ghost overheard a conversation between Jules and Delphine, a conversation in which he referred to her as Maman . She said it might not have meant anything, but as it turned out, it did."

Mason nodded, thoughtful, and then asked them, "Why would someone with a name like that, seeking a career where the name could buy him some instant fame, change it?"

"Well, if he's honest, he wanted to make it on his own," Daniel said.

"I believed him," Jeannette said as she came around from his side. "And still... Jules admitted the first night to knowing the girls. He liked them, and they went to a coffee shop with him. We saw the footage of Claude Chirac escorting one of the dead women into a van. I don't know what my passion is with getting back out to the vineyards, but—"

"It's all figured out," Mason assured her. "Luke and Carly will be in Paris following up on any new leads. Gervais, Della and I will head out to the wineries. We thought about it both ways. One would be with the two of you telling the Deauville couple very flatly you saw the man there. Or Gervais, Della and I could go out to say we'd heard the man worked for them and we'd like to discover who he is so we can ask him if he can help us in any way. If we're all out there, then if we get no response whatsoever from Giselle or Tomas, you'll be close enough to take a second stab at it. By the way, Della slipped in to see Shelley for a bit tonight, and she's doing as well as can be expected. She hasn't wanted to wander out—she wants us to catch the killers. She is so scared."

"I don't blame her," Jeannette said softly.

"Neither do I. I'm praying we solve this thing sooner rather than later," Mason told them. He sat back. "So, for now—go to sleep!" He grinned. "Tomorrow night, you get your hours!"

Daniel laughed. "I'm out."

"Me, too."

They went through the parlor area and down the hallway that led to the downstairs bedrooms.

"Thank you," Jeannette said to him.

"For?"

She smiled. "Humoring me. Police have been over those fields. People who know them. And I want to go walk through them. Some instinct is calling me—"

"And when instinct calls, we should listen," he assured her.

She smiled and headed into her room, the first door on the right.

"Good night."

"Good night."

His room was the last. He went on in and closed his door, flicked on the light, and noted there were two other doors in the room. One was open and led to the bathroom. The other was at the back of the room. He walked toward it, curious. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he'd dropped their bags off.

At the door, with his hand on the knob, he smiled and hesitated, shaking his head.

He was sure it was a connecting door to Jeannette's room. Turning around, he went in the bathroom to shower. He set his gun on the commode, shed his clothing and stepped into the shower, grateful for the spray of hot water that streamed over him. He wished he could turn off his thoughts. Or that human beings were capable of being ruled only by logic.

He couldn't help thinking about Jules Bastien.

It seemed the man was truly honest, truly telling the truth. And his mother was the only one of the five small vineyard owners who seemed to be liked by just about everyone.

At length, he turned the shower off, dismayed as he dried off to realize his thoughts were shifting. He'd wanted to turn off the events of the day, to clear his head...

And instead, he found himself thinking about the connecting door. About Jeannette.

He toweled dry and had the towel wrapped around his waist when the door at the back of the room began to open.

Any unexpected noise awakened the cop in him; he'd taken his gun from the top of the commode to the dresser where he'd been drawing a comb through his hair.

Gun swept up, he turned to face the door.

It shouldn't have been a surprise; it was Jeannette standing there. Obviously, she'd been curious—as he had been—and, maybe just as obviously, she was checking it out.

She, too, was wearing a towel.

"Hey," he said.

"Uh, hey, sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, amused.

"Well, I should have knocked—"

"That's okay. Come in. What's up?" he asked her.

She grinned. "You are."

"What?"

He was surprised when she took several steps closer to him and began to speak awkwardly. "I, um, wow, um, I was just thinking I was so keyed up and I... Well, everyone seems to be paired up, and I couldn't help but wonder if some of this isn't done very carefully, I mean not just for our special talents or the fact that we are all good, decent, hardworking agents, but..."

He couldn't help it. He was a fool. He should just walk across the room and sweep her into his arms. But he couldn't help but smile and say, "But..."

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted you. I was..."

She took a step backward. Enough levity, he was being a fool. From the moment he'd met her, he'd known she was a beautiful, intelligent, serious agent, a person with a serious work ethic and a sense of humor, lovely...

Sensual. Worthy of every basic human admiration and...

And desire.

He believed he'd never been a wanker, a man who played upon feelings, emotions and sexuality. He'd never taken anyone for granted, but when he'd tried to draw close...

His fear of what he was had taken over. The knowledge that he was different, that he could never be completely honest. But here, now...

She was stunning, bright, funny, dedicated, everything he could ever desire and want. And she was here; she had come to him.

He hurried across the room and arched his brows in question as he lifted his arms to set around her. She gave him a slight querying glance, as if she'd never been sure of herself, either.

Then she smiled and slipped into his arms.

"So, I'm not interrupting, am I?" she inquired.

"Just a few hours of staring at the ceiling while mentally torturing myself, because I don't have the answers," he assured her.

"That was...well, what I thought I'd do tonight, too. Then I thought we might do it together. Then I wondered if you'd been thinking we were very good partners and...hmm. I think we like one another, and... Oh!"

She stepped back suddenly. "I'm sorry. Are you involved at home? I mean I wouldn't want—"

"I'll be honest. Recently, there was someone I was interested in, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. It was over before I joined Blackbird."

"I...uh, it's okay if I'm breakup sex," she said.

He shook his head. "Not breakup sex. I chose to end it for very good reasons. But let me ask the same, and again, it's okay—"

She grinned suddenly, shaking her head. "No involvement here in forever so..."

She pressed closer to him, lowering her voice, though there was no way they could be heard from the dining room or any other part of the house. "I believe that maybe...we are who and what we are. And maybe, in the great design of the world, we're meant to be together?"

He grinned at that. "Or in the great design of Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow. Which is okay with me," he whispered, stepping forward again, just holding her close, looking into her eyes and running his fingers down her cheek. "You're stunning!" he told her. "And bright and empathetic and dedicated and all the right things and..."

"You're pretty professional, too," she said, laughing.

"I started out with stunning," he reminded her.

"You're okay!" she teased. "And...hmm. I am bright. I mean...making it so easy and all! Oops, I didn't bring my Glock, but I'm sure yours is—"

"Close. Of course."

"But other than that, how smart, huh, to try to pick up an okay guy when you're both wearing nothing but towels?" she teased.

"Towels! Ah, well, lass, so easily remedied!"

He stripped his away. And when he pulled her close, the heat of their bodies melding was as intense as a jolt of electricity.

He let his lips cover hers at last, kissing deeply, tongues plunging, their embrace both sloppy and beautiful until they broke for air, looking at one another again.

He swept her up into his arms, startling her and causing her to grin as she wrapped her own arms around him.

"Sorry, trying to surpass that okay verdict!" he said.

"Your marks are going up," she teased.

Then they were on the bed.

They'd met just days ago, intense days, in which he felt he'd come to know her far better than those he might have known for years. And now...

He knew her with great and incredible intimacy, all the better for the brief but close and concentrated time they'd been together...

The feel of her skin was like flower petals. The warmth of her body a lava that flowed into him. Her eyes were crystal with both laughter and longing, and she moved as if the most natural act of human beings was an incredibly sensual and exotic dance.

Touching, kissing, fingertips, lips...

Coming together. Reaching the proverbial stars...

And then something almost as good, or on a different level, even better.

Just lying together, her head on his chest, his fingers lightly touching her hair. He was there, staring up at the ceiling, but he wasn't mentally flogging himself over the day.

He was feeling a sense of wonder.

"Um," she murmured, after a minute, "are you glad you let me in?"

"Glad and grateful." He laughed. "I'm glad you had the balls to take a chance."

She laughed in return.

"You told me something interesting tonight that I went on," she said.

"Oh? And what is that, lass?" he queried, rising on his elbow to look down at her.

"You said, and when instinct calls, we should listen ," she told him, smiling up into his eyes.

He curled down at her side to pull her into his arms again. "Sometimes," he assured her, "I say very wise things!"