The Paris Caper Read Online Free PDF Page B

you want to
deal with me?” Ciara said, grinning back at the portly, balding old man for
whom she had a huge affection. Valois had taken her in as a protégé when she’d
brought him her first antique silver piece, accidentally stolen along with a
purse on the métro during her first year living in Paris. Had it really
been eight years ago?
    “Surely, you jest! My
star pupil? I haven’t taught you everything I know just to let le keuf intimidate me.”
    “The cops?” she asked,
clued in by the righteous indignation that suddenly flavored his words. “Have
they been here?”
    “ Mais, bien sûr .
They were waiting for me when I opened.” His grin returned. “One would think I
was first on their list of suspected fences for stolen jewelry.”
    Which, of course, he was.
And paintings and antiques, as well. Those items were his specialty. His
antique store was filled to the rafters with scrupulously legal wares: tons of
old furniture and art pieces, rugs and marble, knick-knacks and bric-a-brac.
The store had been in his family for generations. Ciara often thought that some
of the things crowding the overfilled rooms must have been bought new two
hundred years ago and simply gotten lost in the clutter.
    But the items he was
fencing were well-hidden, in a tunnel under the shop which his father had
discovered during the War, part of the ancient Parisian sewer system below the
city.
    She knew she was in good
hands. M. Valois was nothing if not careful. The police had never gotten a
single shred of evidence against him. As ruthless as he was loyal, no one ever
betrayed the old man. Ciara herself would go to jail in a heartbeat before
breathing a word against him. Because she knew he would do the same for her.
    “This time it was one of
the commissaires who visited me. CPJ Lacroix. Angry as a hornet, he
was.”
    “Jean-Marc?” she asked
uneasily. “He came here?” How the hell... ? This was too close for
comfort.
    Valois peered at her over
the rim of his jewelers loupe, brows raised. “Jean-Marc?”
    She suddenly realized her
mistake. Lord . She gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well, I actually met him
last night at the club.” She cleared her throat. “We danced. Before I realized
he was a cop, of course.”
    Valois pursed his lips
and slowly regarded her. “A very attractive man, non ? In a rough sort of
way.”
    She picked up a
paper-thin Limoges porcelain teacup from the counter and examined it so she
didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I suppose.”
    “Lacroix appears
regularly in the tabloids. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him from his
photos. Before you danced with him.”
    She carefully set down
the delicate cup. “I don’t read the tabloids, Valois.”
    He chuckled. “Sure you
don’t. And you don’t love how they’re treating you as the new Robin Hood.
Robbing from the rich...”
    She rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah.” Over the past few months, the evening papers had grown quite fond
of the infamous le Revenant and his daring exploits against the spoiled
and privileged. But Ciara didn’t like the publicity. It only forced the cops to
concentrate harder on catching her. “Why would a police commissaire be
in the tabloids?”
    Valois made one of those
Gallic clucking noises with his tongue. “A rather unsavory business several
years ago. He was lead detective on a case involving a high end car theft ring.
The ringleader was clever. A suspect, he played the helpful citizen to
perfection and deliberately befriended Lacroix during the investigation...then
betrayed him. Set him up to look corrupt and take the fall. Got away with a few
million euros before Lacroix realized what was happening. Then the thief
disappeared without a trace, and Lacroix went through hell trying to prove his
innocence. The tabloids had a field day with him. They still like to give him a
hard time.”
    “That’s awful,” she said.
She might be a thief, but she always went out of her way to choose wealthy
targets who could