The Paris Secret

The Paris Secret by Angela Henry Page B

Book: The Paris Secret by Angela Henry Read Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Henry
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running away from him. There was only one way to find out. I needed to call him. Unfortunately, I soon discovered I’d lost the business card he gave me. This just wasn’t my day. Seeing as he’d saved my life, I owed it to him to warn him in person.
    I left the embassy and headed back to the hotel, thinking it would be the best place to catch a cab. While I waited for a cab to stop, I happened to notice a group of photographers snapping pictures of two men, one in an expensive suit, and the other dressed more casually. They stood posing next to a stretch limo. I didn’t pay them much mind until the voice of the more casually dressed of the two men caught my attention. My blood ran cold. Tattoo Man, my attacker, was standing right there, laughing and talking to the man in the gray suit.
    Thankfully, he was oblivious to me, so I took advantage of the opportunity to get a good look at him. I didn’t see the snake tattoo since his long sleeves covered it, but what was easy to see was the cut across the bridge of his nose and the nasty purple bruise on his right cheek, courtesy of Simon. Hoping I was safe with so many people around, I crept a little closer and stood on the other side of a large luggage rack parked near the curb to try and hear what they were saying. But as soon as I moved, the men got into the limo. Who was that guy? I headed over to one of the hotel’s uniformed doormen.
    “ Excusez-moi, monsieur. Parlez-vous Anglais? ” His eyebrows shot up as he took in my slightly disheveled appearance but to his credit he smiled politely, if somewhat insincerely.
    “ Oui, madame. How may I assist you?”
    “The man in the white shirt that just left in that limo. I think I may have gone to college with him. Do you know if his name is John James?”
    The doorman let out a sharp, harsh laugh. “ Non, madame. The man you are referring to is Monsieur Vincent Garland, Ambassador Garland’s son.”
    “The American ambassador?” I was unable to keep the shrill disbelief from my voice. He had to be kidding.
    “ Oui, madame, Ernest Garland, the American ambassador. His son, Vincent, is a attorney.”
    “You’re sure?” The doorman sighed heavily. His allotment of good humor spent on someone who wasn’t a guest at the hotel was limited, and I was about to tap it out.
    “ Absolument. He luncheons here quite often, madame. ”
    I stared at him but he didn’t blink an eye. He wasn’t kidding. I was faint.
    “Are you okay, madame? ”
    Hell no, I wasn’t okay because when it came right down to it, who were the French police going to believe, me—a murder suspect—or an ambassador’s son who was also an attorney and had diplomatic immunity. Even if I had proof he killed Juliet, he was untouchable unless the U.S. revoked his immunity, and I wasn’t holding my breath. I couldn’t believe it. I was officially fucked.
    “I’m fine. Merci, monsieur. ” I pressed a five-euro note into his palm, which brought a real smile to his face. He thanked me by putting me into a cab. I gave the driver Luc’s address.
     
    If I wondered how things could get any worse, I was answered by the sight of the police barricade outside Simon’s brother’s apartment on rue de Douai. I had the cab drop me off around the corner and then walked back to join the crowd of people gathered at the barricade, careful to keep my head down and not make eye contact with anyone. Two police cars were parked out front and I strained to see if Simon was in either of them. He wasn’t as far as I could tell. My heart was beating so loudly I was surprised no one could hear it. They must have found the truck. Officers were leaving the building carrying items I recognized from Luc’s apartment—including his laptop—but still no Simon. Where was he? Had they already taken him away?
    Lieutenant Bernier emerged from the building followed by Captain Bellange, who had a Gauloises dangling from the corner of his mouth. I took off walking in the opposite

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