Chapter 14
Blowing out a long breath in an attempt to slow my pulse, I turned into the parkade closest to the Petroleum Club and paid the exorbitant fee.
I had barely seated myself in the understated luxury of the club’s reception area when Frederick Labelle strode out to meet me.
“Ms. Widdenback.” He extended his hand for a warm handshake, apparently over his earlier pique. Or hiding it well. “How nice to see you.”
His gaze flicked over my clothes before returning to my face, and I suspected he was remembering the last time we’d met face to face; he in grievously-torn designer businesswear and I in filthy jeans accessorized with foul temper and a loaded Glock.
“Benoit is waiting at our table,” Labelle added, gesturing toward the restaurant door. “After you.”
With the uncomfortable feeling that he was studying my back to determine the best place to stick a knife, I preceded him to the table where Riel rose with a smile and a fractional bow.
“Allô, Arlene.” He gave the name a teasing emphasis. “’Ow nice to meet you at last.”
I nodded and mumbled, “Nice to meet you, too,” as I slid into the chair he had politely withdrawn for me, my knees weak with nerves.
After settling me in it, he resumed his seat with a smile while Labelle took the other chair, frowning as though he knew he’d missed some important exchange but didn’t quite know how to demand clarification.
Riel immediately took charge of the conversation, steering us into an innocuous discussion of Calgary’s tourism highlights and best restaurants interspersed with witty comparisons to his native Montreal, a city he clearly loved.
I forced myself to laugh along and volley banter back to him, wondering when the axe would fall; but our friendly conversation continued until our meals arrived.
After the waiter departed, I turned to Riel, holding onto my friendly demeanor. “So, Benoit, are you in town for business or pleasure?”
“Ah, for me they are… ‘ow shall I say it? The same and one?” He inclined his head graciously in my direction. “Especially when the company is so delightful.”
“One and the same,” Labelle corrected.
Riel gave him a smile and nod. “Yes, both.” He sliced off a small piece of beef medallion and chewed. “Ah, delicious. The Alberta beef, it is always so tasty, is it not?”
“Yes.” I tried again. “Do you come to Alberta regularly on business?”
“Not regularly, no. This is a special trip for me. I ‘ave been enjoying the dining and the sights. Today I spent at the Glenbow Museum. They ‘ave the most interesting exhibit…” He steered the conversation into generalities again.
As the meal wore on I made a few more attempts to guide the conversation; but short of pinning him to the table and threatening to geld him with a butter knife, I couldn’t think of a way to force him to talk business. Labelle made a few attempts of his own, but Riel parried them with equal skill and the conversation remained light. I did my best to look relaxed, and Labelle ate in silence with the strained smile of the odd man out.
When Riel and I ordered dessert, Labelle rose with poorly-simulated regret. “I do apologize, but I have another appointment,” he said. “Please take your time. It’s my pleasure to buy your meals.”
Riel demurred and attempted to share the bill, but Labelle prevailed by claiming it was his privilege as a club member. He withdrew amid effusive thanks from Riel and a half-hearted attempt at gratitude from me.
As soon as Labelle disappeared through the door, Riel leaned back in his chair with his ever-present smile. “Ah, alone at last,” he murmured.
My heart gave a thump. Finally.
“So, Aydan, ma chérie, tell me more about this date we ‘ad last year.” He put on a sorrowing expression. “Surely I was not so boring as you told Nichele.”
Dammit.
Despite my best efforts, I could feel heat rising on my cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, I went with it. “Sorry about that. What did she tell you?”
“Only that you said we didn’t… ‘ow did she say it…” He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at me. “…‘click’? And that she thought you still liked me even though you pretended not to.” He made big imploring eyes at me, humour glinting in their depths. “Please tell me you still like me, even just a little. Or my ‘eart will be broken into tiny pieces.”
“Give it up,” I admonished, smiling at his charm despite myself.
“But ‘ow can I give it up when we were so close?” He was still joking, but seriousness lurked behind it. “’Ow will I know what to say around you? ‘Ow to act?” His smile faded. “What name to call you?”
“Uh. Yeah. There’s that.” I sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. The people who know me as Aydan just assume it’s mistaken identity if somebody calls me Arlene, and vice versa. But you’d better call me Aydan in front of Nichele.” Summoning some fake righteous indignation, I added, “I was doing just fine keeping my identities straight until Lawrence Harchman released those damn porn videos last summer. That asshole.”
Come on, talk to me about the Harchmans…
“Ah.” Riel leaned back in his chair, eyeing me seriously. “Yes, the sexy movies.” He shook his head. “But they were fake, no? That plastic woman, she was not you.”
In spite of the knowledge that he was a ruthless criminal, my heart warmed with gratitude. “No, she was definitely not me. You couldn’t pay me enough to get naked with Lawrence Harchman.” A shudder shook me. “God, I don’t know how Tawny does it.”
Wariness flickered in his eyes and vanished. “She is his wife,” he said smoothly. “She loves ‘im.”
I mumbled a noncommittal ‘mm’ and took a bite of my key lime pie to forestall any other response. Maybe he’d keep talking if I stayed quiet.
He didn’t. Instead, he savoured a sip of coffee in reflective silence, studying me.
“You are not what I expected,” he announced after a long moment.
“Oh? What did you expect?” I took another slow bite of pie, trying not to look too interested.
Wicked humour sparkled in his eyes. “The famous Arlene Widdenback, they say she is… ‘ow shall I say it? The stone-cold bitch. Lawrence ‘Archman, he is nearly peeing in his pants when you come close. Our friend Monsieur Labelle, he tells me he would not cross you. Those who do, they vanish without a trace or die in accidents or go to prison only to die in fights. Or…” He eyed me gravely. “…they live on and suffer as a warning to others.” His charismatic smile came back. “And yet, here I find une femme belle et sympathique… a woman beautiful and pleasant with a sense of humour and a love of fine food. Where is this stone-cold bitch?”
I shrugged, trying not to be disarmed by his appeal. “You haven’t crossed me yet.”
He chuckled and raised his coffee cup in a small salute. “And I shall not. I greatly prefer to make friends instead of enemies. This is why I like to do business face to face.”
“Right. And speaking of that…”
“Yes, let us speak,” he agreed. “It ‘as been a long wait.”
His tone was still polite, but there was a hint of reprimand in it.
I eyed him steadily, wondering whether to unleash Arlene Widdenback’s legendary temper at the implied accusation.
No. Fish for a bit more information.
“It has been a long wait,” I agreed. “In August Labelle was pretty pushy about arranging a meeting, and then nothing happened for months.”
Riel’s eyes narrowed. “Monsieur Labelle said you were not ready to discuss business yet.”
“That’s funny, because he told me the same thing about you.”
We stared at each other in silence.
“Most interesting,” Riel murmured. “So. The news this morning, they say someone is threatening Remembrance Day services.”
My pulse accelerated and I drew a slow breath. Stay cool.
“Yes, I heard that.” I ate another forkful of pie.
“It is most odd,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow and diminished my pie by another bite.
He took a reflective sip of coffee. “Usually the terrorists are not so… ‘ow shall I say it? …honest… about their weapons.”
“I thought that, too,” I agreed.
Riel sat up a little straighter. “Did you? Most interesting. So this weapon they describe, does it exist?”
I chose my words carefully. “If it didn’t exist, why would they be so specific about how it works?”
“That is what I thought, too.” He sipped some more coffee, his gaze laser-sharp over the edge of the cup. “A woman of your… connections; maybe you would know where such a weapon might be found?”
This is it. Don’t screw up…
I eyed him in silence for a few moments, hoping I looked like a badass arms dealer considering whether to do business.
“Maybe,” I said at last, and shovelled in another mouthful of pie to prevent myself from babbling.
“And if you did know, ‘ow long might it take to get such a thing?”
My surging adrenaline turned the pie to tasteless mush in my mouth, but I took my time as if enjoying it. After two tries I managed to force it down my throat, but I surveyed him without speaking until I was reasonably sure my voice would come out steady.
“Not before Remembrance Day, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Riel jerked back in his chair as if I’d slapped him, his face twisting in disgust. “Most certainly not! Whoever would kill innocent people is…” He spat a tirade of French before drawing a breath and adding, “…‘ow shall I say it in English? I do not know enough bad words.”
“I got the gist,” I assured him, hoping I’d hidden my surprise. “I didn’t mean to insult you; I just wasn’t sure where you were going with that question.”
“Where am I going…?” He frowned as if trying to puzzle out my meaning.
“I didn’t know why you were asking,” I amended.
“Ah.” His brow cleared. “I asked because I thought you might know.”
“I might,” I hedged. “But we might not be talking about the same thing. I don’t know of anything that works exactly like that. I’ve only heard of a single-shot.”
“Only one target; not many targets at once?”
“Right.”
His pleasant business façade vanished, his eyes turning cold and penetrating. “That is what I want. Get it for me.”
The sudden revelation of the true nature behind his charming façade sent a shock of fear through me. I gulped another mouthful of pie, hoping the trembling of my fork wasn’t too noticeable. “Not so fast. I didn’t say I could get it; I just said I’d heard of it. And we haven’t talked price.”
The waiter arrived with a coffee refill, and Riel resumed his charming act. “Maybe if you can get it we may talk again…?” He gave one of his expressive shrugs. “I regret that I must depart for another meeting soon. But I find myself without accompaniment for une petite fête I must attend this evening. I would be most honoured if you would come with me.” His smile widened to teasing humour. “Please allow me to make things better after our disappointing first date.”
Shit, how was I supposed to handle this?
Tell him to stick his party up his ass, or go along with his ‘let’s be friends’ act? What would he do if I didn’t play his game?
Stemp’s advice echoed in my mind: Keep playing hard to get.
I ate my last mouthful of pie, stalling. Then I leaned back to mirror his relaxed posture, and went for coolly polite.
“I’m a businesswoman. I’m not looking for a date.” I softened the statement with a slight smile. “No matter how charmingly it’s offered.”
“Ah. My ‘eart is broken.”
His expression conveyed exactly the right amount of disappointment to be flattering. This guy was good. If not for the brief glimpse of his true nature I’d be fooled.
He inclined his head with a lift of one eyebrow. “Then per’aps may we attend as business associates? I promise you I will not… ‘ow shall I say it? Step over the fences…?”
“You mean ‘overstep the boundaries’.”
His face lit with that disarming smile again. “Yes, overstep the boundaries. I shall not be un malotru…” He hesitated as if searching for the right English word. “…ah… a rude man…?”
“Pig,” I supplied. “Jerk; creep; asshole…”
Riel laughed. “Yes, those.”
I laughed, too, stalling while I tried to decide whether to accept the invitation. “Is that ‘yes, I’ll be a creep’ or ‘yes, I won’t be a creep’?” I teased.
“I will not be a creep,” he replied, grinning. “I like this word, ‘creep’. It sounds like… some… low creature…” He made a moue of distaste. “…that crawls upon the ground. Like a snake.”
“Usually leaving a slime trail,” I agreed.
“I will not do that,” he assured me, eyes wide with sincerity.
Dammit, despite my stalling I knew I had to accept his invitation.
At least if I was with him, he couldn’t stalk Nichele or torture Dante. And maybe he knew where James Helmand was, too. Who knew what information I might gather after he’d downed a few drinks and lowered his guard?
“All right, if you promise not to be a creep,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making a fatal mistake. “Where and when would you like to meet?”
“I would be pleased to pick you up…”
“Not necessary.” I bared my teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Just tell me where the party is and I’ll meet you there.”
“D’accord; as you wish, of course.” He withdrew a gold pen from the inside pocket of his blazer and jotted an address on one of the paper napkins. “It is at the house of a friend. Let us meet at eight PM. I will wait for you outside, in the front.”
“Okay.” The keenly humiliating memory of the stolen dress and too-small shoes prompted me to add, “Um… is it… a formal party? What should I wear?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Prime opportunity for him to tell me to dress like a hooker…
He offered me a gallant bow from his seated position. “Whatever you wear, you will be the most beautiful woman there. But most will likely be dressed… so.” He indicated our business wear with a graceful gesture.
“Oh. Good. Okay.” Before he could divert the conversation again, I added, “By the way, I was surprised to see you at Nichele’s office this morning. Have you been working with her for long?”
“Ah. No, that was our first meeting.” He smiled. “She is charming, your Nichele. Such a brightness.”
“Yes. How did you discover her?” My question came out a little more edged than I’d intended, and I added, “You must be special. She rarely takes on new clients these days except by referral.”
Riel made a self-deprecating face. “I am not so special at all. Tawny Harchman is Nichele’s client and she referred me.”
A chill slithered down my backbone. How long had Tawny been Nichele’s client? Nichele was one of the top-rated stockbrokers in Calgary and the Harchmans certainly had the assets to qualify, but that one degree of separation from James Helmand made my blood run cold.
“You’re lucky to be working with her.” I managed to keep my tone casual. “But Montreal is pretty far away. I’m surprised you couldn’t find a stockbroker there.”
“I do have one there. But I may be returning to Calgary frequently, so this is most convenient.” He consulted his wristwatch. “And speaking of business, I regret now that I must go. But I will count the hours until this evening.”
I took the hint and stood. “Well, it was nice to officially meet you.”
He rose, taking my hand and bowing over it. “The pleasure was all mine.” As I retrieved my hand and turned away, he added, “Say allô to Nichele for me.”
Did I imagine a sinister inflection in his tone? I whirled, surveying him, but his expression was as pleasant and guileless as ever.
“I will,” I muttered, and left before I could seize him by the throat and demand what the hell he meant by that.