30
TRISTAN
I sat in the main parlor of Mom’s house staring at a bottle of 1959 Champagne Lebleu we’d found in her cellar; its retail price was nearly forty-thousand dollars. I placed it on the table and just looked at it. It had chilled for a bit and was ready to be opened. Henry walked in with two antique crystal champagne flutes in her hand and a hefty knife in another. In front of me was the only phone I had turned on. The secure line. I had two calls to make. Two calls and the wheels would be put into motion.
Henry placed the glasses on the table in front of us. Settling in on the couch, I invited her into the nook of my arm. We’d had a full day of shopping for a few new clothing items, lunch in the French quarter at one of my favorite restaurants, and then of course there was the little meeting we had with Grandma Veronika, my babushka.
I didn’t know how the next twenty-four hours were going to play out, but if I had to die tomorrow, I’d spent the day exactly how I wanted—Henry by my side, a vintage year of Champagne Lebleu on my table, a ride on my Hog and good creole food in my belly.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Henry asked, nodding to the knife on the table.
Standing, I held the bottle away from Henry and my body, slicing the glass neck off at an angle with a single stroke of the knife.
Henry cheered and applauded. I watched the champagne explode and bubble, pouring onto the floor and laughed. We were wasting it. René would be appalled, Pierre would be angry. But I was Tristan Lebleu, and I’d always done everything my own way.
Pouring the bubbly deliciousness into the flutes, I held my glass up and waited for Henry. “Entre deux cœurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles. Two hearts in love need no words.”
The crystal rang out as Henry tapped my glass and as if right on cue, my phone rang.
“Tristan Lebleu.”
“What the hell?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Wood, you asshole. Who did you think it was? And since when did you start using your real name?”
“Since now.”
“Look, I can’t talk long. I’m sure my phone is bugged. Interpol has been calling me about you.”
“I know,” I said calmly. “I need you to do something for me.”
“I listened to your message, Tristan. I don’t have footage of that night.”
“Really?” I asked, not surprised. “I guess someone hacked into that super-secret system of yours and ruined all the security footage you have from the party. You know, any footage that might show that I had nothing to do with the murder of Lucette André?”
“I know you think you’re being framed, Tristan.”
“I am being framed, Wood.”
“I wish I could help you. I do. It’s just like I told the police in Paris, I can’t help it if my security has been compromised.”
“Right?” I said, the smile on my face showing in my voice. “I mean it would be a terrible thing if in said video footage, a member of France’s Parliament showed up naked and being led around the room on a dog leash by a woman with a whip.”
“Are you threatening me, Tristan?”
“No, Wood. That’s not my style and I think you know it. I’m more action, less talk… and to me a threat is all talk. Right? Besides. This isn’t the first time I’ve been drugged without my consent in your place. That kind of publicity isn’t going to go over well with your other high-paying patrons.”
“Look. That girl was fired. She said one of the bartenders in New Orleans paid her to slip you the X that night. She did it as a favor. Said the guy knew you loved the shit. She thought she was showing you a good time. I fired her ass all the same. Now. What do you want?”
I was caught off guard by Wood’s admission. But it only told me exactly what I knew already. “I need to arrange a meeting at the Sanctuary here in New Orleans. Tomorrow. One o’clock in the afternoon. We won’t interfere with anything you have going on.”
“What’s the catch?”
“I want surveillance system to be fully operational tomorrow at the New Orleans club. Can you make that happen?”
“You know I can.”
“I have some friends coming tomorrow too. I’ll email you a list so whomever is at the door will be sure to allow them in.”
“Tristan?”
“Yes Wood?”
“Be careful who you trust.”
“Oh, I am being careful, Wood. Very careful. I’ll be there tomorrow at one. Set it up.”
I hung up and looked at Henry before taking another sip of champagne, the flavor divine. The taste of this particular year was truly magical. Champagne was for sharing, for celebrating, for seducing. Tonight, Henry and I were doing it all.
I took a deep breath and typed a text to the next person on the list. Pete Jones.
TRISTAN: Meet me @ SANCUARY TOMORROW 1.
U’s been compromised.
Taking a deal. Giving up his contact.
PETE: copy.
“One more, baby,” I said, rubbing my hand up and down her beautiful leg. I’d never felt more relaxed in my life.
“Then what?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Then we pack up. We can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be safe. You ready to go to one of my dive hotels?” I asked with a sly smile.
“I don’t know, Tristan. I’ve seen the photos of those places. They know you frequent those places. Want to know where they won’t be looking for us?”
“Where?”
“The Ritz-Carlton.”
I raised one brow and she threw a pillow into my face. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. She’d utterly transformed me from a person with no direction to a man with purpose. I knew what I was on this earth to do. I was here to love Henriette Tribolet with all my heart until the day I drew my last breath. “The Ritz-Carlton it is. I hope they take cash.”
I took a long drink of the vintage champagne and looked back to my phone. I knew I needed to make the last call. So I did.
“Nick Daniels.”
“Agent Daniels, it’s Tristan Lebleu.”
“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve calling me now, Tristan. What is it?”
“Meet me at the Sanctuary in New Orleans tomorrow at one. I’ll give you everything—even me—if that’s what you want. If you want to turn me into Interpol, I won’t fight you.”
“Tristan.”
“Tomorrow at one. New Orleans.”
I hung up and immediately turned off the phone.
Picking up the crystal flute, I tapped the edge of Henry’s glass. “Gather your things, beautiful. It’s time to go.”