CHAPTER THIRTY
After hours of nightmares and tossing and turning—of obsessing about one thing and another—Annette gave up any hope of sleeping. She could feel Jean-Paul out in the street, watching her house, waiting for some sign that she was distressed—reveling in her discomfort. He wouldn’t need anything so human as sleep. Climbing out of bed, she refused even to turn on the light and give him the satisfaction of knowing she couldn’t sleep.
He was out there. She knew that much.
She pulled on her robe and ran her fingers through her hair, annoyed at how dry and stiff it felt—nothing but straw. She hadn’t taken very good care of herself the past few days. There were still pins in her hair, and her digestion was miserable, and she hadn’t done any proper exercise since seeing The Score. Ordinarily she took daily walks in the Public Garden or along the river to keep in shape. She went into her bathroom and shut the door, turning on the light and splashing her face with cold water. There were bags under her eyes and a grayish cast to her skin, a look of exhaustion and defeat about her that she abhorred.
When she’d dozed, she’d dreamed of Jean-Paul and herself during those passion-filled, erotic weeks on the Riviera. He’d been so incredibly sexy. She’d never wanted a man as much. Thomas Blackburn she’d wanted to conquer; Jean-Paul she simply had wanted to bed…over and over again.
She dried her face and went downstairs, careful in the semidarkness. Her knees were trembling. She heard one crack as she came to the first floor. You’re getting old, m’ dear. Nonsense. She was only sixty. Look at Thomas at seventy-nine—
I won’t think about him or Jean-Paul!
Her mind was whirling with images and memories and possibilities…herself as the unfaithful wife, the manipulative mother, the corrupt businesswoman.
“Get hold of yourself, you fool,” she snarled aloud. Even if Jean-Paul blabbed all over town, he couldn’t prove any of what he’d have to say. Who’d believe that half-dead swine over her?
But what was Thomas up to?
Did he have the Jupiter Stones? How much did he know—how much had he guessed?
Dear God, I can’t stand this!
In just her bathrobe, she walked out into the street, quiet just before dawn. She felt cornered and uneasy…and yet she had the glimmer of a plan. Perhaps she should make one last attempt to get Jean-Paul Gerard out of her life for good—and, while she was at it, Thomas Blackburn.
And all she’d be doing was following his advice.
She whirled around, looking up and down the street for the pathetic, distinctive figure of Jean-Paul Gerard, but she saw nothing. Am I getting paranoid?
“Can’t sleep, ma belle?”
Startled, she flung around at him, and he was so close—so very close. Why hadn’t she heard him? His white hair glistened in the murky light, and his scars made him look frightening…monstrous.
The man was indestructible.
“It’s a lovely night,” she said, regaining her breath. “I thought you might be out here.”
He only smiled.
Their toes almost touched. She could feel his warm eyes on her, and her dream came to her…the memory of her arousal flooding over her. Even the current reality of him—his ravaged face, his ugly teeth, his thinness, his age—didn’t stop her from wanting him. If he so much as hinted he wouldn’t laugh, she’d have dropped her robe and made love to him there on the cold brick sidewalk.
“Jean-Paul.” Her voice was sultry; she felt raw and vulnerable, her nipples straining against the filmy robe. Did he still think her desirable? She swallowed, plunging ahead. “Jean-Paul, I couldn’t sleep because I’ve been wondering if I didn’t make a terrible mistake thirty years ago.”
He seemed amused. “It’s taken you a long time to consider this possibility, ma belle.”
She ignored his heavy sarcasm. I can’t go on like this—I have to do something. “You see,” she went on, “I lied to you. My God—Jean-Paul, I never had the Jupiter Stones. I just told you I did because I knew you wanted them and I needed to hurt you because I thought you’d betrayed me by stealing jewels from my friends, from people I knew—because I thought you’d betrayed me.”
“Annette…”
She grabbed his hand; it was surprisingly warm, and so callused—so hard. “No, hear me out. I’ve been upstairs lying awake wondering if I made a terrible mistake when I turned you in as Le Chat. I’ve been thinking…remembering…Jean-Paul, Thomas Blackburn needed money desperately then for his business venture—that absurd consulting company of his. He was in and out of France for several months.” Removing her hand from his, she found her throat tight, her breath coming in gasps, but she made herself go on. “Jean-Paul, you were innocent, weren’t you? You were never Le Chat.”
Jean-Paul’s expression didn’t soften. “You know what I want.”
“Yes, yes—the damn Jupiter Stones. Listen to me, will you?”
“Annette, do you think it makes any difference if I were Le Chat thirty years ago or not?”
“I’m telling you I made a mistake.”
“Congratulations.”
“Bastard—”
He shrugged, unaffected by anything she could say to him. “What do you want, Annette?”
“You think I have no feelings—you think I don’t care about what I’ve done to you.” She brushed tears from her eyes, but Jean-Paul was unmoved. “Thomas came to see me earlier. Were you out here then? Did you see him?”
“What if I did?”
“Then you know I’m telling you the truth.”
“All right. I saw him.”
She smiled. It wasn’t much, but at least she had penetrated his skepticism. “Thomas told me he has the Jupiter Stones.”
Nothing. Jean-Paul didn’t even move.
“Did you hear me? Thomas has the Jupiter Stones.”
“I heard you,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Gisela was his friend and he betrayed her. He stole the stones that meant so much to her. And he’s bred the hatred between us all these years. He let me go ahead and turn you in as Le Chat. Jean-Paul, he could have stopped me. He let me ruin your life. Then when you turned up in Saigon in 1963, he arranged the ambush in order to kill you. Why do you think he backed out at the last minute? Because he knew what was going to happen.”
“And what about 1975?” he asked.
She hesitated only for a moment…seeing Jean-Paul coming out of Jared Sloan’s Saigon apartment…feeling that same terror she’d felt when she’d recognized him…feeling herself jump and shudder when she’d fired her gun into his face. And the relief. Feeling the washing, cleansing, beautiful relief that at least she was free of him.
Only, of course, the invincible son of a bitch had lived.
“I was in Saigon to stop the assassination that night,” she said quietly. “Tam had discovered Thomas was responsible for her father’s death and tried to blackmail him into helping her get out of the country. Thomas’s answer was to hire that assassin to kill her. I didn’t know he was responsible—I only just figured that out. But I knew she was in danger. I wanted to help her, Jean-Paul. All right, I didn’t want her as a daughter-in-law, but we were close when she was a little girl. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but I shot you because I thought you’d been a part of the killing—”
Jean-Paul remained impassive. “I only want the Jupiter Stones.”
Annette clenched her fists. “And revenge against me for things I’m telling you I was duped into doing to you!”
“Not anymore. Revenge would give me little satisfaction.”
“I made a mistake. Thomas has the stones. He’s had them all these years and he’s known you thought I had them. He’s been using us both.” She slumped, exhausted and defeated, and waved a hand in despair. “I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself to you. I know you hate me—you deserve to. But to make amends for my own idiocy, I’ll get the stones from Thomas for you. Come to my house on the North Shore after lunch today. Let’s end this, Jean-Paul, before someone else gets hurt.”
Jean-Paul leaned forward, his face very close to hers. “I’ll be there, Annette, but I warn you—if you do anything stupid, I’ll kill you, as I should have thirty years ago.”
“You don’t believe me—”
“What I believe makes no difference. Give me back the Jupiter Stones, and we’ll be finished.” He brushed a curl off her forehead. “Sleep well, ma belle.”