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“Not here,” I say, taking back my phone. The meeting room is the closest. I go inside and close the door when he’s followed.
“How are Lina and the baby doing?” he asks.
“They’re doing well. Damian called just before you arrived.”
He searches my face, “Yet you didn’t tell me.”
I look at my hands. “The moment wasn’t right.”
“I can see it in your eyes, Zoe.”
“What?” I glance at him.
“You want a baby.”
“Maxime.” I drag a hand over my forehead and walk to the window. “We’re not going to have a baby.”
The silence is like a knife in my back. I endure it for as long as I can, but when I can no longer take the tension, I turn to face him.
The lines of his face are hard with anger. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
The words gush from my mouth. “I had a birth control shot.” There. I said it. My chest deflates.
His gray eyes turn glacial. “Without discussing it with me?”
I clench my fingers around my phone. “There’s nothing to discuss. We’re not bringing a child into this twisted marriage. It’s not real.”
His nostrils flare. When he takes a step toward me, I take one back.
“This isn’t real,” he says through clenched teeth, repeating my angry words in a flat tone. “Tell me something, Zoe. When I come inside you, is it not real?”
“You know what I mean.” I back up another step. “Sex alone isn’t enough.”
I jerk when he folds a hand around my neck, but the touch is excruciatingly gentle.
“This.” He strokes a thumb over my pulsing jugular vein. “Is it real?”
His scent wraps around me, familiar and cold like a winter’s day. If I reach out, his chest will be warm under his shirt. I’ll feel the beat of his heart and hear the intake of his breath when I touch him. If I slide my hand lower, he’ll grow hard. Yes, it’s real, but only in a carnal way.
“Maybe for you it’s not real,” he says, letting me go.
I place a palm on my neck over the skin he’s left cold. I don’t call him back when he walks to the door. The vibration that shakes the frame when he slams it is very real. I feel it all the way to my heart. At least it’s not completely frozen yet.
Chapter 34
Maxime
Paris has changed. It’s dirtier.
Lonelier.
The breeze blows a fast food wrapper down the street. A smell of weed wafts from the sex shop. Following the address one of my connections has given me, I weave my way through the cobblestone streets of the Pigalle district.
I order a croissant with my espresso and take a chair at a street table by the brasserie facing the two-star hotel where Leclerc is renting a room, and then I wait.
It doesn’t take long for him to stumble outside, squinting at the early morning sun. His face is unshaven, and he’s wearing a creased T-shirt and chinos. He drags both hands through his disheveled hair and crosses the street.
I count the seconds. It takes him exactly five before he spots me. He freezes. His gaze darts right, then left. He chooses left, sprinting downhill. I finish my espresso, leave a bill, and wipe my mouth on the napkin before getting up. At the end of the street, he looks over his shoulder before ducking into an alley.
I’m in good shape. It takes me a short time to run him down. He swings his elbows, putting effort into the escape, but before he’s made it to the busy intersection, I’m on him.
Grabbing him by the collar, I slam him against the wall.
He lets out a grunt followed by a frightened sound. “What do you want?”
I look around. We’re alone in the alley. “You know what I want.”
“Who told you?” he stammers with his cheek pressed flat against the wall.
I turn my nose away from the stench of his oily hair. “What does it matter?”
He lifts his hands. “I’ve got something you’d want.”
“Is that so?” I push his arm up enough to make him grunt again.
“I swear.” He swallows. “I swear, Mr. Belshaw. Please.”
I apply more pressure. “You’re going to give it to me.”
He wails. “Yes.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“Fuck, you’re hurting me.”
He knows exactly how much I can make him hurt. A bit more force, and I’ll dislocate his shoulder. “What is it, Leclerc?”
“Stop!” He pants through an open mouth. “Stop. Please.”
“I’m not asking again.”
“Evidence,” he says when I let up, trying to catch his breath.
“What evidence?”
“Evidence.”
The foul smell sweating from his pores tells me he’s not taking care of himself. Leclerc is a dirty man. A broken man. They’re the most dangerous, because they’ve got nothing to lose.
I said I wasn’t going to ask again. I bend back his thumb, driving him to his knees.
He howls. “Stop! I’ll tell you.”
I keep him on his knees facing the wall. “Talk.”
