Page 22 of Bared

“Agatheniwhat?”

The poor waiter cleared his throat with mounting impatience.

“Oh my,” she muttered. “Desonnum, sir. I—uh—I mean, we are truly sorry. Please bring us some…red wine, I suppose? Whatever you recommend.”

As soon as he nodded and departed, Emme scooted in closer. Her lips were pursed and her voice was taut. “Never ask what he recommends. It will always be the most expensive thing on the list.”

Jayd winced against the twinge in her stomach but perked before answering, “Well, we have been watching our funds carefully, yes? And we are certainly not here to drink the night away.”

“So we hope.”

She was not fond of the fresh twist that brought to her belly. “I assume that means you did not see LaBarre in the lobby?” The Particulier offered a few hotel suites as well as this notable bar. While she had come straight in here after they arrived, Emme had circled through the little lobby for the hotel just in case.

“Not a soul to be seen,” her maid relayed with a fresh frown. “So the man is now officially late.”

“We are also in France, my friend—where he has been living for twenty-four years and likely being fashionably tardy through all of it.”

“Hmph.” Emme absently traced some swirls along the top of the table. “Late is late.”

“And customs are customs. So please try to relax. Fidgeting like a raccoon on a ledge will not bring him here any sooner.”

“If he has the decency to show.”

“If you are so certain that he will not, perhaps we should just get up and go to his apartment now—”

“No!”

“Why?”

“You know why, Jayd Dawne,” the woman scolded, sounding for all the world like Maimanne.

Jayd hated it when that happened. She especially hated it now. One, because she currently needed a friend, not a mother. Two, because she ached from missing her real mother. Yes, truly. Despite all Xaria Cimarron’s enigmas and sins, including the one that manifested into a twenty-four-year-long secret, there was a bond to the woman that she could explain to no other. Nothing and no one took the place of one’s mother, no matter how odd that relationship seemed from an outside view.

But right now, there was no running to that special suite, high in the palais. No extra moment for indulging all her unanswered questions.

Why did you do it, Maimanne? And why-why-why did you never tell me about it?

But it was useless moping. Wasted time. Minutes she could not afford.

She refocused on the business at hand, snipping back at Requiemme, “Fine. We shall adhere to your plan, despite its architecture of paranoia.”

“If paranoia saves your skin, then I wear the badge proudly.”

“Do you want the golf claps now or later?”

“Whenever you like, as long as you consider this: if we were able to hunt down LaBarre’s address so quickly, others can too.”

“Others like who?” she countered. “Evrest is not disclosing my escape to the press, which means he has likely not leaked the news past Samsyn and Shiraz, either. The three of them know I am alive and all right. Our private mobile communication window is secure.”

“I am aware of that, Hildegard.” The woman was not teasing about the nickname this time. “And am also appreciative that you have switched out your mobile device several times since your chat with them…”

“But?” Jayd provided it with a gentle smile but was answered by the continuing nervousness of Emme’s darting gaze.

“But Carris, Santelle, and their band of goons are wily. We know this. They might have spies in places we do not know about. Even if that is not the case, your brothers will not be able to make excuses for you forever. And then—”

“And then there will be no point to your argument.” She settled back in her chair and widened her grin. Sometimes feigning confidence was the best way to summon it. “This part of it, at least.”

“Meaning what?” Emme demanded. “What part?”