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He had to laugh. "Point taken."
Miranda took a sip of her drink, put it down and sat back, her eyes on his.
"So, when did you see Edouard?"
"Today."
"How'd you know where to find him?"
"Friends in high places."
"Boy, that embassy is just a fount of information, isn't it? Locksmiths, ex-husbands... Why'd you go to see him? Do you suspect him of being involved in this?"
"Do you?"
"There you go again. Is that what they teach you in detective school? To avoid answers whenever possible?"
Conor lifted his beer to his lips and took a long drink. It was German and dark but it was cold and bitter and it suited his mood.
"He could be involved," he said, putting the bottle down, "but I doubt it. He's got a line of blue-blooded ancestors running all the way
to Cro-Magnon man."
"You really think people with pedigrees don't do awful things?" Miranda laughed. "Oh, do you have a lot to learn!"
"What I'm saying is that the simplest motive behind what's happening is blackmail. A couple of nasty tricks and then the note, the one addressed to Eva that says, pay up or else. I can't imagine a man risking everything for a payoff he doesn't need. It's obvious de Lasserre has money."
"He didn't have any, when he married me."
"No?"
"No. Why do you sound so surprised?"
"So," Conor said, ignoring the question, "what's he been doing the last few years, do you know?"
"He got married, two or three times, the last time to an English girl, I think. An heiress. They're divorced now but she's supposed to have settled a hefty amount on him."
"And you didn't?"
"Me?" Miranda laughed. "I was living on a starvation allowance. Come on, who are you kidding? Eva wouldn't have missed the chance to tell you how much she paid to buy my freedom. It's one of her favorite tales. The whole thing, from start to finish. How I seduced Edouard, how she had to rush to my rescue when I decided I wanted out..."
"When good old Edouard didn't live up to expectations, you mean." He looked across the table at her, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. That taunting, Mona Lisa smile crept across her lips and he thought about what de Lasserre had told him, how she'd turned on him when he hadn't pleased her in bed.
The knot in his belly tightened. I could please her, he thought, I could make her forget Moreau and de Lasserre and God only knows how many others.
"Eva told me everything," he said softly. "So did good old Edouard. He says you didn't like his bedroom technique."
Miranda reached back and drew her coat around her.
"Good night, O'Neil," she said briskly. "Thanks for the drink."
He reached across the table and caught hold of her wrist. "No comment?"
"It was a long time ago. I don't really remember."
"And a lot of guys ago, too, I'll bet." She tried to push back from the table but he wouldn't let her; his fingers dug into her flesh. "Maybe we should put our heads together, try and work up a list. A suspect list, you know? Men you've fucked and forgotten."
He wanted to call back the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but it was too late. Her face went white; her chair tipped over as she pulled her hand from his and got to her feet.
