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Wyatt looked dubious. "Is it going to slow us down? Bureaucracy can be a huge stumbling block in places like this. I’ve heard bad things about the delays and the paperwork in France."
"I don't know if it’ll mean more paperwork," Juliette admitted. "But ultimately, if we can work with them efficiently, it'll hopefully speed things up."
She glanced at Sierra. The young woman was listening to the conversation, seeming interested but carefully expressionless. She didn't have to say anything. Tech was tech and it usually transcended languages and protocols.
Wyatt grumbled something under his breath, but Juliette was relieved that it hadn't caused an actual flare-up. Given the importance of the mission, they needed to be working together, not against each other.
The flight attendant came around, clearing the trays, preparing for the landing. There was nothing to clear from Juliette's seat. She hadn't eaten any breakfast. Food, at such an hour? Their flight had landed at six a.m., French time, but that was still earlier by U.S. timeframes. No way could she stomach breakfast. While still half asleep, intruding on her dreams, she'd heard Wyatt complaining about the omelet and demanding grits.
"I think we need to look at this in a positive light," she said.
Wyatt rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Let's just push forward, and hope they don't cause too much of a delay," he said. “That’s my take on this.”
The plane touched down, the three of them disembarked, and they set off toward the meeting point.
As soon as she exited the aircraft, Juliette was immersed in the sights, smells, and sounds of Paris. Even within the airport, it felt unique and strangely exciting. Her dad's posting in Paris had spanned four of her teenage years. She'd loved the place.
Memories surged as they waited for their bags. Croissants had been her favorite food. She'd drunk illegitimate sherry glasses full of wine with dinner. At sixteen, her first kiss had been with a Frenchman who was a year older. Juliette had to admit that he'd set a very high bar. Even now, every time she thought back to those incredible moments, her stomach flipped the same way.
Perhaps that early experience was one of the reasons why, now, she felt as if she was fated to spend her life alone, that there would never be the right person, or the right time. Her relationships hadn't lasted. Her job had always ended up being more important than her lovers.
The team. Her team. That was her priority. And she’d wondered a few times if perhaps it was a deliberate protective mechanism, that she was scared of getting emotionally close to a partner. Maybe, even though her job involved danger, she felt safer keeping her real self hidden away.
Juliette forced herself back to the present, as her bag arrived. With their luggage in hand, they headed through passport control, and out into the arrivals hall.
The Parisian police contingent was waiting for them. There were three of them, all men, all dressed in dark uniforms and wearing sober expressions. Her eyes were drawn to them immediately. The French police did not look pleased to see them.
Juliette stepped forward and spoke in what she knew was well-accented French, addressing the officer in front, who was a tall man with dark, intense eyes, a hint of stubble that suggested he'd been working so hard he hadn't had time to shave, and an antagonistic expression on his otherwise strong featured and good looking face.
"Bonjour. We are the FBI task force from the United States, here to assist with your investigation into the Goldenface killer."
The man looked at her sourly.
"We are French police detectives from one of the elite serious crime investigation departments, and we will be overseeing your task force,” he said loudly. Then, in a low voice and speaking very fast, he added, “If you had done better work, your killer would not have fled your home country to come here and terrorize us.”
"What?" Juliette asked, astounded at his accusation.
The man looked briefly taken aback, as if he hadn't realized she could understand French even better than she could speak it.
Switching to heavily accented English, he said, "Come this way. We will go straight to the crime scene of yesterday. We will brief you in the car."
He whirled around and stalked out of the airport, with his other officers in tow.
"What did he say?" Wyatt asked loudly as they followed. "He hasn't even introduced himself yet."
Juliette shook her head. "Nothing important," she said shortly.
She'd been right to think she'd need diplomatic skills. But now, she realized it was time to add some steel and grit to the mix. They had a job to do, and she was determined to do it well.
As they hurried after the French police officers, Juliette could feel Wyatt's eyes still on her. But she didn't look back.
She had a feeling that thanks to the internal politics, this case would be more complicated than she'd imagined. And that made her even more determined to get Goldenface. This time, he wouldn't escape.
And if they weren’t going to be polite and ask for names, then she would. With that in mind, she sped up her walk, marching up to the bad-tempered French police detective.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
He glanced at her briefly.
