A Paris Melody

One Question

"Well, this looks like a real dump." Jill McDonald climbed stiffly out of the sleek black sports car, stifling her jittery nerves with a lame joke. But the tough French cop who'd nabbed her in Paris and dragged her all this way wasn't fooled for one moment.

"From the outside it looks gloomy and forbidding," Marc Moreau admitted, taking Jill's arm and guiding her up the crushed white gravel drive. "That's because the outer walls of Havre De Paix date back to the 15th century. In those days strength and security mattered more than style and sophistication."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Jill promised, with a faint half-smile. Her voice sounded a bit thin and snarky even to her own ears. Marc claimed he'd brought her to the remote chateau for her own protection, but as she scanned the tall trees, ornate flower gardens and thickly built stone walls she had the feeling of a new prisoner being marched into a maximum-security prison.

"It's hard to get excited about the scenery on an empty stomach," Marc commented. Inwardly he cursed himself for sounding so sympathetic. Jill had been through a lot, but he didn't want her to catch on to how he still felt about her. Better for her to go on thinking him a heartless bastard who got off on punishing people.

The pale, long-legged blonde in the little black dress gave him a sharp look. Her velvet-brown eyes were wary and alert, reminding Marc of a deer poised on the edge of flight. "I suppose you'll want to present me to the great Madame Dupre at dinner?"

Jill knew that an overworked Paris cop didn't have the time to manage a huge estate in the country. Someone else was probably in charge of the sprawling chateau known as Havre De Paix. Marc had mentioned his powerful and aristocratic grandmother several times in Paris.

The lean, street-smart cop regarded her with amusement dancing in his dark blue eyes. "I won't put you on display, Jill. But I'd be proud to have you meet the head of my family. Unless you'd rather relax, and have a tray in your own room."

Jill shrugged. "Right now I just want to eat."

"Then follow me." Marc led her indoors, the two of them passing through a sunlit marble foyer and down a long, paneled hallway. Jill's jaw dropped to the floor at some of the paintings, especially when Marc quietly mentioned the name of Charles Le Brun.

"Didn't he live centuries ago? In the days of Louis XIV?"

"This old chateau was redecorated and remodeled with his help."

Now they were passing through an enormous dining room with a crystal chandelier overhead. There were heaps of fresh flowers on the table and the crystal, silver, and china were all perfectly arranged. Jill was enchanted by the splendor of it all, but she really could not picture herself dining among the French nobility, still wearing the same skimpy black dress she'd had on when she was arrested last night at the club. But she only got a brief glimpse of all this, as Marc led her upstairs without any comment.

"Here is where you will stay," he finally told her. "My grandmother has been battling an illness, not too serious, for quite some time. She is also very busy managing our vineyards and various charities. Tonight it would be wise to have a light supper and go to bed early. I'll let grandmother know you are here. She'll be very happy to have such a beautiful and musically talented guest. Someone will be up shortly to draw you a bath."

"Wait just a minute, please." Jill frowned as Marc prepared to leave her after unlocking the door to her room. There was a huge canopy bed, an antique writing desk, and gigantic windows that looked out on the vibrant hues of a flower-filled garden. Jill also caught a glimpse of a luxurious marble bath in the large and modern en suite bathroom.

"What is your question?" Marc leaned against the door-frame, his lean, hard-muscled body seeming to fill the narrow space.

"When I knew you before, in Paris, you were the kind of policeman who always followed the law, no matter who got hurt. You must have bent a lot of rules to bring me here. Why?"

"The purpose of the law is to protect the innocent," Marc told her. He moved aside to let Jill enter the room. "But as we both discovered in Paris, sometimes the written law is not enough. I am very sorry about what happened to your friend David."

"His name was Daoud." Jill shut the door in the cop's face, feeling confused. She hated being here, but what really disturbed her was the idea that Marc might have changed as much as she had.