with me, Miss O’Sullivan.’
Anger spiked again. ‘I’m not trying to get out of anything.’ She forced herself to calm down. ‘I was just trying to help by retrieving his laptop. He said that he could prove his innocence with it.’
Barbier picked up the slim silver laptop and held it up. ‘We’ve looked at the laptop extensively and there is no evidence to support your brother’s innocence. You’ve done your brother no favours. He now looks even guiltier and you’ve possibly implicated yourself.’
Luc watched as colour washed in and out of the woman’s expressive face. That in itself was intriguing, when so many people he encountered kept their masks firmly in place. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt free enough, if ever, to allow his real emotions to be seen.
Still, he wouldn’t believe this award-worthy display of innocence. He’d be a fool if he did and her brother had already taken him for a fool.
Nessa sensed any sliver of hope dwindling. Barbier was about as immovable as a rock. He put the laptop down and folded his arms again, settling his hips back against the desk behind him, legs stretched out, for all the world as if they were having a civil chat. There was nothing civil about this man. Danger oozed from every pore: Nessa just wasn’t sure what kind of danger. She felt no risk to her personal safety, in spite of Paddy’s lurid claims or the security man outside the door. It was a much more personal danger, to the place that throbbed with awareness deep inside her. An awareness that had been dormant all her life, until now.
Barbier’s tone was mocking. ‘So you really expect me to believe that you’re here purely out of love for your poor innocent brother?’
Fiercely she said, ‘I would do anything for my family.’
‘Why?’
Barbier’s simple question took her by surprise and Nessa blinked. She hadn’t even questioned Paddy when he’d called for help. She’d immediately felt every protective instinct kick into place even though she was younger than him.
Their family was a unit who had come through tough times and become stronger in the process.
Their older sister Iseult had kept them all in one piece—pretty much—after the tragic death of their mother, while their father had descended into the mire of alcoholism. She had shielded Nessa and her two brothers from their father’s worst excesses, and had slowly helped him to recovery even as their stud farm and stables had fallen apart around them.
But Iseult wasn’t here now. She had a much deserved happy life far away from here. It was up to Nessa to shoulder this burden for the sake of her brother, and her family.
She looked at Barbier. ‘I would do anything because we love each other and we protect each other.’
Barbier was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ‘So now you’re admitting that you’d go so far as to collude in a crime.’
Nessa shivered under the thin covering of her fleece. She felt very alone at that moment. She knew she could contact Sheikh Nadim of Merkazad, Iseult’s husband and one of the richest men in the world. He could sort this whole thing out within hours, if he knew. But she and Paddy had agreed they wouldn’t involve Iseult or Nadim. They were expecting a baby in a few weeks and did not need to be drawn into this mess.
She squared her shoulders and stared at Luc Barbier, hating his cool nonchalance. ‘Don’t you understand the concept of family and doing anything for them? Wouldn’t you do that for your own family?’
Barbier suddenly looked stony. ‘I have no family, so, no, I’m not familiar with the concept.’
A pang of emotion made Nessa’s chest tighten. No family. What on earth did that mean? She couldn’t fathom the lack of a family. That sense of protection.
Then he said, ‘If your family are so close then I will go to whoever is capable of returning either your brother or my money.’
Panic eclipsed Nessa’s spurt of emotion. ‘This just involves me and Paddy.’
Barbier raised a brow. ‘I will involve whoever and whatever it takes to get my money back and ensure no adverse press results from this.’
Nessa’s hands clenched to fists at her sides as she tried to contain her temper and appeal to any sense of decency he might have. ‘Look, not that it’s any business of yours, but my sister is going to have a baby very soon. My father is helping her and her husband and they don’t have anything to do with this. I’m taking responsibility for my brother.’
I’m taking responsibility for my brother.
There had been a tight ball of emotion in Luc’s chest ever since she’d asked if he understood the concept of family. Of course he didn’t. How could he when his Algerian father had disappeared before he was born, and his feckless, unstable mother had died of a drugs overdose when he was just sixteen?
The closest he’d ever come to family was the old man next door—a man broken by life, and yet who had been the one to show Luc a way out.
Luc forced his mind away from the memories. He was beyond incredulous that this sprite of a girl—woman—was insisting on standing up to him. And that she wasn’t using her beauty to try and distract him, especially when he couldn’t be sure that he’d hidden his reaction to her. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he felt a twinge of respect.
She was defiant, even in the face of possible prosecution. If she was calling his bluff she was doing it very, very well. He could still have the police here within minutes and she would be hauled off in handcuffs with the full weight of his legal team raining down on her narrow shoulders before she knew what was happening.
But it wasn’t as if the police were ever first on Luc’s list of people to turn to in this kind of situation. Not because he had more nefarious routes to keeping the law—he knew about the rumours surrounding him, and as much as they amused him, they also disgusted him—but because of his experiences growing up in the gritty outskirts of Paris. Surviving each day had been a test of endurance. The police had never been there when he’d needed them, so to say he didn’t trust them was an understatement.
He liked to take care of things his own way. Hence the rumours. Added on top of more rumours. Until he was more myth than man.
He forced his mind back to the task at hand. And the woman. ‘Where do we go from here, then, Miss O’Sullivan? If you’re prepared to take responsibility for your brother, then perhaps you could be so kind as to write me a cheque for one million euros?’
Nessa blanched. One million euros was more money than she was ever likely to see in her lifetime, unless her career as a jockey took off and people started giving her a chance to ride in big races and build her reputation.
She said, as firmly as she could, ‘We don’t have that kind of money.’
‘Well then,’ Barbier said silkily, ‘that gets us precisely no further along in this situation. And in fact it gets worse. Thanks to your brother’s actions, I will now have to hand over another one million euros to Gio Corretti to ensure that he doesn’t ask questions about why he hasn’t received the money yet.’
Nessa felt sick. She hadn’t considered that. ‘Maybe you could talk to him? Explain what happened?’
Barbier
