Page 71 of Pleasure Games

Billions?

The woman tilted her head in that very French way and turned to the man writing notes with a raised brow. “But then, where that man is concerned, who can be sure of anything?” She spoke softly to the two male police officers, the one who was taking notes slid the paper in front of Danielle and then the men exited the room.

Once the door was shut, Danielle found an envelope from the pile of paperwork from which she withdrew a stack of photos and slid the first in front of Jasmine. “Can you identify the man in this photo, please.”

“Yes,” Jasmine said slowly, it was promotional picture for the Grand Prix circuit. “It’s Luca. He lied about his last name, but I saw his ID. It’s Luca Legrand.”

The woman nodded. “And you have been with Monsieur Legrand since you went missing?”

“Yes, but...”

“And he held you captive?”

“No.”

“No?” The officer spread the other photos out across the table, in order. “I need you to describe what is happening here.”

Hesitantly, Jasmine slid the photos closer and looked at the first. Then the next and the next and the next until she’d seen all twelve images.

Holy fuck.

The pictures were grainy because they’d been taken during a storm—yesterday’s storm—and they told a story. A sordid story.

Dear God.

Who the hell had taken these? And how did the police get them?

It was like time-lapse photography. Luca chasing her and tackling her. Pinning her. Tying her up. Jasmine trying to escape and Luca chasing her down again. There was even a picture of him manhandling her. Then there were images of him hauling her up and over his shoulder and carrying her back to the house.

“Look,” Jasmine said. “This isn’t what it seems.”

“Mmm.” The woman gathered the photos back up into a pile. “I think this is exactly what it seems.” She patted Jasmine’s hand. “It is very common to feel a sense of...” She paused as if searching for a word. “Kinship with your kidnapper.”

“Luca didn’t kidnap me.”

“Mademoiselle, I know it may seem that way. Men like Monsieur Legrand can appear charming, but—” The woman smiled with such understanding, yet she didn’t understand anything.

Jasmine put her fingers to her temples and winced as she pressed on a still tender spot. “Please, I need to explain.”

“Of course. I want you to tell me exactly what happened, and I want you to start from the beginning.”

* * *

Luca had no idea how long he’d been in the interrogation room. The police had confiscated his watch and everything else on his person. When they’d first shown him the pictures, he’d been too shocked to answer any questions.

Who the hell had taken those pictures? How the hell had they found him? What the fuck was he going to do now?

When he’d finally found his tongue, he’d gone over his story about fifty times with the police, explaining that Jasmine was a tourist he’d come across who’d had an accident. That he’d simply helped her and everything was consensual and that this was one big fucking mistake.

Of course they didn’t believe him.

When François finally appeared. He sat down across from Luca looking ten years older than the last time he’d seen him.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Luca attempted a joke.

It did not go over well.

“I don’t even know what to say,” François said.

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