Page 72 of A Life Betrayed

Rayan felt the hand drop from his shoulder, and then Mathias was walking out of the store, staring straight ahead, cutting an imposing figure in his designer suit.

“Mathias Beauvais!” one of the officers called out, breaking into a stride. “Airport security—you’re coming with us.”

Rayan thought of all the times it had been him standing between Mathias and trouble, putting himself in harm’s way. He wasn’t accustomed to the sight of Mathias’s back, placed as it was in front of him, shielding him from impending danger. Two security officers flanked Mathias and restrained his arms while a third slapped a set of cuffs on his wrists. The image was so confronting that Rayan found himself moving forward on instinct, compelled by years of conditioning—Mathias’s protection his sole objective.

He froze mid-step when he saw Mathias’s face, turned slightly to look at him as airport security led him through the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered. His eyes bored into Rayan’s for the briefest of seconds but long enough to ensure that the message was clear. Rayan had spent years intuiting the man’s expressions, and this one needed no elaboration. This one he couldn’t ignore.

Frances arrived at the airport in time to find security officers cuffing Mathias by the Air France counter. As she approached, she saw Mathias glance behind him, his expression changing before her eyes. Gone was the hardened scowl, that threatening stare—instead, his features shifted to reveal a flash of tenderness that made her stop dead in her tracks. Following his gaze, she was stunned to spot Rayan Nadeau standing stock-still by the entrance to a nearby store, watching the unfolding scene. Mathias gave a curt shake of his head and looked away, his face slipping back into a blank mask.

And then she knew. The apartment in Toronto, Mathias’s assistance in extracting Rayan from the family, Rayan’s desperate bid to intervene on the man’s behalf. Mathias Beauvais, one of Quebec’s most notorious criminal figures, hadalmost succeeded in concealing his biggest vulnerability. But she had seen it now—the missing piece of the puzzle.

Frances made her way separately to the terminal’s security office, where she was informed that Mathias had been detained in one of the interrogation rooms. She told the officers waiting outside to leave and closed the door behind her. Mathias sat with his cuffed wrists resting on the table in the center of the room, his eyes darkening when he saw her. She reached for the recording console mounted to the table, disabled the camera, and flicked off the audio.

Mathias raised an eyebrow, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. “Is this the part where you take to me with your fists?”

Frances dropped her bag and took a seat across from him. “Tell me, do you think people are capable of change, or are we cursed to repeat the same mistakes for the rest of our lives?”

“Do the Feds hawk their inspectors out for free therapy now?” Mathias sneered. “This is all inherently fascinating, Allen, but I’ll save my answers for when my lawyer’s present.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder. She’d left the original photos Rayan had given her with the deputy commissioner, but she’d made copies to bring back with her and file with the rest of the investigation paperwork at the Montreal office. She opened the folder, took out the photos, and splayed them across the table between them.

“Appreciate the help, by the way,” she said.

Mathias could not hide the shock that transformed his face. Frances suppressed her own surprise. She’d never before succeeded in unseating his herculean self-control.

Mathias stared at the photos for a long time before looking up at her with that familiar piercing gaze. “Where did you get these?”

“Nadeau didn’t tell you? He seemed willing to do anything to get us to step back.”

“Idiot,” Mathias hissed.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, recalling how expertly Rayan had negotiated his terms. “This was enough to get you off the hook—for now.”

Mathias’s forehead furrowed, his eyes narrowing.

“He made a deal—the photos in exchange for turning a blind eye to your involvement with the shipments. A municipal police chief in bed with the Red Reapers? You couldn’t buy that kind of negative publicity. No doubt, the prime minister will order a full investigation.”

Mathias tutted. “Police corruption. How disheartening.”

Frances scowled. “Meanwhile, without you, I’ve got nothing to justify the funding to keep the investigation open.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“Because I know you were behind it,” she snapped. “The shipments—God knows what else—and if I’d just had more time, I would’ve nailed you for it.”

“Seems we’ve both run out of time,” Mathias said cryptically.

“Optics be damned,” Frances continued, bringing her hand down on the table. “My superiors might be happy doling out resources based on what appeals to the government’s yardstick of success, but I’m more concerned with the concept of justice. So now I’m put in the unfortunate position of deciding whether to follow my principles and stop you from getting on that plane.”

“You’ve gone rogue?” Mathias mocked. “On some moral crusade—or worse—a personal vendetta? You wouldn’t be the first.” He gave a bitter laugh. “You ground me, and you’re going to need something that sticks. Then try to scrabble together the funds to take me to trial—and I can assure you, Inspector, you will need them. Even if you make it that far, do you think the prosecution is immune to bribes, threats? What about the judge or members of the jury? And if you still believe I’ll accept a plea in exchange for names, you haven’t learned a fucking thing.”Mathias sat forward in his chair, utterly fearless. “The way I see it, you let me leave, and you still get something.” He tilted his chin toward the photos on the table. “You try to keep me here, and I’ll make life very difficult for you. You’ll find your ass at some reception desk back in Ottawa, taking messages.”

He wasn’t wrong. As she’d walked into the room, seeing Mathias cuffed yet entirely composed—drawing from a deep well of resilience neither Frances nor the RCMP could possibly hope to run dry—it had dawned on her that he would never bend to her will or repent or plead remorse for his crimes. He would pay his expensive lawyer, and they would distort the truth to match their story. Or they would find someone else to pin it on, paid handsomely for their troubles. And Mathias Beauvais would continue his challenge to the law, unencumbered.

Unless…There was one thing that would change the entire state of play, one thing that clearly meant something to the man, that could be twisted and wielded against him like a knife.

“Are you wondering if he got out?” Frances asked quietly. “Or if he’s being held in the room next door?”

Mathias’s shoulders stiffened, but this time, his face gave nothing away. He glared at her, silent and unmoving.

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