Page 11 of A Life Betrayed

Lauralie spoke quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “Can we meet? I have something to tell you.”

Frances glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late. She must have just come off a shift. “Of course.”

“Do you know the Beau-Soir across the street from the club?”

“I’m on my way.” Frances hung up and felt a jolt of excitement in her stomach. This was what she loved about the job, the slow-motion pursuit—each move bringing her one step closer to an endgame. Maybe she’d found her unicorn.

Frances pulled her car into a space at the far end of the convenience store parking lot. She got out and waited beside the driver’s door, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her winter coat. The place was relatively quiet for this time of night. There were two cars parked by the building and one idling off to the side. She checked her phone for missed messages, and when she looked up, she saw Lauralie approaching on foot acrossthe parking lot toward her. The girl stopped when she reached Frances and glanced around distractedly, hugging her calf-length coat against her tiny frame.

“Cold night.”

Lauralie just nodded, chewing on her scarlet-painted bottom lip.

Frances was vaguely aware of a car door slamming and the thud of purposeful footsteps. Lauralie’s mouth gave a panicked lurch. Frances looked past her shoulder, and there he was, only meters away, heading straight for them. If she’d found his photo intimidating, she was even less prepared for how formidable Mathias Beauvais appeared in person. He was tall, well-built, wearing an expensive-looking suit beneath a full-length black overcoat. His face was handsome—unnervingly so—but it was the way his eyes fixed on her, cold and hard, that made Frances draw back.

Lauralie turned as he came to a stop beside her. “That’s her,” she said, a quiver in her voice.

“You did well.” Mathias gave a slight tilt of his chin. “Go on.” Despite hitting all the local notes, his French was more polished than the average Montrealer’s, betraying his maternal origins and—from what she’d discovered in her research—an expensive education.

Lauralie threw her a quick look before scurrying back across the parking lot, her heels clicking on the pavement. Frances hid her frustration. She’d hoped the girl would be her ticket into Le Rouge, but instead, Lauralie had gone straight to Mathias and turned her in. She recalled Gagnon’s warning: “I don’t think you understand the name the man has made for himself.”

“Didn’t pick the Feds for a bunch of pimps,” Mathias said, his breath coming out white. “She sucks me off for information, and you throw out her boyfriend’s conviction?”

“That’s—”

“A misjudgment on your part. Unfortunately for you, Inspector Allen, my cock doesn’t do the thinking for me.”

She froze. He knew who she was. Frances was suddenly aware of the delicate position she’d put herself in. Not expecting company, she had left her weapon at the apartment and hadn’t informed anyone at the office of her plans.

“I hope you compensated the girl for her time. How does the RCMP expense strippers’ tips?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “A questionable use of taxpayer money.”

“Assuming you’ve ever paid any,” she shot back, some of her courage returning. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mathias Beauvais. I’ve certainly heard enough about you. Sounds like you’ve heard about me too. At least now, when I bring you down, we won’t be strangers.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow. “Awfully confident, aren’t you?”

Frances shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? It looks like your luck has run out. We’ve caught onto your little cross-provincial enterprise.” She was bluffing—they were still struggling to gather anything substantial in the case against him, but she wanted to put a dent in that impenetrable exterior of his.

Mathias smirked. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for, Inspector. If I were you, I’d tread carefully.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Why would I have reason to threaten you?”

“I know exactly who you are.”

His gray eyes narrowed. “Then you would know to mind your step,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Frances watched as Mathias walked back to his car, her hands clenched tightly inside her coat pockets.

Chapter Six

Mathias sat across the table from his mother in the kitchen of her apartment, tuning out the witless drone of her voice as his mind returned to the events of the previous evening. Frances Allen had been plain, barefaced, and not the slightest bit threatening. As soon as he’d laid eyes on her across the parking lot, it had occurred to him how entirely unremarkable she appeared. But she had a quick mouth, and during their conversation, he’d seen a steely glint in her eyes, giving Mathias the impression that she was a bulldog—once she got hold of something, she didn’t like to let go. Clearly, he was what she’d gotten hold of, and he needed to figure out what she knew so he could remain one step ahead.

In his efforts to source the leak, Mathias had reached out to his contacts in the city and the wider province for information. Still, he’d been unable to brush aside De Luca’s conclusion. Could Truman really have rolled over? It didn’t make any sense—the shipments implicated both of them.

“Whatever happened to that lovely young man?”

Had his mother paused her prattling to actually ask him a question?

---