Chapter 45

Sinead was working on a weekend. Again.

It wasn’t the first time, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. The problem was that she wasn’t working on a murder case, or a missing child, or anything that necessitated the overtime. And Jules, of course, refused to humour her and said that if she wanted to hang out she needed to promise not to mention work. They’d spent the majority of the last two days together poring over the field that Marc had gotten for Sinead, trying to find patterns and a way to get into things in a more legal way.

Victor Barisha was into a bunch of shady shit, but parsing through the finances, legal filings and commercial deals was like trying to put together a puzzle that had been faded in the sun for a decade or two - there were some details on each piece, but most of it was washed out and hard to figure out how it would line up next to its neighbours, let alone what the entire picture would be.

“Bonjour, Detective,” Marc answered his phone.

Sinead felt like her heart had jumped into her throat as soon as she heard his voice, and she immediately regretted doing it. Sitting in her living room with dozens and dozens of printed files spread around her had made her feel a little lost, and even a little lonely. Thoughts of their previous night, of how extravagant he’d treated her and then how she’d earned his punishment, had been hovering over her for days. In her mind this should have been easy - ask Marc for his expert opinion on putting together the financials in the files, and pay him back with ... whatever he wanted. After last time she knew she would go to ridiculous lengths for the case.

And it was for the case, and not the man. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

But now that she had him on the phone, she froze. She didn’t freeze when she had a gun or a knife threatening her life, held by some scumbag she had no doubt would use it on her, but Marc’s fucking voice made her freeze.

“Mon Dieu, Sinead,” he muttered. “Did you buttdial me?”

“No, no,” Sinead said quickly. “I, um, was wondering if you were available to help with some work. Something more casual. I could bring over the files to your place, or you could come here...”

“Ton sens du timing est impeccable, Detective. I am unfortunately booked up for the rest of the day,” Marc said.

“It’s not something you could shift?” Sinead asked, already feeling silly. Of course he was busy on a Saturday. Everything she knew about him said he had a full life. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d flown somewhere for the weekend.

“I’m sorry but no, Detective,” Marc said. “And I hope you understand that I do not value your time lightly, or that I would not give up simple pleasures to help with your situation and to find a new way to play our game. But tonight is not an option.”