France with him as he had arranged. Besides, by relieving him of his duty towards her he could spend a few more days basking in Victoria's adoration if he wanted to, she thought painfully, bitter anguish making her as white as a sheet.
She was waiting in the hall when the taxi arrived, and slipped out quietly after leaving a note for Hawk thanking him for his hospitality, but saying in the circumstances she thought it better to leave at once. She also left the ruby pendant and bracelet.
She slept a little on the flight home, but the jangled nightmarish dreams were frightening and more exhausting than trying to stay awake, and by the time they landed, in the early hours of a cold and rainy Paris morning, she felt ill with a mixture of reaction and jet lag.
Once back in her apartment she fell into bed without bothering to undress, but in spite of falling into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow she was awake again within a couple of hours, her brain dissecting every word that had passed between her and Hawk until she thought she would go mad.
She had showered, dressed, and left the apartment before eight, driven by a nervous tension so acute that she walked most of the distance to Bergique & Son, only riding the metro for the last part of the journey.
For the first time since she had been living there Paris looked dull and dismal, the Parisians colourless and drab; in fact the very air seemed heavy and lifeless and defunct It frightened her if she thought about it-this inert, joyless stupor that seemed to have taken her over since the conversation in Hawk's car-and so she was almost glad when, arriving at the office a day early, much to Antoinette's consternation, she found Pierre in her office rifling through the filing cabinet which had been locked when she'd left, and pure fury replaced the deadness.
'What are you doing?' It wasn't a time for social niceties and they both knew it.
The heavy-set Frenchman had swung round at her entry into the room, dropping the file he had been holding so the papers flew in a whirling arc about their feet, but he recovered himself almost instantly, the ingratiating smile she had seen once or twice before stitching itself in place. 'Joanne, we weren't expecting you-'
'
'Never mind saying you are sorry to him!' Joanne swung round so violently as Antoinette spoke behind her that the French girl actually backed away a step. 'It should be me you are apologising to, Antoinette. What on earth are you thinking of to let someone have access to my filing cabinet anyway?' she asked furiously.
'I can explain, Joanne.' Pierre's smile hadn't wavered. 'This is just a mistake.'
'I agree, Pierre, and I think you are the one who made it,' Joanne said cuttingly. 'You have no right to be in this building and you know it; I saw the contract Hawk made you sign and it is crystal-clear about that very thing. What is this file anyway?' She bent and picked up some of the papers from the floor, and in so doing missed the nod Pierre gave to his ex-secretary to close the office door so the three of them couldn't be overheard.
Joanne recognised the papers instantly; she had been working on the Netta Productions file prior to the Christmas break, and had begun to be very concerned about the matter before Hawk had whisked her away so abruptly. There had been the smell of something very nasty about the case but the facts had been buried in masses of red tape, and it had required patient and tactful digging to unearth the truth. Looking at Pierre's face as she raised her head, Joanne suddenly had the feeling she was staring at all the answers.
'Well?' Joanne stood up slowly, and it was only then that something very cold and very dark trickled down her backbone as she saw the look in the Frenchman's eyes.
'You stupid, arrogant Englishwoman.' He spat the words out of his mouth, following them with a string of profanities that were all the more menacing for being spoken so softly. 'You poke and you pry, do you not? You cannot leave anything alone.'
'
'He was a weak fool.' Pierre's voice held not the slightest compassion. 'Now give me the papers, Joanne, and if you know what is good for you you will forget this conversation ever took place. I have many friends- friends who are invisible and can come and go at will; it would not be wise to cross me.'
'You're threatening me?' She couldn't believe it, she thought wildly. This was the sort of dialogue that belonged to an old second-rate movie, not an up-market publishing company at nine-thirty in the morning of a working day.
'But of course, this is one of the things I do so well.' Pierre flicked his head at Antoinette, indicating for her to leave the room, which she did with an alacrity that told Joanne the French girl was as scared as she was.
'You have only to say nothing and this whole unfortunate matter will die a death,' Pierre continued softly, walking across the room to stand in front of her, his dark eyes gleaming as he looked down into her pale face. 'That is not so hard, is it?' He put out a hand and raised her chin a little.
'Don't threaten me, Pierre.' His touch banished the fear that had had her in its grip, and put steel in her backbone. 'I won't be intimidated by you or anyone else. And don't touch me either.'
'No?' He considered her angry face with a slight smile. 'Perhaps I have underrated the little English girl, eh? Then what would you say to a more…agreeable solution? Perhaps a little thank-you in anticipation? Shall we say a figure of…?'
He mentioned a sum of money that brought her eyes wide open and her mouth slack, before she found her tongue. 'You think everyone is for sale, don't you, Pierre?' she said with icy and scathing disdain. 'Well, this may come as something of a surprise but I am not. These papers will go to the authorities, along with a report of our conversation today, and I think you might be viewing most of the new year from the inside of a prison cell.'
'I can't let you do that, Joanne.' His hands shot out to grasp her upper arms in an iron-like grip that was meant to terrorise. 'Don't make me hurt you-'
Pierre just had time to raise his head before he was plucked bodily into the air, and flung across the room with enough force to send him crashing against the far wall, where he landed with all the finesse of a stunned elephant.
'Get up.' Hawk's face was frightening. 'I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget.'
'No, Hawk, no.' Joanne found she was actually hanging on to his back, her arms tight round his neck, as he tried to haul Pierre up by his jacket. 'Leave him, please; he's not worth it-'
'I'll kill the little rat.'
By the time help arrived a few moments later, summoned by Antoinette who appeared to have gone quite hysterical, it was clear Pierre was very glad to be led away and that threats and intimidation were the last thing on the Frenchman's mind, despite the fact that Hawk had told the two burly security men to hold him until the police arrived. Indeed he almost scampered out of the office, pulling the other men with him.
'You frightened him.' Joanne found she had to sit down very suddenly as the room began to swim and dip.
'I'd have done more than that if I hadn't had you round my neck like a limpet.' His voice was soft, very soft, and possessed a deepness that made her raise her head and try to focus on his face, a second before she found herself lifted up and cradled against his chest.
'Hawk, what are you doing…?'
'What I should have done a long, long time ago.' He marched across the room and into the outer office, past a weeping Antoinette and open-mouthed office staff, not saying a word until they were in the lift and going swiftly downwards.
'Hawk, I can stand-'
'Be quiet.' His voice was almost savage and he was crushing her against his body as though he was frightened to let her go, his heart pounding against the wall of his chest with such force it was shaking her frame.
Once in Reception they passed the two security men and the chastened and silent Pierre without stopping, Hawk shouting a reply over his shoulder as they asked him where he was going.
'But Monsieur Mallen, the police-they will need a statement-'
'Damn the police.'
Hawk carried her over to his car once they were outside the building, depositing her in the front seat as though she were a piece of rare Meissen porcelain, and joining her inside moments later.
'Hawk-'
'In a moment, Joanne.' She subsided helplessly. He drove fast and furiously to a quiet spot overlooking green parkland, before bringing the car to a screeching halt and causing a flock of pigeons to rise in squawking protest. He