Le Français Pt. 01

Marc went to the door and loosened the collar of his robe so a bit more of his chest showed, then fixed his own hair before unlocking the door and opening it. "My apologies for my state, Detective," he said with a welcoming smile. "You interrupted me during my evening ablutions. Please come in."

"Oh," the Detective said, hesitating a moment as she looked Marc up and down in his robe, but finally stepped inside.

Marc led her into the apartment and to the kitchen island, pulling out a stool and offering it to her before pulling out his own across from her. "It's quite a surprise to see you," Marc said as he led her into the apartment. "I had certainly thought our previous encounter would be our last. Not that I mind seeing you, that is. A pointed conversation with a woman as... aggressively sure of herself as you are is always a stimulating experience."

Detective Connors had eyed Marc up and down several times, and as she sat she looked around at his apartment in a curiously analytical sort of way. "You have a lovely home," she offered. "You live alone?"

Marc smiled softly. "You know I do, Detective."

"Please, um, call me Sinead," the Detective said. "This isn't exactly a formal visit, so..."

"Titles shouldn't come into it?" Marc asked with a raised eyebrow. "In that case can I offer you a coffee? I have decaf."

"Do you have tea?" she asked.

"I do," Marc nodded, standing back up from his still and moving to get a kettle going. "So, Sinead, what can I do for you? And please, call me Marc."

"Well, Marc, after our last conversation I found myself interested in your line of work," Sinead said. "Your resume was impressive, and the way your employer spoke about you was very flattering."

"Interrogation," Marc said as he set the kettle on the stovetop burner.

"Pardon?" Sinead asked.

"Our last conversation was an interrogation," Marc said, turning and smiling at her. "Not that I minded, I just think it's important to remember things in the truest light. I was interrogated by two beautiful police detectives. It makes for quite the story at work dinners."

Sinead blushed, just slightly, at the offhanded compliment even while she pressed her lips together in a firm line. She really was a striking woman. Her hair hung in thick waves down to the small of her back now that she didn't have it tied back in a ponytail, and she had a striking jawline to go with her thin frame. If she weren't in her mid-thirties Marc wouldn't have been surprised if she could have been one of those 'influencers' on Instagram and done fairly well for herself. Or become one of those OnlyFans self-employed pornstars. Well, she likely would have been successful even with her age. She had a small bust, a pushup bra under her t-shirt likely doing a lot of the work to form the cleavage she had, and while he hadn't seen it in her tight black jeans yet he remembered that she had a wonderfully formed ass in her business slacks.

"That's... true," Sinead said.

"So, you're interested in my work?" Marc asked.

"I am," Sinead said. "It's one of those things that there are only a few people can do well, and it seems like everyone who can does it purely in the private sector. It's really pretty amazing."

She was laying it on thick. Sinead knew that she was attractive and was leading into an ask of some sort, but Marc was having fun with this. "Well, to be entirely fair, private practice pays much better than public service in almost every way."

"That must be true," Sinead said, looking around the apartment again. "I'm just so curious about it all though, Marc. Do you think maybe you could show me a thing or two? A couple of tips, maybe?"

Marc snorted softly, glancing over at the kettle as it was starting to hum as it warmed up, then back to the redhead. "You came here at almost nine in the evening to ask for tips on corporate mergers, or on forensic auditing? Do you think, Sinead, that maybe you have something else in mind?"

Sinead bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes stuck to Marc as she realized she was either being too obvious or had gotten in over her head. Marc knew she wasn't there to flirt - to be frank, she really wasn't that good at it, at least like this. She had an aggressive personality and playing the girly 'woah is me, I'm so impressed' role wasn't attractive on her.

"I don't know what you mean," Sinead said.

Marc sighed. "Is there perhaps a file you want me to look at?"

Now she did blush fully, which was an appealing look on her as her freckled, pale skin flushed a warm pink from her cheeks down to her chest. "That would be... very helpful," she said and reached into her inner jacket pocket and pulled out a USB stick and set it on the kitchen island.

"Well, should I send my consulting fee to the department, or is this 'off the books' so to speak?" Marc asked.

"I, uh, it's not exactly official," Sinead said, licking her lips with just a touch of nerves. It was a small gesture, but Marc picked up on it. He was used to looking for those little moments of nervous energy, of questioning whether something would go well or not. If they would be pleasurable or not.

"If that's the case, then I assume you aren't looking to pay for my services out of pocket," Marc said. "How about I make you a deal, Sinead? I'll take a look at whatever files are on there, but you have to do something for me."

"I'm not breaking any laws for you," Sinead said sternly, taking the chance to try and seize the power in the conversation with her anger. She'd been on the back foot pretty much since she arrived at the door.

Marc laughed. "No, no. Nothing like that. I want to take you to dinner. Just the two of us, somewhere nice so that you can dress up and show off that figure I'm sure you work hard to maintain."

Sinead frowned questioningly. "Just dinner?"

"Well, that's all I'm asking for," Marc said. "Anything else would be entirely on your decision."

"I... can do that," Sinead said. "But only after you get me the answers I need."

Marc smiled, scooping the kettle off of the stovetop just as it began to release steam out of its spout. "Of course," he said offhandedly as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a decaf teabag, a paper travel cup and a plastic lid. He quickly filled the cup and put on the lid, turning and passing it to her. "I wouldn't dream of anything else. Services first, payment after."

Sinead, with her eyes narrowed, accepted the cup of tea. "That's really all you want?"

"What else should I ask for?" Marc asked. "I'm fairly sure asking for a professional favour in the future wouldn't go well with you."

"It wouldn't," Sinead said.

"Then dinner it is," Marc smiled. He went to a drawer off the island and pulled out her card for the department, tapping it on the counter. "Yes, here it is. Shall I give you a call when I'm finished?"

Sinead reached into her jacket and pulled out a pen, taking the card from him and scribbling a number on the back. "Don't call me at the station," she said. "Just text my cell, OK? I'll come by to get whatever information you have."

"It's a plan," Marc grinned and nodded. "Now, unless you wanted to stick around and have some tea...?"

"Right," Sinead said. "Right, um..." She picked up the tea Marc had prepared for her and headed for the door.

"It was nice seeing you again, Detective," Marc said as he followed, finally getting a chance to glance at that fantastic ass in her tight jeans. She could have stood to wear some heels, even with the jeans, but he understood why she wore a decent, mid-tier boot instead.

"Thanks," she said, encompassing what she'd asked for, and the tea, in one uncomfortable shrugging gesture. She left, and Marc shut the door after her as he chuckled, locking it and heading back towards the kitchen.

"Playing with your food, dear?" Felicity asked from the stairs. She was still wearing the sheer white teddy and garter belt, but the handcuffs were dangling from one wrist and the ball gag was hanging around her neck.

"And how did you get out,ma petite fée?" Marc asked her.

She giggled, biting her lower lip in that way she did that was both utterly innocent and entirely naughty.

Marc sighed and glanced at the kitchen island where the Detective's USB stick was sitting not ten inches from the white envelope waiting for Felicity. Wouldn'tthat have been fun to explain?

"You know naughty girls get punished," Marc said with a smile as he slipped his robe off to one arm, exposing his nakedness as he stalked towards her.

"Oh, I know, dear," Felicity grinned. "And I'm counting on it. My jaw was just getting a little tight waiting while you turned that woman in circles. You're not looking to replace me, are you?"

"Never," Marc said as he mounted the stairs, stepping up to her. Felicity raised her arms and rested them on his shoulders as he leaned in to kiss her pert lips. "Though she would make a very pretty playmate for you, wouldn't she?"

"She would, not that I think she would want to," Felicity said. "I think she might have a stick up her ass when it comes to beingfun."

Marc laughed, reaching around and grabbing Felicity's meaty ass with both hands. "You well know what I can do with that."

"Mmmm, yes please, dear," Felicity said.

Marc released her butt and almost daintily lifted the ballgag back into place, Felicity opening her mouth with a smile to accept it. The Detective had interrupted the start of what was supposed to be an evening of relaxation and play and now they were going to need to start all over again.

Chapter 5

Sinead felt like an idiot.

Well, maybe not that bad, but she still felt kind of gross for stepping out of line like she was. She'd been kicking herself since leaving Marc Fornier's place, and Jules had asked her three times the next day what the problem was and she'd had to play it off.

Asking Marc to do what she did was totally inappropriate. Going to a top suspect's house, even if he was cleared, was super inappropriate. Promising him a date if he looked through what should have been confidential financial records?

She could get busted down to a street cop again if anyone found out.

So she felt like an idiot.

To be fair, she was also a little concerned about the other thing going on in her head. Marc was smart. Almost too smart to be trusted. He'd known what she was doing, and she felt like she'd been a step behind in the whole conversation. She wasn't usually so... malleable. Sinead was the one who was supposed to be in charge of situations. He hadn't bitten at her flirting at all. She hadn't caught him staring at her cleavage once, and all of his comments were totally in-bounds for polite conversation. Even asking her to dinner had been...

"Fuck," she grunted.

"Are you going to tell me what your fucking problem is or not?" Jules asked. They were in the car headed to a petty robbery scene.

"I'm just off today," Sinead said. "That's all."

"More like this month," Jules said.

"Oh, I haven't been that bad," Sinead said.

"Really? Where are we heading right now?"

"Um..." Sinead hesitated. "3rd street, for the robbery scene."

"Wrong," Jules said. "We're going up to Parkwoods for a home burglary."

"Shit," Sinead grunted. "Sorry."

"Just get your head out of your ass, or the clouds, or wherever it is," Jules said. "I need my partner back."

"I will, I promise," Sinead said.

Jules drove them the rest of the way, pulling into a decent little suburb where the housing prices meant even the average family home was worth well over a million, maybe a million and a half despite the same thing going for a quarter of the price anywhere else in the province. Well, maybe half - Sinead had been looking for a new place anywhere inside the Greater Toronto Area and hadn't found anything that felt reasonably priced.

Just as they pulled into the driveway of the residence Sinead's phone started buzzing, and she fished it out of her pocket before following Jules out of the car. It was an unknown number, but the message was clear.

"Found what you need. Come by tonight."

Sinead almost yelped in excitement but managed to keep her eagerness in check. She wanted to jump into the driver's seat and find Marc Fornier wherever he was, but there was work to do and for all that Jules had been forgiving of her obsession with the Le Français case, she wouldn't put up with that.

So Sinead bit her tongue and got out of the car, trying her best to bury that text message in the back of her mind where it wouldn't distract her.

- - - - -

Marc Fornier was, despite Sinead's best attempts at remaining at arm's distance from the matter, unfortunately attractive. He was tall, with a thick head of black hair just starting to silver at the temples, and had those piercing green eyes that she'd found so infuriating in the interrogation room and confounding sitting in his kitchen. She felt like they were speaking to her, but in a language she didn't understand.

He was also fit in that way that someone who was very active but didn't work out was. He had useable muscles and hadn't gone and gotten fat with his office job.

To be frank, if she'd met him at a bar and not on the job, Sineadmay have considered a one-night stand with him. A flash in the pan, ghost him afterwards, wonder what she was thinking with sleeping with a guy a decade older than her one night stand. But that's not how they met, and even as she waited for Marc to open his God damned front door she felt a nervous energy at what was going to happen now. He had what she needed, and he had an expectation.

Marc opened the door with that smile of his. God, Sinead found it smug. Not that he seemed to betrying to antagonise her, but there was just something about the way he held himself that wasn't at all intimidated by her badge that set her off. The only other people she'd met like that were criminals who were either insane or so powerful in their own little worlds that even when she had been part of taking them down they'd felt untouchable and sure that the lawyers would do their work.

"Sinead, thank you for coming by," Marc said to her.

"You said you had it already?" Sinead asked. "That was fast." God, she felt like a junky here trying to get her fix.

"Well, when you know where to look," Marc smiled. "Please, come in."

At least this time he wasn't dressed in that fucking robe. He was wearing a pair of dressy slacks with a perfect crease in them, along with a knit sweater that she guessed would have cost more than her entire outfit by itself, underwear included.

Fuck, why did she wear lingerie today? She'd thought it would help her feel confident that morning, but now it was just making her feel slutty.

Sinead followed him into the apartment and to the kitchen island where he had a laptop out, along with a couple of files with papers. "Is this it?" she asked.

"Not all of it," he said, closing his laptop and then pushing one of the files to her. "One of the accounts you included didn't seem to have any connections to the others. The other three, however, have an interesting correlation between when money is moved and what shell companies they are filtering through. I did some checking and it seems you've uncovered a nice little shell game, Detective."

"Is any of this illegal?" Sinead asked. "I need something I can use to get warrants."

"On the surface, no," Marc said. "I thought you might appreciate a little extra initiative though and I expanded the scope of my search. This," he moved the other file folder over to her, "Should get you the warrants you need. The accounts you brought me are numbered holding companies masquerading as small businesses. There are likely storefronts attached to them somewhere, though they will either be empty or have some cash-only business where the owner says their relatives pay the rent for them. More importantly, the funds that move through them electronically all filter through the same five shell companies, all at the same times of day and in amounts that sit just under certain thresholds that would automatically flag with financial institutions. If I were a betting man, I would say someone is washing money from a regular stream of income through this network.That should get you the warrants you need to dig for more accounts and pull in some accountants and business owners. With the amount of money moving around, one would expect to be able to find purchase orders for goods or services. If you can't find them, or employees to offer those services, you've found a criminal enterprise."

Sinead was left feeling... unfulfilled. "That's it?" she asked.

Marc raised an eyebrow. "Were you expecting something else?"

"I- I guess it was too much to hope for some payment labelled 'For Drugs' or something," she sighed.

Marc snorted a little and shook his head. "No, that's unlikely to happen. Whoever is orchestrating this little shell game is too advanced to make a mistake like that."

"How advanced are we talking?" Sinead asked.

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "Sneakier than most, not quite at the level of a Fortune 500 accounting wiz," he said. "Unless this is all just a facade for an even bigger operation, which isn't out of the question. It was just difficult enough to dig out that I wouldn't be surprised if it's a red herring to warn the mastermind someone is looking."

"So I'm either dealing with an above-average criminal or fucking Moriarty?" Sinead grunted.

Marc smiled, taking the USB stick out of his laptop and placing it on top of the file folders in front of her. "I'm looking forward to hearing how it goes at dinner," he said. "Saturday, 8 PM. I've made reservations at George."

Sinead gulped and hoped he didn't hear it. George was one of the nicest fine-dining restaurants in the city. The only reason she even knew about it was that she'd done a little undercover sting in Secrette, the attached speakeasy bar. The place had a fucking Michelin star, and he was planning to bring her there?

"I probably won't be able to tell you about an ongoing investigation," she said instead of what she was thinking.

"Well, I look forward to hearing any other interesting stories you can tell me," Marc said. "Now, can I offer you a glass of wine?"

"No," Sinead said, grabbing the files and the USB stick and standing from the kitchen island. "I, ah, should get right on top of this. Thank you very much for the help, Mr Fornier."

Marc raised an eyebrow at the use of his name. "It was my pleasure, Detective Connors," he replied, standing and escorting her to the door.

Sinead stopped with her hand on the door handle and turned, tucking the folder under her arm and offering him her hand. "If this works, it really is important," she said. "And... sorry, for the way things went."

Marc nodded and shook her hand with a firm grip, which somehow just made her feel worse since he wasn't a limp-wristed jackoff. "Again, my pleasure, Detective. I look forward to Saturday."

"Mhmm, thanks," she replied, heading out the door. She didn't look back until she was down the hallway at the elevator, and when she did glance back she saw Marc lingering in his doorway with his arms crossed, smiling warmly at her. "Fucking weirdo," she muttered to herself under her breath. He must have been watching her ass as she walked away. She glanced back at him again, making eye contact as the elevator arrived, and gave him a terse little smile and a nod.

God, why did she have to wear the lingerie today?

Chapter 6

"Sinead, Jules," the Captain boomed as he crossed through the Detective's desk area heading for his office. "Excellent fucking work. Here's your reward." The big man slammed down a stack of paperwork that needed filling out. "Silver and Vale and handling the retail interrogations, and Forensic Finance is handling the accountant."