Thank God, she enjoyed her work, she mused, and that, too, she owed to Rafael. He was a fine lover and had taught her much. She had reason to be grateful to him; he had taken her under his wing after Antoine, her husband, had been sent to prison, aided her financially, found her an apartment and helped her evade the powerful and lecherous hands of Gaston Larreau, her own husband's nefarious "uncle". Yes, indeed, she owed Rafael Girarde much… yet, she would hurt him, she knew, hurt him terribly before another year came to pass…

Well, enough of those thoughts, she decided firmly. The tall, handsome and greying Julian Forrest was a more pleasant contemplation. His still-athletic physique beneath the exquisitely tailored suit had intrigued her. His smile had suggested sincerity, perhaps, even honesty, while his pale-blue eyes had portrayed the delights of the mischievous libertine, but in essence it had been his suave approach and delicate proposal she had succumbed to… plus his wallet.

"I'm not a man who chooses feminine companionship haphazardly, my dear," he had said to her in his rich baritone voice, the well modulated French rolling off his tongue with a decided Parisian flavor. Then, strangely enough, in English he had added: "But you are breathtaking, ma chere."

"And you are married, Inspector," she replied, almost as a matter of form. "Besides, you're a personal friend of Rafael's."

"Isn't everyone?" he said, reverting back to French and laughing as he spoke. "Good God, at fifty a man should have twenty years of married life behind him and a son or two to prove it. And certainly every official in Canada knows and claims friendship with the Minister of Government, Rafael Girarde, eh?"

She had laughed lightly. "You put it all so nicely, Inspector Forrest. Tell me… do I look like one of those girls?"

"Heaven forbid! You've misunderstood my luncheon invitation," he had said, his square handsome face assuming an embarrassed, if, awed expression. "How can I ever apologize and make you understand…"