Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

since Stefan had been shoved into his cell. “I’m sure you can’t. She speaks seven languages. Seven.” A snide lip curl told Stefan Jean-Claude was certain he could never learn more than one language.
    Stefan spoke French fluently, with a perfect accent, and his undercover persona—John Bastille—certainly didn’t appear as if he were an educated man, other than in criminal pursuits. If truth was told, Stefan could match dream woman language for language, which meant she was educated and all the more alluring. He was a bit surprised that Jean-Claude liked intelligent women.
    “She’s the type that would argue,” Stefan pointed out, staying in character. His type of muscle man wouldn’t want a lowly woman arguing with him. It said something that Jean-Claude wanted a smart woman.
    “She definitely speaks her mind,” Jean-Claude agreed, a small half smile creeping into his eyes as if remembering a moment he found particularly amusing. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    Stefan pushed down the 101 crude things his undercover persona would have said, knowing it would end the conversation immediately. Jean-Claude hadn’t said more than three or four sentences in the two months they’d shared a cell. Instead he looked down at the floor as if in sad reflection.
    “I had a woman once. One worthwhile—not a prostitute. I should have been a little nicer to her, then maybe she would have stuck around.” He flashed a quick, envious grin at Jean-Claude. “She didn’t look like that one. What’s her name?”
    Never once in all the months had Jean-Claude referred to the woman by her name, or said where she was. He was very closemouthed when it came to the angel on the wall. It bothered Stefan that he secretly thought of her like that. Angel. Mysterious. Elusive. So out of reach of the ordinary man. Out of reach of a man who lived completely in the shadows. A man without a real identity.
    “Judith.” Jean-Claude’s voice was clipped and warned Stefan not to push any further on the woman’s identity.
    Triumph surged through Stefan. Jean-Claude was bored in the cell. And he wanted to talk about his woman. He needed to talk about her. Stefan wanted him to crave her, to take the opportunity to escape when it was presented to him—not by Stefan, of course, but by one of the guards. It wouldn’t be that difficult to arrange. Having Jean-Claude La Roux owe a favor would be like hitting the lottery. At the same time, Jean-Claude didn’t give anything away for free. What was he after?
    “Pretty name. She looks exotic, but that name is American, isn’t it?” Actually the name was of Hebrew origin, but Stefan doubted very much if the crime lord was aware of that fact or even cared. It was a stab in the dark, a calculated feeler.
    Jean-Claude eyed him warily. “What the hell difference does it make?”
    Stefan allowed a surge of anger to show, more triumphant than ever. He’d struck a nerve. The mystery woman could very well be from the United States, not Japan as he’d first thought. “Not a bit. Just makin’ conversation. The hell with it.” He turned his back on the crime lord—a calculated risk. Showing indifference was the only way Jean-Claude might keep talking. If he thought Stefan was too interested, the man wouldn’t say a word.
    Turning away from La Roux only had him staring at another wall of photos. He was surrounded by the mysterious woman. She definitely looked of Japanese descent, but not entirely—she appeared tall and her skin tone lighter. It was possible she had an American parent. The coastline in the picture could be in the United States rather than Europe. He hadn’t considered that possibility before.
    One of the pictures he loved the most was of Judith—he had her name now—walking barefoot in the sand. The wind was blowing hard and her long silky-looking hair streamed behind her. He could see small footprints in the wet sand. For some strange reason, that photograph got to him. She seemed so alone. So sad. Waiting for someone. Jean-Claude? His stomach knotted at the thought.
    “You married to her?” He didn’t look at Jean-Claude when he asked, preferring to listen to the tone of the voice, rather than the answer.
    “Engaged,” Jean-Claude replied after a long pause.
    “She know it?” he asked slyly. Stefan hadn’t seen a ring on her finger in any of the photographs, and he’d looked for one.
    Jean-Claude shrugged. “It doesn’t much matter what she thinks. She’s my