Le Francais Pt 11

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Le Français is an original Law Enforcement series playing with the Cop/Not-a-Cop trope, mixed with some social power play, and (hopefully) realistic BDSM elements. The series will jump between categories based on the content of each part. This series is commissioned by the fantastic ThL!

In this chapter you can expect important conversations.

Marc and Sinead deal with the fallout after the Poker Tournament, both for the investigation and personally.

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Chapter 75

"It's done!" Victor shouted, waving off Liam.

The Irishman was frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog, demanding to get at Marc, but the skinny Italian was holding him back.

Marc, meanwhile, was leaning against one of the metal I-beam support pillars twenty feet away as Sinead grimaced at him with a concerned frown and ran her fingers along his jaw, testing it. "You fucking idiot," she murmured to him.

"Now we know where the money is coming from," Marc murmured back, catching her wrists in his hands and lowering them as he looked into her eyes.

"He could have done serious damage, Marc," Sinead whispered. "Now he wants to

kill

you."

Liam had rolled out of the way of the flying knee and the fight had become a scramble of thrown punches and elbows. The key was that it had been happening in the broken remains of the tall, slender crate that Marc's knee had busted through.

Neither man had gotten the upper hand when they'd both been grabbed and dragged away from each other and the busted crates. Victor had tried to hide his horror at the potential damage to his goods - it looked like there were antiques of some sort, packed in straw.

"I had him," Marc said with more confidence than he necessarily felt. Then he let go of her wrists and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "

Tu vaux bien quelques bleus, ma petite rebelle.

"

"Marc," she sighed, hearing the tone in his voice without knowing what he was saying.

Victor was apparently attempting to throw the skinny Italian man out with Liam in the most polite way possible. The Irishman was still irate despite his bloody nose and chipped tooth, or maybe because of them. Marc had gotten a couple of good, clean strikes with his elbows. Not exactly Karate that his old Master would have been proud of, but it had been working.

"We should have gotten out of here before them," Sinead murmured. "They could just wait outside for us."

"Then we stay for drinks," Marc said. "And enjoy the hospitality of the host. And when their boss is done with his card game, we leave with him." He could practically

feel

the argument bubbling inside of her, but he pulled her hands to the buttons of his shirt. She'd put it on him but it was still undone. "Please," he requested.

She grimaced but started doing them up while he took a breath and then lifted a foot to slide his shoes back on.

"Marc," Victor said, finally coming over to the pair - half of the small crowd had already headed back up to the parlour room, and the other half were on their way now that the after-fight show was finished. The middleman looked frazzled, and his eyes were drifting over to the broken crates in concern before he brought his attention back forward. "Look, man, that was... Fuck."

"Please, Victor," Marc said, holding up a hand. "I do not blame you for that at all. I'm just sorry it disturbed your event, and I hope your merchandise over there isn't too badly roughed up."

"I... well, let's hope," Victor sighed. "It might not be a good idea for you two to leave for a while."

"Sinead was just thinking the same thing," Marc said, sliding a hand onto the small of her back. "We will rejoin the party upstairs for a drink or two, if that is alright with you?"

"Right, right," Victor said, then blew out a breath and looked over at the antiques again. "Right."

Translations

- Tu vaux bien quelques bleus, ma petite rebelle. = You're worth a few bruises, my little rebel.

Chapter 76

"Stolen?" Sinead wondered out loud, tapping her pen against her desk.

The night, overall, had been a disaster. Marc had surprised her with

another

undercover operation, even if what they did before that was pretty fantastic. She'd rubbed shoulders with escorts, sports celebrities, minor politicians and a bigger variety of criminals than she'd ever seen in one place other than behind bars.

Victor Barisha, no matter the fact that he was a slimeball weasel, was a lot better connected than she would have even guessed. She was... 90% sure he wasn't

le Français,

but if she could nail him on a big enough charge he could probably sing about all sorts of interesting criminal enterprises for a big enough deal.

The key were the antiques. She and Marc hadn't gotten a very good look at them, but they definitely hadn't been North American, and her gut said they weren't European either. North African, or maybe from somewhere in the Middle East. Her gut also said

they

were what was valuable, not something hidden inside them - if he'd been worried about drugs, he wouldn't care so much about some potential cosmetic damage.

So what antiques needed to be smuggled overseas, shipped down the St Lawrence and into the Great Lakes? From Lake Ontario and the Toronto ports, someone could ship stuff by boat and through the locks to Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago. Milwaukee. Toledo. Cleveland. The list went on and on, and that was just considering if they were the final stop and not just another leg to get deeper into the US.

For them to need to be smuggled, Sinead surmised, the antiques either had to be so valuable that someone didn't want to pay taxes on their purchase, or there was something illegal about them. Sure, they could be made of an illegal substance like ivory, or

maybe

be some sort of an illegal object, but they were most likely stolen from someone, somewhere.

"You look like you're a dog who caught a rabbit and doesn't know what to do with it now," Jules said as she came back into the empty 'Financial Forensics' office and set down the fresh cup of coffee on Sinead's desk.

"Just... thinking," Sinead said.

"How hard?" Jules smirked. "Am I going to start seeing steam come out of your ears?"

Sinead rolled her eyes. "Alright, hypothetical situation for now - I suspect someone is smuggling antique goods into the country, and I'm fairly certain I know the general

how,

but not the exact what. How do I get a warrant for the place I know they are at so I can get a proper look at them?"

Jules blew out a breath and shook her head as she sat down, kicking her feet up onto the edge of the desk she'd appropriated while she was working in the office. "Do you have any evidence?"

"Eyewitness testimony that it's there, but not what," Sinead said. "... And the testimony is from someone who might be considered compromised if it gets dug into."

"Sinead, what the fuck did Marc do?" Jules asked.

"I- He- Nothing."

Jules raised both eyebrows. "I-He-Nothing," she mocked. "Did you go stake out that warehouse again, just with Marc this time?"

"... No," Sinead said.

"Did you break in?"

"No!"

"But you

went

in," Jules guessed.

Sinead gestured haphazardly, trying to find the words that could deflect the accusation but not finding them. "Victor invited Marc to a poker game," she finally admitted. "Marc brought me as his 'arm candy' undercover."

"And you didn't tell me?" Jules scowled. "I could have been there as backup!"

"I didn't know we were going there until we were already there," Sinead said.

Jules narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Sinead knew she'd put her foot in her own mouth. "What were you doing driving around with Marc

before

you knew?"

"I... would prefer not to say?"

"Sinead!" Jules said, sitting up and pounding the top of her desk. "He's our fucking not-quite-a-CI! You can't sleep with him!"

"We haven't slept together," Sinead said. "No sex has occurred." Not that she hadn't wanted it to. She'd been kind of expecting sex at the end of the Poker night. The fight had helped sober her quickly, but they'd stayed for another couple of drinks - she'd realised later that he'd only had one glass of wine to her two. At the end of the night, after the poker game had ended and Marc had been the talk of the bar for a few hours, Marc had quietly spoken with the hairy Italian guy and came to some sort of understanding as they shook hands. Victor had apologised again to Marc, promising to meet him in the morning. After that, Marc had driven her back to his place, but instead of escorting her up to his apartment, he'd called her a taxi.

That had been a kick in the cunt. Despite all his stupid decisions that night, she'd been fucking

dripping

for more of him. His stupid heroics, his stoic control, and even the way he interacted with the other poker players, had all been fucking

hot.

Even him reaching into his suit jacket pocket and finding a card with that blonde bimbo Rachel's phone number on it, and casually making a threesome joke before tossing it away, had been hot. Sinead had been imagining him fucking her on every damn surface of his apartment. And instead, she was sent home cold, horny and full of more questions.

And she didn't even complain about it, because he was in charge. That's what she'd agreed to.

It was killing her, just a little bit, but also turning her on.

"Fuck, Sinead," Jules said, burying her face in her hands. "Fuck, you

want

to, though."

"Want is different than will," she lied.

"God fucking damn it," Jules groaned. She leaned back in her desk chair and looked up at the old, dirty drop ceiling tiles above them. "Is this why you don't want Marc as an official CI?"

"No, that's all him," Sinead said. "You talked with him, you know he's willing to help out but doesn't want to ruin his business to do it. And it's not like we had leverage on him."

"Right," Jules grunted. "OK, so what

actually

happened that night? Just between us. Then we can figure out what's

actually

usable, and what we have to sit on like a fucking butt plug because your horny ass can't just go get laid like a normal fucking person."

So Sinead told her... most of it. About the 'dates' with Marc, and being undercover with Victor. About the poker game, and the fight, and the crates. She kept back the dirty stuff, though. The BDSM talks. The oral. The gifts - God, the gifts might have been the worst part, procedurally, since they could be considered bribes. She kept all of that to herself because it belonged to her. They were her choices.

And she was trying to choose both her work

and

Marc, because for once in her life she'd found something other than work that she

wanted.

And she was going to try and hold onto them both.

Chapter 77

He had about three minutes of quiet before there was another knock on his office door. Marc looked up from his computer and suppressed his grimace, putting on a magnanimous smile instead as he stood up and went to the door.

"Gregory," he said. "

Bonjour.

I had a feeling I would be getting a visit from my favourite member of the Board today."

"Marc," Gregory Stanhope said as he took the invitation in, patting Marc on the shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"About how I look, I expect," Marc said, closing the door and gesturing that they could sit in the chairs as opposed to facing off over the desk. Both men took their seats, Gregory with the bit of grumble that came with being a man of his age.

"Was that Victor I saw leaving your lobby?" Gregory asked once they were settled. "Honestly, Marc, I know we give you about as much latitude as a man could ask for in this business, but Victor as a client?"

"Ah,

oui,

yes, I understand," Marc said. As soon as he'd seen Gregory at the game, he'd known this conversation would need to happen. Victor being here moments before only increased the need. "Before I answer that, perhaps you could... assuage my own thoughts, Gregory. How did you know about the poker game on Saturday and get your invitation?"

"Friend of a friend situation," Gregory said. Then his eyes widened a little. "Oh, you're worrying the same things about me that I am about you."

"Quite possibly," Marc said with a little smile. "What... sort of man would you consider the 'friend of a friend' who got you that invitation?"

"Fairweather, occasionally interesting, and not that trustworthy when it would matter," Gregory said. "I'd throw him a lifeline if he fell off a boat into the lake, but I wouldn't dive in after him by any means."

"Mmm," Marc nodded. "And your impression of Victor?"

"Exactly what he appeared to be, I should think," Gregory said. "A lowbrow gangster running a poker game in a warehouse. What do

you

think of him?"

"I think he's a more dangerous man than you might suspect

because

he is a lowbrow gangster running a poker game in a warehouse that attracts men like you and I to have a reason to rub elbows with some of the other men and women there."

"Mm," Gregory grunted.

Marc took in a breath and let it out, making a decision. "Victor is not a client of the firm," he said. "I've... made the

appearance

of agreeing to do some off-the-books work for him. Call it a personal financial audit. But

because

he is... who he is, there are no contracts. And, I'm trusting you with this, Gregory - I am passing along everything I learn about his operation to the police."

Gregory nodded with an understanding look, then frowned as his brow furrowed. "That's the right thing to do, Marc, but-"

"My reputation, yes," Marc said. "And the firm's. I understand. I have an understanding with the detective I am working with on this - I will never be named in an official document or asked to testify. The information I find and pass to them will not be admissible in court, but gives them a place to start looking."

"That must be highly irregular," Gregory chuckled, his concern abating. "How did you get them to go along with that?"

"Well, you've met the Detective already," Marc smiled softly.

"Have I?" Gregory asked.

"My friend Sinead, from the game."

His eyebrows went up. "Ah! That explains so much, then. I

had

been wondering about Felicity."

"Felicity and I are still on our usual terms," Marc said. "The Detective was on my arm so she could get a look into the operation. I assure you, Gregory, I am not in league with the likes of Victor Barisha, and I am doing everything in my power to not tarnish mine or the firm's reputation."

"I didn't doubt it, Marc," Gregory said, waving dismissively. "But you know I had to ask."

"I understand," Marc nodded. "And about the

other

event of that evening..."

"No need to explain, other than to tell me you're going to be more careful in the future," Gregory said. "The last thing we need is that dazzling brain of yours getting dashed on a concrete floor. Even if it is for the honour of a gorgeous woman."

"I'll be more careful," Marc smirked. "I wouldn't want the bottom line of the firm to be impacted by any future concussions or brain bleeds I may have."

"Good!" Gregory chuckled. "Then I have something different to ask you. How would you like to come over tomorrow night for a game of Baccarat? Are you familiar? It's supposedly one of the big games in Vegas and other casino locations for 'whale' players such as ourselves, and Andrea needs practice. I'll host the friendly game, and I've found a dealer to hire in. Bring Felicity, we'll make an evening of it."

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled for the invitation," Marc said, standing up and offering the man his hand. "See you then?"

Gregory took his hand and shook it firmly. "Absolutely."

Chapter 78

"Marc!" Felicity gasped.

"Shhh," Marc hushed her, catching the busty blonde's hands as she reached to touch his bruised ribs. "It's fine."

"No, it is certainly

not

fine," Felicity said, shooting him a concerned look with her brow furrowed tightly. She was utterly adorable, giving him that look, but he knew that she was more than just an adorable face.

"There were some... issues at the poker event," Marc said. "Issues that I had to handle."

"She got you into a fight?" Felicity scowled.

"To be fair,

ma petite fée,

the fight was not her fault." Marc let go of Felicity's wrists and carefully guided her hand to the bruising, letting her press her hand against it. They were supposed to go out for dinner and then come back to his apartment for their usual fun, but Marc had decided that after the events of Saturday evening, and the long day of work recovering, he would order in instead. "The Detective was, in fact, quite cross with me for feeling that I needed to handle the issue instead of letting her handle the man in question."

"Oh, Marc," Felicity sighed, feeling the warmth of the bruise and looking into his eyes. "Chivalry never died, it just took a trip to France and decided to stay there for a while, didn't it?"

Marc smirked a little. "Chivalry was

born

in France,

ma petite fée.

Somehow the English have convinced the world that they were the birthplace of knights, just like so many other things."

"Lay on the couch," she ordered, moving her hands up to start stripping his dress shirt off the rest of the way. She'd been waiting for him when he got home from work, having let herself in, and had been working on her thesis until she had put it aside as soon as he'd entered. It had been the wince of pain as she hugged and kissed him that had tipped her off.

Marc sighed, but let her boss him around as she stripped him down to his briefs and then had him lay down. Sometimes a little role reversal, in small ways, only highlighted their desired roles when they flipped back.

Felicity didn't remain clothed for long. She quickly stripped off her knit sweater to reveal her wonderful curves and the bright red lingerie bra that was managing to contain her bust. Her tight jeans went next, revealing the matching panties. He'd bought them for her a year ago - at this point, her entire underwear drawer at home

and

at his apartment were entirely Marc-purchased lingerie. Properly attired, she sauntered to the kitchen, knowing he would be watching her ass, and pulled out the jar of coconut oil and came back with it. She mounted him carefully, settling her butt down on his thighs, and then ran her hands up his back.

"If it had been me there, instead of the Detective," she murmured. "What would have happened?"

"I don't know if anything would have been different," Marc said. "Not the way the events occurred."

"She didn't lead the man on or anything?" Felicity asked. "Maybe trying to get him to reveal some nugget of information she could use?"

"No, Felicity," Marc said softly. "The Detective was 'on duty' so to speak, but not trying to rush things or take risks. She made it clear she was not receptive to the man, and several hours later he pushed things again. If it had been you,

perhaps

you would have manoeuvred yourself to stay closer to me while I was in the card game, but that may not have even mattered."

"Mm," Felicity hummed, opening the jar of coconut oil and starting to rub some of the gel into her palms, warming it up.

"And if he'd tried with you what he tried with the Detective, the fight would have been different," Marc said. "I would not have used it to discover more about the host, and I would have been perhaps a little more emotional."

"Emotional?" Felicity asked quietly as she pressed her hands to his lower back and started to massage him.

"You are a beautiful, capable woman,

ma petite fée.

With many skills, and an intelligence that is as pointed as my own, just in a different area," Marc said. "Sinead has

different

skills. Self-defence being one of them. I was not so

worried

about him touching her because he was

touching

her, but because of what her reaction would be. I fought because he touched her, but I was not

angry.

With you, I would have been angry."