The Committee by Terry E. Hill Read Free Book Online

say?”
    Fantoché was relieved the intensity in her voice had dissipated and was replaced with irresistible sensuality accentuated by the glow of the candle. “I have no words to express the depth of my love for you,” he said rushing to her. “I love you more than any man has ever loved a woman. You are the reason I exist.”
    Juliette stopped him at arm’s length. “Then you will do as I say,” she said calmly. “If not, I will leave this house at this very moment, taking with me only the clothes on my back and never trouble you again.”
    Fantoché looked at her questioningly. “You can’t mean that.”
    His words hung between them. Juliette only responded with the cold stare of jade eyes.
    A wave of panic rose from his boots and quickly filled his entire body. “Do not do this to me, Juliette. You know I cannot live without you. Why do you torture me with such cruel threats?”
    Again, there was no response.
    Fantoché felt his knees weaken. He feared they would collapse under the immense weight he felt pressing down on him. His breath became short and losing consciousness became almost inevitable. His stomach threatened to spew the meal of escargot, foie gras, and sole meunière Juliette’s servants had just served them. But for him, dying in a pool of vomit at the feet of Juliette Dupree would be preferable to facing the prospect of living without her.
    â€œI will take my life if you leave me,” he said with a depth of sincerity only at the dispose of a truly desperate man.
    â€œThen your choices are either to die or become governor. Tell me now, monsieur, which do you choose?” she asked coldly.
    Juliette was so close, but he couldn’t touch her. He could smell the entrancing aroma of her perfume and feel the warmth of her body, but her eyes held him helplessly at bay. The light from the candle on the mantle appeared blisteringly bright, or was it his imagination?
    â€œYou have not told me who these men are,” he said, unable to conceal his weakness.
    â€œTheir identity is unimportant. Never ask me again,” she commanded.
    The balance of power shifted at that moment. Despite his wealth, social status, and privilege that accompanied his pink skin, Juliette had always been in control, but now he knew it as well.
    â€œYou would allow me to die?” he asked with the last ounce of his resistance.
    â€œIt is not my decision, but yours.”
    â€œThen I understand, mon chéri Juliette,” he said at the moment of collapse. “For you, I will be governor.”
    With her eyes alone, Juliette then gave Jean-Luc Fantoché permission to taste the sweetness of her cheek under the glow of the black candle.
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    It was after 3:00 in the morning. The streets of downtown Los Angeles were empty. A full moon shed unwelcomed light on homeless men huddled in doorways and fishnet stockings worn by prostitutes offering ten-dollar blowjobs to anyone who passed within twenty feet of their corners.
    Camille guided the black Escalade into a working-class neighborhood in Watts. The pride of community and homeownership was evident in the well-tended lawns and the two cars in every driveway. The Watts Riots of 1965 left the area with the reputation of being crime ridden and depressed, but clearly, the residents knew otherwise.
    She stopped in front of a white house on Grape Street that stood out from the others on the block. Cement lions with paws clawing at the air sat on each side of a white wrought iron gate. Gold-painted acorn finials topped each fence post, and bursts of flowers on trellises were anchored in brightly glazed pots throughout the yard. Electric pink trim outlined the windows, roof, and front door. The Creole roots of the inhabitant were apparent to all who passed the neat little house.
    Camille looked to her left, then right, and checked the rearview mirror before exiting the car. It would be impossible for