Continued...

"With your cooperation, Rénauld, Jacques Tournot will take the stand and be executed for extortion and murder," Javert grabbed the file back into his hands, turning each page slowly.

Looking up, he sneered in amusement; her face still burned with anger as her eyes fixed on the papers. Ruby lips drew back into a toothy sneer, like a cornered animal, threatened and determined to kill. "Do not speak his name," her anger seethed against each word. "You have no idea of the control that slime-ridden, plague-infested son-of-a-whore had over my former husband… the hell I was put through by extension as the man I had married felt his world darkening..."

"Actually," he interrupted, already growing sick of her rants, "I have every idea of his criminal associations with the late Compte de Rénauld," his fingers turned through the case file. Cécelie's sneer fell away, leaning closer in an attempt to read the document, which the Inspector gratifyingly pushed closer to her,

"I am never slipshod in my investigations, thus much of our evidence was uncovered as we sorted out the affair of your husband's murder." His thick brow arched high as he noticed her hands trembling to turn the bottom pages of the file. Those that recounted the murder investigation.

A derisive laugh issued from her beside him. "I could tell you more than you know, Inspector, and even more than you would ever care to hear. Thibault's depravity knew no limits, Monsieur. He deserved to die a worse death than he did."

"The laws of life and death are not for you to decide, Officer."

Another contemptuous, grating laugh, "No, I never had power over that bastard in life, why should I have in his death," her hand gripped the corner of her table tightly, her knuckles blanched and trembled as she spoke. "The law bound me to that man in marriage, stripped me of my family's fortune, robbed me of decency, and placed my life, my happiness in the hands of a drunk, a debauched devil who never hesitated to cause in me as much corporal pain as he so desired."

The Inspector drew his head back at this, but said nothing. Even he could feel the pressure that strained the floodgates of the woman before him.

Cécelie drew in a shaky breath, and looking up into his face, she found no judgment, but no mercy either, and she sniff in derision. "You don't care, Inspector. The abuses of a wife mean nothing under the law after all. A man cannot go to prison for taking what is rightfully his in his marriage bed. A man cannot be arrested for beating his pregnant wife so harshly just before her term that as a result, she miscarries the baby and has her stomach carved open to remove the dead flesh inside her," her eyes looked to the ceiling, and her hand fell from the table into her lap, pressing into her lower stomach. And Javert remembered the scar that marked her skin there.

Relentless, her words continued to pour forth, "A man cannot be prosecuted for gambling and drinking away an entire fortune, then borrowing money from gangs and criminals to play the tables just a bit more."

At this, Javert opened his mouth to correct her assessment, but she continued mercilessly on. "No, you mean to tell me," she shook her head, "I know it is against the law, but when do lawmen, like you, ever actually think about arresting men who descend from a lineage and money and titles? No, Thibault never would have seen a day in court. But I have," her face blank in emotion at her last words, "Oh yes, I have," she repeated almost in monotone.

"Enough," he brusquely ordered her just as she took another breath to begin a new. Her mouth shut firmly, pursing into her own tight scowl. Pulling the file from under her hand, he huffed and spoke steadily; her cooperation in this case was a matter of integral importance, and his chances of success were certainly higher should she volunteer it willingly. His posture erect, he peered down at her along his nose, watching the fire in her eyes struggling to settle.

He cleared his throat, "From what you've said, it seems to me you have no objections to compliance with my plans, only a multitude of supporting reasons. Do you agree?"

Muted by her own words, Cécelie nodded in reply.

"And so you would agree to perform whatever duty I order you in the capture of Jacques Tournot?" He stifled a smirk, watching how that name sent a visible shudder through her shoulders. Again, she nodded.

"I need your acquiescence verbalized, Officer, or it does me no good," Javert stood from his desk, gathering the file's papers in his hands.

"Yes, Inspector," her voice settled into monotone once more.

"Good," he smirked, tucking the file under his arm as he walked around to the front of the desk, "then you will have no objection to infiltrating one of his closest circles. My plan, as of yet, still requires the Commissioner's approval, but I do not doubt he will think it my best trap yet."

Cécelie lifted her head, catching his intent gaze in her own. She nodded, "A trap with me as the bait, Inspector?"

"Not bait, Officer," he shook his head once before grabbing his bi-cornered hat from its proper hook on the wall, "You will be the man on the inside," his thick brows lifted as he laughed coldly, "or in this case, the woman on the inside." The hat he placed on his head, only after fixing the tricolor rosette on its black front panel; "After having Tournot followed extensively, I've had him trailed to the same whorehouse week after week, each and every Thursday night. Negotiations with the establishment's matron were successful, and she has agreed to allow us to capture Tournot, and in exchange, the force has agreed not to close her business… this time," his mouth drew back into a cruel grin, a lupine smile; he had every intent to the contrary for the future.

"Alors, Inspector, what would you have me do?" Cécelie's impassive mask had returned on her delicate features.

"I would have you attend to your work here while I sort out the details with the Commissioner," and with a click of his heels, he turned in place and opened the door.

"Wait, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," her voice commanded him firmly, quickly rising from her seat and crossing to stand beside where he had frozen mid stride in the doorway. His narrowed eyes sparked with anger at her insolence, but she continued her request nevertheless. "Please, Monsieur, I was intending to purchase some items for myself today. I have nothing I require after my stay in prison, and it would not take me very long to leave… with your permission," coating her request with a demure, supplicating smile.

His smoldering stare darkened, "With what money, Rénauld?"

Her chin tilted ever so slightly in defiance, and she chuckled quietly, "I'm not going to steal anything, if that is your implication, Inspector. I have money set aside, of course. I was something of an aristocratic debutant before I submitted myself to you, Monsieur," those lips parted alluringly.

"No," he sniffed roughly, shaking his head once at her, "You really have learned nothing about following my orders. You will remain here, and if you still intend to acquire those things you need, inform the errand boys. That is their duty, and to remain here is yours now." Pulling the door behind him, he was tempted to grab his keys from his belt and lock her in, an urge he fought with a growl in his throat. "I will return directly from the Commissioner to inform you fully of my plan," that forward gleam in her eye and parted lips sent a disdainful smile to his mouth, "and Lord help you should you not be here."

The door shut, Cécelie folded her arms over the brass buttons of her own tight-cut uniform. That sounded like a challenge if anything, she smirked.