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citricoslarubia > The Manhattanites: Unscrupulous > Part 15
A gorgeous redhead walked his way. He did a double take. No way. He squinted. Sure enough, Red had lived on.

Red's confidence and flair turned the police officers' heads as she walked down the main hallway. The police station was filled with criminals who'd come to Cannes, perhaps to see a celebrity. They'd caught a glimpse of something much more fantastic.

He noticed her legs first. Elegant high heels elevated her to a position taller than most men. Just below her waist, an off-white stretch miniskirt wrapped tight around her narrow hips. From where he stood, the fabric seemed sheer, revealing her peachy cream skin from her inner, ever-so-toned thighs when she walked. Must kiss.

Her "just what the doctor ordered" b.r.e.a.s.t.s were encased in a cream blouse and somewhat concealed by her crimson-hued, made-to-her-measurements blazer. Her cleavage had been fastened together by two exaggerated metallic sailor-type b.u.t.tons. Their vivid sparkle resembled two gold bars. Must touch.

His eyes fixated on his favorite Red a.s.set, her signature wavy ginger spice hair. Oh how he'd savored running his fingers through those locks at Prive Extreme. Must love.

Warner had developed an obsession for red-haired women after he'd met her. He hadn't come in contact with any woman since. To his surprise, he'd learned from a stylist at his Dublin hotel, only two percent of people in the world had her natural hair color, making Red all the more special, and he'd found her.

Red walked up with her oversized sungla.s.ses on, she didn't see him as she pa.s.sed. Two feet from where she stopped, he stood within earshot.

Unnoticed, Warner stepped up behind her and inhaled her familiar scent. It's Red! He'd found her. Not in Sydney, Australia, the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro or the Xai-Xai Beach in Mozambique. It was the Cannes police station in the South of France.

"Officer Gaston?" Red asked.

"Oui."

"My name's Taddy Brill. My lawyer Pierre de Verges spoke with you on the phone. I'm here to pick up Kiki." She gently placed her canvas tote on the floor.

"Excusez-moi?" Gaston's face went blank.

"Tabitha Adelaide Brillford-for Kelly Ivy Kailyn Izatt. She's the American you're holding. Kiki was arrested along with her friend, Dejon something-or-another." Her hand went on her hip, gold bangles jangling from her impatience.

Brillford? Warner had heard her name before. He'd heard it in December. She'd come with the rock-n-roll star's daughter and Farnworth Firewater heiress. It made sense to him now.

"Oui, mademoiselle, we're processing Izatt's paperwork." His jaw tightened. "Monsieur Dejon was not charged. He left our station about an hour ago."

"Typical! I want to see her. Where is she?" Red grabbed her bag, ready to be led in the direction she'd intended, to her friend. It reminded Warner of her eagerness to move on the second he handed her the bronze purse in his driveway.

"Your friend will remain here 'til char

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