“Kate?” Her gaze flickered back to Etienne. The hardness in his eyes from the rush of adrenalin softened. “It wasn’t revenge. Don’t ever think that way. Mercier would have killed me and you without a second thought.” He gave her a swift, hard kiss, and then he was gone.
Calling herself all kinds of a fool in between each number, she counted to twenty before calling out. Only then did she realise Etienne wasn’t the only one missing — so was the painting.
THE NEEDLE-LIKE JETS of hot water were a balm that soothed her aching muscles and pounding head.
Hours she’d spent with the police going over every detail. Why had she gone to Paris? What had she discovered about the poems? Had she seen the painting at the warehouse? Why did she shoot Mercier? How did she know him?
No one mentioned a necklace. No one said anything about Etienne Castel. She was starting to think he was a figment of her imagination. An elaborate fabrication of an overwrought insurance investigator.
Except that she could still remember how his firm hands had caressed her body. How his lips had warmed her skin as they trailed across her stomach. How gentle his kisses were when he thought she was asleep.
Shaking her head to clear the mental images, Kate turned the shower off abruptly, hoping the cold blast of air as she opened the door would banish him into the steamy mist.
Reaching for the towel, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She looked as tired and defeated as she felt. No amount of make-up was going to hide the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
But then what did she expect having spent most of the night in a small room with nothing but black coffee to keep her going? She’d lost track of the people that came and went asking her about every tiny detail again and again.
She fudged through most of the questions, even pointing the finger at Carl when asked how she got onto Mercier, saying he told her about it in the hospital. A twinge of guilt tightened her chest. Carl wasn’t in a position to call her out as a liar, but at least it portrayed him as a good investigator.
If it hadn’t been for the last woman who’d come in, who did little more than check that they both agreed on the basic facts before saying she could leave, Kate was sure she’d still be there now.
From the small pieces of information she’d gathered at the station, the guy on the door wasn’t talking, Georges had done a runner as soon as he’d seen the police, and Didier still hadn’t been heard from. Her memory flashed to the expression in Mercier’s eyes as he led Didier away and a shiver ran through her spine.
No one mentioned her stay in the Paris station. She presumed that it was never on record. And since no one else had placed Etienne at the scene, she hadn’t either.
What that meant, she didn’t know and wasn’t going to examine it too closely, either.
Besides, what did the truth matter now, anyway? Was she in the wrong career or was she more cut out for it than she realised? Deceit, treachery, and murder. It was still the same no matter which side of the line you picked.
Her phone buzzed on the vanity unit. Barrett’s name lit up the screen. She might as well get all the bad news over and done with in one go. Wrapping the towel around her body, she answered the phone.
“Congratulations.” His voice boomed down the line.
Kate frowned. He didn’t sound sarcastic. In fact it was the happiest she’d heard her boss in weeks. She was wary of thanking him in case he didn’t mean it, and that would just give him another excuse to list all of her faults before finally sacking her.
“I tried my best.” There. That had to cover all eventualities.
“Quite how you pulled it off I’m not sure, but I’ve just got off the phone with the director of the museum, and he is delighted.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “He’s on his way now to oversee the painting’s relocation himself.”
She must have been hearing things. “The police…”
“That was a masterpiece of thinking, Kate. He appreciates our discretion and says that he will inform the police himself of the return of the painting. Apparently it’s going into storage for some time until the noise surrounding its disappearance quietens down.”
Actually she’d been going to ask if the police had found it, but she was sort of glad she hadn’t if Barrett thought she had something to do with its return. She grimaced. Another lie, even if by omission. By the end of this she’d have no problem telling the whoppers that Etienne managed. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Or maybe his were by omission, too.
“It’s just a shame you couldn’t have retrieved the chansons at the same time. That really would have been a feather in your cap.”
She looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten. Unbelievable. Only Barrett could give praise one minute and cut her down in the next.
“Don’t delay. There’s work to be done.”
Her ire rose a little. No, I’ve just saved you millions in payout claims, but you wouldn’t want me to enjoy one moment on company time. Kate opened her mouth to say something, but he’d already rung off. With a groan she walked out of the bathroom and slammed her phone down on the bed in a bid to release some pent up fury.
A knock at the door startled her. No one but Barrett and the police knew where she was staying. Although she wouldn’t put it past him to have already arranged someone to come up for her luggage to ensure a swift return back to the office, but surely even he couldn’t move that fast.
Cautiously she called out. “Oui?”
“Madame Jackson, j’ai un colis pour vous.”
A courier with a parcel. Probably just like the taxi driver who took them for a ride. She slid the chain on the door and opened it a fraction. If he wasn’t a courier, it was a perfect disguise. Taking a chance that her instincts weren’t shot to hell after the past week, she pushed the door to and removed the chain.
Pointing to where he required a signature, the courier dutifully handed over the package. She took it from him and frowned. She’d expected it to be a padded envelope or a box, not something wrapped in brown paper like an old-fashioned parcel.
Making sure the door was firmly closed Kate made her way across the room and sat on the bed. The rectangular package was relatively small and just a few centimetres thick. Kate slid her fingers up one side and ripped through the paper.
A white card glided out onto the bed. Holding the package in one hand she reached out and turned it over. Etienne’s name and an address was printed in bold black ink across the top. Underneath he’d written,
For the eight year old ballerina who never gave up on what she believed was right.
Etienne
A sense of trepidation shivered down her spine. Leaving the card where it lay, she reached inside the package. Her fingers curled around the unmistakable shape of a picture frame. Carefully pulling, it out she took in the sketch of a figure poised in dance. Her gaze shifted to the signature even though the style and lines immediately gave away the artist. Degas.
Her blood boiled over. No, he did not do this to her. She tossed the frame onto the bed as if it burned her fingers and stood up, pacing back and forth across the floor of the small bedroom. Did he really think he could buy her silence with an extravagant gift?
She groaned out loud at her own naivety. He didn’t need to buy her silence. She’d already been complicit by not mentioning him to the police earlier.
But silence for what? Her brows drew down in confusion. She’d just been congratulated for a successful job. The painting was back with the museum, so what did Etienne need to bribe her for?
His words from the train echoed in her mind. You are so preoccupied with what you believe to be right that the more obvious reason escapes you.
Was he right? Then why give her the Degas if he wanted nothing in return?
She glanced at the address on the card and looked it up on her phone. Less than an hour away. She could return the Degas in person on the way to the airport and ask him just
what the hell he thought he was doing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ETIENNE’S GAZE FOLLOWED the taxi as it wound up the steep track. He’d received Kate’s curt text a few hours ago and confirmed that he’d be at home. Not that the advance notice did him any good. He still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say.
As the car pulled into the circular driveway, he opened the front door and walked down the steps to greet her. Steeling his face into its usual nonchalant expression, he sent up a silent prayer that he didn’t fuck this up.
Kate got out of the back of the car. The parcel in her hand was unmistakable. He’d sent the Degas in the hope that it would provoke a reaction. Well, she was here now, and that was a start. More than he’d dared wish for, but he should have known she always faced things head on.
“Salut.”
She met his gaze. Her dark brown eyes filled with questions. After a moment’s silence, she held up the parcel. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”
She thrust it towards him, but he kept his hands by his sides. “No. It’s yours. I wanted you to have it.”
“Etienne, it’s a Degas. You don’t go around giving someone you hardly know expensive gifts.”
“I don’t see why not. Besides, I know you better than you think, princesse.”
“Please, just take it back. I can’t carry it with me.” She gestured towards the car she’d arrived in.
His brow creased into a frown. “Why is the taxi still here?”
“He’s waiting to drive me to the airport.”
Etienne ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you to the damned airport.” He pulled out his wallet and walked over to the driver’s window.
“What are you doing? My bag is in the car.”
Etienne reached into the backseat and pulled out her travel bag. “Not anymore.” He slammed the door and the taxi pulled away. At the sound of Kate’s muttered curse behind him he spun around to face her. Blazing anger flashed in her eyes, but he’d take that any day over staring at his own reflection and calling himself all kinds of fool.
“We can’t talk like this,” he said with more calm than he felt. His heart was hammering in his chest. He knew one wrong move and he’d fuck this up forever. “Come into the house and you can explain exactly why you are refusing my gift.”
“I don’t need to explain myself!”
“No. But perhaps I do.” He stretched out his arm, indicating she should go up the steps towards the front door, and sighed in relief when she did so.
“Where are you flying to?” Etienne followed at a safe distance, not wanting her to get skittish and call the taxi back.
“I’m on my way back to London.”
“What about your belongings in Maastricht?”
“Already being couriered back home. My boss doesn’t believe in wasting time.”
“So you didn’t lose your job?”
She turned and gave him a curious look. “I got the promotion. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. “Welcome to chez-Castel. You’re my first visitor.”
He mentally kicked himself as he placed the bag down in the hallway. He sounded like a formal idiot when what he really wanted to do was crush her to him and kiss her senseless.
Confusion marred her face.
“I’ve only just bought the house, and I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even had a chance to invite my family.”
“It looked very impressive coming up in the taxi.”
“Thank you.” Merde. They sounded like two polite strangers.
“What do they think you’ve been doing? Presumably not chasing after a stolen painting?”
“My family? Usually I just get my photo in a celebrity gossip column and let them make up the details for me. It’s easier than having to lie to my parents.” He twisted his mouth in self-derision. “Which is why my mother is annoyed that I haven’t invited her yet.”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and a glimmer of hope that maybe he hadn’t fucked this up had his heart beating a little faster.
“I’ll be sure to pick up a copy of France Dimanche to make sure our stories align.” She looked around the hallway and glanced through one of the doors off to the left. “You seem to have settled in quickly.”
“I bought the contents with the house.” He gave her a wry smile, certain his reply would be seen as yet another transgression, and guided her through to the salon. “I have nothing but a few pieces. I can change things as I get around to it. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Putain. This was so much easier in his head.
She sat down on the couch, and he took the armchair opposite. The silence stretched interminably between them. He searched his mind for the words he’d prepared, but they’d deserted him. Knowing there would be an argument, he didn’t want to bring up the Degas until he’d explained more.
He cleared his throat. “Would it help if I apologise?”
“What for this time? Leaving me to deal with the police or explaining to my boss why I didn’t have a painting?”
Etienne frowned. He’d been assured that everything had been smoothed over for her. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t have to tread water and figure out what was happening, idiot.
“Not for the things you probably think you deserve an apology for—that’s just part of doing my job.”
“We were supposed to be partners.”
“Really? You wouldn’t have ditched me at the first opportunity there was a chance you could get ahead?”
Her mouth curled into a smile of grudging admittance. “I plotted your demise all the way on the train from Paris down to Avignon.”
“Exactly. We might both have wanted the same thing, but for different reasons. Different goals.”
“Oh, yes. You wanted the Montségur treasure.”
”Why on earth would I want to risk my life for that? I have more money than I can spend in ten lifetimes, let alone one.”
“That’s because you’re cheap on dinner dates.”
His lips rose at the memory. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you.”
She feigned shock. “You don’t say!”
“I do lead a double life, but not the one you imagine. I help the government retrieve stolen art.”
“So the playboy image. The models clinging to your arms. The glamorous lifestyle…” Her voice drifted off.
“All fake. Just enough to keep everyone fooled.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “What else was I going to do with my life? My brother looks after the family money, and I have no interest in the financial world. That’s always been his thing, following in our father’s footsteps. I needed to forge my own future.”
A frown crossed her face. “Did you work with Didier?”
“No. Knowing him helped strengthen my cover. I became an informant, and it was a useful way to deliver information I received into operations without having to go through official channels unnecessarily.”
“So Didier had no idea you were working for the government the same as him?”
“None what-so-ever. As it turns out, if he had we may never have realised he was our mole in the department. I’m just a small cog in part of a bigger machine. But my contacts, because of my family’s wealth, provide all kinds of information. Plus, I enjoy my work. It gives me a sense of purpose.”
“I know, the thrill of the chase.”
Her cheeks took on a soft glow. Was she, like him, remembering the first time they’d kissed? His fingers itched to reach out and touch her. He ran his hand through his hair instead.
Kate bent forward. “I don’t understand, why go to all this trouble to retrieve a painting?”
“Because the vast majority of stolen art is now used to fund drugs, money laundering, gun running, and a number of other illegal activities. You’re right. The dishonest art collector who wants a particular painting for their private col
lection is low on most law enforcement’s list. Stopping organised crime isn’t.”
Placing his forearms on his knees, he leant closer to Kate. “The painting was small fry for Mercier. I don’t know what attracted him to it in the first place. Maybe he had a buyer lined up that did believe in the myth of the Montségur treasure, or maybe he wanted it for himself. Either way, retrieving the painting was just a bonus. The ultimate aim was to take Mercier and his operation down.”
Her face drained of colour, and Etienne cursed himself for reminding her of her involvement in Mercier’s demise.
He reached across and took her hand in his. “Don’t waste your energy on destructive emotions chérie. You know only too well he made the decision on how to lead his life a long time ago.”
She let out a deep sigh and sat up a little straighter. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, her lips rising in faint recognition that the words he spoke were true. “What happens to the painting now?”
“It joins the rather large collection of artefacts that are stored away for their own protection or until time allows people to forget what might have been.”
“And the necklace?”
“In a secure location where no one can touch it.” He released her hand and sat back. “One day I’ll return it to the original owner, but I don’t think she’d appreciate receiving it right now. It brought her a lot of heartache over the years.”
His gut clenched at the sorrow that appeared in Kate’s eyes. Evie wasn’t the only one who suffered at the expense of the necklace. So much for a talisman supposed to protect its wearer. It was too much to hope that there was enough love in Kate’s heart for her to forgive his actions.
Kate’s gaze slid to the package on the coffee table. “I still can’t accept it.”
“You still haven’t heard my apology.” His voice was husky with choked emotion.
“What’s there to apologise about? You lead a double life.” Kate stood and paced across the room. “Believe me, I get it. Until the moment I met Mercier again, I don’t think I realised how much I was leading one myself. Terrified that one day Elise and Kate would collide.”
Chasing Lies Page 16
