by Kim Foster
I could see the struggle on his face. He knew I was right. He was wrestling with his professional obligations and his personal obligations to me. It was the sort of conflict we had worked so hard to avoid.
“It’s too late,” he said. “I’m involved.”
I closed my eyes. This was not good. We were not going to be able to get this toothpaste back in the tube.
“But here’s what I think,” he continued. “You need to get out of this. Faulkner is bad news. He’s dangerous. He’s a major criminal, and he’s violent.”
No kidding. I wished I could talk to Jack about it, but my old instinct to protect him, to keep him in the dark, kicked in. “It’s fine. Faulkner is just an old man who’s a lot of talk,” I said. I hoped my voice came out more confident than I felt.
“Cat, stop. You don’t understand—”
“No, listen.” I needed to find a way to get him off the trail. I had to figure out a way. If I could just give him something else to sink his teeth into.
And then I had it. Reilly and Madeleine. A little corruption within the Smithsonian. That should prove interesting to an FBI agent.
“If you really want to investigate someone, take a look at Madeleine York. She’s the director of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, but she’s actually working behind the scenes with a thief to steal . . .”
I stopped there, not particularly keen for Jack to know what was being stolen. The last thing I wanted was increased security around the Hope, making my job that much more difficult.
I reconsidered. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Okay, never mind that,” I said quickly. “That’s not really your department, anyway. Just trust me. Albert Faulkner is nothing to worry about. He’s just an old, somewhat fanatic jewel collector.”
I looked sideways at Jack and tried for a smile. His face was flat with skepticism. He was not buying it for a second.
“I want to get you out of Paris,” Jack said. “I’m worried about you and this job.”
At that moment Ethan returned. “Cab is waiting. Let’s go.”
Jack turned to him then and said, “There’s a lot I don’t like about you, Jones, but I believe we do share a concern for Cat. I just told her I wanted her to get out of Paris. Are you gonna back me up on that?”
First, they were fighting over helping me, and now they were teaming up against me?
Ethan’s expression was odd, unreadable. Almost like there was something funny. “Actually, I think you’re right,” he said. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had, Barlow.”
“What?” I said disbelievingly.
“In fact, I know just the place you should go,” Ethan said. “Where we should go, I should say. How do you feel about Thai food?”
Chapter 43
Bangkok, Thailand
Ethan and I walked down tourist-filled Khao San Road, sweating under the hot late afternoon sun. The tropical air clung to me like a wet blanket; we hadn’t been there for long, and I already felt sticky. Awnings lurched out from walls at varying angles, and colorful strings of flags spanned the street. This street, the center of the universe for backpackers, positively throbbed with life.
We strolled through spicy clouds that smelled of lemongrass and peanut aromas. I glanced at a food stall and saw roasted meat skewers of some kind lying in the sun and attracting flies, waiting for sunburned backpackers to buy them and gleefully eat them.
We were looking for a very specific shop: a bespoke tailor and haberdashery owned and operated by a tailor who happened to have a side business in replica gem creation.
He was the best, or so we’d been told. He also had a perfect replica of the Hope that he was willing to sell. Which had all better be true. Getting here had not exactly been a walk in the park.
Specifically, flying out of Paris had not been fun.
At Charles de Gaulle the security staff carry semiautomatic weapons, with their fingers quite literally on the trigger. This is a fairly freaky sight for someone who has recently developed a terror of being killed.
Ethan had tried to coach me through it. “You’re just going to have to forget about them, completely put them out of your head,” he’d said as we made our way through the terminal.
I had said nothing, had just stared grimly ahead.
“You could handle yourself if you needed to,” he’d continued. “You know that’s true. That hasn’t changed. The fear is the only new thing. And you can’t let it own you.”
He was right, of course. But it was easier said than done.
In spite of my fears, the journey here had gone smoothly. And today, as long as we were able to locate the tailor, we’d be on the next plane out of here, back to Paris, and back to Jack. As long as he was still waiting for me.
When Ethan had explained why we needed to go to Bangkok, I knew there wasn’t a choice involved. I had to do it. And Ethan had to come, too, because it was his contact who’d set it up, and that was the arrangement.
When I’d told Jack I needed to go, I’d expected him to argue. To respond with heated anger over the very idea. Instead, he had been quiet and had gazed out the window of our hotel bedroom, making things even worse. Anger I could handle, but this cold detachment was another matter.
I knew why it was hard for him to accept me going away with Ethan. But there was nothing I could do about it. But then again, why should I do anything about it? Ethan was a colleague, and we were working on a project together. There was nothing wrong with that.
As Ethan and I wove our way along bustling Khao San Road, we kept a sharp eye out. But all we could see were endless stalls and shops bursting with batik-printed skirts and knockoff Ray-Bans and fake Louis Vuitton purses.
And then we found it. The shop had three rather ugly suits on display in the storefront window and a crummy little sign that read SUPREME CLOTHIERS: LADIES & GENTS CUSTOM TAILOR.
Unfortunately, there was also a sign that said CLOSED. PLEASE COME AGAIN.
“They’re closed?” I said disbelievingly. “How can they be closed?”
Ethan pulled out his phone and made a call. He spoke angrily to whoever his contact was and then punched the END CALL button with annoyance.
“Looks like we’re going to have to keep ourselves entertained for the night,” he said. “Tailor doesn’t open again until the morning.”
Damn. I squeezed my eyes tight with frustration.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Ethan said. “We’ll just lay low for the evening and come back first thing.”
I nodded. He was right; it wasn’t the end of the world. First, though, we needed to find somewhere to stay for the night. Ethan led the way to a crummy hostel in the Banglamphu neighborhood, not far from Khao San Road. I cringed as we walked through the door, but the low-rent digs were for a good reason. Ethan had been in Bangkok a while ago for a job. And, unfortunately, during his getaway they’d captured a photo of half his face. He was a wanted man here in Bangkok. We would need to maintain a low profile.
At the check-in desk there was a moment of supreme awkwardness when they asked about the number of beds we would need.
I firmly requested two separate beds. Exactly like I’d told Jack I would if this came up.
Once the desk clerk gave us a few key instructions—like “Do not drink the tap water,” “If you see a lizard, ignore it, unless it’s got a red stripe, of course, and then, by God, come get help,” and, finally, “Pay no attention if a fire alarm goes off, because it’s been acting up all week”—we were handed a key. As we climbed the stairs, I wondered how we were to know if there was an actual fire. And what the hell did the red-striped lizards do, exactly?
I put these trifles out of my mind when we arrived in the room and flopped our backpacks on the very separate saggy single beds. It was stifling. An antique air conditioner rattled away in the window, but I wasn’t confident it was producing more than the faintest wisp of mildly cool air.
“You know, Montgomery, I think we
need to go somewhere for a cold drink,” Ethan suggested, gazing with suspicion at the air conditioner.
I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe I should just sleep off the jet lag and be ready to go at daybreak. “I don’t know, Ethan. . . .”
“Come on,” he cajoled. “There’s nothing we can do about the tailor right now. But we’re here, and we might as well have a little fun. What do you say?”
He was making a certain amount of sense. Besides, I could barely breathe in this stuffy room. After another minute of considering, I agreed.
We found a patio just down the road, a colorful place strung with bright flags and populated by a large crowd of hipsters and backpackers drinking and laughing and getting high.
We sat and ordered Singhas.
“See?” said Ethan, clinking my glass. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves a little while we’re here.”
The sun was beginning to set now, and the air felt marginally cooler and fresher. Above us, the southern constellations were just beginning to prick the twilit sky. We sat and talked and ordered another round of Singhas. And then another.
I noticed a trio of women thoroughly checking Ethan out as they walked by on their way to the bar, and I felt an irrational surge of pride. He was a superb specimen, that was for sure. And he was with me. At least, I knew that was how it looked.
And my inner self had to admit, That’s how it feels.
As the sky grew darker, they turned on the string of glowing lanterns that surrounded the patio. In the glowing light, Ethan’s face looked even more handsome, if that was possible. His hair ruffled slightly in the warm breeze. As if reading my mind, he gazed intently at me at that moment. Everything surrounding us disappeared into the background.
“Montgomery, I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I just have to. You are a very fine woman.”
I said nothing, but my stomach did a backflip or two.
He continued talking. “I’m not trying to come on to you. I’m just stating a fact.” He sipped his drink, pondering. “But that’s not even the thing I like best about you.”
Relaxed by the booze, I couldn’t help raising an eyebrow, playing along. “No?”
“Nope. What I like best is how well we work together. You can’t deny it—this whole Bonnie and Clyde thing we’ve got going on.”
I couldn’t deny it. And that was the whole problem.
“In many ways, you’re such a good girl,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a soft rumble. “But in this one significant way, you’re bad through and through. And I find that irresistible.”
A sudden warmth surged through my body. It was difficult to look away from his smoldering gaze, but it was his words that pulled me in more than anything. It wasn’t lost on me that he was talking about the exact thing Jack would change about me, if he could.
Ethan was about to order another round when I stopped him. “Ethan, we gotta get back. It’s late, and we can’t miss our meeting in the morning.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. Ethan shrugged and paid the waitress, and we walked back to the hostel in the marvelously comfortable evening air.
Walking now, I realized just how uneven this pavement was. Possibly it had something to do with how many Singhas I’d consumed. Either way, Ethan caught me as I stumbled to the side, and then held me with his arm the rest of the journey.
Which felt nice. In a very wrong way.
We returned to the hostel, and strangely, our room didn’t look half so horrible in the evening light as it had in the full glare of the day. I went to the windows and unlatched the heavy shutters, which we’d kept closed against the heat of the sun, flinging them open to let the cool night air in. I gasped as I looked out. There was a tiny balcony and, beyond that, an incredible view of the Chao Phraya River. Lights shimmered from a Buddhist temple on the riverbank, and two boats slowly passed each other on the wide, dark waterway. How had we not noticed this view before? I stepped out on the balcony.
Ethan walked over and stood behind me. “Well, that’s pretty incredible.” He placed a hand on the balcony railing. He was very close; I could feel his body heat. In spite of the fresh air, I was finding it rather difficult to breathe.
My inhibitions had been dissolved by three drinks. Had my conscience, too? This was going in completely the wrong direction. I had to stop this.
Ethan brushed my hair to the side and bent his head to my neck. His lips barely touched my skin, but it sent a shiver through my whole body. I stood very still while a war waged within me. He felt so amazing. What we could have would be incredible. And yet how could I do it to Jack? Ethan took my shoulders gently and began to turn me toward him. I could feel my resolve crumbling.
And then a smoke detector pealed out, slicing into the quiet.
We both startled and jumped apart. I looked for an immediate exit—always my impulse on hearing an alarm.
“What the hell—” said Ethan, going quickly to the door of the room to check the hallway.
And then I remembered. The fire alarm has been acting up all week. . . .
It was a false alarm. Sure enough, after two minutes of sirens, the fire alarm shut off abruptly. The cicadas resumed their chirping.
But I did not resume my spot on the balcony. The spell was broken—thank God—and it was time for me to be a sober grownup who did not do things to betray her perfect, trusting boyfriend.
“Ethan,” I said. “I, um, I’m just going to go to sleep.”
He said nothing, just nodded without argument. He went downstairs to check with the front desk about the fire alarm.
And I quickly climbed into my bed, alone, and turned off the light.
Jack ran a hand through his hair. He was exhausted. And when was the last time he’d eaten, anyway? He was alone in his hotel room, restlessly pacing. Even the spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower from the window failed to capture his attention.
His purpose in Paris was becoming increasingly muddy. The Gargoyle was proving to be incredibly difficult to nail. And the one solid lead he’d come up with happened to involve his girlfriend, whom he’d sworn not to betray.
Except what was she doing right at this minute? Jack scowled at the thought.
To her credit, Cat had been completely forthcoming about the trip to Bangkok. She’d explained that she needed to go for work. The exact purpose had been left unsaid, however, as per their arrangement. Which didn’t bother Jack much.
She’d also been totally up front about the fact that Ethan was going, too. Which bothered Jack a great deal.
She had sworn on her sister’s grave that he had nothing to worry about. It was strictly a business trip.
And he wanted to believe her. But he couldn’t help wondering, was he being an idiot, trusting her?
No. He had to have faith. Cat and Ethan were just colleagues. Jack felt like a jerk, giving her such a hard time over working with another thief—someone who might be able to help her get out of the mess she was clearly in.
Jack frowned, thinking about that. Cat was in way over her head. He worried she was in serious bodily danger. Or, at the very least, major legal danger.
How could she be involved with Faulkner? Goddamn it. That was going to make his job much more difficult. Because he’d promised her long ago that he wouldn’t compromise her.
But if he could just nail Faulkner, he’d be able to liberate Cat from his choke hold. She clearly wanted Jack to back off the investigation, but instead, he was even more firmly resolved that he was going to get this guy.
He needed to know more about how this all connected to the Louvre. What were they after? Since Cat had made it clear she wouldn’t be telling him any more about this job, who could he talk to instead?
One name sprang to mind.
Later that evening Jack sat in Bar Hemingway at the Ritz. Piano jazz music mixed with the sounds of chatter and clinking dishware. He sipped his whiskey and gazed over the rim of his glass at his companion at the ba
r.
“So, Brooke, tell me,” he said. “How’s the job going, the one you and Cat are working on here in Paris?”
Brooke laughed. “Well, full points for trying, Jack. But did you think I’d just spell it out?” She swirled her drink, a sidecar, a Jazz Age cocktail made famous at the Ritz. He had to give her credit for style.
Jack knew plenty about Brooke. He knew she and Cat had been long-standing rivals. He also knew they worked together from time to time. And that Brooke had once, many years ago, been Cat’s mentor. He was taking a gamble here that Brooke was helping Cat again this time around.
It hadn’t been difficult to locate her. Brooke’s activities had been monitored to a certain degree by Interpol and the FBI ever since her prison stint for theft last year. He’d known she was in Paris. Getting a message to her through his underground network had taken a mere couple of hours.
“You know I’m just worried about Cat,” Jack said. “You can understand that, right? I’m not even here on official business. I have no jurisdiction here. But it’s a big job she’s doing.”
“Don’t worry about Cat. She’s got it well in hand.” Brooke smiled knowingly. “I mean, I’m sure I would do a better job, of course. But that’s neither here nor there.”
This wasn’t getting him anywhere.
“Why aren’t you doing the job, then?” Jack asked. That’s the ticket, he thought. Work away on the ego. Jack knew hers was substantial. Sooner or later she had to slip.
Brooke sipped her sidecar, tension in her mouth. “It’s not official business. And my agency has been pretty clear. No moonlighting.”
“Didn’t have you pegged as a rule follower, Brooke.”
She shrugged.
“Anyway, a big job like this?” he said, pretending he knew much more than he did. “I’m surprised your agency wouldn’t want you to make a play for it. I’m surprised Cat’s agency is letting her do it.”
Brooke placed her martini glass on the bar. “They’re not. The Hope? Do you really think her agency has the cojones to take on that kind of job? It’s too big. That kind of heist would always be below the table. That’s why it’s coming from outside.”
