by Jenni Wiltz
She wanted to believe the best of the older man. But then she remembered the eerie, faraway look in his eyes and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Don’t trust him, she told herself. No matter what he may tell you, don’t trust him.
*
While she looked around the basement, she saw a filing cabinet and a workbench not unlike her father’s. She knew she should focus on getting out of there and warning Sébastien, but she couldn’t resist inspecting that filing cabinet, either.
Ella pulled out each drawer of the cabinet, looking for anything that would tell her where she was or who was holding her. The first two drawers were full of old file folders with the usual household paperwork—income taxes, copies of utility bills and homeowner’s insurance policies.
In the third drawer, she saw it. A big, black burlap bag stuffed between a box of old floppy disks and more yellowed files. She recognized it immediately. It was the bag the thieves had used when raiding her father’s workshop.
Her heart leapt up into her throat. She’d never expected to see that bag again, or anything else from that night. It took her by surprise. All the pain and fear came rushing back over her. The agony of losing her father, always so close to the surface, bubbled back up. Except this time, she was in danger of losing Sébastien…or herself.
She didn’t know what made her reach for the bag. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop her hands from picking it up. It was as if she had to touch it because she knew it was one of the last links to her father.
This is it, she thought. Proof that Peter O’Malley is definitely one of the men who robbed and killed Dad.
Ella’s fingers closed over the bag and she pulled it out of the drawer. But when she picked it up, it felt like there was still something in the bottom. She pulled the mouth of the bag open and peeked inside. Even in the basement’s dim, cobwebbed light, she could see the glint of several stones, including a few diamonds.
Her first instinct was to turn the bag inside out and inspect everything that was left, looking for any pieces or stones she remembered specifically. Her photographs were with the rest of her things at Sébastien’s, but she didn’t really need them. She’d already memorized them years ago.
Then she remembered. That bag was evidence for the police. There were probably fingerprints all over the inside and outside that the police needed to convict Peter and his accomplice. “Damn it,” Ella swore. She looked down at her dirty hands, which had probably just contaminated whatever fingerprints were there.
She stuffed the bag back into the filing cabinet and pushed the drawer shut. She could come back to it later, once she’d figured out how to escape.
Ella wondered what would happen if she’d just ruined the only evidence that existed in her father’s case. Dad, I’m so sorry, she thought. But I might have just messed up, big time. A wave of sadness threatened to engulf her and she pushed it down. “No,” she said out loud, hoping the word could give her some strength. “You can break down later. But right now, you have to warn Sébastien.”
Before she could plan her next move, she heard slow, scuffing footsteps approaching the door. With her heart pounding in her chest, she scanned the dingy basement for a place to hide. But unless she wanted to try to hide herself under the staircase, she was out of luck.
She thought about trying to slip back under the rope. Could she pretend she’d never made it out from under that thing? It was possible, but then again, if the intruder wanted to hurt her, she’d be far better off on her feet. That way, she could run or fight back if need be.
Ella took a deep breath and thought of Sébastien’s courage in facing Pasternak. He’d attacked the man without a second thought, just to defend her. Inspired by his example, she squared her shoulders.
Whoever came through that door wouldn’t get the best of her, not with a darn good fight.
After all, she had every reason to survive. She could turn Peter into the police, solve her father’s murder, and warn Sébastien that he had a traitor in his midst. Maybe then, she thought, he’ll realize that I care about more than getting into his vault. Maybe he’ll realize that I care about the man underneath the money and the glamour and the power.
The door opened slowly and she squinted against the bright light behind it. A shadowy figure descended the stairs.
Ella refused to retreat. She stood her ground as the figure advanced on her.
As it came closer, she could tell the figure had a head of fluffy grey hair.
“Well, my dear,” Peter O’Malley said, “I see you’re more determined than I gave you credit for.” His hair stood out from his head like a halo, but she knew he was a long way from being the angelic doctor most people believed him to be.
“Why?” she said, searching his face for answers. “Why did you do it?”
“Are you telling me you haven’t figured it out yet? And I thought you were such a smart girl.” He stepped forward and pulled a pistol from his pocket.
Ella shivered but refused to back down. “You robbed my father and then murdered him. I want to know why. Why did I have to grow up without a father?”
Peter O’Malley smiled, a lopsided smile that made him look like an escapee from an asylum. “It’s simple, really. Mr. Cherbourg wanted those jewels. Were you aware of the collection your father had amassed?”
Ella shook her head. “He had some loose stones, maybe a few pieces he was working on for clients. Couldn’t Mr. Cherbourg could afford to buy loose stones somewhere else?”
O’Malley tilted his head at her. His glazed eyes gave no hint about what he was feeling inside—if he was feeling anything. “You didn’t know, did you?”
What the hell is this crazy old man talking about? she thought. “Know what?”
“Your father had more than a few loose stones, my dear. He had a collection that was second only to the Cherbourgs.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re lying.”
The older man shrugged. “Everyone knew it. The jewelers, the fences, the old women who wanted their wedding rings re-set when their husbands divorced them. It seems you were the only one he hid it from.”
The revelation almost swept Ella off her feet. Why hadn’t her father told her? Why hadn’t he kept his collection somewhere safer than his run-down workshop in the backyard? What else didn’t she know about him?
She realized she was getting bogged down in things she could figure out later. She turned her attention back to Peter, and the gun in his hand. “But why?” she asked. “Why did you have to kill him for it?”
O’Malley gave her another haunted smile. “It isn’t a pretty story, my dear.”
“Neither is watching your father bleed to death in your arms. Now tell me.”
O’Malley shrugged. “Mr. Cherbourg had an affair with one of the housekeepers. When Mrs. Cherbourg found out, he was in a terrible bit of trouble. She raged and fumed and broke half of the Meissen collection. He was desperate to calm her down. He promised her the world and she said it wasn’t good enough. She said she’d never be able to live down the embarrassment. He said he’d give her enough diamonds and rubies and emeralds so that the stars would be jealous, that everyone would be too blinded by her beauty to notice the sadness in her face.”
“Let me guess,” Ella said. “Tiffany’s was closed for the night?”
“No, no,” O’Malley said, waving his hands. “It wasn’t like that. He wanted to do more than that. But Mrs. Cherbourg…she was crafty. She closed their lines of credit at all the existing jewelers.”
“Why?”
“She wanted him to work for her forgiveness. She was afraid he would just call his secretary and have her pick out a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of forgiveness. Because he’d really hurt her this time, she wanted his apology to mean something.” The old man’s voice tapered off in sadness, rheumy eyes glowing with unshed tears.
Ella steeled herself, remembering just how many times her own eyes had glistened with tears
in the years since her father’s death. “What does any of this have to do with you, or with my father?”
O’Malley bit his lip. “Mr. Cherbourg offered to purchase your father’s collection but your father refused. He said it was your inheritance. Mr. Cherbourg offered to set up a trust fund for you and put you through the best schools, but your father refused again. He said the collection was yours to do with as you wished. He didn’t want anyone making choices for you.”
Ella’s eyes filled with tears. Her chest felt tight with a surge of love for her father. I never knew how good you were to me, Dad, she thought. All her father wanted for her was the ability to make her own choices. And she’d spent her whole life chasing his killers—a path she’d been set on, not one she’d chosen for herself.
But now it was time to ask the tough question. She remembered very clearly which man had been humming the beautiful melody, and it wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. If Peter O’Malley didn’t kill her father, he was probably the only man who knew who did. “Dr. O’Malley,” she began, “I know you were there that night. Who was the man with you?”
The doctor lifted his head and looked straight at her. “Didn’t you know? The other man was Sébastien’s grandfather.”
Ella opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. All of a sudden, her head felt like someone had wrapped it in a fog as thick and opaque as the gray mass of clouds that hid the Golden Gate Bridge from view most days. “But I thought old Mr. Cherbourg was an invalid. That’s what you all made it seem like.”
“Even a man who isn’t well can carry a gun. Especially when he wants something badly enough.”
Ella’s brain struggled to process this new information. “So my father died because old Mr. Cherbourg couldn’t find a way to apologize to his wife?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” O’Malley said, waving the gun wildly and walking closer to her. “What a Cherbourg wants, a Cherbourg gets.”
“But there are laws! You can’t just steal and kill people because one man thinks it’s a good idea. Dr. O’Malley, you know that, don’t you? For heaven’s sake, you’re a doctor!”
“Yes, I am. I was his doctor. I work for a Cherbourg. What he orders me to do, I do.” O’Malley raised the gun and pointed it at her. “And I will do everything I can to protect that man’s good name until the day I die.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing by stopping Sébastien’s exhibition? You’re wrong, Peter. You’re only hurting him by doing that. His heart is set on it, it’s all he wants!”
Ella thought about the way Sébastien had spoken about his destiny, how passionate he was about leading his family into the future. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she realized she wanted to give it to him, if only to see that pure smile of joy light up his face.
He’d taken on Pasternak to keep her safe. He’d let her cry on his shoulder, somehow knowing that it was exactly what she needed to help heal old wounds. Out of all the men she’d ever known, he was the only one who combined strength, intelligence, loyalty to his family, and a white-hot physical attraction that time or distance couldn’t shake.
He was one of the best men she’d ever known. And she was falling in love with him.
Ella looked at Dr. O’Malley’s face, wondering how the two of them could both want such wonderful things for the same family yet go about them in such different ways. “Peter, what about Sébastien?” she asked. “Think about how he’ll feel when he realizes you’re the one who’s been sabotaging the exhibition. He trusts you. I trusted you.”
“My loyalties lie with Sébastien’s grandfather. I will not see that man’s name disparaged when the stolen jewels show up in that exhibition.”
“You’d rather Sébastien disgraced and embarrassed in front of his uncles?”
“Yes!” O’Malley cried, finger dangerously close to the trigger of the gun. “Mr. Cherbourg was like a brother to me! I have to defend him! Can’t you see that?”
Ella shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “If you really felt that way, you wouldn’t ruin his grandson’s chance for success.” She took a closer look at O’Malley’s face. It wasn’t grief or anguish that had turned his gentle features into the hard mask of a killer. It was madness. O’Malley was insane.
I have to get out of here, she realized. There’s no telling what he’ll do.
O’Malley brandished the gun at her. “I can’t have you telling anyone what I’ve done. The Cherbourg name must go on. Sébastien will have to find another way to reclaim his honor.”
“No, he won’t.” Ella set her jaw. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it. But I know I’m going to stop you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sébastien drove like a lunatic, swerving around corners and speeding through yellow lights. All he could think of was getting to Ella before something terrible happened. Beside him, Gertrude clung to the armrest anxiously. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he knew the words would sound empty and hollow. They both knew there was plenty to worry about.
He still couldn’t believe Peter would harm anyone, let alone Ella. But there was no other explanation. He wanted to believe there was some harmless reason for all of this, but he hadn’t gotten where he was by hoping for the best. In business, the best-case scenario hardly ever happened. He knew he had to be prepared.
When he rounded the corner of the street Gertrude had told him, she raised her hand and pointed. “There,” she said. “It’s that one!”
She pointed at a neglected Victorian with peeling paint and yard full of weeds. The wooden front porch looked more rotted than whole. Sheets pinned up on the inside of the windows blocked the front rooms from his view.
Sébastien jerked the car to a stop in the house’s short, narrow driveway. Beside him, Gertrude gripped the seat belt tightly where it crossed her chest. He knew she was worried about Peter, but he could hardly focus on anyone but Ella.
He wanted her safe and back beside him—and in his bed, if she’d have him. The thought that she was in danger because of him made him sick to his stomach. I have to fix this, he thought. No matter what, I have to find her and make sure she’s okay.
He looked at Gertrude and saw the fear in her eyes. As anxious as he was to find Ella, he knew he couldn’t lead his housekeeper into danger. Gertrude had never harmed anyone and he’d feel terrible if anything happened to her because of him. “Stay here,” he ordered. Immediately, a memory of Ella flashed through his head. “Please,” he added quickly.
Frau Müller shook her head. Despite the gravity of their situation, the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. “Sébastien, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’ before.”
He answered with a wry smile of his own. “That’s all Ella’s doing.”
“But wouldn’t I be more useful to you inside?” his housekeeper asked. “You may need someone to talk some sense into Peter. I don’t think he’s…himself.”
“No,” Sébastien said again. “I want you to stay safe. I can handle Peter.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Gertrude. “You’ll be the lookout. If you see anything, call the cops. If I’m not out of there in ten minutes, you call the cops. Can you do that for me?”
Gertrude snatched the phone from his grasp. “If I can keep Joyeuse running, I think I can handle a simple phone call.”
“I know you can.” He placed his hand over hers, feeling the soft, wrinkled skin beneath his own. She’d been a second mother to him for so many years. Just in case things went wrong inside the house, he wanted her to know it. “Thank you,” he said. “Joyeuse wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re a part of this family, Gertrude. I’ll never forget that.”
The older woman’s doe-brown eyes shone with warmth. “Sébastien,” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“You’re a better man with her beside you.”
It took an enormous amount of effort to keep his voice steady as he answered her. “I k
now,” he said. Then he unlatched the car door and slipped outside.
The cold night air hit him in the face with the force of a punch. He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. He was used to walking into a room and demanding what he wanted. But this wasn’t the Cherbourg boardroom or a corporate merger. It was a matter of life and death. Plus, if Gertrude was right and Peter wasn’t in his right mind, there was no telling what he’d do or say.
Sébastien had one small pistol, snatched from Novochek’s locker in the garage. He still wasn’t entirely convinced Peter was behind Ella’s abduction, but he was sure the old man was in over his head. Whatever awaited him inside this house wasn’t going to be pretty, but Ella needed him. He vowed not to disappoint her yet again.
He decided to circle the house once, searching for an easy access point or some sign that Ella was actually inside. After all, he and Gertrude were still operating on a hunch at this point. He crept down the side yard, muddy and full of weeds. His thousand-dollar handmade Italian loafers squished into deep, thick mud that would probably ruin them. He didn’t care at all.
Sébastien moved around the corner of the decrepit Victorian, noting the low basement windows that had been sprayed with some sort of tinted frost.
He paused. It sounded like something was happening in that basement.
He dropped to the ground, putting his ear to the window. His heart pounded hard enough to break his ribs when he heard two voices: Ella’s and Peter’s. They’re here, he thought with relief. At least that part of Gertrude’s theory was right.
But then he realized he had another problem—he had to break into the house and get down to them without alerting anyone. If Peter really was threatening Ella, he might harm her if anyone burst onto the scene without warning. And if there was someone else in on it, Sébastien might have to fight them in order to get down to the basement.
He thought about all the other fights he’d been in. Every single one of them had been on an elementary school playground. That was before his parents pulled him out of public school and put him in a Swiss boarding school.
