by Gigi Pandian
We rode back to the hotel in silence, my spirit broken.
When we opened the door of the hotel room, Lane rushed across the room. “You’re okay?”
“Physically. But what’s—”
He pulled me into his arms, cradling my head in his hand and pulling me close to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Jones.”
I broke away. “You know what’s going on?”
“North called me from Hugo’s apartment to tell me Hugo was missing. He wanted to know if I had any idea what had happened to him.”
“He is missing,” North said. “Jaya’s imagination is a bit overactive.”
“I know what I saw,” I said.
“I’m not denying there was blood on that statue of his. But not enough to suggest severe bodily harm. My guess is that someone roughed him up, and he fled. Not everyone in our business is as civilized as I.” North paused and whispered into Dante’s ear, sending his lackey scurrying away, then walked straight to the bar and opened a bottle of Scotch. He poured himself three fingers of whisky.
“I could use one of those.”
North gave me a weak smile. “Quite.” He splashed amber liquid into a glass. Before he handed the glass to me, he appraised my wind-swept hair. “Explain to me,” he said slowly, “how you came to be at Hugo’s apartment.”
“Does it matter?” Lane cut in.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
My heart thudded in my chest. “When we met at the Louvre, he seemed like such a nice man.” I forced myself to stand casually, not wringing my hands together as my instincts pushed me to do. “I’m homesick. Lane was off preparing, and I was lonely.” I shrugged. “Since Hugo told us where he was living—”
“He did?” North cut in.
“You can ask Marius if you don’t believe her,” Lane said.
North pursed his lips together. He took a long drink from his glass, then sighed heavily. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to Hugo any more than you do.”
Lane snorted.
“You think I would harm him?”
“If you needed to.”
I sank down into the chaise lounge in front of the window, wishing it would swallow me up and transport me anywhere else. As I listened to the men fight, I watched as a light snow began to fall. The snowflakes weren’t yet sticking to the ground, but they fluttered by the window in a scattered blur that seemed to understand my thoughts. The image of the beautiful Angel sculpture smeared with blood was an image for nightmares. I took a large gulp of the whisky, swallowing nearly half of what was in the glass. If it hadn’t been so smooth, I would have coughed. Instead, smoky warmth filled my throat.
“There’s nothing to suggest he’s anything more than roughed up,” North said.
“Then why isn’t he answering his phone?”
“You of all people know the smartest thing to do when someone is after you is to turn off your phone.”
“Hugo wouldn’t get involved with that sort of people,” Lane said. “His religious conscience wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Religious conscience?” I asked.
“He used to be a priest,” Lane said. He moved to pour himself a drink. “He’s a religious iconography expert, which comes in handy with artwork. That’s how he got involved with North.”
A priest? I took another gulp of whisky.
“He couldn’t stand the gulf between rich and poor,” Lane continued. “He felt he couldn’t do enough to save the world in a small parish. He was a radical trapped behind a collar, so he quit.”
“What, to join your little Robin Hood gang?” I asked.
“I didn’t say he was good at being a priest.”
I groaned and drank more whisky.
“I don’t know what else he was involved in,” North said, “but that must have been what led to his disappearance. I’ve always been respectful of the people I work with.”
“How is what you’re doing to Lane respectful?” I asked. The whisky was loosening my tongue more than was wise. Lane gave me a sharp look and took the nearly empty glass from my hand. I didn’t stop him.
“This situation is different,” North said. “I never coerced Hugo. There had to be a good reason for him to cross someone.” He spoke as if he was trying to convince himself as much as me and Lane.
North didn’t look like he was faking his emotions, but I knew I shouldn’t believe what I saw. He was a con man. It’s what he did.
“The job goes on as planned,” North said, regaining his composure.
“We can’t—” Lane began.
“We don’t need Hugo. He had nothing to do with this job.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lane said. “I need more time.”
“Too bad you don’t have it.”
“You want this to work, don’t you?”
“The job,” North said, enunciating the words, “goes on as planned. Tomorrow.”
Lane downed the last of his drink. His hand clutched the glass so firmly I wouldn’t have been surprised to see it shatter. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
North cleared this throat. “Marius and Dante are at your disposal.”
“I’ve never understood why you’ve favored Dante over Hugo for so long,” Lane said.
“You know why.”
“That was a long time ago—”
North cleared his throat. “I need to attend to some things. In case anything untoward has befallen Hugo, I want to make sure his family is safe and taken care of.”
“He has a family?” I asked.
“A sister. He supports her. Whatever is going on, I’ll make sure she’s well cared for.”
I sank onto the couch.
“Can we have some privacy?” Lane asked sharply. “You’ll still be able to hear whatever we say. But you can see she’s upset. Your being here isn’t helping anyone.”
Without another word, North departed.
Lane sat down on the couch next to me. He pulled me toward him and kissed the top of my head. “Are you going to be all right, Jones?”
I nodded.
“After this awful day,” he said, “I wish there was an episode of The Avengers on TV. I could go for some Emma Peel to relax.” He stood up and went into the bathroom.
As we’d planned, that meant he was leaving me a note. With everything going on, I didn’t want it to appear suspicious for me to go into the bathroom right after Lane returned. But if I was crying, I’d need to wash my face. I forced myself to cry. It wasn’t difficult.
When Lane emerged a minute later, my face was blotchy. “I need to wash my face.” I pushed past Lane on my way to the bathroom.
This tissue note was broken in so many places it was difficult to read.
No more notes after you flush this. It’s not worth the risk. I misjudged North.
This job just got a whole lot more dangerous. Hugo might be dead—murdered by North.
CHAPTER 14
I grabbed the edge of the porcelain sink and took several deep breaths. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Nothing important was supposed to be stolen. And nobody was supposed to get hurt.
Hugo was either roughed up and on the run, or dead. North wasn’t supposed to use violence. Even if Hugo gave North a reason to kill him, wouldn’t North have destroyed his life instead? Unless...What if Hugo didn’t care about his life being destroyed? Then North wouldn’t have a hold over him. Hugo wanted to tell something to Lane. That’s why he had to be stopped.
I gripped the sink even more firmly, trying to convince myself that my life wasn’t spinning out of control. Right now it felt like the room itself was spinning. I’d always thought that was such a silly expression, but at that moment I couldn’t deny the unsteadiness of my legs and how the walls fe
lt like they were coming closer and stifling me.
I splashed water on my face and flushed the toilet paper note. I watched it spinning down the drain along with my life.
Once I’d gotten a hold of myself, I returned to the room. I found Lane pacing, looking like he was going to punch a hole through the wall.
“I need to get out of here,” Lane said. “Want to go on a walk?”
“It’s snowing.”
“Not too badly yet, but we can catch a cab if you want. I need to look at one more thing at the museum today.”
“Let’s walk. I think the fresh air will be good for me.”
As we walked to the Louvre, Lane bummed a cigarette off Marius. Not a good sign. He only smoked when he was stressed and needed to think. I doubted Marius would notice such a detail, so it wasn’t for show. Lane wasn’t faking that he was rattled.
Marius nearly lost us when he stopped to cup his hands and light another cigarette for himself, but he knew where we were going, so he easily caught up. Our shadow was only a formality at this point anyway. It was the mental coercion that was holding us to the plan. If Lane wanted to flee, I had no doubt that he would have managed for us to be on the other side of the world by now.
In spite of the light snow, the inner courtyard of the Louvre was packed with two lines that snaked slowly toward the entrance. Pre-paid tickets allowed us to wait in the shorter line, which still took over ten minutes. A little snow wasn’t deterring Saturday afternoon tourists.
I pulled off my wet coat as we rode the escalator down into the lobby. The inside of the Louvre was even more packed than the outside lines suggested. At the sight of the heavy crowd, Lane’s shoulders relaxed.
“This is more like it,” he said. “Let’s go.”
We maneuvered through the crowds, Marius close beside us. Methodically, Lane led us through the four wings of the museum. We passed by priceless paintings, sculptures, and artifacts, but I couldn’t focus on any of them.
“You don’t have to keep things from me,” I snapped as we entered the last wing. “Remember you two already told me which painting was important.”
Lane’s eyes drew together in confusion. “You think I’m leading you around to confuse you? Patience, Jones.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any left.”
Marius laughed. “She’s great, eh?”
Lane glanced at his watch. “Almost done.”
After we’d walked through the last room in the top floor of the Sully wing, Lane led us back to the main lobby, where we’d be able to exit through the glass pyramid.
We caught a taxi back to the hotel, and Marius left us alone in our room. Lane sat down at the desk and opened a laptop computer.
“Let me help,” I said.
“I’m glad to see you’re willing to throw yourself into this project as wholeheartedly as you do everything else,” he said. “But in this case, we’re covered. It’s a three-man job to borrow the painting. One technology man to circumvent security, one actor to play the role of a museum guard, and one generalist to supply a painting-size box.”
“It can’t be that easy. What are you going to do with the painting?”
“North was telling the truth. It’s not morally objectionable.”
“Then why won’t you tell me what it is you’re doing?”
Lane closed the computer and walked up to me, taking my hands in his. “The reason I’m doing this,” he said slowly, “is so he won’t ruin both of our lives. The more involved you are, the harder it will be for you to step away once this is over.”
“You think I’ll decide I want a life of crime?”
“By getting you mixed up with these men, I’ve already pulled you into this world more than I ever wanted to. Lives have a way of getting away from us when we’re not looking. I want to keep you away from this as much as I can. Will you let me do that?”
“Would it make any difference if I said no?”
“Don’t say no.”
Lane was up for most of the night preparing. Between my apprehension and my curiosity, I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep, but I managed to sleep for a few hours. When I woke up before dawn, Lane was standing at the window. He turned when he heard me sit up.
“I’m glad you’re up,” he said. “I have to go out to finish preparing.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
He ran a hand through his hair and looked back out the window. “The important thing is that it’s not snowing.”
“Why is that important?”
A knock sounded on the door to the hotel room. Marius popped his head in without bothering to wait.
“We’ll be back soon,” Lane said to me.
There was no way I was getting back to sleep, so I got up and took a shower. Even in the opulent hotel, the Parisian shower was small and only half shielded by a glass door. The hot water didn’t help me relax.
As I dressed in the last of my clean clothes, I heard a voice in the hotel room, and found North waiting for me on the sofa. Dressed in a tailored gray suit, he was speaking on a cell phone with the newspaper spread out in front of him. When he saw me, he gave me a friendly nod. I couldn’t imagine him killing someone, but looks can be deceiving.
I had to get my feelings under control. I couldn’t show fear. I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to get out of this.
While North finished his phone conversation, I gathered my dirty laundry. “I need some laundry done,” I said as soon as he hung up, dropping my clothes in a pile at North’s feet.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“How can you sit there so calmly like that? Shouldn’t you be helping? At the very least, aren’t you nervous?”
“I wouldn’t be very good at what I do if I got nervous, would I? And who says I’m not helping?” He walked over to the room’s phone and called the front desk. After hanging up, he said, “You’ll have your clothes in a few hours. Care to join me for breakfast?”
“Is that a question?”
“I’m trying to be polite. But you’re right, I’ve already ordered.”
My wet hair dripped onto my neck. I rubbed the water droplets away with my hand.
“Better dry your hair,” he said. “It’s cold out there today.”
I slammed the bathroom door before picking up the hotel hair dryer. I watched my black hair swirl around my face in the mirror. Jaya Anand Jones, what are you doing here? By the time I was done a few minutes later, my laundry had been picked up and our breakfast delivered.
I took a mug of coffee and sat in the chaise lounge window seat, watching the dark sky brighten with the sunrise.
“I thought you liked pastries,” he said.
“How can you eat right now?”
“Lane knows what he’s doing.”
“I know. But this is the Louvre.”
North’s forehead creased as he looked at me. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what? You two haven’t told me what’s going on today, remember?”
“He’s done it before.”
“I know what he used to be.”
“I’m not talking about what he’s done in general,” North said.
This was getting tiresome. He wanted me to bite, to beg for more information, but I was done playing along. Lane was doing what North wanted. I didn’t have to be polite to his blackmailer. I took another sip of coffee and turned back to the window.
“Lane Peters,” North continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “has robbed the Louvre before.”
CHAPTER 15
I coughed as my coffee went down the wrong pipe, then I stood and faced North. “That’s not possible,” I said, in between coughs. “He would have told me.”
“Would he?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know why you’re doing this—”
“I’m sorry,” North said. “I don’t mean to mock you. I thought you’d feel better knowing he’s pulled this off before.”
In spite of the high ceiling, I felt claustrophobic in the hotel suite. Had I misjudged Lane? I knew he was once a thief, but everything at the Louvre was of cultural and historical significance. It wasn’t the type of thing he would have done.
Unless I didn’t know him at all.
Lane said North was a man of his word. But that was before Hugo’s suspicious disappearance cast doubt on North’s word. Had North killed Hugo to keep him from telling Lane something? Could he have been killed by someone else?
“How,” I said in between deep breaths, “could you possibly think that would make me feel better?”
“I’m sorry about all this, you know. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
“You could call it off.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“You’re calling the shots. You can do whatever you want.”
He looked at me with a curious smile. “You really are quite innocent, my girl. Forces are in motion that I’m powerless to stop.”
“Difficult is different from impossible.”
“Ha! The more time I spend with you, the more I see why he likes you. How did you get mixed up with him?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“True. But I thought it would be nice to hear it from you. God knows we could both use the distraction.”
“In that case, I’d rather hear more about you. How did you get into this life of being a master criminal?”
