by Kim Foster
Then I remembered Venice. He had helped us. He had saved me. Why had he done that?
I heard someone approach behind me. I swiveled and saw Jack walking up the steps to the cabana.
“Jack! There you are. Has anyone told you? Templeton—” I stopped then. What could I tell him? If I explained about Templeton’s imprisonment and Atworthy’s ultimatum . . . well, he might be in a position to help. Or, more likely, he would make things much, much worse, by interfering and ensuring Templeton’s death sentence.
“Cat, I need to talk to you,” Jack said. He was looking at me in a very strange way. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard what I said. “I mean, I know Templeton hasn’t turned up yet, and I’m sure you’re concerned . . . but I really need to get this out. It can’t wait any longer.”
Nerves twisted in the base of my stomach. I really did not need more bad news. “What’s wrong?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and hesitated, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I am completely in love with you, Cat. I have been fighting it and resisting it—do you have any idea how bad you are for me? But I can’t fight it anymore. The truth is, I don’t want to be without you anymore.”
I opened my mouth to say something but no sound came out. It was the last thing I expected to hear right now.
Jack looked away and stared at the water’s edge. “Lord knows I have tried to live without you,” he continued. “But it cannot be done, Cat. I need you.”
This was not a conversation I could handle right now. “But—we’ve been through this before, Jack,” I said gently. “And every time we try . . . well, you know—we’re like sparks in a powder keg.”
“Yes, but I realized: all that’s changing. We’re not on opposite sides anymore. Everything that was black and white is in shades of gray now. And then there’s the future.”
This stopped me short. “What about the future?”
“You know, Cat,” he said in a low voice, looking at me deeply. “We’ve talked about it. You told me what changed for you, what you realized you wanted, after your mom was shot. And the fact is, I want all that, too. I’m ready to settle down. I want a family, Cat. And I want that with you.”
“You—what?”
He smiled. A warm, heart-melting expression that made my knees go weak. “You don’t plan on scaling buildings forever, do you? Why don’t we start that future sooner, rather than later? In fact, why don’t we start that future right now?”
I heard a sudden sound behind me—a faint scraping. A footstep? I turned and squinted into the darkness but there was nobody there. When I turned back to Jack, he was down on one knee. I froze as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
“I know the timing is insane, Cat, but I really need to ask you and I don’t want to wait any longer: will you marry me?”
I could not speak for several seconds. Jack opened the box to reveal a ring. A gorgeous gold ring with an enormous white diamond. A fairy-tale ring, a ring fit for a princess.
“Jack, I—I don’t know what to say. I’m completely shocked . . . I need some time . . .”
A brief flash of disappointment flickered across Jack’s features. My heart twisted painfully as he looked down at his hands. “I know, it was a crazy thing to ask,” he said. “I just thought—”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I really can’t think about anything else right now, with Templeton missing and everything . . .”
“Okay,” he said, standing up. “I understand. Take—as much time as you need, all right?”
He still held the ring awkwardly. I felt breathless, but I had to fill the awful silence with something. “It—it’s a beautiful ring,” I said. “Really . . . um, beautiful.” In spite of my pathetic babblings, it was true. I wondered where he’d got it anyway. Then I remembered. He’d been in the village today.
His jaw flexed. “Why don’t you hold on to it, Cat? You can wear it on your other hand for now, while you’re thinking about it . . .”
I chewed my lip and considered. “Okay. I can do that.” I shrugged. “The hand of a jewel thief is probably the safest place for a diamond to be, anyway . . .”
He tried for a smile and failed. I took the ring and slid it onto my right hand. With no other words, I walked out of the cabana, back toward my room. My head was spinning with conflicting emotions and I hated thinking of him standing there, alone, in the darkness. But I had to get away.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Bali, 11 p.m.
Jack stood alone by the pool. He stared at the shimmering surface of the water, not sure what to think. Cat’s response had been . . . confusing. She had been caught by surprise, of course. But there was something else.
Maybe she was distracted. He’d chosen a bad moment. Stupid move, Barlow. There was too much going on, with Templeton possibly missing.
But even still, he had expected a different response. Had he completely misread her on the terrace in Singapore? Jack cracked his knuckles, hesitating by the water’s edge. It had been a mistake to propose. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d let Brooke, of all people, actually plant this toxic seed in his brain. It served him right for listening to her.
He’d go find Cat right now, tell her he’d been too hasty . . .
His phone rang.
“Jack, I need you,” Wesley said through the line. “We found it. We know exactly where the Fabergé egg is. And this time it’s going to be out in the open, on public display. We can get it this time, Jack. Can you make it back to the States? Fast?”
Jack’s eyebrows raised. The States? On public display? He hadn’t heard Wesley sound this excited, this certain about the whereabouts of the Fabergé since . . . well, since they’d started searching for it.
What had Evelyn, his housekeeper, said to him? What had Templeton said to him? You need purpose.
Here it was. There was nothing for him here in Bali. He wasn’t worried about Templeton—there were plenty of people looking for him, and that man would surely land on his feet; he was like a cat. And Felix—he was safe now. Hadn’t that been Jack’s purpose in coming overseas in the first place? Well, mission accomplished.
Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was hang around here in this romantic resort after having proposed to Cat and receiving that lukewarm response. He’d buggered things up, but there was little he could do about it now. Making a clean exit would be much better.
“I can be in the air later tonight,” Jack said. “Do I get any more details?”
Jack’s private jet was still parked at the airport in Bali. He could pack a bag and make a quick exit. He wouldn’t have to talk to anyone; he could simply disappear into the night. That would be best for everyone. His conversation with Cat would have to wait a little longer.
“I’ll explain everything to you en route,” Wesley said. “It’s important that you get wheels up as soon as possible. Call me from the plane and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“My pilot is going to need a destination, at least.”
“All right, tell him to fly to New York.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
It was just past midnight in Bali, and Ethan tossed and turned in his bed. After what he had witnessed by the pool earlier that evening—Jack on one knee, proposing to Cat—sleep had been impossible. He’d been staring at the clock restlessly for the past hour.
He’d felt like an asshole, stumbling across them like that. He hadn’t done it intentionally, hadn’t been stalking Cat or spying on Jack, but he hated that it had felt like that. As soon as he’d realized what he was witnessing, he’d instantly made himself scarce. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think either of them had seen him. With a little luck neither of them would ever know.
But he knew.
His chest ached at the memory. The feeling was too close to the way he’d felt years ago when he’d discovered his ex-wife sleeping with his best friend. He wanted to scrub all those images from his brain. A
reprise of that—the shocked expressions at being caught, the requests for forgiveness—was the last thing he wanted.
But another image flashed in Ethan’s mind: he and Cat on the beach, earlier that day. What about that? How could he possibly have interpreted that wrong? Unless . . . it had meant a whole lot more to him than it had to Cat.
There had to be a reason Jack proposed, Ethan thought bitterly. Guys didn’t propose unless they had a damn good inkling they weren’t going to get rejected. He must have received some kind of encouragement.
Ethan wanted to forget the whole mess. Turn his back on the lot of them, take some perverse satisfaction that he’d been right all along, and get the hell out of there first thing tomorrow.
But there was one thing he didn’t know and it was gnawing at his brain like a worm: what had Cat’s answer to Jack’s proposal been?
After another hour of twisting in the bedsheets, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He threw on a pair of jeans and crept outside. He moved through the shadowy garden courtyard to Cat’s suite and raised his hand to knock on her door. Then it occurred to him, in a horrible rush of reality, that she and Jack were probably in there together. Shit. Why the hell hadn’t he considered that before? He abruptly backed away, but then noticed something.
Her door was ajar.
Alarm bells clanged in his ears. Was she okay? Had someone attacked her? Without thinking, Ethan burst into her room, heart pounding, ready to do whatever was required.
The suite was empty. Nothing was out of place. And Cat’s bed had not been slept in.
Oh. Ethan felt a wave of nausea. Nobody was here, because they must have been together in Jack’s room, instead.
On his way back to his own suite, Ethan shoved his hands into his jean pockets. A piece of paper crinkled in there. He pulled it out, about to throw it in the trash, but then caught a glimpse of handwriting. He unfolded the paper; it was a note from Cat.
I’m sorry I had to leave suddenly, Ethan. There’s something I have to do.
He frowned. Leave? He rubbed the back of his neck, totally unsure what to make of this. Instead of going to his room, he changed direction, heading for the bar he knew was still open at this time of night. It was time for a drink.
Under the grassy roof of the resort bar, he ordered a whiskey from the bartender. His mood lightened a notch as he thought things through. If Cat had gone off alone—called away on some kind of assignment—well, that had nothing to do with Jack, right? Perhaps there was still hope. Although, why the secrecy?
As the first sip of whiskey slid down Ethan’s throat—smooth, smoky burning—Felix walked up to the bar. “Hey, Ethan, do you have any idea where Jack went?” He hopped onto a bar stool beside Ethan. “I went to his room and it seems like he’s gone. Front desk says he checked out a couple of hours ago.”
Ethan’s hand froze. Jack had slipped out secretly, too? The burning mouthful of whiskey turned sour in his stomach.
Chapter Sixty
My body pressed firmly back in the seat as the plane lifted off the runway in Bali. Partway through the climb I felt the pilot turn, adjusting to a westerly heading back to the United States. It would be a long journey to New York, with stopovers in Jakarta and Abu Dhabi. I stared out the window into the blackness; a few shimmering lights winked at me from the villages far below. My heart ached. How wonderful it would have been to stay there a little longer. But it wasn’t to be.
My head was still reeling from everything that had happened in the past few hours. Jack’s proposal. Atworthy’s betrayal. Being with Ethan on that secluded white sand beach . . .
Had that actually happened? Or had it just been a dream? The flight attendant came by with the drink cart and I knocked back a vodka, then asked for another. I was a mess. But I did know one thing: I had to save Templeton. I clung to that goal like it was a life raft.
I had left the resort quietly, sneaking away from everyone under the cover of darkness. And if there was one thing I was good at, it was sneaking away.
Bitterness flooded my mouth, and it had nothing to do with the vodka. I closed my eyes briefly and allowed a moment of frustration to wash over me at the fact that I had come so close. I had found it—my way out. I could have signed on with the League. They would have taken me. I could have used all my skills and talents for a good purpose.
And now, I was going to have to let all that go.
I stared at my reflection in the tiny oval window. What had made me think I deserved a respectable path, anyway? I wasn’t Richard the Lionheart. I wasn’t even Robin Hood. The cold truth: I was just a filthy thief. I was a criminal, and that was all I’d ever be.
No tears fell from the reflected face in the airplane window. I was finally seeing things as they were, and there was a certain amount of peace in that.
I thought about Templeton in prison. I could barely stand thinking about him being there, wasting away even now, while I was being served a packet of crackers and the evening newspaper.
I shut the thought out. It wasn’t going to help me do what needed to be done. I simply needed to focus on the job ahead of me. Whatever it entailed.
The pilot came on to announce our flight time and cruising altitude. At the end of this journey I’d be in New York. It was the city where I had first gone to college, where I had first honed my skills and become a professional thief under the tutelage of Brooke Sinclair. Until I had fled after her betrayal.
And now I was heading back, to betray everyone I cared about.
Chapter Sixty-One
A tworthy sat across from me in the limo as we drove away from JFK Airport. I had landed as the sun was peeking over the horizon, filling the sky with the pale sherbet colors of early morning. I shifted in the leather seat and stared at him, trying to understand how I could have been so utterly duped.
“Do you have the ring, Catherine?” he asked. He had the tone of someone asking for a spare pen, not a priceless gold and ruby ring. The arrogant bastard.
I said nothing but removed the Lionheart from my purse and handed it to him. He nodded and tucked it swiftly away.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you help us get away in Venice? Why didn’t you kill us all then?”
“Big picture, Catherine. The goal has never been to simply stop you and your team. I wanted more than that. I wanted you.”
“So . . . you were just trying to gain my trust?”
“You could say that.”
“And you helped me steal the ring in Singapore—”
“Because I needed leverage. I knew I would get the Lionheart back from you eventually. I also knew you wouldn’t willingly come over to our side. I needed to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”
“So this was all an elaborate plan? Everything you did was to get me into this position, to put Templeton in danger, to force me to join Caliga?”
He smiled. “You should be flattered.”
“Surprisingly, I’m not.”
He chuckled briefly. “Are you ready to hear about your assignment?”
I wasn’t. The last thing I wanted to do was work for Caliga. But it was the only way to save Templeton. “Yes,” I said. I prayed it would be a straightforward job, an in-and-out that would be over with quickly. Once Templeton was free, and safe, I would somehow sever all ties with Caliga.
He handed me a tablet and tapped open a file. “The job will happen here.”
I stared at the screen showing a photograph of a midtown high-rise beside Central Park, topped with a spectacular roof garden. The next pages contained blueprints and schematics.
“And what will I be taking?”
He watched me carefully. “It’s . . . complicated.” He twisted the watch on his wrist, choosing his words. “To understand this assignment, you need to know what’s at stake.”
In spite of myself, I felt a prickle of curiosity at the base of my skull.
“You see, Catherine, Caliga has one large enemy we need to get rid of. Can you think who
it is?”
“AB&T?” I offered.
He laughed. “Sweet, Catherine. But no. I’m talking about someone with true power to stop us.”
“The CIA? The FBI?”
“Think bigger.”
“Interpol.”
“Bigger. And not so . . . organizational. A country.”
“A country? I don’t know.” I was impatient. “North Korea. Iran. I have no idea. It might as well be the United States.” I flung this last one out with exasperation.
His eyes gleamed.
I stared at him in disbelief. “You want to take down the United States?”
Well, that clinched it. They were completely insane.
“Of course it won’t be easy,” he continued, uttering the understatement of the decade. “So to do it, we need to use its oldest opponent.”
“Russia?”
“Older.”
I thought. “Britain?”
He put his finger on his nose. “You’ve heard of the deputy prime minister, Duncan Wakefield?”
The name tickled a memory. Then it flooded into my mind—Duncan Wakefield had been in the center of that whole Succession Bill controversy, the one that had recently been passed, the one the locals had been arguing over in Harrow Hall Pub.
“Duncan Wakefield is one of us,” Atworthy said.
I struggled not to let my mouth drop open. “So you—Caliga—did you fix the vote? The Succession Bill—was that you?”
He nodded smugly.
“So if he gets into power, what would he do?”
“A few things. But eventually . . . declare war against America.”
“That’s completely ridiculous. It would never fly. The people of Britain would never stand for that.”
He shrugged. “You’d be surprised. With the right proof, the right people behind the cause, it would take less than you’d think. And you’re underestimating the degree to which Caliga has infiltrated the system. We’ve been planting the evidence for years now. Evidence of Americans spying on British citizens. Evidence of crimes against the British government. Evidence of plots to invade, reviving the old War Plan Red.”