by Kim Foster
Chapter 53
Ethan strolled into the Louvre gala alone, taking a deep breath as he surveyed the courtyard. Everyone here was dressed like fashion was a competitive sport: Armani here, Versace there. He adjusted the cuffs on his shirt, enjoying the sensation of the tux on his body—as comfortable as pajamas. He smiled.
This is gonna be good.
Now, to locate Madeleine York. The timing was perfect. He’d arrived about thirty minutes before they would be presenting the necklace to the winners, which should give him just enough time for some prescription-grade charm.
Ethan couldn’t be more in his element if he tried. The only black streak on his mood was his concern for Cat. Would she be able to pull it off? She was more than capable, if only she could get out of her own head long enough.
“I’m in, you guys. Looking good, Barlow.” He’d spotted Jack over by the chamber orchestra. The man looked casual, relaxed, and very professional. He could tell Jack was scanning the room, but only because Ethan was aware of his mission. For a second, he experienced a twinge of something—a little like admiration, a little like a feeling of inadequacy. At that moment he understood why Cat found Jack so compelling. Why she felt safe around him. He definitely had the hero thing down. It was something Ethan had spent the past several years trying to resist.
“I’m almost in,” Cat said. “Just at the coat check now.”
“Welcome aboard, Montgomery,” Ethan responded.
“Undercover agent by the chamber orchestra,” Jack said. He was starting to pick them out. “Another one between the bar and the fountain.” Jack continued describing the operatives he’d spotted, including the uniformed guards.
Shit. There were more of them than they’d counted on.
“That many?” Cat said, with a note of trepidation.
Ethan cracked his knuckles. “Montgomery, I’m just gonna ask you once more. You sure?”
Silence stretched for a moment. Then, “I’m sure.”
Ethan nodded. Okay, well, the girl had tenacity, that was for sure. Ethan took a glass of champagne from the bar and began strolling the ballroom, searching for Madeleine. He held her image firmly in his mind. But he couldn’t see her.
“Still looking for Madeleine. Anyone pick her up?” Ethan said quietly.
“I’m at the seating plan in the foyer,” Cat said. “You’re on here, Ethan, under the name Gladys entered, Rafael Augustin. You’re at table twenty-one. Madeleine is at table five.”
“Okay, table five. I’m heading right there,” Ethan said. “Montgomery, can you handle the name switch?” he asked Cat.
“Already on it,” she said.
En route to table five, however, he heard Jack cut in urgently. “Problem,” he said. “I’ve been asked to go to the security office, to talk to the supervisor about Reilly. I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck there, but I can’t get away to take care of the undercover agent. Ethan, can you do it?”
Ethan paused mid-stride and checked the time. “Okay. But I need a waiter’s uniform. And the stuff.” The plan they’d concocted was this: Jack would dress as a waiter and slip a fast-acting laxative into the operative’s drink. He was already wearing a waiter’s vest under his own tux.
“One step ahead of you,” Jack said. “I’m making a quick stop in the men’s room on the way to the security office. I’ll drop the vest in the far stall. The vial is in the pocket.”
Ethan headed to the men’s room, arriving within three minutes. He went immediately to the far stall. Unfortunately, someone else was in there. As he waited, he tried not to pace or otherwise betray his impatience. But time was perishing.
At last the toilet flushed. When the door opened, an old man emerged, holding a black vest and looking at it with confusion.
Ethan smoothly intercepted him. “Oh, that’s mine,” he said. “I left it in there. Thanks.”
He took the vest with a smile, and once the man left, Ethan slipped into a stall to change into it. There was also a pair of glasses in the pocket, and a long black waiter’s apron.
He made a quick stop at the bar to grab a tray with two drinks: one without alcohol, one with. An agent on the job would probably want a nonalcoholic beverage. But . . . this was France. You never knew.
Ethan tucked himself into a small alcove, out of sight, and hesitated a moment over which drink to spike. He made a quick decision, poured the powder into the liquid, and stirred.
“Okay, I’m good to go,” Ethan said quietly. “Now, who’s my target, exactly?”
“Undercover guy by the stage.” Jack described him in crystal detail: flat face, eyes too close together, blackish-brown hair.
As soon as Ethan walked toward the stage, he spotted the man. “Sir, some refreshment?” Ethan said with a knowing smile, holding the tray out to him. The agent took the drink containing alcohol.
Ethan walked away, smiling to himself. Good thing he’d doctored them both.
Circuiting back, Ethan returned to the service hallway and deposited the tray on the bar, dumping the nonalcoholic drink down the drain. He removed the waiter’s vest and returned to the men’s room to lose the glasses, vest, and apron.
“Montgomery, you got the table fixed up? Am I official?” he asked.
“Yep, you’re at table five. Green light.”
Ethan reentered the ballroom and strolled toward Madeleine’s table. He approached the table, holding a card that read TABLE 5 and had his alias printed on it. In his pocket rested thirty-five similar cards, each with a different table number on it.
“Well, this is me,” Ethan said in French, arriving at table five.
He introduced himself to two other table guests before turning to Madeleine. “Bonjour, madame,” he said, sitting down beside her. He flashed her his most glittering smile—the kind he knew made his green eyes sing.
Madeleine raised an eyebrow. Her face couldn’t possibly be colder, even if it had been chipped out of ice.
But Ethan didn’t let that stop him. He poured himself a glass of Bordeaux from the table. But not before pouring one for Madeleine. “Please forgive me for saying this,” he said to her, “but has anyone ever told you how much you look like Anne Bancroft?”
Madeleine pierced him with a steely gaze that was sharp enough to draw blood. “In fact, I have heard that before.” And then a twitch about the mouth, “Usually from young, excessively slick men trying to get something from me—like money.” She turned away frostily, clearly unimpressed.
Hmm. This was going to be a little trickier than he’d anticipated.
Chapter 54
I entered the Louvre sculpture courtyard in my floor-length, peach chiffon ball gown, my hair a news anchor helmet circa 1989. Not my style, not by a long shot, but that was the point.
My stomach flipped and spun like pizza dough being tossed into the air. This was it. This was go time. No excuses, no backing out.
I touched the back of my gown at my waistband, where I had tucked the tarot card. It made me breathe infinitesimally easier.
The chamber orchestra filled the vast, airy space with lush string music. Through the glass ceiling high above, the sky glowed a dusky purple. The room vibrated with people in Alexander McQueen and Marchesa, Harry Winston and Tiffany. Gardenias and Chanel No. 5 gave the evening a blue-blooded fragrance.
The centerpiece, of course, was the Hope Diamond. It rested in a display case up onstage. But I couldn’t get a good look. There was no getting close to it before the ceremony.
But that was okay. If all went according to plan, I’d have an up close and personal experience very soon.
First, I had one little errand to take care of. I needed to stash my change of disguise. Rule number one of every professional thief: always have more than one getaway option. Gladys had “ordered” a security guard’s uniform in the Louvre’s system last week—my size, complete with badge and walkie-talkie. I just needed to retrieve it and stow it somewhere that was easily accessible.
Because all
the security staff were out on the job, it was a piece of cake for me to slip into the security locker room, find my uniform in its shrink-wrapped package, and grab it. I snuck down the corridor and stashed it in the utility closet in the Sully wing, stuffed behind a mop and bucket. I took a pack of cigarettes out of my purse and tucked it underneath the uniform; it might come in handy later, for verisimilitude.
I returned to my assigned table in the ballroom and focused on making pleasant small talk with my tablemates, playing the role of a wealthy widow.
I glanced over at Ethan and Madeleine’s table, hoping to see him charming her utterly. But her body language didn’t say she was exactly taken with him.
I frowned. This sort of thing was usually a waltz for him, but Madeleine was looking rather . . . wintry.
Ethan’s skills in this department were substantial, I reassured myself. He just needed a little more time. At that, my thoughts on Ethan’s skills spiraled away. Had he been using those skills on me? Had he been working me like a target? Was it a game for him?
I shook my head, rattling it back to focus. What the hell was I doing? The last thing I had time for at this particular moment was thinking about my love life.
I glanced at the security guards with their semiautomatics. My stomach did a double pike with a half twist. I touched the edge of my Kevlar vest, tucked under the layers of chiffon. Touching it softened the edge of my anxiety.
The ceremony was scheduled to take place while we were served dinner. The first course came out—endive salad. But I barely tasted it as my mind was so singularly focused on the task ahead of me.
I continued polite conversation on autopilot and nibbled my salad.
And then, up onstage, they announced the first winner: Sophie DeHavilland. A wisp of a woman with a thin ribbon of long silvery blond hair stood and floated to the stage. She was guided by security guards to the side, where a black velvet curtain swallowed her up as she stepped backstage. My gut twisted. That was where I’d be going soon.
Jack cooled his heels in the security director’s office, trying to crush the urge to pace. Appearing impatient would send the wrong message, but this was taking too long. He clenched and unclenched his fists. On the far side of the room was a bank of CCTV screens, which he surreptitiously studied.
He watched as the first winner, an elfish-looking woman with white-blond hair, made her way backstage. And then he watched as a security guard frisked her.
Fuck. That was unexpected. Were they going to do that to all the winners? What were they going to do if they found the fake Hope on Cat?
“Did you two know they were going to frisk the winners?” he said quietly. Jack kept his gaze fastened on the screen. They were doing a pretty thorough job, to his eye.
There was a pause. “Are you serious?” Cat hissed.
“Oh, shit,” Ethan said.
“Okay, well, is everything else in place? Has Reilly been taken out yet?” Cat asked.
“No,” Jack said. “Not yet. I’m just waiting in the security director’s office now.”
“Ethan, have you got Madeleine? Can you get her out of there?” Cat asked.
There was silence, and then a mumbled “Not quite. Working on it.”
Jack looked at the CCTV image showing the front of the stage. The undercover guard placed there was holding steady; there was no sign of the drug Ethan had given him taking effect yet.
Was anything going according to plan?
Then Cat spoke again. “Wait a sec, Jack. Did you just say you were in Severin’s office? The security director?”
Jack looked at the plaque on the inner door. “Yes, Pierre Severin. Why?”
There was silence for a moment. And then, “Any chance you could get his left thumbprint?”
“What?”
“I can’t explain right now. Just get the thumbprint, if you can.”
The first winner was onstage now, and they were removing the Hope Diamond from its display case and carefully placing it around her neck. Jack watched, mesmerized.
They took her photograph while she smiled and glowed, and the Hope sparkled about her throat. In the security office, Jack shifted in the uncomfortable chair.
Where was the goddamned director? He had to get Reilly out of there.
After two brief minutes, the chief curator removed the Hope from the first winner’s neck and returned it to its display case. The elfin woman made her way offstage. And then they called the second winner’s name.
Cat was going to have to back out, Jack thought.
But just as he was about to say this, Jack heard Ethan excuse himself from his table to get a drink and then, more urgently, say, “Montgomery, you can’t go through with it. You have to get out of here. They can’t find you with the replica.”
There was no response.
Jack said “Cat? He’s right.”
Cat’s voice came through quietly. “I understand your concern, you two, but I can’t back out. Maybe they won’t feel my sleeve.” Jack knew that was where she’d stashed the Hope replica.
“Even if they don’t feel your sleeve, what about your earpiece?” said Ethan, his voice tight with concern. “And the Kevlar? They’ll feel that. Don’t you think they’ll think it’s suspicious?”
Cat was wearing a flak jacket? That was out of character. Jack felt a ripple of discomfort. There was a lot he didn’t know about Cat’s emotional state right now.
Jack watched on-screen as the second winner made her way to the stage. She was an older woman with steely gray hair in a short, asymmetric cut. She looked every inch Parisian glamour, old money. The only thing missing was a tiny dog at her side.
Jack glanced at the clock, which loomed large in the room. They had only a few minutes to sort this out.
On another screen he saw the guard frisking the second winner. Jack squeezed his fists.
At last, a man emerged from the inner security office. He wore a suit, had a tiny mustache, and smelled heavily of cologne. He approached Jack and introduced himself in heavily accented French as Pierre Severin, director of security. He then said, “So who is your suspect?”
Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his secure folder of images. He found the photograph of Reilly and handed Severin the phone. “He was over by the piano . . . there.” Jack pointed at the CCTV screens. “Right there.”
The director held Jack’s phone and studied the photograph of Reilly. He inspected Jack’s badge. Then he peered at the CCTV screens and back at the phone.
Jack looked down at Severin’s hands as he held his phone. Severin was enlarging the image with his right hand, holding the device in his left. Most importantly, his left thumb rested on the smooth acrylic case.
While Jack had been waiting for Severin, he’d surreptitiously wiped his phone completely clean.
He had the thumbprint. Whatever use it was to Cat.
Jack flicked his glance to the main stage. They were just removing the Hope from the Parisian woman’s neck. How had that happened so fast?
Severin grunted and said, “We need to speak to this man.” He then got on the radio and dispatched his guards to collect Reilly. Jack watched on the screens as the guards moved surprisingly quickly to approach Reilly and asked him to come away quietly. He was then hastily, discreetly, marched away.
Next thing he knew, the emcee was announcing the name of the third and final winner. “And the final winner of tonight’s honor, Christiane Beaulieu.” Jack knew that to be Cat’s alias for tonight. His stomach clenched. He watched Cat as she stood, smiling and blushing, and then started to walk backstage.
Shit. She was going through with it.
Jack needed to do something to help her. “I’m going to have to leave,” he said quickly to the director of security. “As you know, I have no jurisdiction here, and my supervisors would be truly pissed if I broke that mandate and was involved in questioning a suspect.”
The director narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “You’re r
ight. Thank you.” He handed Jack his phone.
Jack casually strolled out. And then, as soon as he was out of sight, he broke into a run. He had a very sketchy plan. “Slow down, Cat,” he hissed into the receiver. “Take your time getting there.” He sprinted all the way to the main stage.
Chapter 55
Ethan slugged back more of his drink. He was trying everything he could think of to woo Madeleine. But she was proving to be an incredibly tough nut to crack. If he couldn’t get Madeleine out of there, it could ruin the whole thing.
He reached for the bottle of wine on the table and filled her glass, then his. “One of the things I like best about a fine wine is how it gets better with age,” Ethan said smoothly. “More sophisticated, more layered, more interesting.” He gave Madeleine a glance that was laced with meaning. “But maybe that’s just me. Perhaps you prefer your wine on the young side—vigorous and bold?”
He got nothing back. Madeleine met his gaze, sipped her wine, and looked away.
Then the emcee onstage called out, “And the final winner of tonight’s honor, Christiane Beaulieu!”
Ethan tightened his fists. He had to do it now, with his very next line.
It was a risky one, but he had to give it a try. He leaned in and said in a low voice, “There’s a balcony off the Napoleon III apartments. I hear there’s an incredible view of the pyramid right at sunset. Right now, in fact. I’m not sure it’s allowed, going out there, but shall we try to sneak out and see it, anyway?”
This was probably coming on way too strong. He would be lucky if she didn’t slap his face. But he had to try.
Madeleine turned slightly in her chair to glance at him over her shoulder. She gave him an appraising look. “Yes, Mr. Augustin, I believe we shall.”
It was all he could do not to fall off his chair with surprise. But he didn’t miss a beat when standing and holding her hand as she rose. As Madeleine paused to retrieve her clutch, Ethan took a moment to watch Cat, to assess how she was doing.