Why?
She felt along the corner, pressing and fingering the seam—looking for anything that might spring open or move back. There. At the bottom corner of the square facing, a thumbhole. She pulled gently and felt the entire square shift. With a tug, she popped it off.
She sat for a moment, holding the square face in her hand. Seriously?
Inside, she groped around.
A box.
Square.
Six by six inches.
With a lock.
She slipped her key into the lock and caught her breath as it turned easily, and the lock popped. For a moment, she didn’t lift the lid. Every time she opened a box, she found something else she didn’t want to know—and another clue she didn’t want to follow.
But this box was small. She lifted the lid and saw three small items—a flash drive, a program for a studio tour, and, for Christ’s sake, Elise. Another key.
*
Zeus greeted her with a yawn, then stood by the door until she opened it.
As she waited for him to do his thing, she started the coffee and examined the program. It was dated for last year. Why on earth would she keep an old program in a box in the window seat and not with other keepsakes if it meant that much to her?
She squinted at it, looking for a clue, but nothing looked obvious. Just a brochure for a standard studio tour—the kind Elise loved to go to—churches, this time. It looked like five churches had participated, opening their doors for members of the public to tour their art and stained glass.
Elise had circled one church in particular—her own. Why would she go to a studio tour of her own church when she could see the artwork every Sunday?
At the bottom, in small font, she saw a possible answer. One of the older and more valuable paintings, usually protected behind glass, would be opened for the day. Spectators would have a rare chance to admire the painting up close, without barriers.
Jil sighed and pocketed the brochure. So many questions and nobody to ask.
Why did she have the feeling Elise had done this on purpose—one last treasure hunt from the grave? Except this time, the real treasure would be finding out about Elise’s secret life.
She put the third key onto her keychain and grabbed her computer and headphones. Time to look at the last clue.
As the coffee dripped and hissed, she connected the flash drive to her laptop. It made a dinging noise, and she squinted at the screen and pressed some buttons—next, next, next.
This file requires the use of Audible-Me. Install new program?
She hit yes.
Next. Next. Next. Accept.
“Good Lord,” Jil muttered as she waited for the circle on her desktop to stop spinning.
Finish.
“Yes, please!”
Suddenly, Elise’s voice filled the room.
“Hello, Duncan. Just so you’re informed, I’m wearing a wire.”
Duncan?
Her stomach clenched. Not Duncan MacLeod, leader of organized crime? What was Elise doing talking to him—and recording him, for that matter? What was he going to do to her?
The sound of a door closing. Something dropped on the floor and the scuffling of boots obscured the first part of the man’s sentence.
“…supposed to keep that a secret, generally?”
“No. This is a transparent part of my terms.”
“Fine. You’ll go down too if the recording is ever released. There’s no statute of limitations on that you know.”
“It’s insurance for when I die.”
He growled. “…should have you thrown in the drink for what you did.”
Jil pressed pause on the screen, then turned up the volume and backed the cursor up a few centimeters.
“Then who would keep you on the straight and narrow?” Elise said.
“Maybe I’m tired of all your interference. Maybe I just want you to get the hell out of my way.”
“You’re a free man, Duncan. You’ll do what you like when I’m gone. You think I don’t know that?”
Jil frowned and paused the tape, then rewound it again to make sure she heard it correctly. Yes, that’s what she’d said, and her tone had a familiar quality to it that could only mean Elise knew MacLeod. But how?
Jil strained to make out the sounds coming from the speaker.
“You’re taking advantage of that girl.” His tone sounded almost accusatory.
“I am not. She came to me willingly.”
“I’m sure she did. She’s talented. And she has a dark side as wide as yours.”
Elise snorted. “We’re not in that game anymore, Duncan.”
“But part of you misses it, don’t you? You must. Otherwise how could you have pulled off that switch?”
“You robbed a church!”
“Your morals are getting in the way of my profit. And I want to know who this bitch is who’s working for you instead of me.”
“You’ll never find her. But even so, I’ll tell you right now, Duncan, you lay a hand on her and I’ll haunt you from the grave, no matter how many candles you light.”
He cursed under his breath, and Jil felt her heart accelerate. What was Elise doing messed up with this guy? “You forget what I know about you.”
“I don’t care anymore. I’m going to be dead soon. Tell the world for all I care.”
“You don’t care about the world, but you do care about your daughter.”
Elise’s breath caught. She had to clear her throat before speaking. “We’ll come back to that. But I have one question first—how did you get the Madonna across the border?”
“The fake one, you mean?” He laughed bitterly.
“Doesn’t matter. You thought it was real.”
“You need a lesson in smuggling, Elise?”
“Maybe.”
“You do! What do you plan to pull off?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He snorted. “But you have the nerve to ask how I move my goods? Don’t you know me better than that?”
Elise sighed. “It’s been a long time. I’d hardly say I know you now.”
A shuffling sound, like he was moving closer. “Once you know someone that well, you don’t ever forget…”
“Years ago. We were practically children. And we both made bad decisions.”
“Which you don’t want to be reminded of. That’s why you’re really angry with me, isn’t it? Because I made you do something that reminded you of how good you used to be? What a thrill it is to get away with it?”
“You’re on shaky ground here, aren’t you? Getting upset about a piece that didn’t belong to you?”
“Do you know how many months of planning went into that heist? You stole more from me than just money.”
“You got paid.”
Duncan snorted. “Well, that’s only because the replica was so good. The buyer didn’t even realize it was a forgery. He left with your replica; I got paid. But I want to know how you switched them and when.”
“And I’m going to take that with me to my final breath. Just know that I have beaten you for the last time.”
“Yes, you have. And now, you’re purposely keeping a valuable replicator in the wings when she rightfully belongs on my team. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now?”
Elise chuckled. “We both know why. But I need something else from you.”
“What?”
“I want to make a deal.”
“Why should I? You’ll be dead and gone soon.”
Elise sighed. “Because I plan to give you something you’ve always wanted. But you have to give me your word that you will not go looking for my replicator.”
“I’ll promise no such thing.”
Her laugh was barely audible. “Yes, you will. And this is why.”
A rustling of paper.
He inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t. You swore you’d never part with it.”
“I earned it.”
He chuckled. “Yo
u did. But I still want it.”
“I know. I’ve come up with a solution. It will give me what I want—”
“You want something more than that? You’ve never wanted anything more than that. Not even—”
“Not even you?”
He didn’t answer. But after a long pause, he cleared his throat.
“She deserves her life, Duncan.”
He sighed. “I give you my word.”
“I’m going to have to trust you to keep my secrets. My memory is all she’s going to have when I’m dead.”
“I know. Me too.”
“You’re never to make contact with her. And if she finds you—”
“How would she find me?”
“You might be surprised.”
He sighed heavily. “If she finds me there’s not much I can do about it.”
This didn’t make sense. Why would Anastasia go looking for Duncan MacLeod?
“I need more than that, Duncan.”
He chuckled. Another rustle, like he was digging into a pocket or a small bag. “Here. Pin it on yourself. Take it as my promise.”
Elise whistled slowly. “That’s never the…”
What was she looking at?
“It is. And don’t you go giving me any lectures. It never belonged to that museum in the first place. And if it doesn’t convince you, then nothing will. Besides, with the amount of money that thing’s worth, it’s a fair trade.”
Elise breathed a sigh. It sounded like relief. “I’ll make sure she knows. And that she keeps this safe in case you ever need reminding.”
He chuckled. “That might be difficult. But I imagine you’ll find a way. You’re nothing if not resourceful.”
White noise faded in, obscuring the voices. She played with the settings on her laptop’s sound, but the white noise persisted—almost like Elise was holding something to her chest, or putting on a sweater, muffling her response.
Jil tried once more, but couldn’t clear the audio. This job belonged to someone else with far better technical skills than she possessed. Trouble was, though, she didn’t know what Elise might have said on the tape, and what it might imply. But she wanted to know—she needed to know—what she’d given MacLeod to keep Anastasia safe.
And if she’d kept her relationship with Duncan MacLeod a secret, what else had she been hiding all this time?
She downloaded the file onto her iPod, backed it up to two separate e-mail accounts with the file name “Banana Bread Recipe,” then took the flash drive out of her computer and popped it back into her pocket. She planned to put it back where she’d found it—in the crevice under the window seat. Elise had kept it hidden for a reason, and until she knew why, she would keep it out of sight.
At the door, Zeus stood waiting for her to let him back in. He nuzzled her hand on his way over the threshold, and she paused to scratch him behind the ears. So many questions raced through her thoughts that she couldn’t catch a single one to process or analyze.
Instead, she poured a large cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, just trying to absorb all the implications.
Elise knew Duncan MacLeod.
Duncan MacLeod was a known leader of organized crime—specialty, counterfeiting.
Elise had double-crossed him in some way, created a forgery for a painting he had stolen, it sounded like.
What painting was it? How had Elise switched them? How had Elise even known about his activities?
Jil sighed. These actions and knowledge of the underworld belonged to other-Elise. Not the Elise who had raised Jil and held a prestigious professorship at a respected university. This other-Elise was a criminal.
Chapter Twenty-three
Technically, their relationship was over. Fraser had taken her report. He’d delivered her ring and had let the thief go. She didn’t owe him anything.
But if she wanted to talk to Duncan MacLeod, she’d have to know where he was. And after listening to him threatening Elise, she didn’t mind at all if she had to speak to him in jail.
She texted Fraser. What if I knew about a warehouse operation?
He answered immediately. Why would you tell me?
She thought for a moment. Because I’m pretty sure I can guess whose ring it is.
As she was waiting for Fraser’s reply, her phone rang and startled her. Jess’s name lit up the screen.
Shit.
For a second, she considered not answering, but she didn’t want to be that person. She’d worked hard to learn to confront her problems, and she wouldn’t let one rocky relationship change her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Jess’s voice sounded soft—like she’d just woken up, or hadn’t had enough caffeine to properly start her day. Usually she’d say, “I’m calling from work.”
Code for keep it straight.
Jil waited for her to say something else—to direct their conversation—but she didn’t. Why did it have to be so fucking complicated? This used to be a little game with them—how many different ways could they role-play having a professional conversation, laden with code only the two of them would understand?
“Your order is ready at the photo shop, Ms. Blake.” I can come pick you up after work. I’ll meet you at the shopping mall down the road.
“What time are you open til?” I’ll meet you in our usual spot. Tell me what time you’ll be there.
When it was clear Jess wasn’t going to say anything but “hi” Jil jumped in with her most neutral response.
“How can I help you?” Her tone came out flat. She knew she was going overboard with the professionalism, but just couldn’t muster the energy to play games today.
“Oh,” Jess sounded disappointed—flustered, even. “I thought we should have coffee or something.” Her sentence came out rushed.
“Sure,” Jil answered. Better in person anyway. “Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Like what?” Jess asked.
Like your stuff?
Jess suddenly seemed to comprehend her meaning. “I just want to talk, Jil. Is that okay with you? Do you have other ideas? Unless you’ve decided you want to…make a more permanent decision?”
Jil felt a knot unclench somewhere in the region of her large intestine. She’d never had a fight like that before and continued a relationship.
What the hell was it with her and Jess?
“Listen, can you please text me the time and place? I’ll be the one sporting a messy ponytail and bags under my eyes.” Her lame joke contained more truth than she’d intended, but when Jess made a sympathetic noise, she cut her off. She didn’t have time for sympathy right now, nor did she really deserve it. “I’ll see you later, Jess, okay? Just text me.”
And she hung up. Jess’s voice had sent her reeling, both physically and emotionally. Did she want to see her? Of course she did. But how would they even begin to bridge the chasm that had slowly opened between them and now seemed like the wide maw of a huge beast, ready to swallow them both?
She couldn’t explain her investigation, and she couldn’t very well keep it a secret, while also blaming Jess for her own skeletons in the closet. Hypocrisy—one of the relationship kisses of death. The other might be not seeing one another.
Unless she wanted to break up.
No, she didn’t want to break up. She just wanted to solve this case so she could make some sense of her life, and then maybe—possibly—consider putting her energy back into her future instead of her past.
Which meant she had yet another date with Nicolas Fraser to take care of.
*
Jess grabbed her coat and sat gingerly on the bench beside the front door, confronted with three possible pairs of boots. One, she eliminated right away because it had a zipper that stuck and she couldn’t pull it up. The second had laces, which might work, depending on the time of day she wanted to tie them, but as nervous as she felt, probably not right now.
The third pair wasn’t nearly warm enough, but with a shoehorn,
she could squeeze her foot in without any extra steps.
Option three. Old and a little scuffed, but they were boots, and to hell with fashion for the moment.
What if Jil wasn’t happy to see her? How would they talk to each other? It felt like months had passed, though in reality it had only been a few weeks. What would they say?
She grabbed her purse and fumbled with the key, taking three tries to lock the door. The damn thing froze and stuck all frigid winter long. With more care than normal, she made her way to the car, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach and the tears that hovered just behind her eyes.
Part of her wanted to go back home and close the door on this relationship that had put her through every conceivable emotion—and then a few more she’d never experienced before. And part of her couldn’t wait to sit across the table from Jil—to be able to read her face, hear her words and laughter. Maybe touch her hand.
At the coffee shop, she arrived first.
The clock on the wall showed 7:27 a.m., so she stood in line for her coffee, then snagged a table where she’d be easily seen. She took out her mobile and laid it on the table next to her: 7:28.
Someone bumped her chair, and her stomach lurched as she looked up.
“Jessica Blake, hello.”
She looked up to see Phil Kelsey, a science teacher. “Phil, hello.” She smiled, trying to look pleased to see him.
“We’ve all missed you. How are you doing?” He swung himself into the chair opposite her with a flexibility she hadn’t expected from a man of his age, then leaned intently over his coffee.
“I’m okay,” she replied, trying not to flinch at his closeness.
“That’s good to hear. The school isn’t the same without you. I mean, Cynthia’s great and all, but it’s not the same as having you in the driver’s seat.”
She glanced toward the door. “Thanks, Phil. I appreciate that.” She tried to focus on his face. To give him the illusion of her full attention. “I hope to be back soon.”
Really? Did she?
“Good. Good. No rush, of course. We hope you’re taking all the time and help you need.”
Time and help? She stared back at him—at his too-sympathetic expression, his open hands. He was looking at her as if she’d just come out of a psychiatric hospital.
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