Thick as Thieves

by Jillianne Hamilton

My eyes widened. “I took a bath! Jesus! I washed and dried my hair! I do not look that bad—”

  Rhys interrupted me by laughing loudly. “That came out wrong. We’re hopefully going to be stealing something in the next few days, so I don’t want to be seen with you by too many people. I’m trying to lay low.”

  “Right. I knew that.”

  “Plus, it’ll give us a chance to catch up.” He smiled and handed me the menu.

  I stared at it, wide-eyed. I looked at Rhys over the top of it. “This is all Greek to me.”

  He snickered.

  I surveyed the menu again. “Is it sad I just want, like, chicken strips from a fast food place?”

  “Find something with poulet in the title and you’ll be fine.”

  Rhys called down to the front desk and ordered for us, his French sounding pretty good (to someone who couldn’t tell good from bad French, anyway). We talked about our recent assignments. I told him about stealing the bottle of wine in the south of France and being seen by that kid.

  “I’m jealous,” he admitted. “I love the south of France.”

  “It was so beautiful. I want to go back.”

  “We might end up there eventually. You never know.”

  Our food arrived. The room service attendant placed a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket on the table in the corner and next to it a slim vase containing with a plump, red rose. He slid our dinner onto the table and popped the cork off the wine. He poured some in a glass, handed it to Rhys and waited for Rhys to try it out. Rhys nodded, and the server poured two glasses, Rhys tipped him, they exchanged some French, and then he left Rhys and I alone.

  France is weird.

  “What the hell, Rhys?”

  “What?”

  “The wine and the rose.” I frowned. “We’re here to work—”

  Rhys scoffed. “Those items come with room service. Says right on the menu.” He picked the wine out of the bucket and read the label. “Please. If I were trying to romance you—and I’m not—I wouldn’t be so cliché. Wine?”

  My cheeks burned. “Yes, please.”

  Wow. Way to make things incredibly awkward. I’m an idiot.

  Rhys glanced at me as he finished filling my glass and switched to his own. “You’re quiet, Molly. What’s on your mind?”

  You… Oh, shut up, brain.

  I took a sip of wine. “I’m just tired. My nap didn’t do the trick.”

  Actually, my nap had been sublime. He didn’t need to know that.

  Since I wasn’t talking, Rhys told me about his recent pet project that involved collecting slivers of percentages of cents from banks across Europe and filtering that into an untraceable number of different bank accounts. In a matter of weeks, those tiny percentages had added up to thousands of dollars.

  “It’s a nice little second income that I collect on by doing nothing,” he said. “The work is already done.”

  “I wish I could hack,” I said, finishing off glass of wine. “Seems like such a handy skill.”

  Rhys refilled my glass and then his. “But then you wouldn’t need me.”

  Ugh. Stop being cute while I’m drinking wine. It’s dangerous.

  After a moment of tense silence, I changed the subject.

  “My sister is staying at my apartment right now. I should probably check up on her.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? There’s something about me you don’t know?”

  “I’m kidding,” he said with a wink. “How is Haylee?”

  “You’re creepy. And she’s fine.”

  I sipped my wine, found Haylee in my phone’s contacts and dialed.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Hey. Just wanted to check up on you. How are things?”

  “You haven’t even been gone that long.” Haylee laughed. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, what are you up to?”

  Rhys lifted the corked wine bottle to his lips and pretended to chug it down. I started giggling quietly, my hand over the phone.

  “Are you with your boss right now? Isn’t it kind of late there?”

  “No, I’m just, uh, watching something funny on TV.”

  “What are you watching?”

  “Uh… Friends? I think I like it more in French. Phoebe is singing ‘Smelly Chat.’”

  Rhys, still holding the wine bottle in one hand, clapped lightly, looking mock-impressed that I knew the French word for ‘cat.’

  “Cool,” Haylee said. “Well, I’m having some friends over soon, so I gotta go.”

  “’Kay. Text me if you need anything.”

  I hung up. “I hope my apartment doesn’t smell like weed when I get back.”

  Rhys took another sip of wine. He was going quickly through that second glass. He stood up and admired the view from the window. The city was dotted with lights. The Eiffel Tower was now gleaming brightly against the night sky.

  I don’t know if it was the beautiful view or the wine or what, but I was starting to feel way too nervous about the whole scene. I finished off my glass of wine to help chase my uneasiness away. Gulp, gulp.

  Rhys looked at me over his shoulder. “Easy, kid.”

  “I’m just catching up to you. It’s nothing.”

  I stood up and used the table to steady myself. “Shit.”

  Rhys laughed. “You don’t handle your liquor so well, you know that, right?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. Before I could think twice, I blurted, “Where were you for the last few weeks?”

  Rhys’s eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t text me for, like, three weeks before I got to Paris. I was … worried.”

  Oh my GOD. Just shut up. Shut up, now. You had two glasses of wine, not two bottles. Keep it together.

  “You were worried about me?” Rhys’s stupid, smug face lit up. “I was fine, just busy with … other things.”

  “I thought you had maybe been arrested or killed. It’s hard to know with you.”

  Stop talking. Just close your mouth. Stop before you say something stupid.

  Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and stepped closer to me. “You could have texted me first if you missed me so much.”

  “I didn’t miss you—”

  “It kind of sounds like you missed me.” He smirked.

  I gripped the edge of the table as Rhys stood in front of me, looking down into my eyes. Well, he was trying to. I was staring ahead at his neck, because looking into his eyes felt too intimate. The last time we’d been this close, we had been kissing goodbye at Heathrow Airport. And the time before that, we were dancing and kissing at Audrey’s fancy charity function.

  I forced myself to look up and meet his gaze. For someone who couldn’t stop talking a moment ago, I had suddenly run out of things to say.

  Well, you’ve come this far. What is he waiting for?

  I willed my drunk brain to be quiet.

  Rhys cradled my cheek in his hand and lowered his face to mine. My feet, as if acting on their own, stood on tiptoe to meet him.

  This is happening.

  His nose touched mine, and I closed my eyes.

  And then my phone rang.

  Rhys dropped his hand to his side and let out a loud, exasperated sigh. I grabbed my phone as Rhys stepped away from me and stared at the ceiling.

  “It’s Audrey.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I answered the call from Audrey and prepared myself for an over-the-phone berating.

  “Sophie called me,” she said before I could say hello. “She told me what happened today. She’s not impressed with Rhys in the slightest.”

  “How were we to know his ex worked there,” I said, “and that she would freak out?”

  Rhys winced.

  “I managed to talk Sophie out of forgetting the whole plan,” Audrey continued. “I’m emailing you and Rhys an address where you can meet Sophie tomorrow. What happened today is a major
setback. Sophie is very private and doesn’t trust anyone easily. Tomorrow must go well, or any future assignments in France are out of the question. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked.

  “You are to meet Sophie at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Don’t be late. Rhys can drop you off.”

  “What should he do while I’m meeting Sophie?”

  “Tell him to go get a croissant and bugger off. I’ll let you know when Rhys can meet her. For now, he is to stay away from her. I’ll call you tomorrow.” We hung up.

  Rhys frowned at me. “I’m not invited to meet Sophie tomorrow, am I?”

  I shook my head. “Audrey wants you to drop me off at nine.”

  “And do what?”

  “Go get a croissant and bugger off. Her words, not mine.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no. Not your fault. I haven’t really done anything to deserve the trust of anyone.” Rhys shrugged and headed for the door to his room. “Early start tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, kid.”

  He closed the door behind him a bit harder than necessary. He was understandably pissed about the assignment. Enough to storm out of my room and away from me, instead of trying to continue what was about to happen.

  Dammit, Audrey!

  * * *

  The next morning, Rhys and I got coffee and chocolate croissants from the café down the street from the hotel and drove to the address Audrey had sent us. I’d woken up slightly hungover from the wine, and Rhys wasn’t saying much so the drive was very, very, very quiet.

  The traffic was worse than I’d expected, and we were running late.

  “How far away are we from, uh…” I checked my phone again. “Rue de la Cité.” I winced at the horrendous pronunciation coming out of my mouth. “It doesn’t say where on that street, though.”

  Rhys mirrored my disgust. “We’re close. I’m pretty sure I know where she’ll be.”

  We crossed over the Seine. Huge gangs of tourists flooded the streets, and angry drivers blasted their horns and cursed out the windows of their vehicles. Rhys looked around for a parking space, but the traffic in front of us looked pretty jammed up.

  “You’re going to get out of the car and walk over there.” He gestured out his side of the car. “Call me when you need me to come find you.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes! Get out now while we’re stopped.”

  I grabbed my bag and practically leapt out of the car, almost getting hit by a cyclist whipping by. I crossed between idling cars and headed down the street.

  Looming tall at the end of the street was Notre Dame Cathedral. Tourists milled around the courtyard, eating snacks and looking at maps. I stood in front of it and stared up at the statues of the kings lined up above the entrance.

  It looked way taller in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Sitting nearby on one of the cement blocks, the French woman from the day before smiled up at me. She sipped her coffee and closed the worn paperback she’d been reading. The sleeves of her white cotton shirt were rolled up, and a few freckles were visible on her slender forearms.

  “Bonjour,” I said.

  “I’m happy you could make it. Where is your idiot friend?” Sophie said, peering around subtly.

  “He dropped me off, just as directed.”

  Sophie nodded. “Good. Have you ever been inside Notre Dame?”

  “No. This is my first time seeing Paris.”

  Sophie’s mouth tightened as some Asian students nearby took a selfie with Notre Dame behind them. She tossed her coffee cup into a nearby garbage can. “Follow me, please.”

  I lowered my voice as we walked briskly down the street. “How come you keep asking me to meet you at touristy places with so many people around?”

  “Personal safety, of course. And I know people. It would be better if I weren’t seen with you in public places where my people would actually be.”

  Sophie didn’t even glance up as we walked down the length of Notre Dame, but I couldn’t help but admire the gargoyles that roosted along the ledges. A black car with tinted windows pulled up beside us on the street, blocking traffic.

  “Get in,” Sophie said, opening the back door.

  I did and slid over. She sat beside me and did not speak to the driver as we pulled away from the curb.

  I sat in silence as we left central Paris. After a few minutes, the tension got to me.

  “I’m sorry, am I being kidnapped right now?”

  Sophie raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at me. “No.”

  I sat back in my seat. “Okay, good. I just like staying updated on these things.”

  Stop talking.

  After twenty minutes of battling morning traffic, we pulled up to a white stone building with a sign on the front gate that read “Gallerie de Bellerose.”

  The driver unlocked the enormous wooden door, and I followed Sophie inside. My eyes immediately locked on to the high ceilings painted powder blue, with fluffy clouds and cherubs. When I finally brought my gaze down, dark blue walls were all but invisible behind huge paintings hanging along the walls of the long, wide hallway in front of me.

  Sophie’s heels clicked on the wood floors as we walked down the hallway past the art collection. The paintings were all very abstract, with wide, loose splashes of color. Some were joyful, some were sad. Some were romantic, others were full of rage.

  Sophie must be a big fan of this artist to have so many of their paintings.

  “Who are these paintings by?”

  Sophie stepped into a glass elevator at the end of the corridor and pushed a button. “Oh. I did those.”

  “You’re an artist?” I said as the elevator doors slid shut.

  Sophie tucked her sunglasses into her designer purse and smiled shyly at me. “Oui.”

  The elevator stopped at the third floor, and I followed Sophie out to a set of doors. She punched in a security code (4-7-3-9-3), and we stepped into a super luxurious apartment. Mint-colored walls were decorated with paintings, none of which looked like hers downstairs. She slid open one of the ceiling-high windows, letting in a gentle breeze and causing the long curtains to flutter.

  Sophie sat in a high-backed armchair, crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. She inhaled sharply and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth toward the open window.

  “Please sit down, Betty.” She gestured to a long, royal blue sofa.

  I sat. I was relieved to hear her call me “Betty” and not “Molly.”

  “Audrey says you have real potential in your field.”

  “Really? She said that about me?”

  Sophie nodded. “She was never very good at giving credit where credit is due. But she wouldn’t keep hiring you if you weren’t talented.”

  “That’s good to know.” I chuckled. “I always feel like I’m one assignment away from her firing me.”

  “She respects you,” she said, tapping her cigarette on a nearby ashtray. “And that is something to take note of. I’ve known Audrey for a long time. I know how hard it is to win her respect. I’m not sure she trusts Rhys so much.”

  “Rhys is not so bad. He and I have had our ups and downs, but as much as I hate to admit it, we make a good team.” I squared my shoulders. “But whatever you need me to do, I can do myself. Rhys’s specific skillset definitely makes my job easier, but between the two of us, my skills are more practical. I think before I leap. Plus, I haven’t slept my way across Europe.”

  Pangs of guilt stung my insides.

  Way to throw Rhys under the bus. Jeez. What did he do to you?

  Sophie nodded, the light front the window bouncing off her impossibly high cheekbones. “Audrey tells me you’ve stolen several paintings before.”

  I nodded slowly. Talking to a complete stranger about my nefarious crimes felt so strange. Yet I didn’t feel nervous with Sophie. She had a calming presence. />
  “Mostly in Britain,” I said. “One or two in the United States… Am I allowed to ask how you know Audrey?”

  “We know a lot of the same people.” Sophie’s cat-like eyes sparkled. “Our names crossed so many times that we finally connected and became friends. We’re not friends anymore, but she’s still a good ally to have, especially in this line of work.”

  “And what line of work is that, exactly?” I sat forward and braced my elbows on my knees. “Audrey isn’t in the art world, but you are, obviously. I’m very curious what your deal is.”

  Sophie grinned. “I’m an artist, an art expert and an art authenticator.”

  I put on my game face, looking at her straight in the eye and pretending to be confident. “And what else?”

  She thought for a moment. She took a final drag of her cigarette, stubbed it out and studied me again. Sophie stood and approached a huge painting on the other side of the room. It was a floor-to-ceiling painting of a peacock, its widespread tail feathers a chaotic storm of bright purples, blues and greens. The painting was in an ornate gold frame. Sophie slipped a hand behind the frame, pushed something, and the painting slowly swung away from the wall, unveiling another security panel like the one to get into the apartment.

  “Whoa. That is awesome.” I stood up to take a closer look.

  Sophie punched in the code (4-6-4-4), and the door swung open and into the next room. She gestured for me to follow her.

  She shut the painting-door and the security door behind us before she turned on the lights. The overhead lamps buzzed and lit up a workroom. A long, wide lab counter, messy with paint, brushes and small bottles of chemicals ran the length of the room. On the wall above the work area was a wide corkboard covered in photographs and various tools hanging from hooks.

  I am so confused right now.

  “My art studio is on the second floor. My lab where I authenticate art is there too,” Sophie said. “This is my … other studio.” She pulled open a hidden drawer from the desk and carefully slid out a canvas. She put it on the desk and stood back so I could take a look.