by Evie Hunter
She punched the number into her phone. This was something she had to do alone. ‘Mimi, darling. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Hermione asked me to call you. Mr Takahashi has been taken ill – he has to reschedule our play date.’
Mimi tsked. ‘So annoying. And I just had my nails cut too. Still, I suppose I could fit in some shopping instead.’
Sinead made polite noises as Mimi rambled on about a darling little lingerie shop she had discovered.
Once she was off the phone, she grabbed Hermione’s party bag – it certainly gave a new meaning to that term, being filled with kinky gear – and the spare keys, then headed out of the apartment. She would get Reilly to bring her to Geneva as soon as she had got the ruby back.
She stopped at Clara de Lune’s on the way and purchased the leather catsuit. Lottie could afford it and she had to look the part, otherwise she wouldn’t have a chance of being admitted to Mr Takahashi’s suite.
‘Got a date?’ Clara asked as Sinead changed into the leather suit.
‘Sort of,’ she admitted. ‘I’m trying to find someone.’
‘Ah.’ A frown appeared on Clara’s powdered forehead. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that there’s another little Red in town. Nothing to do with her, is it?’
Sinead hesitated, torn between keeping her own secrets and finding out what Clara knew.
‘She’s my sister.’
‘Your sister! Why didn’t you tell me?’
How could she tell Clara about the half-remembered flashes of Roisin, the family who tried to make her believe she had never existed, the constant fear that she was going crazy? ‘It’s a long story. Tell you another time. So what do you know about her?’
‘I’ve never dressed her. She goes to George in London for her clothes. And to think that I could have been dressing the pair of you.’
‘Forget the clothes. We don’t see a lot of each other. What have you heard about her?’
Clara gave her a considered look as if she was deciding what to tell her. ‘Well, she’s quite a performer, but a lot darker than you, my pet.’
‘I know. I have to see her today. She has something belonging to me. I need to get it back.’ Like my life. ‘What else?’
‘She does private parties. Expensive ones.’
‘I know,’ Sinead said, glancing down at her costume. ‘I’m going to one today.’
‘Jesus, don’t tell me that. I should put you over my knee.’
Sinead snorted. ‘You’re not my type.’
‘Here, sit down in front of the mirror and I’ll fix your make-up. You can’t go to a party looking like that. The hairdresser down the street can style your hair. I’ll give him a call.’
Clara’s make-over took longer than she expected but when she finished, Sinead had to admit that she looked different – sexy but edgier, like a woman of the world who would take no nonsense from anyone.
She smiled at her reflection. ‘Thanks, Clara. I owe you.’
‘Don’t worry. Next time you come back you can buy a whole new wardrobe and bring the two hotties with you.’
29
Niall gave up the battle to stay asleep, and made another dash for the bathroom. God, he hated this. He staggered back to his room, wiping his face. It had been a constant joke in the Rangers: the biggest guy in the Wing, the one who could defeat all comers, could be brought down by a few grains of flour.
He paused. Something was wrong. The apartment was too quiet. The television was still on, but there was no sound of human movement.
He forced himself away from the peace of his bed and checked. The apartment was empty. Where the fuck was Sinead?
He found his phone and called Andy.
‘Hi boss, glad to hear you’re back in the land of the living. But bad news, Hall is still in Paris but he’s gone to ground. You should have seen the little cutie who saw Hall working out at the gym. She –’
‘Shut up.’ Niall didn’t have the patience to deal with Andy and his womanizing. ‘Did you put Sinead on the train?’
‘No, I told Reilly to take her.’
Niall cursed, and hung up so that he could phone Reilly. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
Reilly’s voice was muffled by what sounded like a pool hall. ‘No idea, boss. I came to collect her and rang, but there was no answer, so I got back to work.’
Cold froze Niall’s ability to think.
She had been so determined to meet her sister. Niall didn’t even have to check the location of her phone to know she wasn’t on her way to Geneva. She had done a runner. Sinead had left him. Again. He fought the urge to throw up. It was the gluten. Only the gluten.
‘Find her.’
‘I’ll get onto it, boss,’ Reilly told him.
‘Thanks.’ He hung up and barely made it to the bathroom.
Where the hell could she be?
He forced his muzzy brain to function. She had been talking about going to meet her sister who was supposed to be taking part in some sort of Domme thing with a Japanese businessman. Where was it? Oh yes, the St Pierre.
He had to get there. No saying what Sinead would get up to. She had lied to him so often his head was spinning. And it wasn’t just from the gluten she had fed him.
Shit, could it have been deliberate? Could she really have fed him gluten to get him out of the way? He hated to think she would have done that but the evidence against her was stacking up.
What were the odds that there really was a sister who had stolen the Fire of Autumn? Damned ruby. Every time she told him the story, he ended up believing her, in spite of all the evidence that the sister couldn’t exist. She was the most accomplished liar Niall had ever met. And still he wanted to believe her.
He couldn’t decide what he wanted. If he went to St Pierre and found the long-lost sister, the identical twin who had stolen Sinead’s life, then his case would be over. But if he found just Sinead, he thought his heart would break.
He thought about going back to bed. Or back to the bathroom to heave his guts out. Either would be preferable to having Sinead rip his heart out again.
Niall took a breath. Fuck it. There was only one way to resolve this. He would go.
He wasn’t up to driving through Paris in the rain. He’d take the metro.
Wearing his usual jeans and leather jacket, Niall knew from the doorman’s supercilious glance that he wasn’t dressed for this hotel. He wasn’t in any mood to care. His insides were still churning and his head throbbed.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the desk clerk. ‘I’m looking for a friend. She’s visiting a guest here.’
The uniformed man was perfectly polite, but without a flicker of warmth. ‘Of course, Monsieur, and the guest’s name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s unfortunate. What is the visitor’s name?’
Niall paused. What would Sinead have done? Well, one way to find out. ‘Sinead O’Sullivan.’
The clerk shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur, no one of that name has been here today.’
‘She might have forgotten to give her name.’ Even as he said it, he realized how stupid it sounded. ‘You’d remember her, she has bright red hair.’
Ah! Even as the clerk shook his head, Niall saw a glimmer of recognition pass over his face. ‘I suggest you try elsewhere, she is not here.’ A twitch of his finger brought the doorman over to the desk.
‘Monsieur is leaving,’ he said.
Damn it. Niall cursed under his breath as he considered his options. Clearly he was not getting in the front door. That was all right, hotels had more than one way in.
He went around the back, climbed over a wall and slipped into the kitchen. It was insanely busy, with chefs shouting and waiters flying around, but even so, someone was bound to notice a big blond Irishman sneaking through the kitchen. He dropped his leather jacket beside the back door, and found a large apron hanging on the wall. He pulled it over his head, picked up a cardboard box that might contain food, and marched into the
kitchen. A couple of the sous-chefs gave him a quick look as he passed, but he kept his eyes on the far door and no one challenged him.
Once in the uncarpeted corridor, he dropped the box and headed for the service lift. He needed to know where Sinead was likely to be and that meant tracking down the Japanese businessman she planned to see.
Security in a hotel like the St Pierre was decent enough. Not impossible for him to crack, but he didn’t want to break into every room. He took the lift to the next floor. With a bit of luck, that’s where the offices were.
Bingo. This corridor had hard-wearing beige carpets and a row of offices with windowed doors. He walked quickly, looking into each office as he passed. The one he wanted had four computers and was manned by three middle-aged women who managed to drip chic even in uniform. One or even two, he might have been able to cope with, but three was too many.
Time to be crude. He opened the matchbook he had picked up at the front desk, lit one and held it up to the smoke alarm in the ceiling.
Ten seconds later, the fire alarm was ringing and the sprinkler system had activated.
‘Merde!’ He heard the women cursing, but obedient to hotel directives, they left, locking the door behind them.
It took Niall a whole thirty seconds to unlock it and slip into the empty office. One of the computers was still on, which saved him having to bypass the password. He began a rapid search of the hotel’s guest list.
Twelve Japanese guests. But ten appeared to be part of a business delegation and all had rooms beside each other. He ruled those out. That left two possibilities.
Both had deluxe suites with views of the Eiffel Tower. And the room key data showed that only one was occupied right now.
Mr Takahashi in the Bizet Suite. Niall was on his way. And just to make life really easy, he found a master keycard that would open all doors.
The alarm had cut off and the noise from the far end of the corridor indicated that the staff were returning. He collected his jacket. Time to make himself scarce.
Room 786 might have been on a different planet. The plush carpet and understated luxury of the corridors were a world away from the offices and kitchens. The artwork on the walls looked original.
He opened the door with his card. ‘Room Service,’ he called as he let himself in. He carried a bottle of champagne he had snaffled from another suite on his way here.
A flash of red caught his attention. Sinead stood there holding a blue rubber ball teasingly above her head. ‘Who’s a precious boy then? Fetch it for mommy.’
He’d never heard her use an English accent before, but it sounded natural. She tossed the ball and a diminutive man wearing a grey tracksuit bounded after it.
Puppy play. And Sinead was handling it like a master. Or a mistress.
She looked up when he came into the room. Her hair was pulled back in an elaborate twist, her eyes were outlined with dark smoke and her mouth was a dramatic red, but it was unmistakably Sinead O’Sullivan.
But when she met his eyes, Niall knew. This woman was almost identical, but she wasn’t Sinead. He wasn’t even sure exactly how he knew.
It wasn’t just the lack of recognition in those blue eyes. Or the uncharacteristic firmness of the carmine painted mouth. It was the whole package. This was a different woman.
Relief roared through Niall. Sinead had been telling the truth. This must be the elusive Roisin.
The man in the tracksuit brought the ball back to the woman who looked so much like Sinead. She petted his head. ‘Good doggy,’ she said and threw it again. Then she turned to Niall. ‘You can put that bottle down over on that table, and then I’ll give you a personal tip.’ Her tone and look of appreciation left him in no doubt about what she meant.
‘No, thanks,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I don’t take tips from whores.’
There was a split second with no reaction, then her eyes widened. ‘What?’ He had to give her credit for maintaining her sang-froid. Her breathing barely altered until she noticed the casual clothes he was wearing beneath the waiter’s jacket. ‘You’re not –’
‘You’ve just ruined your sister’s life, and here you are, playing puppy with this moron.’
She threw the ball again but Niall knew she was paying attention to him. ‘At least she had a life. Pampered little princess. She got the icing – I didn’t even get cake. Do you know what sort of life I’ve had?’
The ball rolled beside his foot. Niall picked it up and tossed it over the balcony. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’
She gave a gasp of outrage. ‘Now look what you did. That was his favourite ball.’ The man whined and she petted him. ‘Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’m going to run you a nice bath now while I talk to the dog trainer.’
Mr Takahashi looked at him through narrowed eyes and growled, but Roisin smacked him on the behind. ‘Bad doggie. No growling. Now go and get into the bath.’ Reluctantly, he headed for the bathroom.
‘Give me the Fire of Autumn and I’ll get out of here.’ There was a tiny shift of her eyes that told him she knew what he was talking about.
Yes! He felt another surge of relief: Sinead had been telling the truth all along.
‘You’ll never have to see me again. Of course, you may find the police don’t take the same attitude, but hey, those are the breaks.’
‘Who are you?’ she demanded. Funny, the longer he spent with her, the less like Sinead she looked.
‘I’m your future brother-in-law,’ he said. He had no idea where that had come from but it was so obvious he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t known it the first time he met Sinead.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh great, the princess gets a babe for a fiancé and all I get is a dog grooming service.’
A whine from the bathroom punctuated her words. She hurried in and he heard the shower being turned on.
His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but answered it. This was his private phone, the one only family and friends had access to. ‘Hello?’
A voice he knew answered. ‘Mr Moore, I have something of yours.’ There was a pause before Sinead’s voice said, ‘Niall?’
That was all. Hall spoke again. ‘If you want her back, I suggest you bring me the Fire of Autumn. And no delays or tricks, or little Red will pay the price.’
‘Niall.’ Sinead reached for the phone again but her hand didn’t seem to work properly. She flexed her fingers. Stupid hand. She shook her head. What the hell had they injected her with?
The journey in the taxi had been a blur. Why hadn’t she checked before she got into the cab? Stupid Sinead.
‘Take her back to her room.’ American voice. The same one as before. The one who had asked her questions about the stone.
Why couldn’t she focus? And why had she tried to tell them everything? Her sister. The stone. Even that she loved Niall. The words had tripped off her tongue as if she was drunk.
‘She’s pretty out of it, boss. How much of that stuff did you give her?’
‘Enough. Now, take her upstairs.’
He half carried her up the flight of wooden stairs and tumbled her onto the narrow bed. Sleep. She couldn’t sleep. Not now. Niall would be worried about her.
She remembered being outside the hairdressers. Clara’s friend had taken longer to style her hair than she had planned and she was running late. The torrential autumn downpour had been unexpected. Pools of water had formed in the street where the drains were clogged with autumn leaves and the Paris streets were teeming with shoppers trying to find shelter.
She had stepped into the street looking for a taxi and one had pulled out from a space further up the street. Her last memory was sliding into the back seat and directing the driver to Hotel de St Pierre.
Her face came in contact with the pillow and her eyes closed. Just a few minutes. A little rest. That was all she needed.
‘No. No resting.’ She pinched her hand hard. Ouch. That woke her up a little and she stood up and swayed, catching the iron bedstead f
or support. Put one foot in front of the other. You can do it.
Sinead staggered to the door and rested her forehead against it. She fumbled at the handle and the door swung open. She felt laughter bubbling up and put her hand over her mouth. Focus. Downstairs, the radio was playing Lady Gaga, masking the sound of her footsteps. She hesitated at the open doorway of the kitchen. A low murmur came from the tall one and an Australian twang from the other.
The front door loomed ahead and she staggered towards it.
‘What the fuck? Grab her.’
After that, there was no contest. The blond one bared her arm and the prick of a needle told her she had been drugged again. Everything was spinning.
Spinning …
Roisin led Mr Takahashi out of the bathroom by the collar around his neck and pointed him at the bowls on the floor near the balcony.
Niall didn’t think he made a sound, but she spun around and frowned at him. ‘What is it? You look like you just tasted dog poop.’
Niall’s brain was still frozen. It wasn’t possible. Hall couldn’t have Sinead. But that had been her voice. And Sinead was one of the few people who could have given Hall his private number.
Sinead was in danger. The realization made his skin tighten and chill.
God damn it, he was reluctant to go up against Hall, even on a good day. The SEALS were among the most elite spec-ops forces in the world. Every single one of them was a one-man army. When a SEAL went bad, the way Hall had, he was a disaster waiting to happen. And he had Sinead.
His lungs seized at the idea of Sinead in Hall’s hands. Hall was a hardened sadist, with the training to inflict heart-stopping amounts of pain without leaving a mark. He would break Sinead if Niall didn’t bring him the ruby.
Around him, the world slowed while he considered his options. His job was to find the stone. Roisin had it. If he didn’t deliver it, he would lose the contract, and likely the agency. But none of that mattered compared with knowing that Hall had Sinead.