BRONZED BETRAYALS

by Ritter Ames

  “No, I think Simon used the cricket bat for exactly how he’d planned to use it,” I said. “Well, for half the reason. He shattered the security cameras with one strike of the bat, but I imagine he’d planned to at least threaten using it on me as well.”

  The file was thin, but I kept my hopes high for some clue to help us with the heist plot we’d been working on for several months. I flipped the cover and my heart leapt to my throat. Nothing prepared me for the contents.”

  “Is that—?”

  “What my father looked like before he became Ermo Colle,” I finished. My hand shook, and I could have easily cried, although I didn’t want to think about why.

  A metal clip at the top of the file held the interior stack of pages. Since I still had a glove on my left hand, I used it to flip through the sheets of paper. The first pages were color copies that showed a small collection of photos taken against a light blue background. Beyond the full-face, there were profile shots, and close-ups showing detail of specific facial and ear features. Farther in were pages of sketches of proposed plastic surgery and patient details. For us, the crème de la crème of this evidence was the last page. Again, a collection of color photos, but this time a couple of photos after bandages had been removed.

  “There’s still some swelling in these last views, but a very good likeness of the way he looked in Baden-Baden,” I said, flipping back to the name of the plastic surgeon and the Swiss clinic, then stepped back from the file. “I’ll get Nico on this after he finishes his current search for the forger in Paris. Simon likely stole these files or paid someone to steal them, but if Daddy Dearest’s current likeness is in the facility’s digital storage, my gorgeous geek will be able to easily hack in to download any new photos.”

  Jack knocked the edge to skew the folder in a half-circle and better see the contents. “If Colle is still alive. And despite what we told the security forces yesterday, what Rollie said last month could still have been a way to confuse the issue or bug you. Face it, I’ve never seen you in action with an expanding baton, but I’ve little doubt of your expertise. Your blow against Colle’s head had to do some damage.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Kind of creepy, but still a compliment.”

  “Moran was obviously impressed by your prowess. I’ve never known him to give someone accolades they didn’t deserve, despite his legion of ethical shortcomings in regard to absconding with things that don’t belong to him.”

  Yes, after gifting me with the weapon in Baden-Baden, the old conman-thief did flatter me with reminiscences of how I used a similar model to break his assistant’s wrist years ago on a job in America.

  “Rollie may have been focused on kidnapping me last month, but one thing he did admit was Colle is already rebuilding for new enterprises,” I reminded. “As long as Colle is competition for Moran’s and Rollie’s organization, they’re going to keep tabs.”

  “Granted, as long as Rollie was telling the truth. He has this tendency to prefer when people are off balance, and the information he leaked was primed to leave you significantly shaken.” Jack didn’t look at me as he spoke, focusing instead on the pages of the file.

  “Have you not told me something I need to know?” I asked.

  He shook his head and raised his gaze to meet mine. “I simply want to remind you not to think Nico will be able to pull another digital rabbit out of the internet hat. Until we know the rabbit isn’t an illusion Rollie wants us to believe.”

  “I agree, except I’d likely be dead now if you hadn’t arrived in time to tackle Rollie. What would he gain by making me believe I hadn’t killed Colle?”

  “I can think of a few things. People who play head games often can’t help themselves.” He shrugged and used a pen to lift the last page of pictures. “What’s this?”

  A clear envelope laid flat, stuck to the back of the file with a kind of adhesive. Inside, several hairs shone under the buzzing light. Hairs dyed blonde, but which showed a tiny bit of silver at the root. Roots that each included a follicle.

  Jack’s gaze met mine. “You don’t think—”

  “I do.” I nodded, then put my right glove back on so I could open the zipped envelope without leaving prints. Not easy with the thick rawhide, but doable. I teased an individual hair away from its brothers. The hair and follicle looked healthy. “Simon broke into the office to get the sample of Colle’s hair he secreted in this desk trap.”

  “To prove Colle was—or was not—your father?”

  I frowned. “That would be my first guess. Or maybe to identify him later in case Colle had to change appearances again—even without running into me and my baton.” Returning the hair to the envelope, I asked, “So what changed? Simon obviously had the hair for enough time that he hid it in this desk. Why suddenly break into the office on New Year’s to try to get it again? Remember, when Simon was trying to find this file Colle still thought he was hidden from all of us. We didn’t know who Colle was until after we went to the casino in Baden-Baden, and Simon didn’t learn we knew until hours afterward.”

  “Maybe Simon didn’t know for sure the information was still available to him.” Jack sat on the desktop and shifted so there was room for me to sit beside him. “We know he took off suddenly in September. We know he ran to Moran’s chateau in France. We also know just a short time after you talked to him the Amazon was ripping apart his office looking for something.”

  “And the Amazon—we think—works for Rollie,” I prompted.

  “Exactly. Rollie. The person who likely believes he has the most to lose if you are not the blood relation of Ermo Colle,” Jack finished.

  Something I didn’t really want to think about. I wasn’t thrilled about the thought of being the daughter of Ermo Colle, but if I wasn’t it meant I was most likely Rollie’s cousin. And I was apparently a threat to Rollie because his grandfather wasn’t turning the empire over to him and retiring as expected. Worse, Jack learned Moran had kept Paul-Henrì’s architectural firm crime-syndicate free, with the head position of the company still open all these years later. Talk about a tangled family web. Everything seemed so straightforward a few short months ago.

  “Maybe Simon just cached the hair in the file right before I arrived in London to retrieve the sword?” I mused. Logically thinking through everything that happened made us believe he was likely in Italy the evening before the office was trashed. However, he’d been working that morning in London, playing the part of a good Beacham Foundation employee, trying not to let his mask slip so we and the two criminals he also worked for—competing criminals no less—wouldn’t know all the things he was up to simultaneously. “Once I took off for France and the police started working the case of the break-in, he had to bide his time.”

  “Then you were awarded Simon’s position when his duplicity was discovered, and you tasked Cassie with a complete restoration that ultimately sent this desk into storage,” Jack added, patting the top with one hand.

  “Well, not completely. If it had been up to Cassie the desk would still be in its normal position in my office,” I said. Call me shallow, but I hadn’t wanted to work at the desk of a traitor who not only tricked me on the professional front, but on the private side as well. I took a deep breath to get all my emotions in check and said a little brusquely, “You have your phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Take a picture of the clinic info and a few of the early and later pictures. Send them to Nico. Tell him not to get sidetracked but let him know this is waiting when he has any time open.” I jumped up and walked over to the boring gray metal wall of the storage unit and leaned against the cool steel, suddenly wanting to get away from the contents. “Explain we need him to cyber dig for any photos showing what Colle looks like now, and to start by hacking this clinic.”

  “Yes. If Colle trusted this doctor once, he likely went to him for a new face,” Jack said. H
e pulled his phone, typed on the tiny keyboard for a few seconds, then said, “If you’ll turn the pages again, I’ll grab an image on each one.”

  “My prints will already be on the cover,” I said. “I’m not sure I could have grabbed it from that skinny opening if I hadn’t been barehanded. But we don’t need to add any more. Simon must have used tweezers or a thin grabber of some sort to pull things from that trap.”

  When we got to the final page, Jack emailed Nico and attached the images.

  I began pacing, unable to stand still. “Take the file to whichever law enforcement sources you think best. If they need a charge, give them an attempted kidnapping charge when he made me go with him against my will at the casino and held me at gunpoint.”

  Until I flipped out my weapon, struck Colle in the head, sent his gun sliding across the room, and had run like I’d had demons after me. Amazing how adrenalin and a telescoping baton could even out bad odds.

  “What about the hair? The follicles?”

  Yeah, what about that? I paced faster. “It’s DNA. It could help a conviction.”

  Jack stepped into my path and took me in his arms. “Of course,” he said, speaking low and into my hair because I wouldn’t raise my face. “But I’m asking what Laurel Beacham wants done with it,” he said, hugging me closer. “Do you want an analysis run, so you know for sure if you share any genes with the man?”

  “If I don’t share his genes then I’m not really Laurel Beacham,” I said. My stomach dipped for a moment. “I…I think…”

  I pulled away and took another long breath. I met Jack’s teal gaze. “I’m not sure what I want to know yet. I know it’s silly, but while I don’t want him to be my father, the alternative doesn’t sound thrilling either. And while I thought I lost everything when my grandparents died, and the family fortune disappeared, I still had my own identity. If I’m not a Beacham…well…” I placed a hand over my heart. “It would be kind of like starting broke all over again, but this time my history would become the stolen false security.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But I’m not sure I’m ready to strike out as a new nobody.”

  “You’ll never be a nobody.”

  I started to argue, but it was like he read my mind.

  He lifted my chin with his finger, and all I could see was the caring on his face. My gaze locked on his and I focused on the gold flecks in his eyes. “I may not know exactly what you’re feeling right now. However, I do know what it’s like to not know precisely where I fit into quite a number of different situations—societal or otherwise. Or, for that matter, which family lineage I should admit to.”

  While I’d known for several months Jack was raised by a single mother, it was only a few weeks ago when I learned who his father was—a married British lord. Strangely enough, I’d met Jack’s half-sister years ago in finishing school, and later she and I had raised our own kind of hell one college summer. All without my even knowing she had a slightly older brother. He went by his mother’s surname, but he and his father and half-sister were close. His stepmother, however, was another matter altogether, and preferred Jack not be considered part of the family.

  Stepping closer, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”

  “No apology necessary. I simply wanted you to know…” He shrugged. “I understand. Whatever you want.”

  Standing on tiptoe in steel-toed work boots isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but for every inch I stretched upward, he bent two, and our lips met. As we parted, I said, “Thank you.”

  “You never have to thank me for kissing you.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

  “Mission accomplished,” he said, grinning.

  I slapped his arm, still smiling. A couple of steps and I grabbed his jacket. I wiggled a finger toward the file and asked, “Did you get finished with your email to Nico?”

  “Yes, boss, I did.” Jack grinned. I picked up the closed file, slipping the plastic sheet in too.

  “What do you think the pink thing is for?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. But Babbage hid it, so we’re taking it with us.” He rubbed the scar in the middle of the desktop. “One blow. Not as much damage as it could have been. You can likely get the top rehabbed. Maybe ask Cassie—”

  “Knowing my art restoration assistant, she undoubtedly will come nurse it back to health as soon as you tell her about it, no matter if I say so or not,” I said, switching the file between hands as I shrugged into the bomber jacket. “But don’t be in any hurry.” I pointed the file in the direction of the ax. “I’m not positive I won’t be resuming my kindling job on the desk. I’m leaving that heavy little wonder here for now, but I like your idea about x-raying the piece before another strike.”

  Jack put on his coat and shrugged it comfortably onto his shoulders. “Then my work here is done. You approved my suggestion, we found a secret file, and I didn’t even break a sweat.”

  “You bragging, cowboy?”

  He grinned. “I do nearly every day.”

  “Don’t I know it.” When would I learn? “So, you came to take me to lunch, huh? Where are we going?”

  Chuckling, he said, “It was my plan, but I didn’t know you’d be decked out like a lumberjack.”

  “You have a problem with lumberjacks?” I considered for a moment. “Or maybe I’d be a lumberjill.”

  “I’ve been around you too long, because that actually makes sense.” He looked toward the wall with the walk-through door. “Where’s that magical carpetbag you call a purse?”

  “I didn’t bring the Prada. Left it in the cab with Thomas.” I wasn’t sure about the magical carpetbag crack, but it was true I carried an assortment of unusual items. “It didn’t really go with my lumberjill look. And I have enough pockets to carry what I needed for this job.”

  Jack shot me a surprised look. “I had no idea you could go anywhere without your purse.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of like your ego. Hard to keep it packed away, but sometimes it doesn’t fit the situation.”

  He grinned. “You want to head to Cassie’s first to change?”

  “You really do have a problem with my working woman outfit, don’t you?”

  “I think I did most of the work,” he said, cocking a dark eyebrow.

  “I was ably prepared to do what I came to accomplish. You just took over, and I let you.” I pulled the key ring out of my pocket and motioned him through the door. “Tell you what. If you promise to take me somewhere nice we can go back, and I’ll change. I’ll even carry the Prada, so you won’t think you’re with a strange woman.”

  “Deal.”

  “Besides, Thomas is probably getting worried about us by now.”

  “Nah, I texted him before I sent the photos to Nico.”

  “Wow,” I said, grinning. “Cassie better watch out. I may make you my new personal assistant.”

  He stepped close, his teal gaze holding mine. “Doubt you could afford me.”

  “Maybe we could negotiate for additional compensation,” I whispered.

  “I’m always open to negotiations.”

  Fourteen

  We had just rejoined Thomas in the cab and asked him to drive back to Cassie’s flat when my phone rang. It was Nico. “Must be about the files you sent,” I said, hitting the speaker option. “Hi, you do know you don’t have to work on those files right away.”

  “Sì, that’s not why I called.”

  “Okay, what do you need?”

  “You, here in Paris,” Nico replied.

  “Me? Why?”

  “I found Arlo—”

  “Please don’t tell me he’s dead,” I jumped in. After everything that had happened in the past couple of days, this would be too much.

  “Non, he’s alive, but in hiding. And he’ll
only talk to you,” Nico explained. “He knows who you are, and your reputation. Says he won’t talk to anyone else. Said it is important he speaks directly to you.”

  “You’re not going alone,” Jack warned, giving me the look I knew meant he wouldn’t compromise. Not that I would either at this point.

  “I already told this to Arlo,” Nico said. “He understands. He is afraid.”

  “This sounds like a trap,” Jack said.

  “I don’t think so,” Nico said.

  I stopped them before an argument started on the phone. “Nico, I can’t come to Paris right now because I can’t get permission to leave London. I tried again yesterday. Does Arlo know about Melanie being found dead in my room?”

  “Sí, that’s one of the reasons he says he will only speak to you. He says Melanie is a part of this.”

  “He worked with Colle?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t tell me anything more than he has to speak to you.”

  “We need to move slowly on an ultimatum like this,” Jack said.

  “I agree.” To Nico, I asked, “Can you make contact with him again? Is he waiting to hear about a meet?”

  “He calls me by phone, but it’s always a burner, and I cannot tell anything when I trace it except that he’s always in the Montmartre when he calls.”

  “When he phones again, tell him that we’re working on getting me permission to leave, but we have no idea when it will happen. He has to understand this is an active police case, and until they narrow down a suspect I’m as viable as anyone else for the murder.”

  “Wait,” Nico said. “Back up a second. The plan was CCT—”

  “Nico, I’ll call you back in a bit,” Jack said, hitting the end button before cutting his eyes toward the back of Thomas’s head as the driver moved the cab through traffic. I nodded, getting his meaning since I’d been about to do the same thing. While Thomas had been completely trustworthy the month or more we’d known him, and he knew our business wasn’t just charity affairs and lunches out, neither of us wanted to test his ethics by letting him know too much too soon. It was one thing for him to be aware we ran after bad guys; another for him to realize I did some off-the-books reclamations when there wasn’t a legitimate way to recover stolen property.