The Cherbourg Jewels (The Cherbourg Saga)

by Jenni Wiltz

  Sébastien hurried inside before the photographers could snap too many photos. He knew Lisa and her team would herd them off the roof and through the house, back out to the front door. There, valet tag teams waited to retrieve their vehicles and send them safely back to work, well ahead of the afternoon press deadlines.

  He’d already asked Frau Müller and Dr. O’Malley to collect Ella and escort her to the conservatory, where he’d be waiting. He didn’t want her telling any member of the press what had happened, and he’d been afraid she would cause a scene if he came to collect her himself. He figured she’d respond much better to their soothing presence.

  Sébastien walked swiftly to the conservatory, counting on Lisa and her team to intercept any of his family members who wished to follow him. It was standard operating procedure for them. Job number one for Lisa’s underlings was to keep his mother, aunt and uncles occupied until he was safely away from the press.

  When he reached the conservatory, he breathed a sigh of relief. Part of him hadn’t believed he’d pull it off. But it was the saboteur’s move now. All he could do was wait for it. Cherbourgs weren’t very good at waiting, but in this case, he didn’t have a choice.

  Someone had cleared away the breakfast trays and refreshed the coffee and tea services. A new tray of fresh fruit had been set out as well. He poured himself a cup of coffee, popped a strawberry in his mouth, and sat down to wait for Ella—and the undeniable rush of pleasure he knew he’d feel as soon as she was within reach. Now that the press conference was over, maybe he’d be able to explain his side of things and make her see reason. If not….he smiled, remembering the explosion of emotion and passion that accompanied their argument.

  If not, they’d get another chance to press their luck.

  *

  As Ella marched down the hallway with Frau Müller’s hand on her arm, she knew—if anyone in the Cherbourg family had anything to do with her father’s robbery and murder, it was Sébastien’s grandfather.

  She didn’t know anything about him except what Sébastien had said during the press conference, but all the pieces fit. A man who was ruthless in adding to his collection. A man who sought out local designers and craftsmen. A man rich enough to buy anything he wanted.

  Surely that uncut ruby she’d seen in the vault had been purchased by Sébastien’s grandfather and then mounted in its diamond setting. The question was: did Sébastien’s grandfather know the stone was stolen? Or had he been lied to by whoever he bought the jewel from?

  Although she felt better for having discovered another potential clue, she felt worse because it brought her one step closer to implicating the Cherbourg family. It also reminded her that she had no business kissing Sébastien ever again.

  No matter how powerful the physical connection between them was, she couldn’t let her desire overpower her judgment—not if she wanted to get to the truth. Being too near him would only cloud her mind and put her at risk of another scorching encounter, one that would leave her no closer to determining how many of her father’s stones were still in that vault.

  Frau Müller and Dr. O’Malley walked her to the conservatory and gave her a small push forward when she hesitated. “Go on,” Frau Müller said softly. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” she replied. Ella strode forward towards Sébastien, determined to stay strong and focused. Her heart did a somersault in her chest when she saw both him and the table she’d imagined them on. Stop it, she ordered herself. Stay in control.

  She pulled out the same chair she’d sat in earlier and took her seat. “I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done.”

  “Oh?” he asked, munching on a piece of cantaloupe. “Why is that?”

  “You had those journalists eating out of the palm of your hand. I also noticed that no one from the museum was there. I don’t suppose that was because you knew I’d try to tell them what you’re doing?”

  He put down the fruit. “Ella, I told you. I’m not doing this to upset you. I just need this exhibition to happen exactly the way I’ve planned it. I’ve been working on it for months—you know that. I gave you the choice of helping me by submitting your report. But you won’t do it. You chose this, not me.”

  “Nice choices I’ve been given, huh? The frying pan or the fire.”

  “You could always change your mind,” he said, leaning forward to offer her a grape.

  He held it out to her and she had to resist the urge to lean forward and eat it out of his fingertips. “I’d be making a fool of myself if I did that,” she said, not sure whether she was referring to her report or to eating the fruit out of his hand.

  “No one would have to know, Ella. Just you and me.”

  “That makes it worse,” she said softly, looking away.

  If she gave in to him when she’d already said she wouldn’t, he’d think he could control her in other ways, too. He was using their attraction against her, she knew it. His olive eyes had gone soft and velvety, as if he actually cared that her professional reputation were on the line.

  A flood of heat surged up from her belly, turning her cheeks pink. “Sébastien, I—”

  But she never got to finish her sentence.

  There was an enormous crash from above and something big and dark seemed to blot out the sun. She saw Sébastien’s green eyes widen with alarm.

  His lips shaped a word but the thundering crash made it impossible to hear. He jumped up from his chair and threw himself at her. She felt the impact of his body crashing into hers, rattling her entire skeleton. He knocked her chair backwards and she felt her head slam against the ground.

  Ella thought she heard him call her name and then everything went black.

  Chapter Twelve

  A rumbling, rolling ache crushed every thought inside her skull. She groaned and tried to move. A familiar voice whispered into her ear. “Don’t move, Ella. Not yet.”

  She fluttered her eyes open and saw Sébastien hovering over her, green eyes wide with worry and fear. For the first time, she noticed the thin purple rings below his eyes and the lines branching out at their sides. “What happened?” she mumbled.

  “One of the urns from the rooftop patio,” he said. “It toppled off the edge of the wall and fell through the atrium’s glass ceiling.”

  Behind Sébastien, two more familiar figured appeared: Frau Müller and Dr. O’Malley. “Move aside, my boy,” Dr. O’Malley said. “Let me look at her.”

  Sébastien moved around behind her, ready to hold her up if Dr. O’Malley asked him to. Ella tried to turn her head and look around, but a twinge at the back of her neck stopped her. “Ow,” she said. “That hurt.”

  “Of course it did,” the kindly doctor said. “Sébastien knocked you back so hard your neck hit the rim of the chair.”

  “Thanks a lot,” she said dryly.

  Sébastien smiled. “Would you have preferred that I let the enormous urn smack you upside the head?”

  “No, never.” She suppressed a shiver at the thought. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, squeezing her hand lightly. “You scared me, blacking out like that.”

  “I’ll try to do better next time,” she said, knowing her humor wasn’t appropriate. But it was the only defense mechanism she had left.

  “How did this happen?” Frau Müller asked, peering over Dr. O’Malley’s shoulder at Sébastien. “The security detail must have checked everything on the patio before the press conference.”

  “I’m sure they did,” Sébastien said. “But considering that someone tried to run us off the road and shoot us yesterday, I can’t believe this was an accident.” Ella saw him glance up at the shattered atrium ceiling. “I just wish I knew which one of us they’re after.”

  Frau Müller frowned. “What do you mean, which one?”

  “Sébastien,” Dr. O’Malley said sharply. “Don’t frighten the poor girl.”

  “I’m not scared,” Ella said.

  “Y
ou should be,” O’Malley replied. The doctor’s fingers reached around the back of her head and explored her skull. She winced when they found a sore spot with an emerging lump.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Sébastien shook his head. “He means whoever is trying to hurt us is getting closer. Their first attempt was on the outside, on city streets. Now they’re inside my own home. And since they’ve made it inside and we haven’t found them, they’ll probably keep trying.”

  “Until?” she asked.

  “Until they succeed,” he answered grimly.

  “But you won’t let them.” She said it as a statement, not a question. Please, she thought, tell me you won’t let them.

  “No,” he growled, “I won’t. Doc, what’s the verdict here?”

  The older man finished a preliminary checkup, gently passing his hands over her limbs to check for broken bones. “Aside from a lump on the head and a few scrapes, I think she’s fine.”

  “Can I sit up?” she asked.

  When the doctor nodded, Sébastien pulled her into a sitting position. “You aren’t dizzy, are you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Aches and pains, yes. Dizziness, no.”

  “Then I think it’s time for a council of war.”

  “War?” Frau Müller gasped.

  Ella saw the cold gleam in Sébastien’s eyes and couldn’t hold back a shiver. He really means it, she thought.

  Sébastien’s hands balled into fists. “When someone comes into my home and attempts to harm me or anyone under my protection, that is most assuredly a declaration of war.”

  Ella glanced around the conservatory and took in the damage. The glass ceiling was smashed to bits. Only a few jagged pieces remained, lodged in the ceiling frame. The afternoon breeze flew into the room, rustling the leaves on the rose bushes and miniature trees.

  A giant cement urn had crashed directly onto the lovely wrought-iron table, twisting and mangling it. The urn had fallen exactly where they’d been sitting. If Sébastien hadn’t knocked her out of the way in time, one or both of them would have been crushed.

  Whoever did this will stop at nothing, she realized. Who could that be? Who had that much to lose simply by allowing Sébastien’s exhibition to take place?

  She looked up at him and saw the same questions swirling in his eyes.

  The second attack didn’t change anything, she thought. It’s only made him more determined to go forward. Which meant he would press her all the harder to give him that report. And if she did, she’d destroy any shred of professional credibility she might have.

  Even if the museum never found out, which was unlikely, she would know—and it would haunt her for the rest of her life. Every time she told a client they could depend on her, she’d be telling a lie. It made her feel sick inside, almost as sick as knowing she’d been inches away from death.

  It was time to take a stand. She couldn’t sit idly by and let Sébastien make all the decisions. Her career—and her very life—were on the line. If there was going to be a war, then she wanted to be one of the generals, too. “War it is,” she said, grasping Dr. O’Malley’s arm for support as she stood up.

  Sébastien flashed her an approving smile. She felt her legs shake beneath her at the thought of earning his respect. Then she shook her head to clear it. His approval didn’t matter, not one bit.

  Forget about him, she thought. You’re doing this for Dad.

  Sébastien led them all into his study, where he poured brandy for himself and Dr. O’Malley and soda water for her and Frau Müller. The older woman refused to take the glass from his hand. “Don’t bring me a child’s drink,” she said, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses further up on the bridge of her nose.

  Despite the seriousness of their situation, Ella couldn’t help but smile. Frau Müller wasn’t intimidated by Sébastien, either. “Here,” she said. “I’ll take the soda.”

  Frau Müller handed her the glass and Ella sipped the fizzy liquid gratefully. Sébastien poured a double for his housekeeper, who nodded in approval when he handed her the glass.

  “Now,” Sébastien said, standing tall and fixing each of them in his gaze intently. “There are two things that need to happen.”

  “Wait,” Dr. O’Malley interrupted. “Are you sure you want me involved in all this, Sébastien? I’m an old man and I’m just a doctor.”

  “Of course I want you involved, Peter. You stood by my grandfather through his entire life. I know he had no better friend than you. If someone is trying to take down the Cherbourg name, I trust that you’ll be there to help me save it, just like you tried to save my grandfather.”

  Peter O’Malley nodded. “All right, son, all right. You can count me in.”

  “The first thing I need,” Sébastien continued, “is your report, Ella. You need to complete it so I can give it to the museum. Unless our would-be murderer thinks the exhibition has stopped, he’ll keep trying to intimidate me. I want him to know that I won’t stop for anything.”

  Ella knew that’s what he would ask of her, but his words still pierced her heart. So he still doesn’t understand, she thought. He’s still going to ask me to compromise everything I am just so he won’t seem weak.

  On one hand, she understood why he was asking. If someone had come into her home and threatened her, she’d made damn sure she did all she could to get them out. But she would never ask anyone to violate their code of ethics to do so.

  She felt all of their eyes on her and didn’t want to cause a scene or a fight. She decided to skip over the part where she agreed to do what he asked. “And the second thing?” she asked.

  Sébastien nodded, interpreting her lack of protest as an agreement. “You and I are going to give our miscreant two targets to choose from.”

  “What?” Frau Müller burst out. “Sébastien, you can’t be serious! Why would you put your safety—and Miss Wilcox—in jeopardy?”

  “Because,” he answered smoothly. “It’s the only way to see who they’re really after. So far, things have gone according to plan for them. They could have killed both of us in the car or in the atrium. But think about it…do they want Ella out of the way so she can’t submit her report, or do they want me out of the way? We don’t know. And I can’t fight a war unless I know I’m fighting and why.”

  “It’s risky,” O’Malley said.

  “Taking risks is what Cherbourgs do,” Sébastien answered. “My grandfather should have taught you that.”

  The older man appeared chagrined. “All right, my boy. Do what you must.”

  “Peter, Gertrude—I want you two to go about your business as usual. Don’t give our killer any reason to suspect anything is different than normal.”

  Ella held back a snort. “But it is different! The conservatory is a mess because someone destroyed the ceiling! Doesn’t it seem silly to pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “I’m not pretending anything,” Sébastien said. “Frau Müller, you will assign cleanup duties to the rest of the staff and select a contractor to handle the repairs. I’ll stay here and respond to requests from out-of-town reporters who couldn’t make the press conference.”

  “I bet I can guess what you want me to do,” Ella said.

  “I bet you can,” he replied. “Ella, you’ll go across the house into the library where you will write your report.”

  “What about me?” O’Malley asked. “What do you want me to do, Sébastien?”

  She saw Sébastien’s eyes soften, losing a bit of their ferocious glare. “I want you to rest, Peter,” he said. “If I’m right and this person strikes again, we’ll need you. I want you at your best.”

  The older man looked disappointed, but he nodded his head in agreement.

  “Now,” Sébastien said, glancing at each one of them in turn. “Are we all agreed?”

  Ella nodded, feeling strangely adrift. She understood what Sébastien was trying to do and sympathized with him. He was mobilizing his own personal army, taking im
mediate action to preserve the people and things he cared about. She could hardly fault him for being so decisive and motivated, especially when she was neither.

  She still couldn’t decide whether to give in to Sébastien’s demands and write the report or preserve her integrity and refuse to submit a falsified document. Despite the fact that only minutes ago, he’d been in mortal danger, Sébastien looked awake, alive and alert. The air around him crackled with intensity. He was in his element.

  He was born to do this, she thought. He’s a natural leader. And what am I? A scared little girl, trapped in the past.

  Sébastien interrupted her thoughts by jostling her arm. “Ella, did you hear me?”

  “What?” she asked, blinking under his intense stare.

  “I said it’s time to separate.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, it is.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ella made her way to the library and found it easily, thanks to the crystal-clear directions from Frau Müller. She left the wide double doors open as Sébastien had asked, giving their would-be killer an easy way to spot her.

  Even though she knew no one was following her, she found herself looking over her shoulder as she entered the room. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled to herself. “What the hell am I doing?”

  She didn’t really think she was the intended target. That could only be Sébastien, the man in charge of putting on the exhibition. If someone wanted to stop the exhibition, killing her wouldn’t do it. It would only delay the grand opening while Sébastien hired a new gemologist. It was probably just a coincidence that she’d been with Sébastien each time the attacker decided to strike.

  Ella felt a cold, hard pit deep in her stomach and realized it was fear, but not for herself. If she wasn’t the target, that meant Sébastien was. And he’d just isolated himself in his study, providing the assailant with the perfect opportunity to strike.

  Why didn’t Sébastien ask Peter O’Malley to stay with him? Even if he wanted the women out of harm’s way, couldn’t he at least have sent for a member of his security team to stand guard? It seemed like he was taking an unnecessary chance with his life and it made her feel more afraid than she’d felt in a long time, possibly since the night in her father’s workshop.