“About twenty minutes ago.” Acacia kept the phone to her ear as she moved down the hall and toward the lobby.
“It may be too late. Can you see other people now?”
“Yes, I’m entering the lobby. I’ll head to the night manager’s office.” She rounded a corner and shifted her backpack awkwardly on her shoulder.
“Has anyone else connected with the hotel been the victim of a crime recently? Or had an accident?”
“Not that I know of. Monsieur Breckman has a large security detail with him. They’re armed.”
“How many men?” Luc’s voice lifted and Acacia heard a door close.
“Six.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“I don’t know—hand guns.”
“Stay with the manager or head to the bar. Act as if nothing is wrong. If the guest or one of his men approaches you, call me. I’m on my way.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Stay there,” he commanded. “I’m in my car.”
He disconnected, and Acacia stared at her cell phone, wondering what she’d just done.
Chapter Eight
ACACIA SAT AT THE BAR and positioned herself so she could watch the door.
She knew better than to involve Luc in her suspicions, but she’d done it anyway. Now he was on his way over with agents.
She took another drink, fearing she’d destroyed her anonymity in one unguarded moment. She wrung her hands as she glanced around.
Luc appeared in the doorway.
At five-foot-eleven, he was only two inches taller than Acacia. His hair was sandy brown and needed cutting, and his handsome face was shadowed with scruff. He’d been attractive when they were students and was even more so now, wearing dark pants, a blue shirt, and a black leather jacket. He looked more like an actor than a policeman, although he surveyed the lounge with sharp eyes before he entered it.
“Caci,” he murmured as he approached her. He kissed her cheeks.
The greeting itself was innocuous. Friends greeted one another like that all the time. But Acacia felt a wave of nostalgia, made all the more poignant by the speed with which he withdrew.
She felt her face flame. “Luc, I—”
“Not here,” he interrupted, his blue eyes focused on hers.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a few Euro notes, placing them next to her half-empty glass. He nodded at the bartender and retrieved Acacia’s backpack from the floor.
As soon as she stood, he guided her to the door. His hand hovered at her lower back, but he didn’t touch her.
Acacia appreciated his professionalism but felt an underlying sadness. She’d given him up even though she’d loved him. She’d had her reasons, and they still existed. She needed to remind herself of them.
“Is there a place we can speak privately?” He kept his voice low as they walked toward the lobby.
“We can go to the staff room.” Acacia glanced around. “But you aren’t supposed to be in there.”
“I just need a minute.” Luc was in policeman mode and would not be deterred.
When they approached the staff room, Luc entered first and searched to see if anyone was inside. Once satisfied the room was empty, he beckoned to Acacia.
She closed the door behind her. “I called you about the painting because I was worried it was stolen. I didn’t expect you to come over.”
“You’re a witness.” He returned her backpack. “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right.”
Acacia rubbed her forehead in agitation. “I am in so much trouble. You have no idea what this could cost me.”
Luc’s blue eyes met hers. “The lead investigator of the Musée robbery is on his way. My colleagues are already in the building, and you’re with me.”
Her eyes flashed. “The hotel is going to be swarming with agents. The night manager was furious when I spoke to him. My supervisor will be apoplectic.”
“You did the right thing.” Luc spoke reassuringly. “The night manager is being interviewed as we speak. I can’t be involved with the investigation because of my connection with you, but I had to report what you told me.”
She crossed her arms. “What happens next?”
“The lead investigator, Philippe, will interview you. I’ll speak to him about assigning someone to keep an eye on you, as a precaution. I doubt your interview will take very long, although he may want you to come down to thirty-six Quai des Orfèvres to make a formal statement. One of the officers will drive you home afterward.”
“I have my motorcycle.”
“Too risky.”
Acacia tugged at her hair. “This is bad. This is very, very bad. I should have spoken with my supervisor before I called you. This will be all over the news!”
Luc’s expression grew grim. “We’re talking about possession of a masterpiece, not a case of stolen towels. If we recover it, you’ll be a hero.”
“I don’t want to be a hero!” She gesticulated wildly. “I don’t want my identity made public. Do you have any idea what this means?”
Luc came a step closer. “We aren’t going to plaster the name of a key witness all over the media. I’ve already told Philippe you’re a friend. He’ll treat you right.”
“Sure,” she murmured, unconvinced.
“Without question,” Luc said firmly. “If you help us close this case, you’ll have the thanks of the BRB.”
He reached for her, then stopped abruptly. He thrust his hands in his pockets. “I’ll make sure everyone understands you don’t want your name in the media.”
His expression softened. “I know it’s shit timing, but it’s good to see you.”
Acacia looked down at her shoes. “It’s good to see you. How’s Simone?”
Luc rubbed the back of his neck. “She moved out. That’s why I was having drinks with Yves and Véronique. They wanted the whole story.”
Acacia lifted her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Things weren’t working out.” He gave her a half-smile. “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
She lifted her backpack over her shoulder. “I work a lot. But I like my job, which is why I hope Monsieur Roy is understanding about having the BRB all over his hotel.”
Luc cleared his throat. “Leave it to us. I’ll take you to Philippe now.” He gestured for her to precede him through the door.
She paused. “I know things didn’t end on the best of terms. I’m grateful you came to check on me.”
His expression tightened. He nodded.
For a moment, Acacia considered turning over Marcel’s journal. The longer she held on to it, the more she was in jeopardy of withholding evidence. But the Paris police were handling the investigation of Marcel’s assault. She needed to turn the journal over to them.
With gritted teeth, she stepped into the hall, and Luc followed.
As they rounded the corner to the lobby, Acacia could see the beautiful space crawling with BRB agents.
All the air seemed to flee from her lungs. Luc didn’t know the source of her deepest fear or that his actions might have put her life and the life of her mother in jeopardy.
But it was too late.
Chapter Nine
ACACIA DID NOT SLEEP WELL.
Late into the night, a BRB agent had driven her back to her apartment. She’d then spent an hour staring at the ceiling above her bed, turning the events at the hotel over in her mind. Finally, she’d given up on sleeping and made pão de queijo instead.
Shortly before sunrise she’d returned to bed, exhausted, and slept for a couple of hours. She’d just finished making breakfast when there was a knock at the door.
Claude meowed.
Ignoring the cat’s pique, she peered through the viewer. Luc stood outside, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his fac
e grim.
She picked up Claude and opened the door.
“Morning.” Luc smiled at her tightly.
She frowned. “It’s seven thirty.”
“It’s important.” Luc looked beyond her, into the apartment. “Can I come in?”
Claude meowed unhappily and began to struggle. When Acacia released him, he shot across the floor and disappeared under the bed.
She opened the door wider and invited Luc in. He kissed her cheeks, and this time his hand lingered on her shoulder.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Have you spoken with the hotel?” He ran his fingers through his hair, which looked as if he’d rushed out the door without combing it.
“No. My shift doesn’t start until nine. I was just having breakfast.” She gestured to the small table and twin chairs in her efficient kitchen.
Luc took a seat and she poured him a cup of coffee from a press.
“You’re still wearing your good luck charm.” He gestured to her hamsa pendant.
“I never take it off.” She pulled the edges of her robe closer together as she sat across from him. “Your colleague Philippe wasn’t nice.”
“Philippe is a good detective, but he’s under a lot of pressure from the Minister of the Interior to solve the Musée case.” Luc sipped his coffee.
She offered him the plate of pão de queijo.
“I’ve missed this.” He smiled and wolfed a piece of cheese bread.
“I made them this morning.” Acacia wrapped her hands around her coffee cup.
“I miss a lot of things.”
She drank her coffee, unwilling to engage him.
“How is your mother?” He looked over at her.
“She’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Give her my best.”
Acacia nodded stiffly.
Luc’s gaze wandered over her posture. He looked stricken. “Was I so terrible?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I loved you.” His voice was gentle. “I treated you well. I was faithful.”
“Yes.”
“If you were with someone else, I’d respect that. But all these years later, you’re still alone. I worry about you, Caci.”
Now her spine straightened. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know that.” He made eye contact. “I don’t think you’ve ever needed anyone. But why should you be alone? You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman with a good heart.”
“It isn’t easy being an immigrant in this country.” She fixed him with a stern look. “It isn’t easy being caught between two worlds and never fitting in. For now, I’m focusing on my career and supporting my family.”
He rubbed his hand across his unshaven face. “I worry about a backlash against immigration in this country. Every time there’s a terrorist attack in the world, the anti-immigration groups ratchet up their campaigns.”
“I know. The other day a guest at the hotel told me she wouldn’t speak to me because I wasn’t a French concierge. And she was from Lyon.”
Luc swore. “I’m sorry, Caci. You’re still sending money back to Brazil?”
She nodded.
“You’re a good daughter.” He glanced in the direction of her sleeping area. “I can’t believe you’re still living in this tiny apartment. The bed is lumpy, and it creaks. You could afford something better.”
“I like it here. I like the neighborhood, and I like my landlords.”
“I forgot about Anouk’s parents. They’re good people.” An unhappy expression took up residence on his face. “Philippe released Breckman an hour ago. He called me at home to tell me. That’s why I’m here.”
Acacia put her coffee cup down with a loud thump. “Why did they release him?”
“Experts from the Musée examined the painting and said it’s a reproduction.”
“Why wasn’t it in a frame? Why was he wearing gloves and being so secretive?”
“They examined the painting they found in the hotel,” Luc clarified. “It’s possible he removed the original after you saw it.”
Acacia went very still. “Will he come after me?”
“He’s supposed to be leaving Paris today. He wasn’t told you were the witness, but he’s probably figured it out.
“You’ll have someone shadowing you for the next few days, just in case. And I’m only a phone call away.”
She touched her pendant absently. “What about the media?”
“There’s a media blackout. The press knows something happened at the hotel, but they’ve been told simply that the BRB was following a lead. No one will mention your name.” He stretched his hand across the table, and Acacia squeezed it. “Breckman was cooperative. But you should be careful. The attack on the other concierge is suspicious, and according to a contact of mine in the Paris police force, they don’t have any suspects.”
“I think we’re missing something.”
Luc nudged her arm. “No more Commissaire Maigret, Caci.”
She laughed at the mention of her favorite French detective.
“That’s fine with me.” She offered him more cheese bread.
“Thank you.” Luc took another piece. “I agree, we’re missing something. So I pulled Breckman’s records.”
“What did you find?”
“You have to keep this conversation confidential. Philippe knows I’m here and that I’m telling you Breckman was released. I’m not supposed to be pulling his file, and I’m certainly not supposed to be telling you about it.”
Acacia frowned. “You know I can keep a secret.”
He chuckled ruefully. “That’s why I’m risking it.
“I didn’t find anything unusual in Breckman’s records, but you saw his security detail. Why would a legitimate businessman need so many men? Why would he hide a reproduction of a stolen painting and tell you your discretion would be rewarded?” Luc shook his head. “Organized crime has been known to use works of art as payment or insurance. The more powerful the crime boss, the smaller the footprint. He can afford to have others do the dirty work.”
“Monsieur Breckman didn’t seem like a crime boss, but I guess it’s possible.” Acacia pushed her hair back from her face. “What should I do?”
Her cell phone rang, interrupting Luc’s response.
“Excuse me.” She crossed to the counter where her cell phone rested and answered it. “Hello?”
“It’s Céline at the Victoire. Monsieur Roy is requesting you meet him in his office at eight thirty.”
Acacia cleared her throat. “Did he mention the reason for the meeting?”
“No.” Céline’s tone was smug. “That’s all.”
“Goodbye then.” Acacia disconnected and placed the phone back on the counter.
Luc rose to his feet. “Work?”
“The manager wants to see me before my shift.”
Luc combed his fingers through his hair. “I’ll take you.”
“I can take a taxi. My motorcycle is still at the hotel.”
Luc placed his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting you walk in there alone. I’ll take you to the hotel, and then I’m going to look around.”
“Thank you, but no. I’m capable of getting myself to work.”
“Breckman is still there. If I take you to work and make my presence known, it sends a message.”
“How many people know about me?” Acacia clasped her hands together.
“Only those involved directly in the investigation, apart from me.” Luc stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to stay somewhere else for a few days? You could call Yves and Véronique.”
“No. They live too far away from the hotel.”
He lifted his shoulders casually. “You could stay with me.”
“Absolu
tely not.”
“You didn’t even consider it.” Luc frowned. “I’m not infected with plague.”
“It’s kind of you to offer, but we both know that’s a terrible idea.” She unclasped her hands.
“Fine. If you see something suspicious, call Philippe or me. Did he give you a card?”
“He suggested I program his number into my phone. I did that last night.”
Luc cleared his throat. “Am I still programmed into your phone?”
A long look passed between them.
Acacia turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
Chapter Ten
LUC INSISTED ON PARKING his Renault illegally in front of the hotel.
He opened Acacia’s door and helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the front door.
Acacia eyed the doorman before she whispered, “I’m supposed to use the service entrance.”
“You’re using the front door today.” Luc flashed his identification to the doorman, who scurried ahead to open the door.
When Luc and Acacia entered the lobby, a frowning reservation agent greeted them.
“Don’t bother changing into your uniform,” Céline said, ignoring Luc. “Monsieur Roy wants to see you immediately.”
“And you are?” Luc held his identification under her nose and began asking a series of pointed questions.
Acacia didn’t bother to restrain her smile as she turned away.
At that moment, Monsieur Breckman exited the elevator with his security detail. Once again, he wore an expensive black suit, paired with a white shirt and black silk tie. A man Acacia did not recognize stood next to him, speaking very insistently in hushed tones.
Luc abandoned his interrogation and positioned himself in front of Acacia.
Monsieur Breckman’s eyes met Luc’s, and his eyebrows lifted. He made no effort to approach Acacia, but his gaze sought hers.
He stared at her as the man next to him continued to speak. Breckman gave no indication he was listening.
He didn’t look triumphant or arrogant. He seemed worried.
He glanced at Luc and gave Acacia a very unhappy look. Then he and his entourage turned and walked toward the back entrance to the hotel.
The Man in the Black Suit Page 6