Broken by a Dangerous Man

by Cleo Peitsche

  “Audrey?” Rob asked.

  “I’m listening. New cases.”

  “Kat just went into the bathroom, so I’ll fill you in quickly,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’re busted. Frances came into the office.”

  The bag slipped from my fingers. “Shit.”

  “That’s exactly what I almost did: shit myself. They aren’t playing around with this. She left about twenty minutes ago, and let me tell you, Dad is about to have a stroke. He’s in his office right now, on the phone with our lawyers.”

  I wiped a hand across my brow. Dad hated having to call the lawyers. He was going to kill me. “You know, I never got paid, so technically it wasn’t really PI work—”

  “Believe me, that is the least of your problems. That Massimo guy. Did you really see him at the airport?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn. I’d been hoping you found out about the murder and you were just playing a joke on me. Because when I said you’d seen him at the airport, Frances flipped out. She thinks you’re hiding him.”

  Instantly, I broke into a sweat. “Hiding him? I didn’t even know we were on the same flight until we landed. Who’s dead? When?”

  “Yesterday morning. Someone attacked Frances’s grandson and his ex-boyfriend. The ex died, and the grandson is in a coma.”

  “And then Massimo fled the country later in the day.” A hard knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach. “Frances doesn’t actually believe I’m helping him, does she?”

  “She’s throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. I swear she’s on some kind of crusade. The look in her eyes… I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks that finding the attacker will save Neil.” Rob sounded like he was getting hoarse from whispering, but I had to know more.

  I grabbed a bottle of water and took a fast swig. “Details. Please.”

  “Frances only found out a few hours ago. They were in a hotel room in Los Angeles. They’d checked in under the ex-boyfriend’s name, and Neil’s wallet was missing. They eventually identified him by tracing the rental car. I’m not sure why it took so long, and let me tell you that when Frances finds out who screwed up, it’s going to be brutal. She’s got every law-enforcement officer within three states standing behind her.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And why did Frances show up at the office?” Now I was whispering, too.

  “Because obviously Massimo did it,” Rob said. “At first she wanted to know what you found out during your investigation. She demanded to see your notes. She was already pissed. Then, when I mentioned that you’d seen him in Paris, she flipped. Erin burst into tears.”

  My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a dozen hornets. If Massimo was responsible for this attack, and if there was something in his past I’d missed, then I was partially to blame.

  “Dad promised her we’d send the notes within twenty-four hours.”

  The weight of my head was suddenly too much for my neck to support, and I let it rest on the back of the sofa. The angle was awkward, but I didn’t have the strength to move to a more comfortable seat.

  “There aren’t any notes,” I said. “It wasn’t a Stroop Finders job, so I didn’t have to follow Dad’s stupid protocol. Why does she think Massimo did it?”

  “Well, there was a guy in the hotel who matches Massimo’s description. They’ve got two eyewitnesses who are being shown a photo lineup as we speak, and the police are reviewing the security footage. I had to give up the name of your hotel. And the phone number. It was against my will, believe me, but stalling would have been suspicious.”

  “They would have gotten it anyway,” I said, sighing.

  “Apparently, your investigation is very interesting to everyone. Audrey, if there’s anything you’re hiding, at least tell me. I’ll keep it to myself.”

  Hiding… like the fact that I knew where Massimo was? The hornets in my stomach seemed to be multiplying. “But I didn’t witness anything untoward,” I said.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nope.” Well, they’d had one squabble, but it was Neil berating Massimo for flirting too much, not the other way around, and it had clearly blown over by the time I did the doggie shampoo. “Do you happen to know why they broke up?”

  “Believe it or not, I don’t. This is fun, answering your millions of questions.”

  “And passing along Dad’s decree.”

  “And that.”

  “And pouting.”

  “Not that. Well… I don’t know if I should come to Paris. It looks bad already. If my ticket is refundable, I’m going to cancel.”

  “That’s crazy. Don’t cancel!”

  “Audrey, it’s… not good. Unless you’re dying there…”

  “I’m not,” I said. “The situation with Corbin is fine. Better than fine.”

  “Then it’s decided. Sorry, sis.”

  Sliding lower in my seat to take the pressure off my neck, I said, “Maybe I should come back.”

  “I’ve got a date next week. With Jennifer.” He said it at normal volume, so I took that to mean that Kat had returned.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s technically work—” He was trying hard to keep things light.

  “There is no work you have that involves Jennifer,” I pointed out.

  Rob did an evil villain laugh, diffusing any doubt I might have had about his intentions.

  “Someone should warn her.”

  “There’s something about her, as you Frenchies say, a certain je ne sais quoi.”

  That made me snort. “No quoi about it. She’s hot. Men. So predictable.”

  “Lots of women are hot, but very few women are hot, and smart, and capable of kicking my ass.”

  “I’m a woman and I could kick your ass.”

  “Hey, I learned something new,” Rob said. “Jet lag causes delirium. Have you had a baguette yet? Damn, that came out dirty.” He sounded genuinely horrified, and I started laughing.

  “Bye!”

  Just as I was about to hang up, Rob said, “Sorry, I forgot to ask. What did you need?”

  Oh, that. “I was returning your call. What did you need?”

  “Nothing important now,” he said sourly.

  After hanging up, I tapped the phone against my chin and stared at the floor.

  Well, Massimo was screwed, and it was my fault. Not a problem if he was guilty, but if he was innocent…

  Should I warn him? He’d told me not to call after work hours, but this was obviously an emergency.

  But warning him could get me in a heap of trouble.

  Either way, I had a lot of questions.

  I dialed.

  A woman answered. In French. Funny how I kept forgetting about that one little obstacle to getting things done.

  “Massimo?”

  She said something, a question. I didn’t hear any voices in the background, so I figured the party was over.

  “Is Massimo there?”

  “Oh,” she said. “He eeez not home.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  I hoped calling that number wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Who knew how the French handled phone company subpoenas?

  I licked my lips. The authorities knew Massimo had come to France, but they wouldn’t assume he’d stayed. And surely he was being careful. If nothing else, seeing me at the airport had probably convinced him to take precautions. In any event, it was out of my hands now.

  What a cluster fuck.

  Now that I knew more details, I could hit the correct newspapers for information.

  Unfortunately, I soon realized that Rob had told me far more than was in the papers. I didn’t even get the name of Neil’s ex. Dead end.

  I combed through Neil’s social media. No one was showering him with condolences and get-well-soon messages. I’d be keeping an eye out, though.

  It was way past my new bedtime.

  I picked up the shopping bag I’d dropped and
went through it. So much tissue paper. Underneath was clothing.

  Very considerate of Corbin. I reached for the next bag.

  In total, there were two dresses, three tops, a pair of jeans, a skirt, two pairs of slacks, and two pairs of shoes. Entire outfits in my size. If I’d known Corbin was going to do this, I wouldn’t have packed one of the pretty dresses he’d bought me.

  The clothes were nice, and I supposed they were trendy in Paris, but I wouldn’t be able to wear them at home. And I wasn’t sure how much use they’d get before I left; from what I’d seen at the Eiffel Tower, the tourist uniform included jeans, fanny packs, and gym sneakers.

  I took the things into the bedroom to hang them up.

  The bed, which I had messed up looking for the ring, was made, every pillow in place. Apparently the staff really did run in throughout the day to fix things.

  While I brushed my teeth, I mentally picked at the problem of Massimo. It sounded like he had something to do with the murder and the attack. At the very least, he’d been there. And he’d known about the murder…

  Deep down, did I think he’d done it? I really didn’t know.

  I had to accept the possibility that Massimo was a scam artist, and I’d been fooled.

  Assuming he didn’t get arrested overnight, Massimo and I were going to have a little talk, and it would be face to face, in the light. And unless I wanted Corbin getting involved—because who knew what kind of obligations a former assassin and spy might have when it came to international fugitives—I needed to ditch Bertrand.

  Chapter 13

  When I woke, Corbin wasn’t next to me.

  He’d been there, though; I vaguely remembered the warmth of his body covering mine. As proof that I hadn’t dreamed it, the other side of the bed had definitely been slept in.

  “Corbin?” I started to sit up, then fell heavily back onto the bed. “Corbin, are you here?”

  Nothing.

  As for me, I had a pounding headache. I should have researched how to beat jet lag before I left. For some reason, I’d assumed I’d just be a bit tired. I’d never imagined it would include the sensation of trying to climb out of quicksand while invisible hammers bounced off my skull.

  “Ugh.” I flopped onto my back and pulled my arm over my eyes. The way the sun blasted through the windows, it felt late.

  More proof that Corbin had been there: the curtains had all been closed the night before.

  I heaved my weary carcass out of the bed and went to verify that I was alone.

  Corbin was gone, but a room service cart waited next to the table. The draped cloth under the platter was of better quality than most of my clothes—all my clothes if I excluded what Corbin had bought me.

  On the table were an empty coffee cup and a used plate and fork.

  I pulled off the platter’s cover and found myself looking at a fruit salad. Very fresh, with papaya, mango, and blackberries in addition to several types of melon. It looked good, but I was in the mood for biscuits or eggs. Something heavy.

  Bread crumbs decorated the edge of Corbin’s plate. I tilted my head and looked at the cart. Either he’d eaten the basket the bread came in, or…

  Pulling up the white cloth on the cart revealed a second level. There was a woven basket full of mini croissants, two boiled eggs, and another place setting. I grabbed the basket and a couple of miniature jelly jars.

  By the time I was finishing breakfast, I was awake enough to start thinking about my day. Really, the only must-do items on my agenda were visiting the jeweler and talking to Massimo. The tourist attractions could wait.

  I checked my voicemail and email. Dad had followed up about the notes for Frances. Actually, he’d made Erin send the message, but I could sense him standing there, scowling over her shoulder. Poor Erin. I sent a reply explaining that I didn’t have any notes.

  Then I realized how late it was. Two in the afternoon, local time. Bertrand was surely restless.

  He answered my call on the first ring. “Good morning,” he said brightly.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t be. You’re seven, eight hours ahead of your normal time. I’d be worried if you were running around like nothing was different.”

  It made me wonder how the hell Corbin dealt with it. If I managed to ever get in the same room with him again, I’d have to ask for tips.

  “Give me twenty minutes to shower and dress,” I said.

  “Take thirty.”

  The next order of business was to call Massimo.

  First I checked to see if he’d been captured. Nothing turned up online. So I called Nicole’s number and got an answering machine in French, which did me no good.

  But the beep was in a language I recognized, and I reluctantly left a number.

  After taking a fast shower, I dressed in one of the outfits Corbin had bought me. I chose a burnt orange V-neck shirt. The short sleeves had cuffs. When I put it on, it looked better than I would have thought. In fact, I liked it. I paired it with the new jeans and the shoes I’d worn the day before.

  Bertrand had a bag of assorted pastries for me to try.

  “The patisserie will be closing early, so we can’t visit today, but I picked out some things you might like.”

  “Thank you.” I should have packed my gym gear. Everything I’d eaten so far was delicious. It wasn’t like at home, when I’d occasionally skip lunch because really, there were only so many times I could make myself eat greasy Chinese food or uninspired sandwiches. The city of Paris was like having Corbin cook for me nonstop.

  “Can we go to the jewelry store?” I asked. “By the way, will Corbin ask you where I went?”

  “I doubt it,” Bertrand said. “Why?”

  And that was the problem with knowing he wasn’t just some hired driver—he could ask questions of me, too.

  “Oh, I was thinking about picking him up a surprise, but I wouldn’t give it to him until later,” I said.

  “You think you could explain that concept to my girlfriend?” Bertrand asked. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe. Unless he asks directly, of course.”

  “Of course.” At least Bertrand was honest about it. I could appreciate that.

  “I’m going to take the scenic route, down the Champs-Elysées,” Bertrand said. “I’m not exactly an accredited tour guide, but I’ll do my best.”

  The streets were far less crowded today, and traffic moved smoothly. I wondered how far we were from the neighborhood where Corbin had lived. I was curious as hell to see it.

  No. Jeweler first, sightseeing later.

  Bertrand turned onto a wide boulevard. “That’s l’Arc de Triomphe,” he said.

  I didn’t have to ask him where. All the way at the end of the long, straight road was a large stone arch that reminded me of an unused staple, and it was immediately familiar. Sadly, if someone had shown me a photo and asked where it was, I would have guessed Italy or Greece.

  The street turned into a shopping area, and I saw quite a few stores I recognized, including some fast food places.

  Bertrand brought the car to a stop. I looked out and saw the luxury jewelry store, and my heart skipped a beat.

  “I can certainly handle this on my own,” I said. “If you want to stay with the vehicle.”

  He nodded in agreement. As I walked across the broad, crowded sidewalk, I could feel his eyes on me, watching.

  A handsome man in a very nice suit opened the door. He said something in French, and I smiled in return.

  The store was several floors, I realized. I wasn’t sure where to go.

  A smiling woman approached.

  “Please tell me you speak English,” I said.

  “I speak English.” Her smile was so genuine that I felt myself relaxing. Everything was going to be fine.

  “I’m looking for a ring that you carry. It’s daisies and diamonds and yellow stones,” I said. “It’s a repeating design that wraps around the band.”

  She was already nodding, bu
t something about the way her eyes lit up… Did the salespeople here work on commission? Was she thinking that I was about to pay her rent for the next six months?

  Don’t be pessimistic, I scolded myself. As if blind optimism could magically make the ring affordable.

  As we approached a glass case, I saw several versions of the ring Corbin had bought me.

  “Do any of these fit the bill?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, bending over so I could inspect them more closely. It was impossible to see the price tags. “That one,” I said, pointing at the ring. Just seeing it made me giddy with relief. At least he hadn’t custom ordered mine.

  She pulled it out and placed it into my outstretched palm. The display model fit my middle finger perfectly.

  My hand lightly trembling, I braced myself to look at the price tag. It slid into view, right to left. First the euro sign. Then one digit, two digits… four digits… Oh, god. There was a fifth. I saw the edges of it. A one. Or a seven.

  I turned my hand over; I didn’t need to see more. Whether the ring cost ten thousand or seventy-seven thousand, even if I emptied my bank accounts and maxed out my credit cards, I couldn’t afford it.

  Buying it was simply impossible.

  Perhaps I should have been relieved. The price of the ring would keep me from making the most fiscally irresponsible decision of my life.

  Not just my life. It affected Rob, too. We were both pouring our money into the office expansion and renovation.

  “Do you have any similar versions that are less expensive?” I asked softly. I couldn’t take my eyes off the ring. It really was gorgeous, though I didn’t love it the way I loved the one I’d lost. Even if the rings were identical, the one that Corbin had given me was better.

  “This one.” The sales associate pulled out the same design with white stones. I shook my head. Corbin would notice the difference at a glance.

  My heart sinking, I reluctantly worked the ring off my finger. “Let me think about it,” I said.

  “It’s a beautiful piece, and a limited edition. They’ll be pulled from the stores next week. Of course you need to be comfortable, but don’t take too long, or the decision will be made for you. Then the ring will become almost impossible to buy, even at resale.”