I glance toward the bathroom to make sure St. Clair is still sudsing up and look closer.
It is a museum—the museum in San Francisco that was robbed. It shows exits, security cameras, everything you’d need to pull off a major heist.
My heart stops.
If St. Clair is the man I told Lennox he was, the man I believe him to be, why the hell does he have these blueprints?
CHAPTER 11
“Grace? Hello? Earth to Gracie…” Paige waves her hands in front of my face.
“Hmm, what?” I look up.
Paige rolls her eyes. “Snap out of it already. What is wrong with you today?” she asks. “Still swooning over Mr. Perfect?”
We’re lunching at a small café not far from my place in Notting Hill, sitting at a small and slightly uncomfortable but cute metal table and chairs and sipping coffee that will knock your socks off any time of day, but it still can’t shake my worries loose.
“I was just thinking about work,” I lie. The truth is, I can’t get those blueprints or St. Clair’s phone conversation off my mind. It’s been days since we got back from Sussex, and all I’ve done is go over everything a million times, trying to come up with an innocent explanation that doesn’t involve grand theft and illegal dealings.
Paige studies me carefully. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is.”
“I know.”
But I feel guilty, because I can’t talk to her, not about this. Paige is the one who’s been investigating the theft from Carringer’s, which means if Lennox is right, St. Clair’s been fooling us all. I wish I had more information. What if it’s nothing? Or worse: what if it’s not?
“I’m just feeling the pressure about making this big decision for the art exhibit.” I hate lying to her, but I don’t see another option.
“You’ll do great,” Paige grins. “But I can talk about art all day back at the office. I want to hear about your sexy weekend away.”
I laugh. “Sure, because nightmare family tension really sets the mood.”
“It must have worked, because you look all… glowy.” Paige narrows her eyes. “Please tell me you decided to give this ‘strictly work’ thing up and make hay while the sun shines.”
“Maybe…” I feel the tingle of desire pulling at me, remembering his hands, his tongue… I sigh. “I tried to keep things professional, I really did.”
“Oh, I’m not blaming you. In fact, I’d be mad if you weren’t hittin’ that.” Paige stirs her coffee. “Tell me everything.”
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” I grin.
“Traitor.” Paige sticks her tongue out at me. “I need to live vicariously through you. All I do is work these days.” She lets out a weary sigh.
“It’s still that busy at the insurance company?” I ask. “Any new leads?”
“Not a one. Usually this is where we’d cut the check and move on, but the authorities won’t let it go. That Lennox guy is persistent. And intense. And kind of hot…” Paige bites her lip. “What do you think?”
“He’s… cute, I guess.” I feel guilty again hiding so much from her, but I need to learn exactly what Lennox is telling people about St. Clair. “Has he given you any suspects?” I ask carefully.
“Not really. Just that he thinks it’s someone who’s in it for the thrill, not someone who needs the cash.” Paige smooths her hair down. “Is St. Clair still upset about his missing masterpiece? He didn’t lose any money, right?”
“No, Carringer’s lost the money,” I say absently. St. Clair would never do this for the money, Lennox is right about that. He has more than enough. But it still doesn’t make sense: I can’t see St. Clair risking everything just for a passing thrill.
Or maybe I’m wrong, and I don’t really know him at all.
“Grace?”
I snap back. Paige is rolling her eyes. “I did it again, didn’t I? I’m sorry for spacing.”
“It’s a good thing I love you so much.” She winks.
“Love you too.” My guilt grows. I hate keeping secrets, especially from my best friend. “I don’t deserve a friend like you.”
After lunch I head back to St. Clair’s office—my office—and try to focus on work. I flip through the final art pieces I’ve chosen for the London College of Art show —a mix of classically talented artists and daring original works—and feel good about my picks. I think the show will be a success. I’m trying to have confidence in my gut and follow the path my instincts want to travel, even if it means a rocky road. I know a few older members of the board may be surprised by some of my choices, but I also know these are the students who deserve to be shown.
With my choices finally made, I turn my attention back to my main job, and the incredible European pieces I can see in person now to add to St. Clair’s collection. I call Maisie, back in San Francisco, and ask for his schedule so we can set up some viewing appointments. My spirits lift just thinking about it.
“You’re all set,” she says down the line. “I’ve given you permissions on his calendar, everything should be in there.”
“Thank you – and good morning,” I add, remembering the time difference.
I click open his calendar on my computer and pull up my spreadsheet of the upcoming art openings and gallery galas, when artists are booked in town or rumored to be giving private showings in a remote location. It’s been fun researching, making calls and being on the cutting edge of the international art scene.
I click through, trying to figure out his complicated calendar. There are different color codes for travel, business meetings, personal appointments – and it goes back for years, too.
I pause. All his past travel and appointments are right here in the schedule. If Lennox is right, then those dates would match the other heists. I could check right now, but somehow that feels like a betrayal. Like I’m saying the accusations could be true.
I sit there, torn. The information I need is right at my fingertips, yet I just can’t bring myself to check. What if Lennox is right?
But what if he’s wrong – and you can prove it, a voice argues. If St. Clair’s schedule doesn’t fit with the heists, then that’s all the evidence I need to put Lennox’s crazy theories aside and move on.
I can’t go on like this, suspecting but not sure. I need an answer.
My heart racing, I click through to last year. Lennox mentioned a heist in Belgium, and a quick Google search brings up the details of the crime. May 18th, Brussels. Gold bars stolen from a vault, no suspects, no witnesses.
I turn back to St. Clair’s schedule, my fingers dancing over the keys, but I waver. Is this crossing the line? What about trust, giving him the benefit of the doubt?
That’s exactly why I need to do this—to give him the benefit of the doubt and prove once and for all that he couldn’t possibly have done what Lennox thinks.
My pulse races. I check St. Clair’s calendar.
May 10th to 20th - Belgium. New investor meetings, touring a tech facility, meeting local business leaders.
Brussels.
My heart sinks, but I try to ignore it. This could be a coincidence.
I check the other dates. A diamond theft in Monaco. Rare art stolen in Rio. And every time, St. Clair’s travel plans match the heists. He was right there in the country when they all went down, with the perfect cover every time.
I stare at the screen in disbelief. My heart is still telling me this is wrong, some mistake, but the evidence doesn’t lie.
It all matches up. St. Clair, and the heists. They’re connected.
I feel a pain shoot through my chest.
How could I have been so naïve? To think that I believed in St. Clair, and the whole time he was lying to my face.