Dagger
Ihad to take the stairs two at a time to catch up with Maelle before she got to the bedroom. As I anticipated, she tried to slam the door closed as I stepped over the threshold.
She crossed to the window, with her arms wrapped around her waist, and let loose a stream of French I couldn’t have followed even if I spoke the language fluently. I closed the door and waited for her to get it out of her system.
“He won’t accept it, Killian. His wife has cancer, and he tells me doctors only frighten women and it isn’t true.”
“I heard.”
“In spring, you will see I was right.” She mimicked him. “And in spring, when she is too weak to stand, what will he say? That the doctors frightened her into it?”
“Come here.”
She shook her head. “If you hold me, I will cry, and I am not finished being angry.”
“Then, finish. I’ll wait.”
“Before you arrived for breakfast, I confronted Rémy.”
“Go on.”
She told me Rémy hadn’t known about Chantal’s diagnosis and that his own mother had died of the same disease. And before any of that, she’d told him she was the Valais heir and demanded to see the books every quarter.
“How did he react?”
“He was irritated and impatient.”
“Makes sense. Then what happened?”
“I told him about Maman, and the rest, you know.”
“If your cousin has something to hide, you told him you’re looking.”
“I know. That was the point.”
“If Rémy is involved, you’ve warned him to start covering himself,” I pressed. “So think like him. What does he do first?”
“He cleans the books.”
“How long would that take?”
“A day. Less, if all he must do is delete.” She uncrossed her arms. “Everything I photographed could be gone by tonight.”
“If you’ve got it all, let him scrub.”
She smirked. “You sound pleased.”
“It’s crunch time, mon feu. I can feel it.”
She went to the desk, and when she faced me again, she was Givre, not Bertrand’s daughter. Not Maelle. “Let’s talk about tomorrow night,” she said.
“Your father’s important associate. You know who I think it is?”
“Géraud.”
“We’d be fools to plan for anyone else.”
“Then, plan with me.” She dragged the chair out and sat. “What is our goal for the night?”
“We identify him, we map him, and we collect as much information as possible. We watch who he speaks to, who he avoids, and how your father and Rémy behave around him. If we can manage it, a photograph of him with each of them. Another with the three of them would be very desirable. Past that, we do nothing that gives him a reason to look at either of us twice.”
“He will look at us twice, Dagger. My father intends to announce our engagement in front of him.”
“We’re ready, Givre. We’ve got these covers down.” I winked, and she grinned. “Men like Géraud don’t avoid people like us, Maelle. They hire us.”
“There’s one thing I haven’t said out loud, but I need to.” I could tell by the tone of her voice what she was about to say.
“Go ahead.”
“If he knew I’d be there.”
She didn’t need to elaborate for me to know what she meant. “I’ve thought about it.”
“Tell me what you concluded.”
“If Géraud knew you were connected to Minerva, you’d never have left hospital. He had no reason to let you live. Whatever he knows, it isn’t that.”
Her shoulders dropped. “I reached the same conclusion. I’m glad you did too.”
“Next, we need to brief the team.”
“We’ll have to figure out a way to leave without Marthe pitching a fit,” she warned.
I laughed. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Does it involve sneaking out in the middle of the night again?” She wriggled her brows.
I stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “We’ll have errands to run for the party—no one will question the trip, and if we happen to have some extra time, I wouldn’t be opposed to making good use of it.”
“Will you send a message to Blackjack and Beacon, or should I?” she asked.
“I will,” I said as I typed. Need a secure brief today. “Now, the next thing we need to discuss…”
Maelle scowled. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“There’s one more conversation I need to have today. Mine, with your father.”
“Why?” she snapped.
“Your argument with him—”
“Do you intend to apologize on my behalf?”
“I intend to smooth the waters between the two of you.”
She stepped away and folded her arms. “He doesn’t deserve an apology from me.”
“And he isn’t getting one. Making him think I intend to offer an olive branch will be what gets me in the door. What I say once I’m inside is about your mother.”
“He won’t hear it.”
I shook my head. “He heard you. He isn’t capable of accepting it yet.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re giving him too much credit.”
“We want your father focused on hosting his important guest. To introduce you as the daughter he adores versus the one he’s angry with.”
“You’re right, but don’t you dare tell anyone I said so.” She stood and stepped into my arms. “I told you if you held me, I would cry.”
“You’re not crying.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Take as long as you want.” I would hold her in my arms until the party started if she needed me to.
When my mobile chimed, Maelle stepped away so I could read it.
“It’s from Blackjack.”
We’re on for fifteen hundred your time, I read to her.
A second message followed before I could answer the first.
You’ll have company.
Bertrand’s study door stood open the width of a hand. I knocked anyway.
“Entrez.”
He sat behind his desk, with a ledger open in front of him and his glasses low on his nose. He took them off when I sat in one of the chairs in front of him.
“Rourke. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come to apologize.”
“You are apologizing?” He leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”
“This morning was ugly,” I said. “I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“Your part consisted of standing in a doorway.”
“Standing in a doorway while my fiancée and her father went at each other. Where I come from, a man steps in or he steps out. I managed neither.”
“You are marrying into a French family, Rourke. Guests don’t interfere.” He picked his glasses up. “Is that all?”
“No. There’s a second reason I’m here.”
He studied me. “Ah. I see. And that is?”
“Chantal.”
He put the glasses on. “My wife is not a subject I discuss with guests.”
“Then, discuss her with the man who’ll be your son-in-law. Sir, your wife has cancer. The doctors don’t yet know the stage, but the type is aggressive. Untreated, she’ll be gone inside a year.”
He scoffed. “What do you know about it?”
“Everything I could find. There’s no version of this that ends well without treatment.”
He rose and went to the window that overlooked the courtyard. The clock on the mantel ticked through a minute, then most of another. I didn’t move or speak. Finally, he did.
“Rémy’s mother was thirty-four,” he said, without turning to face me.
“By the end, my brother carried her from the bed to the chair by the window so she could see the vines. She weighed less than the blankets they wrapped her in. The treatments took her hair, her strength, everything.” He put his hands in his pockets and said nothing more.
“That was twenty-five years ago. There have been significant advances in beating the disease. Yes, it’s aggressive, but I’ll repeat: it is treatable. She can live through this, Bertrand. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He didn’t move from the window.
“The protocol is six cycles of chemotherapy,” I continued. “She’ll be done before the wedding.”
The clock ticked. Another three minutes passed, but I had no intention of leaving. I had more to say, and he’d hear it whether he wanted to or not.
“When is the first treatment?” he asked, barely loud enough for me to hear him.
I could have stood and shaken his hand for the question. I answered it plainly instead. “January. The doctor will set the date once he gets the results of the tests she had Monday. Maelle will be with her, and so will I.” Then I added, “There’s room in the car for a husband.”
He came away from the window and sat down. Again when he didn’t speak, I did.
“You and Maelle need to talk, but not today. Wait until after the party, when you’ve both had a chance to let go of your anger.”
He nodded once, then rested his chin on his hand. “After the party.”
“That’s all I came to say.” I stood to leave.
“Wait. There’s one more thing I need from you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like you and Maelle to stand with Chantal and me to receive our guests. You will be introduced as our daughter’s friend from London. Nothing more. The news of the engagement is mine to announce.”
“Understood.”
I was almost to the door when he spoke again.
“Rourke. Does my wife know you came to see me?”
“No one knows.”
“Keep it that way.”
We left for Beaune at two.
“How was my father when you left him?” Maelle asked once the gates were behind us.
“Reading the same page of the ledger he’d pretended to read when I arrived.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“He asked when your mother’s first treatment is.”
She was quiet for several seconds. “He won’t go.”
“You may be right, but I’d like to believe he will.”
Madame Nolette had six cases of Ravel’s wine stacked inside the front door. She kissed Maelle on both cheeks, patted my arm, and refused the extra euros I tried to leave on her counter.
When we arrived at the cottage, smoke rose from the chimney.
“We have company,” Maelle said. “As Blackjack promised.”
The door opened before we reached it. The man filling the frame was as tall as I was but half as wide.
“Givre.” He kissed her cheek when we stepped inside.
“Preacher. You look terrible.”
“Vaduz in December. It does that to a man.”
“He’s been saying that for days,” the woman at the table said. “The registry closed, not the cafés.” She rose and extended her hand. “Parker Mills. Cassidy.”
“Sundance’s twin,” I said.
“Which clued you in? Code name or Mills?”
I chuckled. “Neither.” I shook her hand. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“All true,” she said, laughing too.
“Shall we get to it?” Preacher asked, motioning to his open laptop.
I checked the time. It was fifteen hundred on the dot.