Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
“Brother,” Manon calls from beneath a pastel-striped garden parasol.
She’s dressed immaculately in head-to-toe linen, her eyes almost entirely hidden by a large-brimmed, floppy hat, seated at a wrought-iron table and sipping from a teacup.
“And Poppy. Do pardon my incivility, I am quite fatigued today,” she says, tapping the brick terrace with her cane to illustrate her point.
“No need to apologize,” Graham replies smoothly, bestowing an affectionate kiss on her cheek once we’re beneath the shade of her table’s parasol.
His eyes flick to something across the garden. A frown appears and vanishes in a blink.
“I’m so happy we could do this.” I give Manon a wide smile and drop into a chair opposite from her when Graham pulls it out for me. “It’s important to keep up with family, don’t you think?”
The corner of her lips barely curl. “That is what I’m told.” Graham’s about to sit beside me when she holds up a hand. He freezes. “I thought it might be pleasant if Poppy and I have some time alone.”
My stomach turns but I don’t show it.
He rubs the back of his neck, confusion clear on his features. “Where would you have me go?”
Manon flicks her hand back toward the villa, which is when I notice a golden signet ring on her pinky finger flash in the sunlight. Another dandelion. “Klaus has a range in the lower level—he likes to practice his aim, and there’s a dreadful lack of woods on this estate,” she explains.
I squeeze my fists open and closed beneath the table while she’s focused on Graham.
A long stretch of silence passes between them, and I wish I had the transcription for whatever silent sibling conversation occurs.
Judging by her narrowed gaze and Graham’s white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair, it’s a challenge of some sort.
One that he’s destined to lose if we want to make it out of this.
“Sounds diverting,” he replies, voice tight. His eyes meet mine right before he bends down to my ear. “Retzsch, darling—we must keep our wits about us.”
The ghost of his lips sear against my jaw in a furtive kiss.
He’s gone before I can even think of a reply, and I watch his back disappear through the house with no small amount of dread. I force myself to remain motionless, because I don’t trust the sudden chill creeping down my spine and the wave of nerves prickling across my skin.
This isn’t some attempt at in-law bonding on Manon’s part.
All signs point to Klaus von Schwerin being the Consultant. If anything, this has only sealed my hunch. He isn’t going to bother with meeting someone he doesn’t trust.
Which means Graham is headed toward a private appointment in the basement of the Consultant’s villa. A shooting range, to be exact. I can’t even tell if the panic churning in my gut is for Graham’s safety, or the rather imminent possibility of being double-crossed.
Turns out I’m not always a simple tool. I can solve puzzles too, Graham, I want to shout after him.
“Tu es adorable,” Manon says.
My eyes wander casually back to hers so that she doesn’t know I’d almost forgotten her presence. “I… thank you,” I reply tentatively. “Can I ask why?”
“You’ve gone red.” She brings her teacup to her lips with a faint smile. “I had no idea that a simple kiss on the cheek from my brother could instill such a reaction in a woman.”
I nearly let out an indignant cough but I cover it with a coquettish laugh. “It’s the honeymoon phase—do they have a phrase for that in French?”
“Have some tea,” Manon ignores me without missing a beat. She taps the china platter, clearly too unbothered to even push it closer for me. “That is why I invited you, no?”
I swallow my frustration and awkwardly lean over, the table’s edge cutting into my ribs, to begin assembling a cup.
Graham was right yet again—we are both the young man in Retzsch’s painting.
He might literally be in the line of fire, but if I can’t convince Klaus’s wife that we’re a happily married couple, it will be my fault when we’re killed.
And if I’m going to die at the end of this, I’d like to be able to blame someone else.
“Have you spent much time in France?” she asks right as I take a sip of the black tea.
My eyebrows furrow. “This is my first time out of the States.”
“Curious,” Manon replies. I hold her gaze, struggling to keep my neutral smile. “I have never seen an American drink such strong tea without a trace of sugar or cream.”
I allow myself three seconds to steady my voice before I respond. It was thoughtless of me to proceed without recognizing who my opponent is. I’m the young man seated for a game of chess, and I’ve already made the critical mistake of underestimating the person across from me.
Manon Baudelaire. Raised in a home of cruelty, tossed to and from French boarding schools most of her childhood. A brilliant investor, and the sister of Graham, a man who seems to notice everything.
These subtle mistakes add up.
She stares back at me, impassive, as if she’s unaware she moved her white pawn to e4.
“I’ve dreamed of traveling ever since I can remember,” I start with a wistful sigh.
“You know, I’d see it all over social media, magazines, everything—and I thought, if I ever got to travel myself, I’d make sure to respect the local customs wherever I go.
” A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I unceremoniously prop my elbows on the table.
“Even if—and, no offense here—I think the tea tastes like tree bark.”
Black pawn to e6.
Manon tilts her head, features unreadable. Then, while my stomach is busy tying itself into knots, she cracks a smile and lets a nearly inaudible laugh slip. “You are all so brash, it has always intrigued me,” she says. She doesn’t bother clarifying who she’s referring to.
Americans? Graham’s love interests?
I’m allowed a few moments of ease before Manon’s lips drop again.
“That’s a beautiful stone. May I take a closer look?”
Steeling myself, I force a delighted giggle and extend my left hand across the table. This is proving to be more unnatural than any of my most difficult covers.
Manon takes my fingers in hers and twists the ring left to right, inspecting the stone in the shaded light.
“Antique, oui? Victorian, if I am not mistaken,” she says, her tone making it clear that there’s no room to disagree.
“There will be a small A engraved on the inside, no? Alban’s restoration is recognizable anywhere. ”
White pawn to f4.
My breath catches in my throat but I cover it with another laugh. Graham and I spent much of our morning at the Village Suisse, where we selected this particular ring from a jeweler named Alban.
His suspicions were correct—she would notice.
“You have quite the eye,” I respond when she finally drops my hand like it’s made of molten lava. “It’s a wedding present—a small upgrade from my first ring.”
Manon makes a noise in the back of her throat that borders on skepticism. “He is not known for his generosity.”
“Graham has been wonderful to me,” I say quickly, a flurry of heat blooming across my chest. “I find it sad that you don’t know that version of him.”
Black pawn to d5.
It’s a gamble. He’s hardly opened up about his family dynamic, but I know enough.
They were forced apart to boarding schools in different countries for most of their childhoods.
The strange way they interact hints to their further estrangement in adulthood.
Graham has an evident distaste for his brother-in-law, a fact that Manon can’t be too pleased about.
In a flash, despite all my training, I decide that we might actually—at least, for the time being—be on the same team.
“Your loyalty is admirable,” Manon says, “however misguided it may be.”
I take a slow sip of my tea to gather my wits. “This might be the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. Have you and Klaus lived here long?” I ask, ignoring her comment in the same way she selectively ignores mine.
My eyes drift lazily from the porch and sweep across the patio and toward the garden.
I’d been so preoccupied keeping myself afloat under Manon’s discerning stare, I never noticed the complete lack of grass.
Well, maybe there was grass once—but now, stretching from edge to edge, a blanket of yellow and white flowers ripples and bobs in the breeze.
They sit atop bushy greenery and jagged leaves. It should be beautiful, but it’s not.
“Dandelions.”
I turn to Manon, recognizing she’s once again ignored my attempt at conversation.
“An incredibly hardy flower,” she continues, “enchanting, no?”
My mouth struggles to fight off a confused frown. Aren’t they weeds? And incredibly invasive, at that? It clashes miserably with our otherwise immaculate surroundings, wild and unkempt and oddly unsettling. Maybe I’m simply underqualified to comment on the landscaping trends of the rich.
White pawn to e5.
I shouldn’t have visibly faltered. Distantly, a chess clock begins ticking. I open my mouth to spout off a lie about their beauty when the scrape of brick captures both our attention.
“Graham!” I call, and for the first time, there’s genuine relief in my voice.
He tugs a hand through his hair and approaches with an easy smile.
“Mon amour,” Graham murmurs, pulling me to my feet and planting a swift kiss on my cheek.
He wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me into his side.
The ticking halts. “My apologies for the interruption—Manon, your husband had an urgent call to take.”
She offers a tight smile. “Another time.”
“Thank you for having us,” I’m saying as Graham begins ushering me back inside.
Manon flicks a dismissive wave over her shoulder, more interested in the phone that’s appeared in her hand.
We pick up speed when she’s out of view. Graham’s hold on my waist is tight, the steely edge in his eyes urgent. I don’t have to ask how it went to understand that we’re not exiting, we’re escaping.
Perhaps my suspicions were correct after all—this is the Consultant's home. My blood runs cold at the thought.
I’m already calculating our next moves when we’re speeding through the interior labyrinth.
We need to get back to the hotel, I need my burner and my gun, and we need to relocate somewhere secure.
So, we don’t need to pull off a Louvre heist and try to get an invitation from the Consultant—I’ve already discovered one of his residences. Accident or not, that’s good.
It’ll move our operation up by several weeks, but Raffaele will be thrilled once the arrest is made. I can finally move out of the doghouse. I can stop getting assigned to subpar missions. I can get back to my old life and put Chelyabinsk behind me.
Do I want to put it behind me?
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the task at hand. One of Klaus’s goons could appear at any moment around one of these corners. I wish I had a proper weapon.
“Your ability to stay alive is beginning to impress me,” I hiss in his ear.
Graham pauses in the hall of portraits, strains for a glimpse into the foyer, and wrenches backward until we’re face-to-face against the wall, partially hidden by a tall plant.
He puts a single finger to his lips. We stare at each other unblinkingly as footsteps echo through the foyer and slowly recede.
He laces my fingers through his and tugs me out the front door without a sound.
“This is fantastic,” I say as we stride toward the road. “We have no firepower, no transportation, and we’ll have to get past the friendly neighborhood armed guards. Do you know how to scale a wall?”
He casts a smile over his shoulder, which feels wildly inappropriate given our current situation.
A car careens into view and comes to a screeching halt a few feet away the second our feet hit the sidewalk.
I reach for my pushknife tucked beneath my waistband and break into a sprint with Graham in tow.
My arm’s nearly jerked out of its joint when he plants himself beside the car and opens the rear door.
“Get in,” he says.
“No.”
“This isn’t the time to argue.”
The grip of my knife presses into my palm at the same moment that his hold on me tightens.
I could kill him in a split second if I wanted.
But I don’t, and the acceptance of that fact makes me falter long enough for Graham to push me into the back seat.
I’m about to flee from the other side when the engine revs and we’re speeding down an unfamiliar side road.
Our driver’s the same tattooed Czech man from earlier. This time, a Glock 17 rests on his thigh. Understanding settles in my stomach like a ball of lead. Klaus is the Consultant. Graham wasn’t in danger, he was arranging a deal.
One in which I’m going to die. And it’s all because I was beginning to believe a thief.