10. Galahad #2
Merlin joined us, crouching between our seats so he was on the video feed. “We have a client who suspects it’s a Fabergé egg. We’d appreciate your thoughts.”
“Fabergé’s first Imperial Eggs often contained a hen, and the hens typically opened to reveal another surprise,” Jean explained, his words quickening with excitement.
“The original inspiration came from Danish surprise eggs.” Jean lifted his glasses as his face neared his screen.
He must have been inspecting the screenshot he’d taken. “Is it possible?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Arthur said. “Galahad’s escorting our client to an authenticator in London tomorrow.”
“There are no known photographs of it,” Jean continued, “but this matches descriptions of the missing Hen with Sapphire Pendant egg. The only detail in the records is of the hen, with diamonds and sapphires. Still, some assume it took on a shape similar to the first one, like a nesting doll, before Fabergé began experimenting with more elaborate designs. The last official record placed it in the Kremlin. Rumors suggested the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna smuggled it out before the Russian Revolution, but there’s never been proof. ”
“If it’s a real Imperial Egg,” Arthur said, his voice low. “People would kill for it.”
Grace stiffened, resting her hands on the table between her and me. She whispered, “Kill?”
I shifted in my seat and touched her hand, offering what reassurance I had.
She didn’t accept the grip this time, instead pulling away and folding her arms. Offering a gesture of comfort to a principal I was protecting was common enough.
But something about Grace made it different.
Maybe because she was so damn determined to see the bright side of everything, and she kept failing at that today.
“Not just… you mean…” she choked out. “It’s a thing. The egg is just a thing.”
“Don’t worry.” Arthur’s features softened in the way they always did when he had to deliver bad news. His ability to switch that on was another reason he was such a solid leader. Because it wasn’t really a switch, the empathy he shared was real. “Galahad won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I was thinking about selling it,” Grace admitted, wrinkling her nose. “If I’m in danger for having it, that’s smart, right?”
“If it’s authentic,” I said.
“I’m meeting with Dr. Brandon Caulfield,” she said to me, as Merlin shifted the screen so Jean could see her. “Should I change my plans? Take it to Jean?”
Jean shook his head. “Dr. Caulfield is a more appropriate expert than I am for this. My specialty was ancient artifacts, not Imperial Russian treasures. If anyone can verify it, it’s him.”
“You’ve dealt with him before?” I asked Jean.
“Once, years ago. I know him more by reputation than personally. If it’s genuine, he’d be able to authenticate it properly and guide you toward the best sales channels.”
“We appreciate the information, Jean,” Arthur said. “We’ll keep you updated on what Dr. Caulfield says.”
“Can you imagine if this is truly the Hen with the Sapphire Pendant? What a find.” Jean pushed his glasses up to his forehead. “But be careful. As you know, valuable artifacts have a way of attracting dangerous attention.”
That we did. All too well.
After we ended the call, Arthur returned to security concerns. Eyeing Grace’s handbag, he said, “You need something better than a purse to transport this.”
I nodded. “I’ve got a secure travel pack with compartments designed for fragile items that I picked up for a previous job. I’ll carry it.”
“Why you?” Grace asked.
“Because I’m not an appealing target,” I said simply. “Most thieves would think twice before trying to take anything from me.”
Grace’s arms tucked tighter against her chest, and she moistened her lips. What was that? Nerves?
“Who else have you shown it to?” Arthur asked.
“Isabella and Tristan.” Grace furrowed her brows. “A jeweler in town. Samantha Ferraro from Caine-Ferraro’s Fine Art Investigations.”
Arthur nodded. “Samantha’s solid. Tristan’s mother vouched for her when Isabella had that trouble at the gallery.”
“She’s the one who suggested Dr. Caulfield,” Grace added. “She said if anyone could determine its authenticity, it would be him.”
“Could one of them have talked?” I asked.
Grace bit her lip. “Samantha was the one who suggested I stay quiet about it, but I didn’t swear anyone to secrecy or anything.”
I drummed my fingers on the table between Grace and me. “Someone saw something or heard something. Those two men didn’t randomly show up at your café.”
“Do you have a photo of them?” Merlin asked.
Grace shook her head. “It happened so fast.”
“What about security cameras at your café?” Arthur asked.
“Yes, but they’re basic. I asked my assistant manager to pull a photo of him, and she couldn’t.”
If someone wanted the egg badly enough to send people after Grace, we needed better information.
“What about your plans in London?” Arthur asked, shifting forward. “Proper accommodations are critical when handling high-value items.”
“An Airbnb,” Grace said. “Nothing fancy, but the reviews mentioned the most amazing breakfast with these raspberry scones and?—”
Shit. “No, we’re not.”
Grace blinked. “Excuse me?”
That was probably news I should have mentioned before now. “You’re carrying an artifact worth tens of millions. You’re not staying at some boutique spot with cute little scones and security as an afterthought. I booked us somewhere safer.”
“Booked us?” Her mouth and eyes widened. “Without telling me?”
It was a standard move in this line of business, but she wasn’t someone accustomed to this type of life. “Tristan wants me to keep you safe. This is me doing my job.”
“Job? I told Tristan yesterday that I can’t pay for?—”
“It’s pro bono.” Was I supposed to have told her that?
Tristan had said there was no charge for the flight, and I’d assumed he would have filled her in on the rest of our agreement we’d discussed last night.
“If it turns out the egg is the real thing, and you’re going to sell it, I’ll take five or ten percent. ”
Arthur gave an overly confident shake of his head. “Tristan and I agreed we were paying for the job, including your retainer.”
“Oh no, you don’t. Round Table isn’t getting their hooks into me that easily.” I scowled at him, which he met with a smirk. “I declined the retainer, and told Tristan I’d only accept expenses, including our room at The Four Seasons.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Our room?”
“A suite,” I clarified. “We’ll be sharing.”
“I…” Her face flushed pink. “I don’t need a bodyguard in my room.”
“You’re not leaving my sight.”
Arthur and Merlin exchanged amused glances but kept their mouths shut. We’d all seen our fair share of people who didn’t think they needed us.
Grace sat back, not bothering to argue. She swiveled her chair so she could stare at the clouds outside her window as we cruised over Lake Erie. At least she wasn’t crushing the armrest anymore. “I’ve never been there before. I want to see the Tower of London.”
I almost said no, almost reminded her of the danger, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the way her voice was so small, compared to how bright and lively she’d been at the coffee shop yesterday. Or maybe I was just tired of being the one to dim her light.
“We’ll see,” I said. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. That was fair and gave me room to scout the territory when we were in town and make informed decisions.
“Thank you,” she said, as though she’d won some major victory.
I should have been polite and said she was welcome, but given the way Arthur and Merlin were both looking at me, I thought it best to stare out my own window.
This was a job. Nothing more. I’d keep her safe, get her home to Michigan, and then I’d head to White Spring and leave all this knight-in-shining armor bullshit behind me.
That’s how it had to be. That’s how it always was.