The hotel had one hundred rooms. If he had to knock on every door to find Cass, it would have been a better use of his time than standing here in the shadows, waiting for her to decide to take an evening stroll, or run out for something she’d forgotten, or, even worse, go out to case the museum.

  Yet if he got closer and she saw him first, he might spook her into running.

  He supposed he could text her, or call her, and... what? Tell her he was at the hotel where she was apparently holed up and he wanted to see her? Her next move would probably be to tie the bedsheets together and rappel out the window.

  Damn it! Why was he so attracted to women who did stuff like that?

  Of course, that didn’t matter if she kept her cellphone on her. Clearly, it was one of the few things she valued in keeping with her on the run, which meant it had to be connected to the real her, not whatever identity she’d assumed since leaving the States. There had to be people she contacted on it, and people who contacted her. The only problem with that was if he officially requested that information, his number would show in both the sending and receiving. Damn that too! She’d hobbled him.

  He had no other choice. Before he could change his mind, Adam strode purposefully to the hotel, nodding to the black-hatted doorman and pausing just long enough in the lobby to get his bearings.

  The lounge off to his right was through an arched opening, a long walnut and brass bar curving away. He headed to it and slid onto a tall stool where he had a good view of the lobby.

  “Good evening, sir,” said the young barman in a monogrammed apron as he approached. “May I bring you a drink or would you like the menu?”

  “A beer,” Adam said as his stomach let out a small grumble. “Yeah, the menu too, thanks. You’re American?”

  “I am, a student on my international year here at the university. I’m majoring in German.”

  “What’s your minor?” Adam asked to be pleasant as the menu was procured and handed to him.

  “Business.”

  “What’s good here?”

  The barman leaned in. “Everything,” he said with a wink.

  Adam huffed and then raised his eyes at the prices. “I’ll take a burger and fries,” he said.

  “Excellent choice.” The barman was chatty as he input Adam’s order into the digital pad, then grabbed a glass that he angled under a brass tap, telling Adam he might spot one or two famous people who were staying at the hotel for some fancy gala although he wouldn’t mention their names. He did say that he’d served Nicole Kidman recently, and a cluster of supermodels who’d shared a tiny bowl of macadamia nuts between them, and that the richest person who’d stayed there, taking a suite for a month, had also turned out to be the most obnoxious.

  “Sounds like you’re the eyes and ears of the building,” said Adam. He paused to sip, finding the beer cold and refreshing.

  “I like people and I’m fairly observant.” The barman paused to serve a pair of men, casually but expensively dressed, who took the bar stools at the other end of the bar. When he returned, he said, “They’re art critics from London. That’s quite the job, huh? Go to galleries, look at art and write nice things about it, or not. That’s a hobby with a salary.”

  “Sounds like a good way to make a living. What do you plan on doing when you graduate?” They paused while the bartender retrieved his order from a dumbwaiter, making a show of sliding it in front of him with flatware and a brass basket of glass-cased condiments.

  “Hospitality management,” the bartender continued. “I want to get in with a big chain and take postings overseas. It’s a good way to see the world while building my resume.”

  “Very smart.

  “Thank you, sir. What do you do?”

  “I’m with the FBI.”

  He straightened up a bit, clearly impressed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out his shield, flashing it discreetly before slipping it away.

  “How’d you get into that?”

  “I was a police detective for a long time, felt like my career wasn’t going anywhere, so I applied to the academy.”

  “I didn’t know the Feds worked overseas. Or are you here for pleasure?”

  Adam was relieved the young man hadn’t said he was surprised a Fed could afford the burger and fries being placed in front of him. He was glad he could expense it, and hoped the accountant overseeing his report ignored it. “I’m working with another agency here.”

  “I bet you can’t tell me anything about your case.”

  “That would be correct.” Adam bit into the burger, finding the bun perfectly toasted, the burger sauce edged with a little spice. The patty was juicy and the lettuce crisp. Just the way he liked it. Even better, the fries were thin, hot, and evenly salted. “You could help me with something though.”

  The bartender raised his eyebrow and waited.

  “I’m looking for someone. A woman.”

  The bartender’s nostrils flickered. “Uh, I can’t help you with that, sir. We’re not that kind of...”

  “No!” Adam cut in, mid-bite. He swallowed quickly. “I’m looking for someone who can help with my investigation. She’s staying here.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, of course. I see!” The bartender hurried with relief. “We’re supposed to direct any questions about guests to the front desk. Is this something to do with your case?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  Adam nodded, ensuring his face was solemn but he didn’t say a word. The bartender’s imagination would fire, doing the work for him.

  “Is she a suspect?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Understood.” The bartender tapped his nose.

  “What I can tell you is it’ll be bad for business if she’s found here.”

  Now the bartender’s eyes widened. “The Westerley Grand values its reputation.”

  “She values ruining reputations. If I can find her, I can probably ensure she doesn’t... well, you don’t need to know what she’s planning but it’ll be—” Adam paused to wince, trying not to lay it on too thick now that he had the young man’s rapt attention.

  “Do you know what name she’s using?”

  Adam shook his head. “She has a lot of identities so there’s no telling which. She’s pretty though, about as tall as your shoulders, athletic, and usually very well dressed and blond.”

  “How old?”

  “My age.”

  “Sounds like the woman in 518. She’s supposed to be some big British influencer. Makeup and clothes and the poshest voice you ever heard. Paloma Maxwell-Something. My sister loves her stuff so I’ve seen her reels. Anyway, the woman staying there looks similar but it’s not her. I’m sure of that. I figured either I was wrong or I should keep my nose out of it,” he said.

  Adam pulled the photo from his pocket, keeping his thumb over his face. “Is this her?”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “Is anyone with her?”

  “I overheard Franz, that’s the bellhop, say two meals were sent up to her suite earlier. He saw the cart while he delivered the luggage for the room next door. There was a man and a woman. We were only talking about it on account of the other celebrity folk staying here. We have a bet going on...” The bartender coughed and looked away guiltily.

  “I’m not here to police what the staff do in their spare time. Tell me about this guy.”

  “I didn’t see him so I don’t know anything, but that’s Franz over there.” The bartender nodded to a young man around his own age, loading luggage onto a brass cart. “He doesn’t speak much English.”

  “Can you ask him what else he remembers?”

  “Give me a minute,” said the bartender.

  The bartender slipped out of the bar and strode to the lobby, approaching the bellhop and drawing him to one side. After a fast conversation, the bartender returned, resuming his position behind the bar. “He said he took up some luggage and the guy might have been American but he wasn’t sure. He saw the man leave an hour ago. The woman hasn’t come out of the suite.”

  Adam asked for the check, tipped him very generously for the information, and thanked the bartender, assuring him not only that he wouldn’t get into any trouble but he was most certainly helping a federal agent with an important case.

  He took the stairs up to the fifth floor, deciding he’d rather scan the corridors of the floors he stepped onto than be surprised by the elevator doors opening directly onto Cass’s shocked face.

  The opulence of the hotel continued as he made his way up, through the polished banisters to the brass switches and the monogrammed plaques directing guests to their rooms. Adam followed the sign to 518 and, after checking no one was watching, pressed his ear to the door. There was a faint sound of the television playing but nothing else. No voices, no laughter. Crucially, no screaming although why that crossed his mind, he wasn’t sure, but suddenly, he was concerned again for Cass’s safety. What if the man the bellhop saw was David Temple, coercing her?

  He considered a game of knock-and-run to see who opened the door but there wasn’t anything he could hide behind in the broad corridor that would give him a good view of the suite’s door. So instead, he placed his thumb over the peephole and knocked.

  Only a tiny creak near the door indicated that someone had moved to the other side of the door. The door didn’t open and no one called out to ask who was there. He couldn’t risk revealing himself.

  He knocked again.

  The same hesitation ensued.

  Then the sound of a luggage cart rolling had him move to one side. Standing in the middle of the corridor, just out of sight of the peephole, Adam blocked the bellhop from rolling past. Apparently, that was the sign the guest needed, now viewing the luggage and a staff member, and the door opened.

  Adam stepped out of the way, the bellhop rolled past and before the door could shut, he planted his hand against it.

  “Excuse me!” came a voice he knew and then Cass stepped into view, wearing a soft white cashmere sweater. Her jaw dropped and she blinked, whatever she’d been about to say, disappearing.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  ​CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Cass

  Travel publications regularly include articles listing several things to do to keep safe when traveling abroad, including never answering the hotel room door to a person one doesn’t recognize. Always use the chain, check the closet, secure a hanger to the door handle... simple procedures for unseasoned travelers.

  Cass didn’t remember any of those points, despite traveling over more than half of the globe. It was partly a severe lapse in judgment, partly because she saw the bellboy and assumed Paloma Maxwell-Grant had sent ahead even more luggage with an equally expansive range of luxury items as the first lot she’d rummaged through. That potential suitcase was just as interesting as the research she continued into The Pandora’s secret riddle, or the calls she’d made to several art experts after Nick’s departure. She’d even called Francisco again and he’d begrudgingly told her who’d commissioned him. A revelation she was struggling to make sense of.

  Her first instinct on seeing Adam Maddox looming in the doorway, his hand planted firmly against the door, was to run but she had yet to work out an escape route that didn’t involve crashing through the fifth-floor window and hoping for the best. The windows had locks, it was a sheer drop, and, annoyingly, she didn’t have any power tools to cut an escape hole in the wall to the next bedroom.

  “This is a surprise,” she said, fighting to hold her composure as Adam’s chest prevented her from squeezing past and making a run for it along the corridor. A harsh tweak of his nipples would probably disable him for a second or two but she didn’t have the heart, nor the power cables. “I told you I was working away.”

  “What is it that you do again?” he asked, his face stony, his jaw clenched.

  “Art,” she said, knowing from the thrust of his jaw that he didn’t believe her. “What is it that you do?”

  He hesitated, and she knew for sure now that he knew she knew. That they had both somehow found out about each other and now were forced to do this ridiculous confessional dance on the threshold of her...

  “Hey!” she squawked as Adam pushed, not so gently, past her into the room, closing the door behind him where it shut with a gentle click. He walked around, sticking his head into the bathroom, opening the closet, and looking under the bed. If he expected to find someone else, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Nick had left an hour ago, citing an urgent need to get a laptop and a tuxedo, in no particular order. “What are you doing?” she asked, following him into the room, wondering if she should really be making a run for it. “Adam!”

  Adam ignored her as he faced the window.

  Cass doubted he was admiring the view but instead, trying not to explode. She’d never seen him erupt before, not even as a teenager. Not even when their math teacher had accused him of cheating on an exam, an allegation he’d found so frustratingly heinous that he’d turned bright red and clenched his fists.

  “Did you really think you were going to get away with it?” he asked when he turned to face her, the twinkling lights of the city casting a glow over him.

  “With what?” Playing dumb seemed to be her best bet. It usually worked. Her opposition either got bored, started to doubt themselves, or eventually, gave up. Hopefully, that happened before she had to cry. The one thing Cass truly hated was forcing tears. It made her feel weak and she’d long ago decided she would never be weak again.

  “With Paris? With Zurich?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I went to your apartment.”

  “I don’t remember telling you where I live.”

  “Cass.” Adam ran a hand over his hair, a frown crumpling his forehead, and she remembered another lifetime when he’d made the same motion, only his face had been full of sleepy pleasure. He reached into his pocket, striding towards her, stopping when he reached the bed. He tossed a collection of photos onto the pristine white bedspread.

  Since he didn’t say anything else, she closed the few steps between them and reached for the first photo, then the second, a chill traveling down her spine as she realized what she was looking at.

  “What is this?” she whispered.

  “Someone wants me to catch you,” he said, stepping closer, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her ear, her body less than an inch from his. Yet, they could have been a mile away from each other for how wide that chasm between them was growing.

  “Catch me?” Her voice remained soft, her heartbeat low.

  “Lock you up and throw away the key.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Why don’t you tell me, Cass?”

  “You’re talking in riddles.”

  Adam slipped the picture from her fingers and gestured to the bed. “Look at the other photos,” he said.

  Cass scooped them up, rifling through. Him, her, both of them together. Not enough to arrest her but sufficient to implicate her. Not only that, but their unknown photographer had connected them to each other, and ensured Adam knew it.

  She was supposed to know nothing.

  “Someone is stalking us,” she said with disgust. “What a creep.”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

  “Why would I pretend anything? Who knows why weirdos do anything? Who gave you these?”

  Adam looked away but not before the edges of his mouth turned down and frustration swept his face. She followed his gaze, wondering if he were about to remark on the two plates on the cart, yet only she was in the room, as his gaze settled on the table.

  “I know you were going to steal The Pandora. Are. I know you are going to steal The Pandora.”

  “What?” Cass didn’t need to utter the word. She’d heard, but she was... shocked? No, not shocked. Surprised, maybe, that he’d figured everything out, and also entirely undecided how to play this encounter out. If it had been anyone but Adam, she would have shown them the door.

  When did he know?

  Before they met on the bench in the Musée de Trésor? When they were at dinner? Before he kissed her or after?

  Did it even matter?

  “I can help you.” Adam’s hands hovered near her shoulders and she wondered if he wanted to grasp her or hug her.

  Now she was just plain confused. “What?”

  “If someone’s forcing you to do this, I can help you get out of it. You don’t have to do it.”

  “Who would be forcing me to do something like that?” she asked.

  “Your father.”

  “My dad? Adam, I...”

  “He’s on the Most Wanted list. You must know that. That’s why he wanted to get out of America. That’s why he stuck you in a boarding school and never let you tell anyone where you were. Maybe that’s why your letters never reached me.” Adam’s eyes bored into her. “Did you suspect him then? Or was it later? Is that why you never came back? Is he forcing you to do this now?”

  “He’s not forcing me.”

  “How can I believe you?”

  Cass sighed, crumpling the photos in her palm before she released them, letting them drift onto the bed. “Because I haven’t seen my father in years,” she admitted. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

  “Then someone else? Someone operating on his behalf? Cass, you can tell me. I can help.”

  “How? How would you help?” she snipped at his absurd offer.

  Adam hesitated. He ran a hand over his hair and rolled his neck, his jaw stiffening.

  “Exactly! You have no idea. You burst in here with a bunch of creepy photos you might have staged yourself, act like you’re about to arrest me, accuse me of being a thief, and then offer to... what? Help me escape my criminal father’s clutches? Help me steal a painting? Are you listening to yourself? What’s gotten into you? Are you crazy?” Cass crossed her arms and waited in unrighteous indignation.

 

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