Suspects, p.5
Suspects, page 5
She was back at the store at seven, in her simple black dress and high-heeled Manolo Blahniks. She wore her hair loose and a pair of diamond earrings Matthieu had given her on her last birthday with him, and she was wearing her wedding band. All her other jewelry had been in her safe for over a year.
She had a chair set up in the back room behind the dark red curtains, where she was going to work the stock for the staff, and hand them the different sizes they needed. She knew precisely where everything was. By seven-thirty, the store was full to the gills with women in cocktail clothes and haute couture outfits. She had peeked through the curtains several times and recognized several well-known socialites and two major actresses. The men were as handsome and well dressed as the women. It was a glittering crowd of fashionable, important New Yorkers, and at a quarter to eight, she saw Pierre de Vaumont among them, in a dark blue suit and Hermès tie. He seemed to know everyone as he walked through the crowd with a glass of champagne in his hand, stopping to greet people.
Valentina burst through the curtains a minute later. “Pierre de Vaumont is here, and he’s asking for you. A lot of people are. I told him you hadn’t arrived yet, but it seems weird with the party in full swing without you.” It was no weirder than she felt every day now. She couldn’t imagine going to a party ever again.
She smiled at Valentina. “It’s fine. They don’t need me out there.”
“You set up this beautiful store, you should be there to see how much they’re all loving it.” They had been selling expensive items at a brisk pace. The five young actresses had showed up, and the press was outside on the sidewalk. They had gotten photographs of everyone going in and out.
Pierre’s CIA tail of the day had called Mike after they got there.
“He’s at a party,” the young agent reported to Mike. “It’s by invitation only so I can’t go in. It looks like a big deal, there are a few hundred people here. But there’s only one entrance, I think, so I won’t lose him.” Mike couldn’t imagine de Vaumont sneaking out a back door anywhere. He was too bold and arrogant to sneak, and he loved the press.
“Where is it?” Mike asked, wondering where Pierre got the energy to go from meetings to parties to dinners to nightclubs to hookers all day and night.
“It’s at a store called Theo’s. It’s some kind of opening or something. There are several famous actresses here. Is it okay that I can’t get in? They’re being strict about the invitations at the door.” Mike thought about it for a minute.
“What are you wearing? You could tell them you left the invitation at home.”
“I’m wearing a jacket and jeans and running shoes.”
“That won’t get you far,” Mike commented. He was surprised to hear that Pierre de Vaumont was at Theo’s store, and he was not too pleased about it. This was obviously why she had come to New York. But why had he? For this or something else? “Stay where you are, unless he leaves,” Mike directed him. Mike had stayed late at the office, and he had several changes of clothes there for occasions like this, where he suddenly had to wear a suit or casual clothes, for a meeting or a visit to a field operation. He shaved before he dressed, changed into a suit, white shirt, and tie, brushed his hair, and took off ten minutes later. He had worn dress shoes too. He looked ultra respectable and like the successful lawyer he pretended to be as a cover, so no one would know he was a senior CIA agent, which he never disclosed. Only his sister knew.
An Uber got him uptown in twenty minutes and the party was still in full swing when he got there. He saw the agent out of the corner of his eye, gave no sign of acknowledgment, and walked up to the pretty girl in the attractive black cocktail dress at the door, with the list.
“Hello, I’m so sorry, I forgot my invitation at the office. Theo is going to be so upset if I don’t get in,” he said with his most alluring, irresistible expression, and she melted at the sight of him. He looked so appropriate she didn’t bother to ask his name or check the list.
She smiled. “Of course, go right in, it’s pretty crowded,” she warned him. He pressed into the crowd, and saw de Vaumont in the distance, recognizing him from his pictures. But he didn’t recognize Theo from hers. He didn’t see her anywhere and wondered if she hadn’t arrived yet. He had come to see her himself, and meet her if possible, since he was so intrigued by her case, and why the French authorities hadn’t solved it and brought the killers to justice. This might be his only chance to meet her.
He combed the front rooms, looking for her intently and didn’t see her, and then he saw the double red velvet curtains at the very back and wondered. He approached cautiously, and with a gentle gesture, pulled one panel aside, and found himself inches from Theo, who had been peeking through them. She looked embarrassed and took a step back as he smiled down at her. He had never seen eyes as blue or skin so white, and her hair looked sexy and voluptuous cascading to her shoulders in waves. He felt as though an electric current had gone through him and struck him dumb. He hadn’t expected the impact of seeing her to be so powerful, nor to be so close to her. He didn’t know what to say to her, which was rare for him. He usually had the gift of gab of his Irish ancestors. But this time all he could do was stare at her, mesmerized, as he struggled to find the words he needed to put her at ease. She looked startled as he filled the doorway, and a little frightened to be discovered.
“Ms. Morgan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was looking for you, and I thought this might be another room for the public.”
“It is,” she said softly. “We’re using it as a stockroom. I’m handling the stock tonight, the others are too busy to do it.” He was sure that wasn’t the reason, but he could see in her eyes that she was hiding, from the party and from life.
“I need a birthday gift for my sister, her fortieth, and she said I had to talk to you, you’d know just the right thing. She thinks you walk on water, as far as fashion goes,” he said, recovering himself, and hiding how moved he felt. She seemed so gentle and so vulnerable, and everything she’d been through was in her eyes.
“Far from it,” she said, smiling, feeling as awkward as he did, and trying to regain her composure. “What does she like?” she asked him as they continued to stand in the doorway of the makeshift stockroom, inches apart, neither of them moving forward or back. She could almost feel the warmth of his body. But she hadn’t rebuffed him and sent him back to the party to work with Valentina and the others. She knew how busy they were and it might be a long wait. Her eyes met Mike’s bravely as she tried to adapt to the unexpected situation.
“Mike Andrews,” he said, smiling broadly, fascinated by her, as he held a hand out and she shook it. She was so much more beautiful than her photographs. She seemed so fragile and human. There was something so kind and mysterious about her. He felt as though he was going to fall into the deep blue pool of her eyes.
“Hello, Mike.” She smiled up at him. “What do you think your sister would like?” It was all a lie. His sister was an artist and hadn’t worn decent clothes since high school. She lived in a loft in the village, and everything she owned was splattered with paint. But he could see that Theo wanted to help him. He had hit the right chord with her.
“She likes red,” he said off the top of his head, not even sure if that were true. She wore mostly khaki and army surplus, and paint.
“A red mink jacket? A red dress? A red purse,” she suggested, and he lit up at that.
“That sounds perfect.” She led him deeper into the stockroom and pulled out a box with a Saint Laurent purse in it. It was bright red and very chic, and he smiled when he saw it. He couldn’t even remotely imagine his sister with anything like it. “She’ll love it.”
“Perfect. I can gift wrap it for you.”
“I can’t believe you’re waiting on me. I apologize.”
“Don’t be silly. I have the time since I’m back here.”
“You shouldn’t be hiding back here,” he said gently, and meant it.
“I don’t go to parties anymore.” He didn’t ask her why, he knew, and his heart ached for her. His whole body ached for her, and he could barely focus on the purse for his sister. She wasn’t even turning forty, she was forty-two.
They completed the transaction with his credit card, with a machine they had in the back room, and when she handed it back to him along with the gift-wrapped box in a Theo.com bag, he handed her his business card, which gave his name, the address of his office, and said he was an attorney. It had his cellphone number and email address on it too.
“You don’t live in New York, do you?” he asked her.
“No, I grew up here but I live in Paris now. I’m just here for this pop-up store. We’re doing one in Dallas and another in L.A., and then I’m going back.”
“Well, if you need anything while you’re here, don’t hesitate to call me.” He felt foolish for saying it, but he wished he could see her again, and he had no idea how to do it. She was leaving town shortly, traveling and then going back to Paris. She had a life somewhere else, and had survived unspeakable trauma and tragedy. He couldn’t imagine how he could be so taken with her. It seemed wrong and like a terrible intrusion, even to him. But Robert Richmond was right, he was obsessed with her. He had no idea why, but she was under his skin. He felt as though he had been meant to meet her, but he had no idea why. It made no sense. And he wanted to protect her, but he was a year too late. There was an otherworldly quality to her, as though she was too gentle to protect herself.
When he thanked her and they said goodbye, he stepped beyond the curtains and Theo retreated behind the curtains again, like a deer into the forest. He wanted to pull the curtains back and see her again just one more time. She was the most beautiful, bewitching creature he’d ever seen. He’d never met another woman like her, or as beautiful.
He made his way back through the crowd to the door, until he reached the sidewalk, and spoke to the young agent briefly and casually on the way past him.
“Is he still here?” Mike asked in a low voice about de Vaumont, and the agent nodded.
“Good. Stay with him. I’m leaving.” He walked away then and hailed a cab to take him downtown. He felt as though he was in a daze. He couldn’t remember any other woman who had affected him that way before. He had no idea if he’d ever see her again. It seemed unlikely. He felt like a moonstruck boy as he rode downtown in the cab, holding the bag with the red purse he could never give to his sister, or anyone else, except one of his secretaries at Christmas. Theo looked like a lost soul and he wanted to protect her from the evils in her world. He still wasn’t sure if Pierre de Vaumont was one of them. All he wanted now was to see her again. She was addictive, and he was hooked.
Chapter 4
Mike took off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and went back to his computer when he got home. He checked the clippings Robert Richmond had sent him and read them again—everything about the kidnapping and murder, with all the grim details. In hindsight, it was easier to see the mistakes that the French police had made, withholding the ransom for too long and only doling it out partially, which infuriated the kidnappers and then caused them to panic, afraid of their bosses perhaps. He dug back further then, into articles about her successful internet business. It had been hugely innovative. He saw pictures of her with Matthieu, and read about him too. His name was globally known, with his luxury empire that had earned him a fortune. Mike found one article that fascinated him about Matthieu Pasquier’s history. He was an attractive man, but he had a stern, somewhat forbidding look about him. He seemed like an unlikely partner for Theo, being so much older than she was. But as Mike read more about him, he was intrigued by his background.
Matthieu’s family had been among the most important industrialists in France at the beginning of the twentieth century. They owned most of the steel business in France, and were the leading members of the haute bourgeoisie. They had been immeasurably wealthy and led a very grand life, and they had profited heavily by supplying the country’s need for steel during the First World War in 1914. The Second World War had been equally profitable for them and they had become the most visible collaborators with the Nazis when they occupied France in 1940. They had even advised the Germans on how to make their factories in Germany more efficient. Their alliance with the Germans had filled the Pasquier coffers.
Matthieu’s grandfather had been an outspoken supporter of the Nazis, and the family had continued to live extremely well during the war, in great luxury, while others suffered. His wife had been a famous couturière, a rival of Coco Chanel, with the same political views and sympathy for the Nazis. For German sympathizers, it had been a glittering time in Paris.
At the end of the war, the family had been severely punished for collaborating with the Germans and opening their doors and factories to them. Their entire fortune was taken by the French government as restitution. Their factories became government-owned. All of their holdings and possessions were confiscated. Matthieu’s grandfather had committed suicide when they lost everything. The only thing left to them was their château outside Paris, and a small apartment in the city. Everything else was gone. Matthieu’s grandmother died of tuberculosis not long after her husband’s suicide. His father had been a wastrel, a playboy, and a gambler, and had sold the family château to pay for his gambling debts. He had died, shot by the husband of one of his mistresses.
Matthieu had been born in the family’s days of poverty and disgrace, fourteen years after the end of the war. His father had disappeared, and his mother had died shortly after he was born. The article said that Matthieu had grown up in Jesuit boarding schools as an orphan, and his mission had become to restore the family name and rebuild their fortune. He worked hard and saved his money, bought back the family château when he was able to, and systematically purchased failing, long-established luxury brands. He restored them to glory, and turned an immense profit, until he owned the largest conglomerate of luxury brands in the world. It took him most of his life to do it, but his story was one of extraordinary success rebuilding what his family had destroyed and lost, and then donating vast amounts to French charities. He had a very unusual biography. Both of his early marriages were unsuccessful, but his marriage to the American, Theodora Morgan, was supposedly a happy one. The article said he had one son, who was the heir to the vast Pasquier fortune his father had built from the ashes of what his family had once been. Their money was clean now. Matthieu had atoned for his ancestors’ sins, but sadly, Mike realized, the boy was gone. He had died after the article was written. It all belonged to Theo now, as well as the château and all of her late husband’s holdings. He was still alive when the article had appeared in Le Figaro, and there was a photo of the three of them with the château behind them. Matthieu looked stern in the photograph—he was brilliant and seemed somewhat tormented, from what Mike read about him—and Theo had Axel in her arms. He looked to be about two or three years old. Happier times for her. Now she was one of the richest women in France, but had lost what was dearest to her in the world.
Mike thought about having seen her that night in the back room of the pop-up store, as she wrapped his package for him—the pretend gift for his sister, who would never even see it. His sister would have laughed at him if he gave it to her. He had no idea why, but he had felt compelled to meet Theo. She was such an obvious target for dangerous criminals now, her circumstances were well known, too much so, and there was a fragility to her that brought out all of Mike’s protective instincts.
She herself came from a moneyed, respectable, upper class New York family. They were comfortable but didn’t have a vast fortune. She was an only child, an outstanding student, and she had caught the wave of internet commerce in the early 2000s after she graduated from Harvard magna cum laude. She was a smart businesswoman, and had built an impressive success of her own, though not on the same scale as Matthieu, but she was much younger, and had embraced what she knew best. She wasn’t driven by the same demons he was, with an entire family history of treason and betrayal to live down. Her family had been peaceful and her relationship with them had been good. But she had her own burdens to bear now, and her own losses.
It was all so different from Mike’s own history. He was from a boisterous poor family in Boston. He had two older brothers and the sister who was now an artist. His father had been a police sergeant and died young of alcoholism. His mother had managed her four kids on her own, with two jobs and doing whatever extra work she could get. She had worked hard and set that example for them, and she insisted that they get good educations. The best way for her sons to achieve that was to join the military, which she encouraged them to do. He had a football scholarship to Notre Dame, but he lost his two brothers in the Persian Gulf in the Iran–Iraq war, one in an accident and the other in combat. Mike had joined the navy in order to go to graduate school and get a masters in criminology. He wound up in military intelligence, which he loved. He had been decorated for several very dangerous missions in the Middle East. He didn’t mind the risks since he had no attachments, no wife or kids, and his mother had died by then. The CIA had been the right job for him for nearly twenty years. It challenged him, and he liked knowing that he was making a difference, even if in unsung ways. The idea of protecting people from the unseen evils in the world motivated him. He had strong protective instincts.
His mother had died young after a life of hard work, and the only family he had now was his sister, Fiona. He helped her with a check every month. She had never married either, but she had a steady boyfriend. She and Mike didn’t see a lot of each other, but they did have lunch or dinner together from time to time. She had bad memories of their impoverished childhood. He didn’t. Never having enough money hadn’t been an easy life. She was an artist and still struggling at forty-two. He was satisfied with his life in the military and passionate about his undercover work for the CIA. He still missed it at times. He had a lot of administrative duties now, which he enjoyed less. But he had no regrets about his life, and he thought he had been lucky with the choices he’d made. He couldn’t have made the same ones if he’d been married or had kids. It wouldn’t have been fair. He couldn’t have consistently risked his life if anyone depended on him, so it was just as well that he had stayed unencumbered. The only time he had ever considered marriage was to Becky, but he was so young then, and it probably wouldn’t have worked out in the long run with both of them federal agents working undercover. She had loved the dangerous assignments as much as he did and wouldn’t have wanted to give them up either. There was no way he could have saved her. He knew that now, but he hadn’t for years, until one of his superiors shared the classified file with him. She had died for her patriotism, protecting her country the best way she knew how. They had been on the same mission when she was killed, and he had blamed himself for years for not dying instead of her. Years later, the agency discovered that she had been exposed by an informant and they hadn’t known it, so her killers had been gunning for her. Her death was not an accident Mike could have prevented. There was no way he could have saved her. He knew that now, but he hadn’t for years, until one of his superiors shared the classified file with him.
