Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) (20 page)

Lucas blinked away his stupor, schooling his features in what Thomas recognized as an effort to mitigate his menacing appearance. “Glad to meet you, Ms. Chandler,” he said in the same soothing tone he’d used at Mimi’s bedside.

Cleo slipped from beneath Thomas’s arm and rushed to the other man. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she wrapped both arms around his solid middle and hugged him.

Lucas looked even more stunned. The resemblance to Mimi had whacked him with the stupid stick. And having this beautiful woman give him the long-lost-brother greeting was clearly the last thing he expected. His arms hovered inches away from her as if this female mirage would vanish if he touched her.

Warmth suffused Thomas’s chest as he watched the emotional tableau. He’d said nothing to Cleo of Lucas’s rough appearance or of his insecurity. Respect meant letting his friend deal with people on his own terms. And knowing Cleo meant it wouldn’t matter. Bless her for embracing Lucas without reservation.

She beamed up at the big man. “Lucas, I’ve been dying to meet you. To thank you.”

“Ease up on the poor man, Cleo. Let him breathe.” Thomas clamped his lips together against a grin.

“Oh, sorry.” She released her grip and patted Del Rio’s arm. “Thank you for saving my cousin’s life. I…” She looked away briefly and swallowed. “You protected her. And make it Cleo.”

“Yes, ma’am, uh, Cleo.” Lucas’s gaze still locked on her.

Thomas stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Agent Hunt said you were the one who got the scientist to talk.”

“Shoved my ugly mug against the camera. Probably scared him into talking. Damn glad to see you.” Two men shook hands. “If we’re working together, maybe we can goose this investigation faster than slo-mo.”

“Right.” Exactly what Thomas had in mind. Keeping Cleo ahead of Zervas had become harder.

Lucas led them through an open-plan office space where about a dozen men and women worked in cluttered cubicles or hunched over banks of computers and other equipment. A few had already cleared desks in preparation for the end of the work day.

As Cleo passed, men glanced over with appreciation. Thomas leveled his gaze their way. They quickly returned to work.

Inside the conference room at the rear, Lucas introduced them to FBI Special Agent Jessica Hunt and three others of the team, a woman and two men.

Holding her gregarious nature in check, Cleo shook hands formally with each before they all took seats around the conference table with members of the CTF. The steady rain clattered on the skylight above. The aroma of dark-roast French coffee drifted from a tray with cups and a carafe in the center. Five cups, no extras for visitors.

Hunt, a pencil nestled in her salt-and-pepper hair, ruled from the head of the table. Judging from her take-no-prisoners manner, no matter where she sat she ruled.

Her gaze flicked from Cleo to Thomas. “Unfortunate you’ve arrived so late. We’ve almost finished our meeting. You think stealing the necklace, copying it, all of that is connected to Ahmed Yousef and the stolen computer chip. Is that correct?”

Hunt’s gaze, as hard and brittle as flint, probably meant she intended to blow them off. Lucas kept his expression carefully neutral. Poor guy was caught between two bosses. Thomas tried not to grind his teeth.

“Not just connected,” he said. “The key to stopping both. If Zervas finds the necklaces, he’ll turn them over to Yousef. Can you risk an assassination?”

She flipped through papers. “We have other means of dealing with that risk.”

“Since Cleo left Venice, he or his thugs have trailed us. I’ve barely managed to elude him, although his hacker couldn’t track me because I’ve paid with untraceable plastic. But this morning I bought our plane tickets with my personal credit card.” Hearing Cleo’s indrawn breath, he closed his hand around her fluttering one. He sensed her vibrating with impatience. “I bought tickets for Amsterdam. Our travel delays may have given Zervas an edge to catch up to us but you might pick them up at the airport or spot them on CCTV.”

“The head of Centaur is no fool,” the gray-suited Scotland Yard man scoffed. “He’ll smell a trap.”

“Perhaps, but he won’t be able to resist. Yousef must be pressuring him because of a deadline we don’t know. Otherwise he’d delegate the search to minions. He’s desperate.”

“Zervas would not know Yousef’s plans. Or reveal them to us.” The French secret service agent’s accent was light, her eyes shrewd.

The representative from the
carabinieri
, the Italian national police, nodded vigorously in agreement over his half glasses. He continued swiping his index finger across his tablet screen.

Across from Thomas, Lucas passed his right hand across his mouth, two fingers extended, the go-ahead signal from their Delta Force days.

Thomas respected the Italian and French push in this effort. Both nations, like Greece, invested heavily in protecting and recovering their stolen treasures. The U.S. didn’t see art crime as a priority. Foolish and tragic, in his opinion. Jessica Hunt must’ve done some fast talking or politicking to get her plum position.

He hiked a shoulder in feigned nonchalance. “Zervas has woven a wide network. He probably knows some of Yousef’s machinations. And the CTF’s work. Left dangling out there on his spun thread, he could interfere.” He leveled a gaze at Hunt. “How can we miss a chance to wrap up the head of Centaur in our own web?”

“Not
our
web, Mr. Devlin,” Hunt said. “If I’m not mistaken,
you
are a civilian hired by Ms. Chandler’s father to protect her, not to pursue the necklaces or Zervas or Yousef. If you want to protect your charge, I have a safe house ready.”

Beside him, Cleo shifted in her chair. Leaning forward, she beamed the CTF leader her megawatt smile. “Special Agent Hunt, we’re way beyond protecting me. Thomas wants to retrieve the stolen necklace—” she slid him a glance that thawed the ice block building inside since the conference room door closed behind them “—and his company’s reputation. And I
have
to stop this evil man. He murdered a man I cared about and almost killed my cousin.”

Caught by the emotion in her voice, Thomas closed his hand around hers.

SA Hunt steepled her hands over her papers. Her gaze softened and Thomas could almost believe Lucas’s claim she was a grandmother. “Ms. Chandler—”

“Cleo.”

“Cleo,” Hunt amended, her sharp smile betraying her as the wolf in grandma guise, “you too are a civilian, an amateur and not a professional investigator. I appreciate you sharing your information. Our investigation will proceed. You may remain as our guest in a safe house until you can go home.”

Cheeks pink and eyes blazing, Cleo pushed back her chair and stood. “No safe house. You have no jurisdiction over me. While you follow your
professional-investigator
path, I’ll go find the necklaces.” Chin high, she turned to walk away.

Thomas shot to his feet, ready to back her up. This meeting was going to hell anyway. Next he’d yank Lucas.

“I wish you luck,” Hunt said to Cleo’s back. “Moreau’s clue is the raving of a dying man. Nonsense. Our search for
‘Melon,’
‘Pope’
and
‘ladder’
or even
‘Pope’s ladder’
has yielded nothing.”

Her fingers gripping the door handle, Cleo turned. “Not nonsense. I misunderstood him. Good luck to you with the wrong clue.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

WHEN ALL HEADS
in the outer office turned Cleo’s way like prairie dogs popping up from their dens, she slammed on the brakes. A flirty wave, a smile, and heads ducked down again. Spotting a familiar sign, she ducked inside the blue-and-yellow tiled and floral-scented ladies’ room.

She stared into the white-framed mirror over the sink.
Dammit, what are you doing? Think, Cleo Marie. This is exactly what Thomas accused you of— running away when things go wrong.

Which they had.

Hunt didn’t buy the link between the chip and the necklaces. Yes, she had a job to do, and Cleo could be no part of bringing down Centaur. Except that for her, finding the necklace and bringing down Centaur were all bound up with René’s murder and the attack on Mimi. Had Cleo’s impulsive exit—yes, dammit, impulsive— sent Thomas’s strategy careening into a ditch? Now she’d left, she had nowhere to go. Nowhere safe. Not even a mind escape.

Her eyes burned and her breath caught. She couldn’t give up.

After using the facilities, she wandered back toward the conference room. The brass nameplate on the open door of the adjacent office read
J. Hunt
. She dug in to wait, leaning against the wall between the two doors, her nerves sparking like live wires.

The door swung open. In two strides, Thomas joined her, his expression a mix of relief and surprise. He hustled her into Hunt’s office.

She shrugged from his grip and crossed the burgundy rug to the window. New-carpet smell hung in the air with hints of perfume— Hunt’s probably but incongruous. On the Champs-Elysées, tiny lights draping the trees painted the scene in a romance of color. The way she’d paint it if— She pivoted away.

On the polished mahogany desk, piles of folders teetered beside a computer. So Ms. FBI did more than just preside.

She looked up at Thomas. “I won’t be shut out. Hiding me in some dingy flat will accomplish nothing. Zervas is following
me
, not you. You promised.” The sympathetic tilt to his straight black brows nearly had her caving.

“Right. These investigators are burning up their screens with nothing to show for it, both for the clues and for Ahmed Yousef’s possible high-profile target. After you left, I argued that point, but got zip. So here I am, with you.” He heaved a sigh, his gaze soft, and placed his hands on the desk, bracketing her between his outstretched arms. “You don’t know how relieved I am you didn’t leave.”

The heat in her cheeks prompted a wan smile. “I almost did. Paris is a big city. I could hide for a while.” And Zervas could’ve found her. She suppressed a shudder.

“What you said, about misunderstanding Moreau’s clue, did you make that up?”

“Oh, please. I didn’t say anything earlier because I need more information before I’m sure. Lucas—”

“Somebody call my name?”

Cleo peered around Thomas to see Lucas’s burly torso fill the door frame. A wide grin made his eyes twinkle as he took in their near embrace. His boxer’s countenance complete with scars would be intimidating to some, but his smile and his quiet manner charmed her. Judging from his reaction to meeting her, he cared for Mimi, more than as a bodyguard.

“Sit rep, Sergeant.” Thomas slid away from her.

“Yes, sir.” Lucas executed a crisp salute. “I had to talk fast but Hunt agreed to give your way a chance.” He shifted his gaze to Cleo. “She wants you to return to the meeting.”

She whooped in victory and sailed past Lucas. “I’m in.”

“I don’t know how you did that, but when this is over remind me to give you a raise,” Thomas said as a grinning Lucas stepped aside to let him pass.

All the agents glanced up as Cleo and the others entered the conference room. The French agent’s mouth pursed before she averted her gaze. The Scotland Yard man focused on picking lint from his sleeve. The Italian, who’d barely looked up from his tablet earlier, studied her with an expression that might’ve been respect.

Taking her seat, Cleo waited to see what Hunt would do.

“I consider following your trail a slim possibility but it could narrow our search for Yousef’s target. That is,
if
your supposed clue leads to the recovery of the Cleopatra necklace,” Hunt said, her expression guarded, not too different from Thomas’s warrior mask.

“I’ll tell you what I believe the clue to be after—”

“
Believe?
You’re still unsure?” Hunt demanded.

Beside Cleo, Thomas leaned forward as if to defend her. She gave him a small shake of her head. He subsided except for tightening around his mouth.

“I’ll answer that question after Mr. Del Rio explains what’s in that London building owned by Merlin Entertainment.” She turned to Lucas.

Color rose to his broad cheeks. “Ah, um, I started a search until the exploding chip issue sent it to the back burner.” His fingers flew over his tablet computer. “Give me a minute.”

Hunt’s mouth thinned but she said nothing.

Beneath the table, Thomas closed his hand around Cleo’s, and she exhaled and deliberately relaxed her shoulders. Other than wanting her in bed, he kept his feelings for her guarded, except for rare moments like this. Whether or not he believed in René’s clues, he was with her. Did he realize how much his support meant?

Lucas looked up from his screen, excitement on his countenance. He licked his lips. “Merlin Entertainment is a conglomerate running a wide range of international companies. The building in the West Acton section of London contains production facilities—design studios, workshops, offices and so on—for the chain of Madame Tussauds Wax Museums.”

Cleo’s heart sprinted like a greyhound. “Yes! That makes perfect sense.”

“It does?” Thomas asked.

She shot him a grin, then addressed Hunt. “René once worked there, creating jewelry for the wax figures. He didn’t say
‘melon.’
He said
‘Merlin.’
And the rest wasn’t ‘
Pope’
and
‘ladder,’
but
‘Poe’
and
‘letter.’ ”

Consternation crinkled the agent’s dark forehead. “
Po
the river or
Poe
as in Edgar Allen Poe?”

“René was a big fan of Poe’s stories. The rest of what he said was
‘Poe’s letter.’
Remember “The Purloined Letter”? The stolen letter was hidden among others—”

“—in plain sight,” Thomas finished.

***

Crystal City, Virginia

Mara Marton flopped onto the chair in front of the boss’s desk, every cell in her body projecting frustration. “I can’t access any of the databases I need for my research assignments, Max. I can’t help Mr. Devlin. I can’t do squat. I’ve resorted to playing Spider Solitaire. You have to stop this hacker. Now!”

As if Max’s own frustration didn’t already have his guilt meter zooming through the roof, her glare pierced him like a poison dart. He swung his leg with its two-ton cast to the floor and leaned forward. “Mara, I hear you. Everyone on this floor hears you. The security office downstairs hears you. Trust me. Gaspar is doing all she can to erect barriers and track the source of the malware.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” She fluttered her hands in apology. “Anything I can do?”

“Maybe. You’re damned good at reading people. When you were working with Cort on the crown jewel thing, you picked up nuances on your suspects the police had missed. I could authorize you to dig into personnel records. Gaspar has them protected. You willing?”

“Just a different sort of research. And a whole lot more satisfying than Spider Solitaire.” She grinned. “Count me in.”

“Look for any motivation to betray the company. Money, something in their background, a gripe against DSF. Anything, no matter how slight.”
Dios
, they had to find something soon. With no new contracts and long-standing accounts leaving for other security companies, the company was losing big bucks on a daily basis.

Her gaze turned pensive, as if an idea had occurred to her. “Or something against Mr. Devlin personally. I’ll get on it as soon as you clear me for access.”

***

Paris

“It’s Rivera.” Thomas glanced up from his phone. “I have to take this.”

Cleo raised a hand in acceptance as he strode away from the reception desk for more privacy. She fished inside her suitcase for a scrunchie. While he talked and while they waited for Lucas, also on the phone in his cubicle, she might as well braid her hair before they went out and the rain frizzed her mop.

Immediately following the statement that René had probably hidden both necklaces in the Madame Tussauds building, Agent Hunt had adjourned the meeting. Afterward, the offices emptied like an ebbing tide. No wonder, it was after eight on a Thursday. A rumble in Cleo’s stomach reminded her she’d eaten nothing but airline pretzels since breakfast.

She finished binding her braid as Thomas crossed to her, his call finished.

“The secure line, complete with encryption software, still holds against the hacker,” he said, grim lines bracketing his mouth, “Small comfort.”

“Any breakthrough?”

“Nothing has been lost, but that’s all so far.”

No data maybe, but DSF had other, serious losses—some major accounts and new business—he clearly didn’t want to mention The fallout didn’t compare to that day in Afghanistan but she could see he felt just as helpless, not in control. “You wish you could be there to take care of the problem.”

“Thank God for Rivera’s cool head and Gaspar’s expertise. The inside man didn’t open a portal to our hacker. He fed the malware in using a USB drive.”

“Why do it that way?” Cleo asked, zipping up her bag. “Doesn’t he run the risk of being caught with the evidence?”

“Risky, yes. The low tech aspect may help in nailing the guy.” He fingered her braid. “Ready to brave the elements once Lucas is finished calling London?”

In spite of the success of her remembered clue, Cleo’s stomach remained jittery. She didn’t like where they were headed. “I thought you were on my side. No safe house.”

“Only for the night. A flat in the Sixteenth, a quiet residential section of Paris. Much safer than a hotel. Temporary, but you could stay there and rest.” He caressed her cheek. “Let Lucas and me go to London tomorrow.”

“No, you need me. I’ve worn the necklace.” She remembered the feel of the ancient collar on her shoulders and summoned Queen Cleopatra’s confidence. “I know its weight, its jewels, its glitter.”

“Could’ve been the copy.” His wry expression told her he saw she had no rejoinder to that. “I handled the real one. Heavy as chain-mail. I’ll know it.”

“I won’t stay here alone, Thomas. Zervas could still find me. Besides—”

“I promised,” he finished. Cupping her shoulders with his big warm hands, he fixed her with his steady amber gaze, the one that seemed to see inside her and never failed to heat her from the inside out. “We’ll go together to London. But hear me. If I thought locking you in a safe house was the best way, the
only
way to keep you safe, I’d break that promise in a heartbeat.”

Heat tugged low in her belly and she swayed toward him. Thomas in protector mode was irresistibly addictive, more powerful than any drug. She forced herself to remember protection was his job. She needed no reminder his other default mode was being in charge. Didn’t he just warn her of that?

A throat-clearing cough announced Lucas’s return, and Thomas released her.

The big man scrubbed a hand over his mouth, an obvious attempt to hide a grin. “Here’s the deal. The Madame Tussauds director will tell me nothing over the phone. Apparently they’ve had trouble in the past.”

“Stalkers? Wax figure perverts?” Cleo asked.

He laughed. “Anything’s possible. But he mentioned industrial spies. Anyway, the Brit agent here is having one of his Scotland Yard colleagues vouch for me. But he’ll want to verify my ID in person.”

Thomas nodded but a scowl crimped his forehead. “Hunt still has doubts. She’s deliberate and by the book but too slow. We need to line up the tomb exhibit dates and places with locations of the wax museums. Tonight.”

“We may already be too late.” Cleo slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the lifts. “The figures wearing the necklaces could still remain in the workshops or they could be in place in a Madame Tussauds anywhere from New York to Tokyo.”

“Wait, Cleo.” Lucas’s hand covered the button before she could press it.

She whirled around. Lucas’s tight expression told her something was very wrong. Thomas’s face had that wary soldier look. “What?”

“No guards.” Lucas pointed to the CCTV monitors mounted on the wall where the outer-office guard on duty during the day could see them. Two of the three screens showed the black-and-white marble floor, the potted plants camouflaging the exit door, and the half-circle security desk, but no uniformed guards. The third screen, which would have pictured the doors to all three lifts, showed a blank screen. Dead.

“Piss-poor security in this damn building. Cameras and a few rent-a-cop guards,” Thomas said, disgust on his face. “The CTF is temporary but, hell, they ought to have automatic alarms, auto shut-down if the guards are compromised. Thomas pointed at the central monitor. “There, off to the side, a movement.”