Taken With Trouble (CAUGHT IN CHAOS #2)

11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Serena

I found his secret room. Filled to the brim with stolen artifacts hidden in numbered lockers. It really wasn’t that hard. People like him always hide things just out of sight. And clearly, the last time he was here, he was in a hurry. The picture frame on the moving wall was still tilted.

I study the numbers on the lockers. They aren’t consecutive. It starts with 514—a date I presume. Then goes to 712. Another date.

Stupid man.

I find the date I’m looking for near the bottom. 922. Scarlett’s birthday.

I slip the pin I stole from his room—he literally had them sitting on his nightstand—and pick the lock with it.

There it is. The real jewelry box. I audibly sigh as I take the crystal in my hands. Finally.

I glance up, trying to decipher the other potential dates engraved in the lockers. What else is he hiding in here?

“Find what you’re looking for?”

I jump, slipping the pin into my pocket and glaring at Liam. “So, you were going to give the Winthrops the ring worth millions, but wanted to keep the ten-thousand-dollar jewelry box to yourself? What kind of thief are you? ”

He purses his lips and lets out a breath through his nose, flaring his nostrils in frustration. “The ring is a family heirloom and rightfully theirs. But the Winthrops only know Scarlett had a jewelry box stolen from her. They barely know what it looks like. I promise, they don’t care about it.”

I raise a brow and rise to my feet. “But you do?”

“Yes.”

His abrupt answer causes the hair to rise on the back of my neck. “Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I like it.”

That’s so vague, it’s suspicious.

“Tell me.”

“Fine.” He leans on the opposite wall, crossing one foot over the other. “It’s part of a bigger treasure.”

I raise an eyebrow at his predictability. Of course. He’s a con artist known to sell his ridiculous stories, what else did I expect? “You’re kidding right?”

He shakes his head. “I suspect that’s why Sawyer went after it in the first place.”

“What’s the treasure?” Except I’m not certain I want to know.

“I’m glad you asked.” He drops his voice to mimic the romantic register of David Attenborough. “Long ago, during the reign of King George V, the Royal Family’s most accomplished jewel maker—”

“Stop. You sound ridiculous.”

But he continues. “... was making the most ornate pieces known to man. Think Fabergé egg. It took him fifteen years to complete it, but while in transport, the box of goods disappeared. The ring maker was furious and demanded the king still pay him the remaining wages. The King refused and banished him to South America. The ring maker was never seen again, and the treasure was never recovered.”

“And you believe this one box will lead you straight to this elusive treasure?” He’s more gullible than I thought.

His eyes narrow, and he straightens to his full height. “There are more pieces to the puzzle, but yes. This box was believed to have been in the same shipment as the missing jewels. I think the man who took this box also stole the treasure. ”

“That’s quite the hypothesis.” I rock back on my heels. “I have a question. If the Winthrops didn’t know about this box, then how did Scarlett end up with it?”

He chews on his bottom lip before answering. “She stole it.”

I knew the box was once stolen from a museum in Atlanta, but he really expects me to believe that Scarlett is the one who took it? The lovable, gorgeous, and talented icon of multiple nations? He’s kidding, right? I can read between the subtext. He stole it then gifted it to her so he wouldn’t be caught red-handed. Because that’s the kind of man he is deep down. Not a do-gooder. That side is an act—a part he’s playing to get me to trust him.

“I have a grand idea,” Liam says, tapping his chin. “How about you and I search for the treasure together?”

No way am I going treasure hunting with this man.

“You’ve been fed lies. This is just a box.” I stand, gripping the crystal box in my hands.

His eyes bore into mine. “Do you know something I don’t?”

I roll my eyes with a heavy sigh. “I know nothing. I am just more in tune with reality. People don’t find lost treasures, Liam. There’s no map, no maze to follow. It’s all a myth meant to fool idiots like you.”

He flinches. I almost feel bad I’m destroying his very belief system. But at some point, a child needs to learn that Santa isn’t real. I step closer, poking him in the chest. “If a treasure like that existed, it would have been found by someone far smarter than you.”

A smile teases his lips, and it angers me he finds it humorous when I’m scolding him.

“Then I guess I shall have to prove how smart I am.” He snatches my finger and pulls it to his lips, laying a kiss on my fingertip before I can yank it away.

It’s by far the weirdest thing someone has ever done, yet my heart rate spikes uncontrollably.

“What. Was. That?” I growl.

“Easy there, feisty. It’s called affection. I’m sorry you’ve never experienced it before. ”

I throw my fist at his face but he easily blocks it.

“We’ll work on how you show yours. Come on, I’ve got a plan.”

I don’t respond but follow him—begrudgingly—into the main living space, fifty percent of which is covered in computer screens and giant towers alive and glowing. It looks like he could launch a rocket from this rat hole.

Liam sits in the only chair in front of the wall of computers. “I hacked into the Winthrops’ home network while you were asleep in the cab and discovered they’re attending a gala at the Lang palace in two days. We will intercept them there with the ring.”

Something about that sounds fishy. I’m willing to bet he knew this before we even left his apartment. Before I discovered the box was a fake. He had a backup plan. Or maybe this was the original plan.

I rub my temples. The man is messing with my head.

“The gala isn’t for two days. What are we going to do until then?” I can literally feel my career as an FBI agent slipping away. I may be able to convince the bureau I was kidnapped, but if I’m seen walking around, clearly not detained, for a week , they aren’t going to believe me.

Liam leans back in the chair, bringing his hands behind his head and grinning. “I’m open to suggestions. Just me and you… The possibilities are endless.”

I walk past him, and shove down on the back of his chair, sending him and his ridiculousness to the ground.

He groans as he rights himself and stands beside me. “That wasn’t nice.”

I shrug. “I never found being nice beneficial.”

“That explains some things.” He goes back to the computer and presses a button. A projector lights the wall in front of me. “I guess it’s a good thing I came up with an excellent plan to waste our time. We are going to find the King’s lost treasure.”

He’s utterly serious. On the wall is every clue he’s pieced together about this elusive treasure, along with a map filled with possible locations. Forty-two to be exact. I’m a quick counter.

“You think it could be buried beneath the Louvre?” I laugh. He’s absolutely delusional .

He screws up his nose then clicks a couple keys and the X over the Louvre disappears. “Not anymore.”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Dream big. Maybe it’s sitting directly under the palace. Wouldn’t that be ironic?”

He shoots me a look. “It’s a good thing I appreciate sarcasm. Let me see the box.” He reaches for the box, but I hold it back, keeping it away from him. “I promise to return it,” he says, promising me like I’m a child. And for some reason, I relinquish it to him.

He turns it over and underneath is an inscription. It appears to be an old family crest. Most of it is weathered to nothing, but in the very corner is something that looks like an eagle’s talon holding two letters.

“See the initials there? ‘CM’?”

I nod. cross-referenced

“I ran some searches for all CMs connected to Europe a century ago, cross-referenced those with anyone who may have had a connection to royalty, jewelry makers, and a few other”—he glances at me, then pointedly looks away—“things, and compiled a list.”

My head spins with all the information he throws on the screen. There are only seven names left. None of them stick out to me, except the last one.

“Cillian Moore.” The name falls off my lips. The name is familiar enough to cause a chill to race down my spine but I can’t place where I know it.

“Good eye.” Liam appraises me and another image pops onto the screen. The full crest. “The crest matches his. So, either the box was intended for him, or he stole it. I’m betting money on the latter. He was a well-known legend of his time. He pulled off some of the greatest heists of the century.”

“So he was a criminal,” I say.

He rubs his chin. “That too, I suppose. He had a few hideouts here in the UK. I was able to cross a couple off the list. Shall we go on an adventure to the rest of them? I say we start with the Moore estate tomorrow.” He looks at me with eyes full of so much mischief and hope.

I shouldn’t. There are a hundred reasons not to. But we do have some time to kill, and this ‘adventure’ could be mutually beneficial. Maybe I can swipe someone’s phone, catch Liam in the act of a great heist. Find clothes in my size. The little things.

“Fine.”

“Don’t be so excited. I might get the wrong idea.”

“But if we do find this treasure, it’s all mine.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re cute, Agent Cruz. Clearly you haven’t mastered the art of negotiation.”

I lift a brow. “Fine, you can have it all. But I get you.”

His lips twitch. “I didn’t know that’s how you fel—”

“I get to throw you in jail.”

“I suppose you can barter just fine.”