The Spy (King’s Security #3)

Chapter 13

13

FIONA

“Oh, my God.” My breath caught in my throat. “There are guards. How are we going to get in?”

Why had I not realized there would be security? It was so obvious. Of course, an event like this would be carefully protected.

I turned to Zeke, panic rising within me. He gave me a look that said to be quiet. I glared at him but didn’t utter another word. He’d implied he could get us in, but I hadn’t thought of this. Had he? Based on the confident way he guided me toward them, I assumed he had some kind of plan. I couldn’t ask any questions without risking them overhearing so I tried my best not to look as though I was on the verge of a meltdown.

As we approached the first security guard, I realized I was hardly breathing and forced myself to inhale and exhale steadily. I’d suggested we do this. I’d volunteered for this role. I couldn’t fail at the first hurdle. I plastered a smile on my face and hoped it looked real .

The man approached us, holding a tablet.

“Zane Wilson and Fiona Ryan,” Zeke said, using the same tone with which he’d tell someone he wanted steak and a glass of wine.

The man checked the tablet. I squeezed Zeke’s hand, certain we were going to be called out any second, but the guy waved us through. My shoulders slumped as we took the stairs onto the yacht, out of the danger zone.

“How did you do that?” I asked quietly.

“It wasn’t me,” he replied. “From now on, be careful what you say. You don’t know who could be listening. Don’t mention anything out of character.”

“Got it.” That would be easier for me than him because I was playing myself. I wondered who Zane Wilson was supposed to be. Was he an old alias Zeke had brought out of retirement or something new that his team had whipped up?

“This way, darling.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me further onto the yacht. I gazed around in awe. I’d never been on board anything like this before. I’d taken the water taxi, but the Claudette was on a whole other level. The yacht was so big I could hardly even feel the slight roll as it moved with the water.

We passed men and women dressed in couture. Some were elegant, but others—particularly the younger women—had miles of skin on display. I couldn’t help wondering whether they were as much trophies to the gentlemen accompanying them as the Rolexes on the men’s wrists. In comparison, I looked dowdy, but I supposed that was the point. We didn’t want to attract more attention than necessary.

“Here, my love.” Zeke took two champagne flutes from a tray carried by a passing waiter and handed me one. I didn’t drink from it. I was worried enough without being impaired by alcohol. He sipped, then plucked a pair of oysters from a platter near the wall. He downed one and offered me the other. Hiding a grimace, I slurped the slimy thing and swallowed it as fast as I could. I liked most seafood, but I’d never warmed to oysters.

“Try this.” The pastry was small and delicate. I tried to take it, but he held it to my lips. I bit into it. The pastry practically melted in my mouth and rich chocolate oozed from the center.

I groaned. “That’s so good.”

His eyes locked on my face. “Have another.”

This time, I immediately took it from between his fingers, letting my tongue brush over his fingertips. Heat sparked in his dark eyes. I stared back, unable to look away until someone bumped into me from behind. I traced my lips with my tongue to make sure he hadn’t left any crumbs.

“Let’s look around,” I said. The sooner we could figure out whether the Monet was here, the better.

We strolled into the yacht’s main room, where display cases lined the walls and elegantly attired people mingled about. We took our time looking at each item. Even if I hadn’t known these goods were stolen, it would have been evident soon enough. There were amulets that should have been in a museum in Cairo, paintings by lesser-known greats of the eighteenth century, and a tiara that once belonged to the Russian royal family.

“This is incredible,” I breathed to Zeke. Awful, but breathtaking too. “I don’t see any flower paintings though.”

There were undoubtedly pieces here worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—maybe even millions—but nothing of the same caliber as the Monet. At least, not in my opinion.

“Maybe they’re holding it back to use as a grand finale,” Zeke murmured, his breath tickling my ear. He’d leaned close, presumably so as not to be overheard, and the sensation sent delicious tingles racing down my neck. I was sure I was blushing, but thankfully it would be difficult to tell beneath the layer of makeup.

“It’s possible they’ve put it aside somewhere with even better security and that they’ll only show it to a hand-selected group of guests with the capital to buy it,” he added.

That made sense, but I was strangely disappointed. I’d hoped to see it as soon as we arrived, so I could reassure myself we were in the right place. As it was, we’d be heading out onto the water without any certainty that we weren’t marching into danger unnecessarily.

“It’s exquisite, no?” a woman asked in a thick French accent.

I turned, finding a pair of elegant older ladies standing beside me, gazing at the tiara.

“It’s very beautiful,” I agreed, since that seemed to be what they expected of me.

The taller of the pair had silver hair and cold blue eyes that flicked over me appraisingly. “It would look stunning on you, with that red hair. Will your man buy it for you?”

I pursed my lips to hold back the automatic retort that women didn’t need a man to buy things for them these days. “We’re in the market for something different.” I exchanged a glance with Zeke, hoping he wouldn’t mind me saying so. “We’re art lovers.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “Then there are other things here that are more to your liking.”

“Exactly.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment and she and her companion swept away.

“Well done,” Zeke murmured. “I could be wrong, but I think that was Rene Laurent’s wife. Now that she knows we’re interested in art, perhaps we’ll get an invitation to see the Monet.”

I felt a jolt, followed by the rumble of an engine, and I automatically reached for Zeke’s hand as the yacht eased into motion. My throat tightened, but then Zeke pulled me against his chest and kissed my forehead. The room began to fill with people—the ones who’d been outside coming in.

His lips moved against my skin. “Everything will be okay.”

I straightened and tried to look like someone who boarded expensive yachts loaded with stolen treasures every day. God, I hoped he was right.

ZEKE

Did it make me a bad person that I found Fiona’s nerves endearing? It was rare for me to see her anything other than confident, and it was nice to remember that she wasn’t always the most efficient person on the planet. She was as human as the rest of us.

I edged closer, breathing her in. I loved the way she smelled, and having her nearby soothed me. I was nervous too, although I’d never let her know it. She needed me to be strong, and I could fill that role for her. After all, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been in high-stakes situations before. Many had been more dangerous than this. It had just been a while since I’d experienced the wild highs and lows that came with undercover work.

A glass chimed, and I looked to the front of the room, where a man in a pinstriped suit was adjusting a microphone clipped to his collar .

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” His voice boomed around the enclosed space and he winced and adjusted the mic. “Sorry about that,” he continued at a more reasonable volume. “As I was saying, welcome to Mr. Laurent’s semi-annual auction. You’ll see that we have an impressive selection to entice all comers.” His smile turned sly. “There’s also a private auction that will be happening near the end of the night. Some of you know what this is regarding. Others of you who are interested can ask Rene or his wife, Claudette, for a viewing at their discretion.”

A faint hum swept through the room.

The speaker cleared his throat. “For those of you who don’t know me, I am John Herbert and I’ll be your auctioneer tonight.” He checked the expensive watch on his wrist. “Please take advantage of the next fifteen minutes to view the items. Bidding will begin at eight thirty.”

He switched the mic off and said something to the pudgy, balding man beside him.

“That’s Laurent,” I murmured, recognizing him from the photographs we’d seen earlier. My gaze wandered away from him, across the room, cataloging every person I encountered.

I stiffened. Shit. I’d hoped we’d have longer before this happened. At least long enough to confirm the presence of the Monet.

“Don’t look now, but we have company.”

Fiona twitched but managed not to follow my gaze. “Who?”

“Your ex.” I locked eyes with Bergen Cole, who was sauntering across the room toward us, one side of his mouth hitched up as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Like me, he was wearing a white suit, but his shirt was black and he wore a gold bow tie. His hair was slicked back, similarly to mine, and he was clean-shaven. I had to give it to Fiona, she’d done a fantastic job of dressing me as him.

“Well, well.” He stopped in front of us, his mouth curled in a smirk, and Fiona finally allowed herself to look up. If I hadn’t been touching her, I might not have noticed the way her muscles tensed. Bergen scanned me and his smirk deepened. “You certainly have a type, don’t you, Fi?”

I kept my eyes on Bergen, so I didn’t see Fiona’s reaction, but I could practically sense the fury vibrating through her.

“He’s nothing like you,” she said, so levelly I was impressed. Nobody overhearing the conversation would know the depth of her emotion toward the man opposite us. I was also surprised by her words. She’d always made it clear that she didn’t think much of me. Perhaps that was changing. I could only hope.

Bergen looked at me pointedly. “If you say so.” He glanced toward the ceiling, and I spotted a camera not far away, presumably filming our interaction. “Being seen here won’t bolster your case,” he continued. “Imagine what the police would think if they saw photos of you around all of this stolen art.”

I drew Fiona against my side to show my support. “If you gave the police any photos showing Fiona here, you’d also be incriminating yourself.”

He shrugged. “There is such a thing as anonymous tipping.” He gave Fiona a faux sympathetic smile. “You’ll look terrible in orange, darling.”

With that parting remark, he strode away. Fiona jerked toward him, as if she intended to chase him down and give him a piece of her mind, but I stopped her.

“Don’t make a scene,” I murmured near her ear, cupping her face so any onlookers wouldn’t see our exchange as anything more than an intimate moment between a couple. “We need to get out of here quickly and quietly. ”

It was time to initiate the escape plan.

She ducked her face into the curve of my shoulder. “But what about the painting? We haven’t seen it, or heard evidence that it’s here. We can’t go.”

“It’s too risky to stay now that Bergen has seen us.” It was possible he’d rat us out to Laurent. I took her hand and pulled her out of the room. The guests were beginning to assemble for the auction, so hopefully they’d be distracted. I guided Fiona past the people loitering outside and around the side of the yacht, where we were alone. I pressed a button on my watch and pulled Fiona close, so that anybody who saw us would assume we’d stolen a passionate moment alone.

“Strip the dress and heels off, and jump into the water,” I said softly.

She looked at me as though I was crazy. “What?”

“It’s time to get out of here. I’ll explain later, but we need to move fast.”

Her eyes searched mine in the near-dark. “You’re insane. It’s going to be freezing.”

I grabbed her shoulders and held her gaze. “If you trust me, jump. I promise you: everything will be okay.”

When she pulled away, toed off the shoes, and reached behind herself to unzip the dress, I felt like a king. Even without the full picture, she was choosing to trust me. I’d make damn sure she didn’t regret it.

In the distance, blue and red lights started flashing and a siren wailed.

“Police!” a voice hailed over a loudspeaker. “Please turn off your engine and allow us to approach.”

Fiona’s eyes widened, but I just nodded and waved at the edge of the yacht.

“Push off as far as you can,” I said.

She swung her legs over the edge, cast one look back at me as I shucked off my jacket and kicked off my trousers, then slipped over the edge and vanished from view. I heard a faint splash. As I hauled myself onto the ledge behind her, I checked to make sure I wouldn’t land on her bobbing head, then I followed her into the dark.