I sat forward, struggling with my emotions and the need to keep my voice even. “All due respect, sir, he’s tied in with the London Lords, and they are up to something. The moment I started sniffing around them as part of my investigation, I was given a huge case. It’s basic redirection. What don’t they want me to look at? I just need time. All my instincts are flaring.”
My father planted his hands on the table. “Then perhaps you can offer me some proof of wrongdoing? Why the prince?”
Because he was connected to the London Lords. I swallowed and bought myself some time. “He and his sister are clearly in the middle of this. He’s part of the distraction from the London Lords. And he’s a known associate of one Tony Angelo, who we know is wanted for grand larceny, assault, burglary and a host of other crimes.”
Denning piped up sarcastically with, “And let’s not forget he’s been seen standing next to the London Lords in a photo. Clearly an admission of guilt.”
I scowled at him. “That’s not what I’m saying, but it’s worth —”
My father put up his hand and then shook his head. “Sorry, Nyla, find another way. Besides, the same people that you’ve been going after helped you close a human trafficking ring. And you got all the credit for that. But right now, you are getting a new assignment. I will not have you poking at these people unless you have something tangible. A prince for Christ’s sake.” He rolled his eyes. “You have no hard evidence.”
“I’m telling you they gave me a distraction because they don't want me watching them.”
“Drop it.” He then turned his attention to the rest of the team as we continued going around the circle. When he got back to Denning, he gave him a nod.
Denning stood like my father had. As if he had rights and privileges above any of the rest of us. “Meanwhile, I’ve been hot on the case of Francois Theroux. There are whispers that he’s possibly turned up in Spain, so I’ll be putting together a small task force to do some reconnaissance and chase him down.”
God, he was so transparent. Francois Theroux was my father’s white whale. He had been chasing that man for nearly thirty years.
He and my father apparently had gotten in some cat-and-mouse chase before I was born. To hear my father tell it, he had been so close.
And then Theroux had slipped out of his hands. And since then, every two or three years, Theroux would resurface, and my father would get spun out chasing him. I had often wondered if I could catch Theroux, would my father take me seriously? Would he see me for once? Value me? I wished. But instead of me, he was letting Denning take the Theroux case.
I hated how he played favorites with Denning. Granted, I had made the mistake of dating him. My father had warned me that it wouldn’t work out.
He had been right, of course. But nothing smarted like having my ex being chummy with my father and him having a new girlfriend and flaunting said new girlfriend in my face after telling me I was ‘too much.’ Not that I cared.
At the end of the meeting, Amelia rushed after me as I marched to my office. “Hey, wait up. Please tell me that your hurry is in fact because you have zero intention on giving up.”
She knew me too well. “You know I never say die.” In my office I slapped down my new case file paperwork and plopped into my chair in full slouch. “I just have to find proof of the impossible and prove that the men behind it are doing illegal things. You got a magic wand I can borrow? I could really use it.”
She closed my door quietly and leaned against it. “No. But I met my mum for an early breakfast, and she dropped an interesting tidbit about the Bridgeport hospital charity event tonight. She mentioned that there would be several wealthy eligible men in attendance. In particular, East Hale.”
I pushed myself up to sit straighter. “Amelia, I could fucking kiss you.”
“Make it good, gorgeous. It’s been a while since anyone did it properly. Probably why my mother insisted I go tonight.”
“I’m always good,” I said with a wink.
“Let’s hope so. You have a thief to catch.”
I certainly did.
3
East
Hours after meeting with Nyla’s father, I still had her on the brain. And maybe that’s why I’d been more than happy to volunteer for auction duty.
I still wasn’t sure what to make of the older Agent Kincade. From my research, I knew he’d comply. But how he would handle Nyla was what worried me.
You have an Interpol agent up your ass, and you’re worried that he might crush her spirit?
Where the fuck was my sense of self-preservation? I’d spent too much time pulling up everything I could find on agent Nyla Kincade. If she was coming after us, the least I could do was be well informed. But there was a chance she’d heed her father’s advice, and for now, I hoped the situation was contained.
If by contained you mean reliving that fight you had with her over and over again, then sure, contained is the right word.
No matter what I found out about Nyla Kincade, I wouldn’t be sharing my new low-key obsession to know what she smelled like or what her laugh sounded like.
"Right now we have a Pan Elise painting. Opening bid is £30,000.” I forced my attention back to the excuse that had brought me there, just half a block from the Interpol offices.
Lucky for me, my mother couldn't attend the auction because she had a prior engagement, and my sister was in Monaco. As the acting curator of the Du Mont family collection, she really should be here. But her wife was six months into a difficult pregnancy, so it was better if she didn't have to travel back to London.
So the job was mine.
The painting wasn't really right for our family collection. But that didn't mean that I didn't want it. It would go well in my personal collection with its bold colors and light touch if AJ didn't want it.
To the far right, a bloke sat with his back turned to me. He had short dark hair, a suit, and a blue shirt, and I couldn’t see him well enough to figure out who it was because of the way we were seated sort of amphitheater style.
I raised my paddle for fifty, he raised it for sixty.
I knew that the artist was up-and-coming. I'd seen her exhibit in London a little over a year ago, and she was making a name for herself with bright strokes and flashing colors. And I knew her style was completely wrong for the family collection, so what the hell was I doing?
I raised my paddle again automatically, the hum of competition flowing under my skin.
The auctioneer called off numbers back and forth as we did silent battle with our paddles.
Who the fuck was that? And why wouldn't he just say die?
The painting was probably worth maybe eighty thousand. The artist was becoming a hot commodity, but honestly, this kind of bidding for an up-and-comer was ridiculous. But still, I couldn't stop myself.
Because I hated to lose. I hadn't gotten where I was by letting anybody win, and I certainly wasn't going to lose now. The funny thing was I hadn't even originally wanted to come to the auction. I'd begged off, told AJ to come down herself. Begged my mother to cancel her charity engagement. But now, it seemed like a good distraction.
The auctioneer called for a hundred and fifty thousand, and I raised my paddle. I should have just done this on the phone.