The Take(64)

“What did you do to him?”

“The same thing I did to Monsieur Delacroix. It’s getting dangerous to be a friend of yours.”

“Delacroix wasn’t a friend. Let me talk to your boss.”

“That is not an option.”

“Do as I say!”

“I know where you are, Mr. Coluzzi. Your friend was very talkative. He told me about your hideout on top of the cliff. In fact, I feel like I know you already. All we need to do is set a time and place for the exchange. I can be there in a few hours. Be reasonable. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

“I’ll take my chances, darling. Tell your boss I’ll be in touch. Ciao.”

Coluzzi ended the call. Immediately, he opened the back of his phone and ripped out the SIM card, dumping it down the neck of an empty bottle of wine. He found a container of ammonia, added a few fingers to the bottle, and shook it all up. He waited a minute, letting the solvent go to work on the card, then flung the bottle off the terrace, along with the phone. He had five more burners inside just like it.

Shaken, Coluzzi returned to his bedroom and retrieved the suitcase holding the prince’s money from the floor safe under his bed. He laid out the money on the dining room table. Six stacks, ten packets each.

He had a rule. Never give out the take too soon. You needed a cooling-off period after a big job. There was always some guy who was unable to contain his excitement, to keep his game face on, who went out and got sloppy drunk and proceeded to brag about his accomplishments. Over time, Coluzzi had weeded out the loudmouths. He trusted his crew with his life. Still, a rule was a rule.

Which brought him to the dilemma at hand. What to do with the six hundred thousand euros on the table? Divide it up among the boys or do something a little different. A little riskier.

He knew what Luca Falconi would say. “Go for it, kid.”

He balled his fist, swearing to get his revenge. The Russians would pay, one way or another.

He kept staring at the money. After a while, he decided that six hundred thousand euros didn’t look like much.

He wondered what twenty million looked like.

Bigger.

Much bigger.





Chapter 35



The lobby of the George V was eerily deserted, a ballroom after the ball, the fragrance from the enormous spray of flowers intoxicating in the still air. A hotelier rose from behind the reception, offering Simon a discreet nod as they entered.

“I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence you’re staying here,” Nikki said as they headed to the elevator.

Simon regarded her without answering.

They rode to the fourth floor, neither speaking. Nikki stood next to him, closer than he would have liked. Her shoulder touched his and he guarded against the flurry of intimacy it roused. It had been an eventful night. Too much adrenaline. Too much pain. Too many heightened emotions. He warned himself that his attraction was merely the aftereffect of a shared danger.

He glanced at her and found her eyes closed. He noted that she had smooth, flawless skin. Her upper lip was full and he studied its boundary, the sharp border where pink turned to cream. Despite himself, he couldn’t look away. He was counting her lashes, laughing at the adolescent streak of blue in her hair. He had an urge to put his arm around her, draw her toward him. He wanted very badly to kiss her.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Nikki jolted, eyes fluttering open, and he realized she’d been asleep on her feet.

“Here we are,” he said. “Four twenty-one. To the right.”

He led the way to his room, feeling more tired with each step. He put the keycard in the door, waited for the lock to disengage, and pushed it open with his shoulder. “Come in.”

Nikki slid past him into the room. “So this is how the other half lives.”

“Expense account.”

“Nice client,” she said.

“Deep pockets.”

She turned to look at him. “We’ll come to that.”

The bed was turned down from the night before. She took the chocolate truffle off the pillow and popped it into her mouth, then toured the room, taking off her leather jacket and tossing it onto a chair. She stopped at the window and peeled back the velvet drapes. “Morning already,” she said.

Simon looked at her thinking she suddenly looked soft and vulnerable. He fought back his desire. “Time to go to work.”

He placed the StingRay monitor on the desk, inserted a power cord, then attached a USB cable to his laptop. “It takes a minute,” he said, “for the program to open and transfer the data.”

“Give you time to tell me what’s what.”

“I’ll let you start. You’re the detective.”

“Always playing a game, aren’t you?” Nikki was kneeling by the minibar. “Want anything?”

“Orange juice.”

She grabbed a bottle for him and two minis of Grey Goose. She cracked the orange juice and handed him the bottle before pouring the vodka into a highball glass.

“Little early for a drink,” he said.

“Nightcap,” she said, downing the contents.

“Now who’s playing the game?”

Nikki made a coy face and put down the glass. “All right, then, Mr. Riske. Here’s what I think. You come waltzing into Paris the day after the most publicized robbery in ten years, claiming to be after a secret letter with magical powers. You waste my time asking about three criminals when, in fact, you’re only interested in one, Tino Coluzzi, a childhood friend, no less, who only last week was getting a crew together. Now it turns out you’re staying at the same hotel as the man who was robbed, Prince Abdul Aziz bin Saud. Finally, you’re based out of London, which as far as I know is second home to half the Middle East.” She’d recited her argument matter-of-factly and without rancor, her eyes never leaving him. “So what do I think? I think Prince Abdul Aziz hired you to get his money back and you believe Tino Coluzzi has it.”