Suspects(9)

“I’m actually on the way to New York to open a pop-up store. We’re having a party the night it opens.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a spare invitation she had with her and handed it to him. “It’s a special event, and we have some very exclusive pieces we’re bringing in. I hope you’ll come and enjoy it,” she said with a shy smile. He noticed how vulnerable she looked, and even he was touched as he took the envelope from her.

“I’d love to come, if you’ll be there,” he said, appearing to flirt with her, which surprised her. When she first saw him, she had assumed he was gay, but he wasn’t acting like it with her.

“I’ll be there, of course,” she lied to him. She had no intention of attending a big party, or a promotional event, even for her own store. Her plan was to be there, but out of sight, so she had a good sense of what merchandise was working best. But she had no desire to be seen, in fact quite the reverse. She didn’t want to play games with the likes of Pierre de Vaumont, who was an entirely social animal, and everything she wasn’t, even more so now. She wanted to avoid the press. She didn’t want it reported that she was back in the world, and then have to endure a feeding frenzy over her. “I’m going to set up the space for the next few days. It’s a lot of work, but I enjoy the manual labor.” She was a creature beyond his ken, and the kind of woman he didn’t understand. The women he knew loved being in the spotlight, and would have killed to be in her shoes, with a successful business of her own and a conglomerate of luxury brands she had inherited that was worth billions. He wasn’t surprised she had a bodyguard, given what she was worth, and what had happened to Matthieu and her son. She was wearing plain black slacks and a black cashmere sweater, with a black cashmere jacket, a heavy gold necklace, a wide gold cuff on her arm, and she carried a large black leather Hermès Kelly bag. She looked impeccably chic, which didn’t surprise him. She had when he’d glimpsed her before at an event, but they had never talked. He was pleased with the invitation to her opening party, and slipped it into his pocket. It never occurred to him that she might not show up.

She went back to her seat and drew the curtains after that, lay her seat down flat and settled in under her own cashmere blanket with a pillow, and slept for several hours.

She woke up in time to have a cup of tea and half a sandwich before they landed. She looked fresh from the long nap. With a little rest, she looked younger than her thirty-eight years, but she felt as though a year of sleepless nights and everything that had happened had taken a heavy toll.

She was in her seat with her hat and dark glasses on, looking sleek, as they prepared to land.



* * *



—

Mike Andrews went to his office earlier than usual that day. He wanted to get a head start on a stack of work on his desk. The building was unusually plain. It had a dreary look to it, intentionally, not to attract any notice. The blinds were drawn at all times, and a small plaque on the wall near the door said it was a law firm, which would explain the comings and goings of agents. Once inside the outer door, there were a number of code panels, and others for fingerprint and facial recognition as well as a retinal scanner. There were several other buildings like it, discreetly placed around the city, housing CIA offices.

Mike was the highest-ranking agent in the building, and the door released as soon as the codes identified him. He took the stairs up four flights to his office, for the exercise. He tried to stay in shape, with a room of gym equipment at home too, since he essentially had a desk job now, and rarely did fieldwork.

He had already assigned an agent to tail Pierre de Vaumont during his stay in New York, and as soon as he sat down in his big, comfortable leather chair, he saw that Robert Richmond had sent him an email. It was the follow-up on the Pasquier kidnapping. He opened it and saw that the most recent clipping was six months old. They were all from the British press, and there was a tabloid-style photo of Theo, which didn’t do her justice. She looked ravaged.

He read the accounts thoroughly and then called Robert in his office.

“Thanks for sending me the clippings. It sounds like they’ve done nothing recently about catching the guys who kidnapped and killed her husband and son.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. But I don’t know where in Russia they were from, and if they were amateurs maybe no one on the regular circuit knew them. From what I recall about the information we got, the trail was cold almost immediately.” Robert was quick to defend his colleagues in France, who were usually good guys and pretty thorough. But it had been an ugly story, a botched job, and a tragic ending. Every operative’s nightmare, especially with a child involved, and with full spotlights shining on them since the victims were so well known.

“But how hard have they tried in the past year?” Mike insisted.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked,” Robert said. “I was never on that case, other than standard requests to let them know if we heard anything. But I don’t think we ever did. None of our informants seemed to know about it at the time.”

“That sounds odd to me. Fifty million is a hell of a lot of money. Someone out there must have talked or known something,” Mike insisted.

“Apparently not,” he said.

“I’ve put a tail on de Vaumont when they land. I probably won’t get much, but I’d like to know what he’s up to while he’s here.”