Think, Grace. What would Izzy do?
Four months ago, a thief had grabbed Isabella to keep her from talking to the police. Tristan, Arthur, and Lancelot had gotten her out, but Isabella had kept her head the whole time. She’d told me the story over wine a few weeks later, laughing about it like it was an adventure she’d signed up for.
Of course, she’d also confessed that it hadn’t been her first kidnapping, so maybe she just had more practice at being calm.
Great. Was that my goal now? Get kidnapped enough times, and eventually I’d get good at it?
I pressed my palms against my eyes. Garrett’s face kept flashing through my brain. Him mouthing‘I got you’across Henri’s dining room while a knife pressed against my throat. Then him running on the road behind the car until the driveway turned and I couldn’t see him anymore.
What if I’d kept Kessler’s name to myself? What if I’d let Caulfield finish his theater and Garrett come back to the table? Would Caulfield have lost his nerve and revealed himself some other way? Maybe. Or maybe the breach had already been coming, and all I’d done by testing him was given myself a few extra seconds to know.
Either way, I was here. And Garrett wasn’t.
Don’t think about that right now. Think about what you can do.
I paced the room again. Door to window, window to bed, bed to desk. The hallway outside was quiet. I’d heard footsteps pass twice in the hour since Richter had locked me in—a single set each time, unhurried, likely a guard making rounds.
I checked my watch. Seven-forty. The shadows in the garden were getting long.
A knock came at the door, and the lock turned before I could respond. Conrad Richter stepped in, wearing a holstered weapon visible under his jacket. “Werner would like you to join him downstairs.”
“Fuck you.”
Richter held the door open and motioned for me to go. So I did. He walked me down the carpeted hallway and around a corner to a wide staircase. I counted doors as we passed—four on this floor, all closed. The staircase curved down to a marble foyerwith a chandelier that belonged in an opera house. Through one archway was a sitting room. Through another, a long corridor lined with oil paintings of landscapes in heavy gilt frames.
Two more guards stood at the base of the staircase. Both armed. Both watching me with the blank attentiveness of men being paid well to stand in hallways.
Three armed men so far. Probably more.
Could I outrun them? If I found an exit, could I sneak out and make my way… where? We’d driven for so long to get here, and the property was huge. I had no idea where we were, and if I found someone, I didn’t speak the language.
Garrett will come for you, just like Tristan risked everything to save Izzy.
My stomach tightened as we passed a set of French doors with two more armed guards. If Garrett tried to rescue me, he’d be walking into a building full of armed men. He’d get hurt. For me. I couldn’t let him do that.
What are you going to do, Grace? Link with him telepathically and tell him you’re fine?
Shit.
Richter led me through a corridor lined with paintings and stopped at a set of double doors. He opened them and stepped aside. The room was so beautiful, it stole the air from my lungs. I hated that too.
Tall display cases lined every wall, with soft museum lighting. Jeweled boxes, miniature portraits in gold settings, and porcelain figurines stamped with the Romanov double eagle. Glass-topped cases in the center held documents, medals, and personal effects.
Along the wall to my left sat a compact writing desk. Dr. Brandon Caulfield stood beside it, fiddling with a pen next to a sheaf of papers. He didn’t look at me.
Of course he didn’t.
But he wasn’t the worst of it. No, in a glass case at the far end of the room, lit like it was the centerpiece in the Louvre, was Didi’s egg.Myegg. Disassembled and nestled in three velvet cradles, the hundred tiny diamonds and the sapphire glowed as though the lights were designed specifically for this treasure.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Werner Kessler stood beside the case, one hand resting on its edge. He was maybe five-eight, lean, with blond hair, and wearing a tailored navy suit. His posture was relaxed, with a smile like he was greeting an old friend instead of a woman he’d had forcibly brought to him.
“Miss Laurent.” His voice was gentle, with a pronounced German accent. “Thank you for joining me.”
Like I had a choice.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” I kept my voice steady.Sunshine, Grace. Kill him with sunshine.“Though I’m guessing you’re Werner Kessler.”
“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “And I must apologize for the manner of your arrival. Mr. Richter can be... enthusiastic.”
