My phone buzzed against my ear. I pulled it away long enough to open the image. Kessler, in his mid-fifties, had sleek blond hair and wore a tailored suit in the image. I tucked the phone back in place. “And Richter?”
“Bad news. He’s Kessler’s fixer. Has a reputation for getting results by whatever means necessary.”
Fuck.
Grace hadn’t moved. She rested her hands on the open drawer, but her gaze was fixed on something I couldn’t make out. The drawer? The wall? The ruins of everything she thought she knew about her grandmother?
“I need you to dig deeper,” I said. “Kessler, Richter, the Dubois family. Anything you can find.”
“Already on it. Merlin’s running traces now, and he’s pulled Morganna in.”
I spotted a sock behind the chair, found its mate near the bed, and added them to the suitcase. How could a woman with so much energy and a successful business be such chaos?Stupid question, Garrett.Because that much energy couldn’t be contained.
“One more thing.” I lowered my voice, though Grace didn’t seem to be registering anything at all. “We’re heading to Zurich.”
“Zurich?”
“I know, I know.” I’d been telling Grace she needed to slow down and let me check things out before she moved, and now I was the one leaping before I looked. “Dmitry’s arranged for us to meet Henri Dubois.”
“I don’t like how fast things are changing.”
“Me, either, but if Kessler’s on the hunt for Grace or the egg, the farther we get from where he found us in London, the better.”
“True, but—” The keyboard noises picked up on Arthur’s end, then paused. “Morganna’s sent through intel on Dubois. He’s a competing claimant for Romanov pieces, not just the egg. His fortune was funded by pieces his family sold off over the past several decades.”
Shit. “That means Kessler probably knows about him.”
“Possible. If Morganna sends me anything else, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s your read on this Dmitry guy?”
“Jean trusts him, and the story checks out.” I peeked inside Grace’s toiletry bag, which didn’t seem to be missing anything. “We don’t have a lot of options.”
“Call me when you get there. And Galahad?” Arthur paused. “Be careful.”
“Always, brother.” I ended the call and pocketed the phone.
Grace still hadn’t moved.
“Arthur confirmed Dmitry’s legitimate,” I told her. “Licensed PI, solid reputation.”
Nothing.
“Conrad Richter works for a man named Werner Kessler, whoisan obsessive collector. Everything from Dmitry’s storychecks out.” I zipped her toiletry bag and added it to the suitcase. “The bad news is that Richter’s his fixer and doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”
She blinked. Slowly. Like she was surfacing from a deep sleep.
“Grace.”
Her eyes found mine. Green and lost and somewhere far away.
Don’t do this, Garrett. Don’t get involved. She’s a job.
I crossed to her. Took her by the upper arms. Her breathing accelerated, and I could feel the faint tremor running through her.
Walk away. Tell her to pack. Keep your distance.
