Page 9 of Sawyer’s Mistake

Saoirse turned to look at Paul, her eyes wide with amazement.

“This is…” she wet her lips “…this is a Caravaggio. How—”

“Indeed it is! My dear Saoirse, you’re a fellow art enthusiast,” Paul said, taking Saoirse by the arm and leading her closer to the painting. “Judith Beheading Holofernes. Painted by Caravaggio in 1606. Look at the color, the theatrical lighting, look at the expression on her face. Such determination in the face of such a gruesome task. Ah, I could look at it all day. That’s why I brought it with me, all the way from Paris.”

“You stole it?” Saoirse’s eyes creased in alarm.

“That’s such a harsh word, dear,” Amélie interrupted softly. Sawyer started. He hadn’t heard her come in. “We’re merely protecting these works of art, until it’s time to bring them back to their rightful home.”

Saoirse nodded but still looked unconvinced.

Sawyer felt dazed. It was too warm in this room. He noticed Saoirse weaving slightly and reached out a hand to steady her.

“What’s … what’s wrong with me?” she asked him.

“Saoirse?” He noticed his own hand shaking on her arm, and that was when he felt the first moment of fear. He saw her sway, or maybe he was the one swaying. It was hard to tell. Everything felt strange.

Saoirse fell, taking him down with her, but by that time he could not do anything except hold her to him and watch the scene in slow motion, as if it were happening to someone else.

His body hit the wooden floor hard, but he felt no pain. Just a curious sense of detachment, coupled with a horror that his mind did not know how to place. Saoirse’s body landed on top of him. Her eyes were closed, and she looked almost peaceful. He knew something was terrifyingly wrong but couldn’t concentrate long enough to make sense of it. His mind felt like Gruyère cheese.

Paul, Miranda, and Amélie walked over and stood looking at them.

He felt equal amounts of panic and shame. How had he let himself be tricked like this? His mistake was going to cost them their lives.

“How …?” He couldn’t get his mouth to form the right words.

“In case you’re wondering, the drug wasn’t in the wine,” Paul replied helpfully. “It was already in your glass by the time you arrived in the dining room.”

“Saoirse …” Jake tried to swallow, but even his throat had stopped working. Saliva dripped from his open mouth onto the carpet.

“She’s just sleeping. I didn’t know which glass you’d choose, so she got quite a dose.” Paul ran his hand gently along Saoirse’s arm, his expression sorrowful but resigned.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Miranda knelt beside them, reaching over to cup his cheek. “A different time, a different place … we could have been friends. But we live in such a difficult world.”

His mind was screaming at him to hold on to consciousness, but he could feel his limbs growing heavier and heavier as he faded slowly into the darkness.

Chapter 5

Jake

Consciousness returned slowly. He could feel the gentle sway of the river cradling him. He was still on the boat. He kept his eyes closed, for two reasons: because he knew he would feel like emptying his stomach as soon as he opened them, and because he didn’t want to alert Paul and the others to his return to consciousness. He waited, forcing himself to remain still as feeling slowly returned to his limbs.

His feet were on the wooden floor, and there was cold wind on his face, so he knew they were outside. Probably near the prow of the ship. His wrists were tied above his head. He tensed his arm muscles, testing the restraints, which held strong.

He risked opening one eye. It was still dark, but there was already a faint sliver of light on the horizon. Dawn would be coming soon. He felt hope bloom inside him. If they survived until light, the Remur would be weaker, and it would be much easier to fight them. He needed to activate the tracker on his wrist and alert the team.

“I know you’re awake, Jake,” Paul said easily. “I might not have told you the entire truth earlier. I was with the Direction générale de la sécurité intérieure, you know?”

Shit. The French Military Foreign Intelligence Agency.

Sawyer opened his eyes and looked around him nonchalantly. He and Paul were alone on deck for now. ”Where’s Saoirse?”

“She’ll be here soon enough. Miranda and Amélie are getting her ready.”

“Ready for what?” He could feel himself losing his cool. “You bastard!”

“Tsk, tsk. Such coarse language. Typical for someone from your side of the Atlantic, of course.”