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‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding, ma belle,’ he said in a softer, more conversational tone. ‘You seem to be labouring under the impression that you can bargain with me. But understand this—you’ll use all your resources to find the paintings for me or I will hand my dossier over to Interpol. Let them decide what to do with you. As for your connection with the man who owns this house …’
A trace of colour left her smooth features. ‘What about Trevor?’
‘He knew your whereabouts when I contacted him last week and he lied to me. I’m prepared to let that affront slide if you help me.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I can easily make life difficult for him if you don’t co-operate. Given the state of his finances …’ He let his shrug finish his sentence.
What little colour there was left her face. ‘He’ll fight you. We both will.’
‘With what? He’s nearly bankrupt. And you recently liquidated ninety percent of your assets. The reason behind that isn’t yet known to me, but it’s only a matter of time.’
‘How—?’
Reiko stopped and sucked in a desperate breath. It wasn’t worth asking how he knew all this about her. The man she’d known five years ago had possessed the same single-minded intensity in his pursuits.
Only then that pursuit had been his unrelenting desire. For her. Not her talent.
Looking into his eyes, she knew he meant every word. And if Damion succeeded in finding out why she’d liquidated her assets …
Renewed panic clawed at her insides. The feeling of being cornered, of being exposed, threatened to fling her into the familiar dark void.
Fighting to keep her fraying emotions under control, she moved away from him, but Damion Fortier’s gaze tracked her, setting her on edge. ‘I never thought you’d resort to blackmail to achieve your goals, Damion,’ she bit out.
‘And I never thought you’d take a lover three weeks after leaving my bed. Let’s agree to be deeply disappointed in each other, cherie, and move on.’
The ice in his tone froze her spine.
‘To sweeten the deal, I’ll even pay you handsomely. Two million dollars for locating both paintings.’
Her mouth dropped open at the astounding figure.
A mocking smile touched his lips. ‘I thought that might get your attention. Listen to your instinct. Take the deal.’
A sense of inevitability settled on her shoulders. Damion was going nowhere. She could fight, or she could take the money. That sort of money could make a huge difference—change the lives of so many. ‘I’ll do it. For the two million. But I want something else.’
Grey eyes darkened with thinly veiled contempt. ‘Of course you do. What?’
‘Invite me to your exhibition.’
‘Non,’ he negated immediately.
Her lips tightened. ‘My talents are good enough for tracking paintings but not good enough for your crowd?’
‘Precisely,’ he parried without blinking.
His insult bounced off her. He wasn’t the first to call her character into question and he wouldn’t be the last. Reiko liked it that way. With people busy examining the glossy, showy shell of her carefully honed character, they weren’t looking underneath to the scars, the pain of loss and the constant fear that lurked there; they couldn’t see the empty darkness in her soul that she battled every waking moment to hide.
She needed the camouflage just as she needed every wit to keep Damion Fortier from finding out just how damaged she’d become.
‘I’ve been out of circulation for a while. If you want me to find your paintings quickly, don’t deny me this lead.’
The lead would also give her the chance to find the final Japanese jade statue she’d been attempting to retrieve. Her client’s last desperate call rang in her ears—one she hadn’t been able to ignore. The digging Reiko had done this past week had pointed her in the direction of a prominent French politician who’d be attending Damion’s exclusive exhibition.
When Damion’s face remained impassive, she changed tactic. ‘Your guest list reads like something out of an art collector’s fantasy. I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance to mingle with people so influential in art or come within a whisper of the famous St Valoire Ingénue collection.’
‘Your presence anywhere near my exhibition is not something I’d term a fantasy. In fact I’d call it more of a nightmare.’
