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“And surely you appreciate my position? I don’t intend to give up the funds until the car is in my possession.”
“I suggest a compromise.” The broker opened a desk drawer, took out a pen, wrote something on a pad of paper. “Since there’s very little either of us can do until Monday, here’s the address and phone number of my Paris office. We’ll meet there. You transfer the money, I’ll personally take you to the car. Understand, though, that this arrangement may add a few hours to your trip. The car is kept at a secure warehouse at the shipping yard.”
“What time on Monday?”
“Shall we say eleven in the morning?”
“A rather tight schedule, but I think I can work around it.”
“I’ll see you then.” She heard the squeak of his chair as he rose, followed by the sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I do need to make an appearance with my guests.”
“Of course.”
Remi inched toward the cypress, peering through, as the broker ushered the other man toward the door. “By Monday, you’ll be able to see for yourself. As I do with all my clients, I’ll personally guarantee that this is the vehicle you purchased. I promise you that I have yet to know anyone who’s not had complete satisfaction.”
“Then I’ll await your call.”
“Signore Wrent. A pleasure doing business with you.”
“And you, Mr. Rossi.”
Lorenzo Rossi left the door open, returned to his desk, pulled something from his pocket. A key, she realized, ducking back as he took a seat, the chair again squeaking under his weight.
A few seconds later, the burly guard with the goatee entered, saying, in Italian, “You should be pleased with the price he paid. Your profit from that car far exceeds the total of the other cars tonight.”
“Very pleased,” Lorenzo said. “And curious. The only reason someone makes a bid that high is to ensure no one else will even bother.”
“Did he say why?”
“History,” Lorenzo replied. “He was asking about supporting documents and anxious to see the car before the money cleared. Between that and the price he paid, I find my curiosity aroused.”
“Maybe we should take another look at the car before we turn it over to him?”
“Not a bad idea.” He gave a tired sigh. “Time to play host.”
The other man stopped suddenly, turned, and walked to the balcony, reaching out to close the window, his arm so close Remi could see the faint gray pinstriping on the sleeve of his suit coat. She held her breath. One look in her direction, he’d be able to see her on the other side of the cypress.
54
Sam raised his Smith & Wesson, aiming toward the adjoining balcony as someone reached out the window, the man’s arm coming perilously close to his wife’s head. Finger on the trigger, he pressed lightly, ready, should the unthinkable happen.
“Leave it open,” a voice called out. “I’ll be coming back up to put away the buy-in once I make the rounds downstairs. It gets stuffy up here otherwise.”
The arm disappeared inside, and Sam lifted his finger from the trigger, breathing evenly now that the immediate danger had passed. A moment later, Remi looked over at him. “They’re gone,” she said quietly.
He stepped out, checking to make sure the grounds below were clear, before crossing over to her.
“Reader’s Digest version,” she said. “Definitely the right auction. The broker sold the car to someone, but I didn’t quite get the name. The car’s being held somewhere in Paris until the money clears. They never mentioned Gray Ghost, but they did say ‘forty-fifty.’”
“They give any indication they’d be back up here?”
“After he makes the rounds of the party downstairs.”
Sam peered into the darkened office. “Let’s take a quick look before they get back.”
He went first, gun drawn, just to make sure it was clear, Remi following. The first thing he checked was the door, listening for any sign of movement outside. Nothing.
“I think he locked it,” Remi whispered. “At least it sounded like it.”
