“Yes,” she said. “His name's Cedric Bettencourt.”
After four hundred years of loyalty, Cedric was willing to sell his family’s secret? “How can I help?”
“Our plan,” Dixon said, “hinges on this woman, Gemma Clare.” He opened a file and spread out three large photos of a beautiful redhead. One shot of her looked like something taken from a LinkedIn profile. The other two were surveillance shots. “She’s Cedric's cousin and lives near here, in Bayview. Gemma's a perfumer and she's dating a guy who works in the perfume industry in New York. Cedric trusts her. He's already asked if Gemma's boyfriend might be willing to buy the secrets he's selling. So far, Gemma hasn't given Cedric an answer.”
“We want to intervene,” Shannon said, “and see if we can gain her cooperation before she broaches this subject with her boyfriend and before she gives Cedric an answer.”
“What kind of cooperation are you hoping she'll provide?” Jude asked.
“We're hoping she'll tell Cedric that her boyfriend is interested in buying. Then we'll send you in undercover as her boyfriend.”
Her boyfriend? Jude looked between them. “Cedric doesn't know her boyfriend's name or what he looks like?”
“Fortunately for us,” Shannon replied, “no. Gemma's private. She's not on social media. She keeps the details about her romances to herself.”
Dixon tilted back his chair. “Gemma will introduce you to Cedric and his sidekick.”
“We’re thinking of presenting you as someone who’s wealthy, runs in the same circles as numerous CEOs, and isn’t afraid to bend the law,” Shannon added.
“You establish a relationship with Cedric,” Dixon said. “And eventually offer to buy the secrets on behalf of one of your contacts.”
“I’m tracking with it,” Jude told him.
“Good”—Dixon spread his hands—“because you’re the only one in the office who’s right for the role.”
In fact, he was one of the few in the office even eligible for the role. He'd completed undercover training two years ago. Since then, they'd only tapped him for a couple of short-term UC ops so he’d mostly been doing casework like the other agents.
“Gemma’s thirty,” Shannon said. “You’re the right age to be her boyfriend.”
Jude was thirty-two.
“You look the part,” Dixon added. “Gemma’s gorgeous and none of the rest of the jokers in this office are good-looking enough for her.”
“You speak French,” Shannon pointed out.
“I took French in middle school and high school but I don't speak it fluently.”
“You speak it better than the rest of us,” Dixon said.
Shannon cracked a rare smile. “Best of all, you know how to act rich.”
Inwardly, Jude flinched. He’d done everything he could to separate himself from his past. Even so, he was reminded often that there would never be any true escape from it.
“As always, it'll take us a while to lay the groundwork and do our research,” Dixon said. It wasn't easy to establish a UC identity. It required documentation, a digital history, IDs, evidence to support an entire fictional life. “Are you interested?” Dixon asked.
“Absolutely,” Jude said without hesitation.
Jonah woke from a nap the following afternoon to classical music that sounded like it had been written by a Spaniard who wanted people to dance to it while clamping a rose in their teeth.
The music meant Remy was working.
He sat up and carefully swung his legs over the side of Remy’s bed. He’d been on the island eight days now and his rib pain had decreased to about a five out of ten.
Last night, he’d informed Remy that he would sleep on the pallet so that she could have her bed back. She’d flatly refused. When he tried to be noble and insist, she got angry the way she had the day he’d tricked her into handfeeding him. Her cheeks turned pink, and her hand gestures jabbed the air. Her irritation was the best entertainment he had on Islehaven.
He now washed his own clothes and had started showing up to help make and clean up their meals. Remy didn’t welcome his presence in the kitchen and if he was really lucky, she’d even stick her chin in the air and huff.
Quietly, he made his way toward the studio.
