“Is he alive or dead?” The coldness in his eyes assured her that he only cared about Jude’s living or dying because of the effect that might have onhisfuture. Not because he had an ounce of concern for Jude.
“Alive.”
“The FBI learned of my deal with Jude, Gemma. Either they were monitoring us and Jude and I are both under investigation. Or Jude’s an undercover agent working with them. Which is it?”
“He’s an undercover agent.”
He cursed. “Were you aware of that?”
Gemma stacked her palms on the table, registering its chill. “I’ve known that Jude’s an undercover agent for three months. Ever since he came to me and informed me that the FBI was aware of your willingness to sell Rhapsodie's secrets. Jude asked if I'd help bring you down. I told him that I would.”
Cedric’s head pulled back—disgust and fury evident.
“Everything that followed—my communication with you about Jude, our dinner at the restaurant. It was all part of an FBI operation. I came by to tell you face-to-face that I couldn’t be prouder of my part in it, especially now that you've injured Jude. I'd do it ten times over again.”
“How could you?” he sneered.
“How couldyou?” she shot back, icy. “The Bettencourts have been Rhapsodie's protectors for four hundred years.”
“You traitor. My own flesh and blood—”
“You’re the traitor.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I remember the boy you were, and I still have fondness for him. But your actions as an adult have done far too much damage. We both know you've left a wake of crimes behind you. My father's in jail for some of them. And now you're willing to betray Rhapsodie for money?No. It's time for you to pay for what you've done.”
He hurled venomous French words at her.
She rose. “If Jude had died, I'd have come after you with grenades.” She walked toward the sliding door and the guard.
He rattled his handcuffs in their ring and tried to lunge for her. It was no use. He was trapped.
She left with her head held high.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
When Gemma reached Jude’s hospital room, she found the Camden contingent still present.
This was New York City. One square foot of interior space cost more here than anywhere else. Even guests of honor at hospitals, like Jude was, did not get huge single rooms. So it was wall-to-wall bodies when Gemma entered. They all turned toward her.
“Hi.” She addressed the group. “I came back to check on the patient.” Her eyes met Jude's and she watched as relief came over his face and relaxed his shoulders. She had that outsider feeling again in this company, but it was plain to see that he viewed her as his favorite insider.
“The patient is doing very well,” Felix said. “And you're right on time to vote in the debate we're having.”
“Oh?”
“We're arguing,” Felix continued, “over which of the four of us guys looks the best in a hospital gown.”
That elicited a surprised laugh from Gemma. The day had been so fraught that humor felt rusty but welcome. Like a green sprout pushing its way up through scorched earth.
“It's pure ridiculousness.” Fiona rolled her eyes.
“It's a serious dispute,” Felix maintained. “I, of course, think I should win. When I had my rotator cuff fixed twenty-eight years ago, I looked fantastic in my hospital gown. I made extra effort to put on this type of accepting, calm, and courageous face.” He demonstrated the expression to Gemma.
“I was married to you at the time,” Fiona said, “and I remember you as pouting and irritable before and after that surgery.”
“I had to wear a hospital gown last fall when I had a chest infection and, no question, I rocked it the best of anyone in this room.” Jeremiah crossed his arms, lips curving. “I'm an international sex symbol.”
“So am I,” Felix said.
“You're a senior citizen,” Jeremiah pointed out.
