“And what wereyouabout, leaving her to die alone?” Mr. Clarke spat back. “For what? What were you doing that was more important than Goldie? Than your own daughter?”
“Is she?” Lawrence asked with deadly calm. “None of my other children lived. What’s different about this one?”
“You aren’t suggesting—”
“Only what I have often suspected over the course of the last thirty-three years and more.”
The words came at her with the sharpness of blades. Mother would never break her marriage vows. Would she? Had she?“How I wish you knew your father”were among Mother’s final words. But surely she was referring to the husband who had been so absent in both of their lives. Lauren was Lawrence Westlake’s daughter. But at this moment, she was too ashamed of him to say so.
“Stop.” She scraped the scattered pieces of her courage together. Could they see that inside she was cut and bleeding? Was that Lawrence’s intention? To hurt her in order to derail her? It pained her to realize he wasn’t above such a move.
“This isn’t about Mother,” she said. “This is about you and the Napoleon Society. About all those fakes you sent your members, the fake canopic jars you sold to Sanderson, the fake jewelry you auctioned off at the gala. Daniel Bradford is Dr. Daniel DeVries, isn’t he? That’s why Aaron Tomkins threw me out of his shop before I had a chance to verify the authenticity of his stock. After Joe’s visit, when he asked to be put in touch with Bradford, Tomkins must have reached DeVries and been told not to have anything to do with me or Joe.”
Mr. Clarke sat down on a stool, stunned into silence.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lawrence told her.
“I do know what I’m talking about. That’s why you wanted meto write articles for you. But you wanted them so you could learn how to get better at your craft. I must say, whoever worked on that coffin got it right. The only other forgery that came close to fooling me was Moretti’s Book of the Dead. Mr. Clarke has no reason to sell forgeries. This is the work of the Napoleon Society.”
“Lawrence!” The strangled voice came from Mr. Klein. “I warned you!” Sweat darkened the hair at his temples.
Shock rippled through her as she stared at the registrar. “You’re one of the forgers.”
“I’m not justoneof the forgers,” he sneered with a German accent. “I’m the best. Lawrence and Daniel had the right connections, but none of what you described would have been possible without me.”
Faster than thought, he jerked her by the arm, spinning and pinning her against him. She felt his heartbeat at her back, his hot breath near her ear, and a circle of cold metal at her head.
CHAPTER
35
Joe burst into the room, Oscar behind him, weapons drawn. Fred Klein clutched Lauren to himself, a pistol pressed to her temple.
“NYPD! Put the gun on the floor and your hands in the air!” Joe shouted.
Oscar circled around, keeping his firearm trained on Klein from a different angle.
Klein only squeezed Lauren harder. Joe couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t face the terror in her eyes, nor the fact that he was to blame for pulling her into this hunt in the first place. He channeled every ounce of concentration onto the gunman.
“I can’t go back,” Klein shouted. “I won’t!” The accent brought to mind every conversation he’d had with Peter Braun. Klein was desperate not to be deported to Germany. Desperate men did desperate things.
“Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about it,” Joe said, his senses razor sharp. “This looks bad for you, Fred, but if you cooperate, I’ll see that you have an easier time. Drop the gun.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then start talking if you want me to hear your side of the story before I shoot you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Fred scoffed, maneuvering so that Lauren’s body more fully shielded his.
“You willing to bet your life on it?” Joe’s hand was steady and sowas his voice. But there was no way he’d take a shot that might hurt the woman he loved. Unless hurting her would save her life.Please, God, don’t let it come to that.
“Is this about money?”
Joe didn’t look, but he recognized Theodore Clarke’s voice.
“Name a figure, young man, and I’ll pay it,” the millionaire offered. “In cash, if you prefer it. Just let her go, nice and easy.”
“Cash,” repeated Fred. “Now, there’s a smart idea.”
