13
FIONA
“Oh, my God.”My breath caught in my throat. “There are guards. How are we going to get in?”
Why had I not realized there would be security? It was so obvious. Of course, an event like this would be carefully protected.
I turned to Zeke, panic rising within me. He gave me a look that said to be quiet. I glared at him but didn’t utter another word. He’d implied he could get us in, but I hadn’t thought of this. Had he? Based on the confident way he guided me toward them, I assumed he had some kind of plan. I couldn’t ask any questions without risking them overhearing so I tried my best not to look as though I was on the verge of a meltdown.
As we approached the first security guard, I realized I was hardly breathing and forced myself to inhale and exhale steadily. I’d suggested we do this. I’d volunteered for this role. I couldn’t fail at the first hurdle. I plastered a smile on my face and hoped it looked real.
The man approached us, holding a tablet.
“Zane Wilson and Fiona Ryan,” Zeke said, using the same tone with which he’d tell someone he wanted steak and a glass of wine.
The man checked the tablet. I squeezed Zeke’s hand, certain we were going to be called out any second, but the guy waved us through. My shoulders slumped as we took the stairs onto the yacht, out of the danger zone.
“How did you do that?” I asked quietly.
“It wasn’t me,” he replied. “From now on, be careful what you say. You don’t know who could be listening. Don’t mention anything out of character.”
“Got it.” That would be easier for me than him because I was playing myself. I wondered who Zane Wilson was supposed to be. Was he an old alias Zeke had brought out of retirement or something new that his team had whipped up?
“This way, darling.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me further onto the yacht. I gazed around in awe. I’d never been on board anything like this before. I’d taken the water taxi, but theClaudettewas on a whole other level. The yacht was so big I could hardly even feel the slight roll as it moved with the water.
We passed men and women dressed in couture. Some were elegant, but others—particularly the younger women—had miles of skin on display. I couldn’t help wondering whether they were as much trophies to the gentlemen accompanying them as the Rolexes on the men’s wrists. In comparison, I looked dowdy, but I supposed that was the point. We didn’t want to attract more attention than necessary.
“Here, my love.” Zeke took two champagne flutes from a tray carried by a passing waiter and handed me one. I didn’t drink from it. I was worried enough without being impairedby alcohol. He sipped, then plucked a pair of oysters from a platter near the wall. He downed one and offered me the other. Hiding a grimace, I slurped the slimy thing and swallowed it as fast as I could. I liked most seafood, but I’d never warmed to oysters.
“Try this.” The pastry was small and delicate. I tried to take it, but he held it to my lips. I bit into it. The pastry practically melted in my mouth and rich chocolate oozed from the center.
I groaned. “That’s so good.”
His eyes locked on my face. “Have another.”
This time, I immediately took it from between his fingers, letting my tongue brush over his fingertips. Heat sparked in his dark eyes. I stared back, unable to look away until someone bumped into me from behind. I traced my lips with my tongue to make sure he hadn’t left any crumbs.
“Let’s look around,” I said. The sooner we could figure out whether the Monet was here, the better.
We strolled into the yacht’s main room, where display cases lined the walls and elegantly attired people mingled about. We took our time looking at each item. Even if I hadn’t known these goods were stolen, it would have been evident soon enough. There were amulets that should have been in a museum in Cairo, paintings by lesser-known greats of the eighteenth century, and a tiara that once belonged to the Russian royal family.
“This is incredible,” I breathed to Zeke. Awful, but breathtaking too. “I don’t see any flower paintings though.”
There were undoubtedly pieces here worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—maybe even millions—but nothing of the same caliber as the Monet. At least, not in my opinion.
“Maybe they’re holding it back to use as a grand finale,” Zeke murmured, his breath tickling my ear. He’d leaned close, presumably so as not to be overheard, and the sensationsent delicious tingles racing down my neck. I was sure I was blushing, but thankfully it would be difficult to tell beneath the layer of makeup.
“It’s possible they’ve put it aside somewhere with even better security and that they’ll only show it to a hand-selected group of guests with the capital to buy it,” he added.
That made sense, but I was strangely disappointed. I’d hoped to see it as soon as we arrived, so I could reassure myself we were in the right place. As it was, we’d be heading out onto the water without any certainty that we weren’t marching into danger unnecessarily.
“It’s exquisite, no?” a woman asked in a thick French accent.
I turned, finding a pair of elegant older ladies standing beside me, gazing at the tiara.
“It’s very beautiful,” I agreed, since that seemed to be what they expected of me.
The taller of the pair had silver hair and cold blue eyes that flicked over me appraisingly. “It would look stunning on you, with that red hair. Will your man buy it for you?”
