Focus on the phone.I found Tristan in my contacts and called.
He answered before my brain started tugging toward more memories of my mother. “My meeting starts in ten. What’s up?”
“You’re on speaker.” I tapped the button and recapped everything, including the possibility she was going to be traveling with a Fabergé egg.
There was a long pause before Tristan spoke. “You’re shitting me?”
Grace blurted out, “I think it’s the Hen with Sapphire Pendant. At least, that’s what an internet search brought up. No one really knows what it looked like, except that it included a hen, encrusted with diamonds and sapphires, with a sapphire in its beak.”
“If this is real,” I said, “this is a big fucking deal.”
Grace sat up straighter, reaching for one of the scarves and fidgeting with it. “Well, at least it makes for a more interesting trip than I expected?”
It was likely meant as a statement, but it came out as a question. The subtle shake in her voice and the‘at least’almost had me on the floor hugging her. A hug? Where did that come from?
“Jesus Christ, I thought you meant it was an old brooch or something, not a fucking Russian treasure,” Tristan snapped. “You are not going to London alone.”
“Exactly my thoughts.” I set my phone on the table and resisted the urge to pace. “If someone already knows about it, the authenticator might have tipped them off. You can’t trust him.”
“But he’s the go-to guy for this sort of stuff. Meeting with him is a big deal.”
“Whether he is or not may not matter,” Tristan said. “Word spreads in these circles. The kind of people who hunt for these eggs? They have networks. And they pay for information.”
I reassembled the egg, stowing it in its velvet bag. “I think most of the privately held Imperial Eggs are owned by Russian oligarchs. They’re obsessive collectors.”
“How do you—” She dragged the bag across the table. “Do you think that’s who those guys at my shop work for? Some Russian billionaire?”
“Could be.” I retook my seat, rather than continuing to tower over her and, no doubt, stress her out even more. “And they’re not known for playing nice.”
Yeah, comments like that won’t stress her out, either.
She fiddled with the bagandthe scarf, as if the activity calmed her nerves. “Okay, so I need to be careful. I can be careful.”
“You need an escort for this trip,” Tristan said firmly.
I scanned her apartment, identifying the risk points. The windows, the flimsy locks, the isolated bedroom. Too many weak points. And then there was Grace herself. Sure, I barely knew her, but she wore her hopeless optimism on her sleeve, which meant she was completely unprepared for what she was walking into.
“Arthur’s heading to Monaco with Merlin tomorrow, so he’s out,” Tristan said. “I need to hold down the fort here while he’s gone. Lance could?—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I’d intended. Lance was a liability when it came to beautiful women. The last thing Grace needed was a love-struck Romeo following her around London.
Without missing a beat, Tristan dryly said, “That leaves you, Galahad.”
Fuck. White Spring was expecting me. This career move was important. “I’ve got meetings in DC.”
“Our jet’s being delivered today for Arthur’s Monaco trip. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind dropping you off in London and bringing you back, or flying you directly to DC. Get Grace to London and back safely, and you’ll be in DC in plenty of time for your meetings.”
I looked at Grace, then back at the phone. The logical part of my brain said to walk away. This wasn’t my problem. But Grace’s eyes reminded me of my mother. Afraid but trying to hide it. Utterly unprepared for what was facing her. Like she was a target for bigger men who’d treat her as an obstacle rather than a person.
“Fine,” I all but grunted.
“Thanks,” Tristan said, relief evident in his voice. He obviously cared for this woman. “I’ll call Arthur, brief him on the situation.”
“Wait.” Grace held up her hands. “Do I get a vote in this? I have a flight booked. I don’t need a private jet.”
“Cancel it,” I said.
“But—”
