Page 54 of Dagger’s Shield

Last night, I’d handed Dagger more ammunition than any woman had ever given him. Begging, tears, and the sight of me shattered and needy in a way I had never allowed any man to see. I expected he’d use every round of it.

Twenty minutes passed. He pointed out a hawk hunting over the bare vines. He complained that French radio played too much American music. He asked whether Marthe would poison his breakfast for keeping me out all night.

The only thing he didn’t mention was what had happened after we returned from dinner.

By the time we turned up the drive to the chateau, I’d stopped waiting and studied him instead, the way I would study a suspect whose behavior didn’t match his crimes.

Marthe opened the door before we reached it. She looked at me, then at Dagger, then at me again, and the corner of her mouth twitched in a way that, on any other face, would have been a grin. She said something in French about young people and cold nights, and muttered her way toward the kitchen.

“Do I want to know?” Dagger asked.

“No.”

She thought we’d spent the night doing exactly what we hadn’t spent the night doing. I didn’t correct her.

Dagger carried our coats to the closet, kissed my forehead in full view of the staircase, in case anyone was watching, and went to find breakfast.

I stood in the hall for a moment longer.

My father collected on every kindness he had ever performed.

Dagger had buried it instead.

I stored it away with everything else about him that didn’t fit, in a file that was getting thick.

After breakfast, Dagger excused himself from the table while Marthe was pouring my second coffee. By the time I finished eating and came upstairs, his laptop was open on the desk in my bedroom and he was reading something on his mobile.

“Any fallout downstairs?” he asked without looking up.

“If you mean has anyone asked where we were last night, the answer is no. Otherwise, Marthe is making coq au vin and expects us to be here for dinner this evening. My father is in his office, shouting at someone about barrel deliveries, and Rémy left for the co-op in Beaune twenty minutes ago. Oh, and my mother wants to discuss wedding flowers.”

“Did she say when?”

“I think I can put her off until midafternoon.”

“Then, we need to get busy.” He turned his laptop so I could see the screen. “Hornet came through overnight.”

Yesterday, I’d said the Fontenay name gave me more to search for in the domaine’s financials. Hornet’d assured me he could get access, and based on what I saw on the screen, he had.

The message contained a login, instructions, and a single line that made Dagger smile: Look. Don’t touch.

“What’s the setup?” I asked while he worked through Hornet’s notes.

“He found a back way in through the estate’s outside accountants,” Dagger said. “They use the same system, and they review the year-end files every December. If anyone ever checks who looked at the books, this morning will look like the bookkeeper in Dijon doing exactly that. Nothing points at this house, and nothing points at us.”

“And Rémy will see nothing unusual.”

“That’s right.”

He slid the laptop in front of me and stood so I could sit in the chair.

I rested my hands on the keys and took a deep breath.

“Maëlle.” Dagger’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to be the one to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” I opened the sales ledgers. “If there is something wrong in these books, I want to be the one who finds it.”

I went straight to Fontenay.