Chapter Fifteen

IT WAS A QUIET EVENING on the night shift.

Acacia attended to her list of tasks and made notes for the daytime concierge. Then she sat at her desk, deep in thought.

Madame Bishop had been surprised when Acacia declined Monsieur Cassirer’s job offer. She’d mentioned the salary and the prestige attached to becoming his executive assistant.

Diplomatically, Acacia had said she wasn’t a good fit. Madame Bishop made no secret of the fact she thought Acacia was being foolish, but she accepted her decision.

Sitting at her desk in the empty lobby of Hotel Victoire, Acacia wondered if Monsieur Cassirer’s new identity was itself a fiction. It was possible Madame Bishop was colluding with him to deceive her. Perhaps he was still angry over his arrest and fixated on revenge.

Acacia decided to Google him.

Googling Nicholas Cassirer provided very different results than when she’d searched for Pierre Breckman. There were pages and pages of entries on Nicholas, centering on his family and their vast financial empire. The Cassirers were involved in a variety of charitable and philanthropic endeavors.

Acacia found several photographs of a youthful, unscarred Nicholas at black tie functions, including a few images of him with a petite blond woman who was identified as his girlfriend. In more recent photographs, the blond was absent and his face was bearded, his scar concealed.

Acacia puzzled over Nicholas’s choice to appear unshaven and scarred while assuming the identity of Pierre Breckman. From what he’d said during their encounter at KLH, the scar was genuine. He seemed to have gone to great lengths to hide it while appearing in public as Nicholas Cassirer.

She clicked on a news item from 2007. The article made reference to the theft of several works of art from the Cassirer Foundation Museum in Cologny, Switzerland. Scanning the story, Acacia focused on three lines:

“The curator of the museum, Mlle. Riva Cassirer, was attacked during the robbery and died as a result of her injuries. Mlle. Cassirer’s great-grandfather, Édouard J. Cassirer, founded the museum. She is survived by her parents, Armand and Hélène, and her brother, Nicholas.”

Acacia stared in mounting horror. Nicholas’s sister was murdered.

The photograph that accompanied the news story showed a young, smiling red-haired woman with warm, brown eyes. The article referenced her education at the Sorbonne, as well as her devotion to public art education and the use of art therapy. She’d founded a number of scholarships and had opened the doors of the museum to children for several programs.

In that moment, Nicholas’s quest to recover stolen art took on new meaning. Art theft was a crime that almost never involved violence. The murder of Riva Cassirer was shocking, her life and good works snuffed out.

Acacia searched the internet for more information, but a recent article in a Geneva newspaper confirmed that the stolen items, which included a Degas and a Monet, had never been recovered. Riva’s murder remained unsolved.

Acacia closed her laptop. Now that she’d seen the smiling face of Riva Cassirer and learned of her tragic death, the image would haunt her. How much more did Riva’s death haunt the Cassirers.

Nicholas’s work had to be propelled by the loss of his sister. Perhaps he viewed his activities as a tribute to her, or at the very least, an attempt to right one of the wrongs that had been done to his family. Acacia wondered how far he’d go in his quest. In any case, he probably gave little thought to exacting revenge against her. He had a far more important, far more dangerous mission.

Her meeting with Monsieur Cassirer had been a revelation. Not only did she learn his true name, she’d learned the truth about what was going on behind the scenes at Hotel Victoire.

Marcel had arranged a meeting that, according to Nicholas, was related to a stolen painting. Then Marcel had been viciously attacked. Acacia wasn’t an expert on crime, but it was clear that both the attack on Marcel and the attack on Nicholas’s sister were atypical in the art world. Nicholas was the common link to both crimes.

Acacia reflected on his overreaction to her mention of the meeting Marcel had set up. She could accord Nicholas some compassion, given the loss he’d suffered. No wonder he traveled with such an extensive security detail. No wonder he’d been so persistent she quit the hotel.

When Acacia’s shift ended the following morning, she was still thinking about Riva Cassirer and her brother. She changed into jeans and motorcycle boots and exited through the service entrance at the back of the hotel.

It was after seven in the morning, and the sun had already risen. She’d parked her motorcycle illegally behind one of the dumpsters, having persuaded hotel security to turn a blind eye. Nicholas had warned her to be cautious when traveling to and from the hotel, but his warnings were superfluous. She didn’t want to end up like Marcel and would do anything in her power to avoid it.

Acacia hadn’t told Luc about her interview with Monsieur Cassirer, but he’d continued to provide her with BRB surveillance when she traveled to and from the hotel. As she walked toward the dumpsters, she looked for the unmarked car that had been parked in the alley when she arrived at work that evening.

The car was gone.

She looked toward the street, hoping to see the previous car’s replacement. But the alley and what she could see of the street were empty.

She stopped, puzzled.

Without warning, someone grabbed her from behind. A hand gripped her throat while the other tightened across her abdomen.

Acacia tensed as her worst fears were realized.

“Where’s the book?” the man whispered in French.

Relief flowed through her at the sound of the familiar language. He was not who she feared he was.

Acacia dropped her backpack and helmet and dug her elbow into the man’s side. She plowed into his kneecap with her foot and scraped the sole of her boot down his shin before stomping on his toes. He released her, howling curses in a language she did not understand.

Acacia whirled around and punched the man in the throat.

He dropped to his knees and clutched his neck.

“Get on your bike and get the hell out of here!” a voice shouted in English.

Acacia turned and saw Rick, Nicholas’s bodyguard, running toward her. Ahead of him by a few strides was another man, large and powerfully built.

Acacia gaped at Rick, then grabbed her backpack and hopped on her motorcycle. She kept her eyes trained on the two men as she switched on the vehicle.

Rick tackled the man from behind before he reached Acacia.

With a rev of the engine, she piloted the motorcycle around the dumpsters. She raced onto the street and wove in and out of traffic as adrenaline flooded her system.

She was halfway home when she realized she’d left her helmet behind.