Chapter Twenty-Eight

“LADIES, IF YOU’LL EXCUSE US.” Constantine addressed the women in English, which had been the language of conversation for the evening. He pushed his chair back from the dinner table.

He was a handsome man in his late fifties. His dark hair, gray at the temples, brushed his shoulders. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, and he wore a day’s worth of beard on his tanned face.

Like Nicholas, Constantine wore a light-colored shirt and darker trousers. Even in casual clothes, he spoke and moved with authority.

He stood behind Yasmin’s chair and pulled it back, then reached to take her hand as she tottered on very high heels. “Enjoy the sunset. I’ll have Theo bring champagne.”

Yasmin smiled and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Acacia averted her eyes from the intimate display as Nicholas pulled out her chair and helped her to her feet.

“Andy,” he murmured a new nickname as he lifted her hand to his lips. He didn’t break eye contact as he kissed her palm and the inside of her wrist. “I’ll join you soon.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Yasmin and Constantine watching.

She touched Nicholas’s cheek and stroked the area under his scar. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

His arm slid around her waist, and he caressed her exposed back with his fingertips. Acacia’s nerves sparked to life under his touch and she shivered, her eyes fixed on his mouth. She wanted to kiss him.

He must have felt her reaction. He brought his lips to her ear. “Soon.”

He stepped away, his dark eyes shining.

She blushed a little and followed Yasmin.

Acacia wore an indigo halter dress that fell to her lower thigh. Although high heels would not have threatened Nicholas’s height, she’d eschewed them in favor of silver sandals that laced gladiator style to her knees.

Yasmin led her to a terrace below the dining area that looked out over the sea at the setting sun.

“How long have you been with him?” Yasmin reclined against the cushions of a comfortable chair, her gold dress billowing about her like a queen.

“Not long.” Acacia sat opposite and set her bag to one side.

A servant appeared with an ice bucket and expensive champagne. He served them before disappearing back into the dining area, where the low voices of the men could barely be heard.

“Cheers.” Yasmin lifted her glass, and Acacia returned her salute.

Yasmin appeared to be about ten years younger than Acacia, which would place her in her mid-twenties. She was petite with long, straight black hair and wide doe eyes. She was very, very beautiful.

“Does his scar bother you?”

Startled, Acacia almost choked. She swallowed her champagne in a rush. “No, why should it?”

“He’d be handsome without it. I suppose it gives him a dangerous look that’s sort of attractive. Men from Monaco tend to be playboys.” She fixed Acacia with a challenging eye.

Acacia shrugged, because she didn’t know what to say.

“Every nationality has its drawbacks,” the young woman continued. “Greeks have tempers, but they know how to relax. Not like the Germans.”

Acacia was about to ask a question when Yasmin spilled champagne on herself.

She cursed in Arabic.

Acacia stood and wrested the cloth from the champagne bottle. She handed it to Yasmin. “I’m sorry about your dress,” she said in Arabic.

Yasmin looked up at her in shock. “You speak my language?”

“Yes.”

The younger woman took the cloth and dabbed at her dress before tossing it aside. “Sit down, sit down. I get so tired of speaking English. Constantine doesn’t speak Arabic, and I don’t speak Greek. Are you from Jordan?”

Acacia hid her face as she sat and rearranged her dress. “I’m from Brazil. But the man who taught me Arabic was Jordanian.”

“I thought so. You sound Jordanian.” Yasmin beamed. “Are you Muslim?”

Acacia blinked. “No.”

Yasmin gestured to her hamsa pendant. “I know non-Muslims wear it for good luck, but when I saw it I wondered. Why did you learn Arabic?”

“I wanted to study international relations,” Acacia lied.

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you translate for Pierre?” Yasmin sipped her champagne again.

“No, I don’t have anything to do with his work.” Acacia mirrored Yasmin’s movements. “Do you translate for Constantine?”

Yasmin laughed. “Never. I’m a trained engineer, and he doesn’t let me do anything with that, either. But I find ways of amusing myself.”

Acacia suppressed her surprise. “What kind of engineering?”

“Mechanical. I studied in Germany.” Yasmin relaxed in her chair and rested her head on the cushions. “Most of Constantine’s associates are so boring. They’re all business types.

“Pierre is nice, of course. He’s one of the few men who doesn’t treat me as if I’m an idiot. He was with that Swiss woman before. The model.”

“Yes.” Acacia’s tone grew frosty. She couldn’t help it. The mention of Silke made her tense.

Yasmin wore a speculative expression. “Is he good to you?”

“Very.” Acacia smiled.

“When you move on, avoid Russians.” Yasmin finished her champagne and stood to pour another. “Let’s get drunk. The men could talk for hours.”

She filled Acacia’s glass and placed the bottle in the bucket.

Acacia looked hard at the champagne. She had no intention of getting drunk. But perhaps she could distract Yasmin by persuading her to talk about herself.

“Do you mind if I ask about Russians? I haven’t encountered any so far, but I’d rather be prepared.”

Yasmin gave Acacia a searching look. Then she lifted her gaze to the dining area where Pierre and Constantine stood. They were deep in conversation, both held glasses of what looked like Scotch, and Constantine was smoking a cigar.

“I hate when he does that.” Yasmin wrinkled her nose. “The smell will be all over him. And later it will be all over me.”

She returned to her seat and took a long draught of champagne. “I was with a Russian before Constantine. He knows, but we don’t discuss it.”

Acacia eyed the men on the balcony. “Was the Russian bad to you?”

“You could say that. Of course, I didn’t know what I was getting into. I met him at a club in Frankfurt.” Yasmin turned to face the sunset.

When she didn’t continue, Acacia remained silent, trying to figure out what to say next.

“He was a Philistine,” Yasmin remarked. “Lots of money made quickly. No culture, no class. It was like living with a barbarian.”

Acacia made a sympathetic noise.

“So I’m with him, and he takes me out. He buys me presents. He invites me to his home in Russia, and I go. Then I’m stuck in his house, outside Moscow, in the middle of winter.

“He has all this stuff, all these valuable things, hidden in a secret room. He won’t let anyone look at them, not even me—well, not on purpose. He had a Fabergé egg. Do you know what that is?”

“I’ve only seen them in pictures. They’re very rare.”

“Exactly. It was small, but it was gorgeous. It was made of gold and had a large diamond on it. It sat on its own pedestal. But instead of displaying it in the open, he had it on a shelf in a vault, next to a pair of elephant tusks.”

“Elephant tusks?”

“Yes.” Yasmin laughed. “Can you believe it? Running from the floor almost to the ceiling are these ivory tusks and then a Fabergé egg. He had no sense of style, no concept of how to display art. I’m not even sure he knew what he had.” She passed a hand over her eyes. “On the other side of the tusks was a drawing of a little girl having her hair done. And the room was full, floor to ceiling with all kinds of artifacts—just thrown into the room the way someone stores junk.”

“Why didn’t he have the items on display?”

Yasmin threw her hands up. “Exactly. He owned a huge, modern house with expensive décor. When we went out, he threw money around like he was a king. But then he had all these hidden treasures. I found the vault by mistake one day when I was in that part of the house and he’d left the door open. The asshole dragged me out by my hair and punished me.”

Acacia inhaled loudly. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s when I knew I had to get out. I like sex, and I like to party, but I draw the line at punishment. Too bad it took me a few months to get away from him.”

“He wouldn’t let you go?”

Yasmin gave Acacia a hard look. “You know how it is.”

Acacia nodded as if she knew.

“I bided my time, I saved all the money I could get my hands on, and I built a ladder so I could climb out the bedroom window.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.” Yasmin was triumphant. “I’m an engineer; I build things. I bribed one of the boys in the kitchen to smuggle me off the estate and into Moscow. Then I left the country. I was lucky. I heard rumors of other girls who were caught trying to escape.” She drank more champagne.

“Were you worried he’d come after you?”

“Of course. That’s why I went to the Jordanian embassy. I kept my mouth shut about what happened and told them I was a tourist who’d lost her passport. When I got back to Frankfurt, I hooked up with Constantine. I told him about the Russian, and he promised to protect me. I’ve been with him ever since.”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

“So am I.” Yasmin gestured to the bottle. “Let’s finish this so we can get another.”

Acacia knew better than to try to keep pace with Yasmin’s drinking. That’s why at the end of the evening, she was still sober when she and Nicholas returned to the villa.

A security agent she had never met swept them for bugs, but found nothing. Acacia realized the world Nicholas inhabited was one in which trust was entirely absent.

He thanked her for accompanying him to dinner, but he was distant as he escorted her to her room. He didn’t ask what she’d discussed with Yasmin. Instead, he bid her good evening and strode away without a backward glance.

Acacia assumed his meeting with Constantine had not gone as planned. Nicholas had been silent the entire drive home, almost grim. Perhaps the whole trip had been a waste.

She removed her makeup and was about to take a shower when her stomach growled. The idea of a midnight snack led to thoughts of eggs, which led to thoughts of Fabergé, which led back to her conversation with Yasmin.

Yasmin’s Russian lover had been a collector. But he’d appeared to gather objects rather than artwork, with the exception of the drawing Yasmin mentioned—a little girl having her hair done.

Something about the description stuck in Acacia’s mind.

She pulled out her laptop and clicked on an image she’d saved, The Mante family by Degas. The pastel drawing featured three females, including a young ballerina whose mother was fixing her hair.

Acacia closed her eyes and went over the evening’s conversation in her head. Yasmin had described her lover’s collection as a haphazard assortment, hidden in a secret room. She listed a Fabergé egg, elephant tusks, and a drawing of a little girl having her hair done.

Acacia racked her memory to think of another famous drawing that matched Yasmin’s description. None came to mind.

On impulse, she accessed an online art database she’d used at the Sorbonne and typed “hair” into the search engine. She filtered the results, excluding sculptures and carvings. A few works remained, but many of them featured women and not girls. A painting from The Hague depicted a girl having her hair done, but according to the website, the painting wasn’t missing.

Acacia drummed her fingers against the desk. It was probably a coincidence. The drawing Yasmin described could have been done by anyone, including a friend or relative of the Russian, which would explain why it didn’t appear in the database.

Nicholas’s sister had been murdered because of a similar drawing, and her murder remained unsolved. Certainly Nicholas deserved every piece of information related to the artwork, even if it was only coincidental.

Acacia closed her laptop and drew a deep breath. Nicholas wasn’t in a happy mood. Despite keeping up appearances at the party, it was clear he was upset about something. She didn’t relish bearding the lion in his den, but she felt honor bound to tell him what she’d learned.

It was dark, and the moon was high in a cloudless sky. She could see its reflection below on the sea and the surface of the pool. A breath of wind blew her curls about her face and floated over her skin.

Still dressed for dinner, she skirted the pool and walked to Nicholas’s bedroom. She knocked on the door.

A moment later he emerged, his white shirt unbuttoned and untucked and his feet bare. Acacia couldn’t help but notice his trousers. It looked as if he had just pulled them on—they were zipped but unfastened at the top.

Acacia felt her mouth grow dry.

He leaned a hand against the doorpost. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I mean no.” She frowned. “I came to help you.”

“I’m eager for help,” he teased.

Her frown deepened.

He pushed himself off the doorpost. “Come in. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I’ve had enough.”

He chuckled and moved to a bar set against the wall. He poured a glass of tonic water and topped it with a wedge of lemon. “Dinner was delicious, don’t you agree?”

“Yasmin said something I think you should know.”

Nicholas’s eyes lasered into hers. “What did she say?”

Acacia dug her fingernails into her palms, suddenly anxious. “You were right; she was eager for someone to talk to. We chatted in Arabic, and she told me about her ex-boyfriend, a Russian.”

Nicholas put down his glass. His eyes grew alert. “Continue.”

“She didn’t tell me his name, just that he had an estate outside Moscow. Yasmin said his money was new and he’d made it quickly. He collected things, but she referred to him as a Philistine who had no idea what he had.”

“And did she?” His tone was harsh.

“Not precisely. He had a secret room at the estate, where he kept everything. She only saw it once, but she described a Fabergé egg, a pair of elephant tusks, and a drawing.”

“Acacia,” he cautioned. “Forgeries are legion in the art world. It’s very easy for the nouveau riche to be duped or to pretend to have an original just to impress.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “He wasn’t trying to impress her; she was already living with him. He kept the goods secret, even from her. But that’s not why I’m here. She said there was a drawing of a little girl having her hair done.”

Nicholas stared.

When he didn’t respond, Acacia grew flustered. “I didn’t think to ask her about it. It didn’t occur to me until later that she could have seen your Degas. But I searched a fine art database for an image of a girl having her hair done. The only drawing I could find was the one stolen from you.”

Nicholas’s expression grew rigid. “You think the Russian has it?”

“I don’t know. Yasmin didn’t describe the girl as a ballerina, so perhaps the drawing is by someone else. But if her boyfriend was a collector, it’s possible the items in his vault were genuine. It’s possible he has your drawing.”

“She didn’t mention his name?”

“No. She said he punished her when he found her in his secret room. She escaped by climbing out a window.”

Nicholas exhaled. “That’s quite a story.”

“I thought you should know.”

“She could be lying.”

“Certainly. But she says Constantine is aware that she fled from this Russian and has pledged to protect her.”

Nicholas rubbed his chin. “He mentioned something about her having a troubled past.”

“She’s a Jordanian engineer who worked in Frankfurt. It sounds like her troubles began with the Russian.”

Nicholas covered his face with his hands.

Acacia watched as his shoulders began to shake.

She touched his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was only trying to help.”

Nicholas threw back his head and roared at the ceiling. He lifted Acacia into his arms and twirled her around, laughing. “I knew you’d bring me luck. I knew it.”

She gasped and clutched his shoulders. “What have I done?”

He stopped spinning and held her against his chest, her feet dangling above the floor. “I’ve been investigating the theft from various angles—the crew, the buyer, the artwork. I know the crew was Bosnian, but I don’t know who the buyer was. Because the goods are tied to a murder, all my leads were quickly exhausted.”

He placed Acacia on her feet, but kept his arms around her. “A few years ago, I heard rumors about a Russian collector with indiscriminate taste who’s been buying up artifacts. I haven’t been able to uncover his identity.”

“You know about him?”

“I don’t know if the collector I’ve been hearing about is Yasmin’s Russian. There’s a lot of money in Russia, much of it from the black market. The man I heard about is one of the top figures and very powerful. I had hoped my meeting in Paris would bring me closer to finding him. Then Marcel was attacked.”

“The Russian had Marcel attacked?”

“Not the Russian, the dealer I was supposed to meet. He does business in Russia. But Yasmin’s description and her connection may lead me to the man I’m looking for.”

He twirled Acacia around again, grinning widely.

When he stopped, she was almost breathless. She remained wrapped tightly in his arms, lifted off her feet.

His eyes searched hers. He leaned closer, just an inch. “Acacia,” he whispered.

She could feel his breath on her face.

He loosened his hold a fraction, and she slid down his chest. Yet when her feet found the floor, he didn’t release her.

Her hands rested on his chest, the gap between the two sides of his unbuttoned shirt revealing a sculpted physique dusted with dark hair. She could smell his cologne and beneath it, the clean aroma of soap.

His left hand slid down the exposed skin of her back to span the hollow just above where the skirt of her dress began. He flexed his hand, and she felt the warmth of their contact ripple up her spine.

His other hand pushed the curls away from her cheek. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how beautiful you looked this evening.”

Embarrassed, she wanted to look away, but found she couldn’t.

His dark brows drew together. “You’re so much more than a beautiful face. But can’t I praise your beauty?”

She didn’t answer.

He cupped her cheek. “You charmed Constantine and Yasmin. Your charm is why she took you into her confidence.”

“Sometimes you long to be able to speak your first language with someone who understands.”

He smiled. “I think it’s more than just your facility with Arabic. It’s you.”

She leaned against his palm.

“Acacia, there’s so much corruption in my world. Lies, betrayal, viciousness. You don’t know how lovely it is to be in the presence of someone truthful and honorable.”

She laughed softly. She couldn’t help herself. It had been a long time since she’d received such compliments. She was out of practice.

“I like to hear you laugh.” Nicholas tightened his hold and brought her chest against his. “Look at those eyes. A man could get lost in eyes like those.”

He lowered his mouth to within a hair’s breadth of hers. Acacia closed her eyes.

There was a pause, which seemed to last forever. Then something warm pressed against her cheek.

Nicholas repeated the embrace on her other cheek and released her.

Confused, she opened her eyes.

He stood a foot away, out of reach.

“Good night, Acacia,” he said gruffly. “Rest well.”

She stood and gazed up at him, baffled by what had just happened.

Nicholas’s eyes were carefully guarded.

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she fled, her indigo dress fanning out as she ran like a deer to her room.