CHAPTER
TEN
A person of interest.
Maxim wasn’t altogether sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. His name and face were all over the news. He’d turned on the television to see Detective Durand urging the citizens of Paris to come forward if they had any information regarding Maxim’s background.
Maybe he should have been relieved. He wanted answers.
But being a person of interest didn’t exactly cast him in the best light. He’d promptly turned the television off.
He had to do something. Maxim figured he had only one course of action left. He needed to get in touch with Father Kozlov and make another appointment. From the sound of his message, the priest might not even know why Maxim had reached out to him. But it was worth a try, especially considering that Maxim had run out of other options.
He called the number the priest had left but was only able to reach the church secretary who informed Maxim that Father Kozlov was completely booked for the next ten days.
“I’m afraid the earliest appointment I can give you is Thursday of next week,” she said.
Maxim dropped his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do for the next week? Sit around and will himself to remember who he was?
“You don’t have anything sooner? It’s kind of an emergency.”
“Kind of an emergency or an actual emergency?”
Maxim hesitated for a beat. “An actual emergency. I’m recovering from a, um, medical problem. I think Father Kozlov may be able to help me.”
He hated talking about what had happened to him. He hated even thinking about it, given the way the police had responded to his attack.
Did everyone think he was at fault? Did everyone in Paris think he was dangerous? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
But in this instance he had no choice. If his injuries could get him an audience with Father Kozlov sooner than next week, so be it. He’d even go so far as to bring along his medical chart if necessary.
“Je suis désolé.” The secretary’s voice softened. “I can try and fit you in with Father Kozlov today, but it won’t be until later this evening. Will that work?”
“Oui. Merci beaucoup. I’ll be there.” He hung up, and for the first time since Finley had walked out his door, he felt a glimmer of hope.
Finley.
He closed his eyes and waited for the dream, the one that always came. The one he’d first seen in the hospital before he’d even found her. He waited for the vision of her hair whipping in the wind, her ruby-red lips, and her slender curves clad in black. Her hands were always tucked into her pockets, and she stood with one stilettoed foot slightly askew—the telltale adorable quirk that revealed her to be an American. Otherwise, everything about her was classically French. She was elegance personified, with history waltzing in her beguiling mind and poetry on the tip of her tongue.
This time though, his mind conjured a different portrait of her. Instead of the static memory that had gotten him through the long days and even longer nights at Hôpital Hôtel-Dieu, his mind kept coming back to the real Finley. Finley in motion. He saw her face tipped up, her eyes darkened by desire. He saw her in the moment before he’d kissed her for the first time. This wasn’t just a dream, this was a moment he’d lived. A moment he could still hear and taste and feel.
This was remembrance.
The sudden sound of Maxim’s ringtone startled him so badly that he dropped his cell as he came out of his trance. He scrambled to answer it in case it was Father Kozlov and spoke without bothering to glance at the screen.
“Allô?”
“Maxim?” The voice on the other end definitely wasn’t Father Kozlov’s. It wasn’t Detective Durand’s either. It was Finley’s.
“Oui, it’s me.” He lowered his voice, because she was practically whispering, and it seemed the thing to do.
“It’s Finley.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know. Why are we whispering?”
Her voice dropped another octave. “I’m at work. I can’t talk long, but I was wondering if we could meet again tonight . . . at Shakespeare and Company this time.”
The bookstore was a public place. Maxim was certain the choice had been deliberate. He was also certain that he didn’t care. He just wanted to see her again.
But he also wanted to see Father Kozlov, and he couldn’t be a no-show this time. “Can we make it early? I have an appointment tonight.”
“Oh.” Her surprise was evident in her voice. If Maxim wasn’t mistaken, he also detected a note of disappointment. To his great pleasure, she didn’t sound a bit like a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. “Okay, then. I’ll head straight to the bookstore after work.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, then reminded himself he was supposed to be keeping things professional.
He needed her help.
No more sexual overtures.
Note taken. He grew hard in a millisecond. Because of course he did.
“Oh, and Maxim. One more thing—can you bring the charm bracelet you mentioned?”
“Oui.” So she’d changed her mind about the bracelet? Interesting. “À tout à l’heure.” See you soon.
Night fell on Paris early in the springtime so by the time they were scheduled to meet, Shakespeare and Company was already glowing gold on its tiny corner on Rue de la Bûcherie. The twin cherry blossom trees out front had been strung with fairy lights, and a few couples sat clustered at the café tables by the entrance, giving the whole block a bohemian, romantic flavor. Finley obviously spent quite a bit of time there, and Maxim could see why. The place suited her.
When he crossed the threshold, he spotted her dog snoring away on an oversized burgundy pillow in the corner behind the cash register. Finley herself was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s not here yet,” the man behind the narrow counter said as he looked Maxim up and down. He was the same shop manager who’d practically tossed Maxim out the door on the night of Finley’s lecture, but now he seemed to be biting back a smile. “She’s always late, that one. You’ll get used to it.”
Maxim couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow lost another chunk of his memory. The guy seemed to like him all of a sudden. Just go with it. “Duly noted.”
“I’m Scott, by the way. I don’t think we formally met the other night.” He finished wrapping a book in plain brown paper, tied it with a string and handed it to the only other person in the tiny anteroom of the bookstore.
Maxim nodded. “Maxim Laurent.”
“Yes, I know.” Scott’s gaze flitted to the copy of Le Monde sitting on the sales counter. A picture of Maxim’s face was above the fold, beneath a headline that screamed, Information Sought About Person of Interest. He averted his gaze, reached for a stack of books and, one by one, began working them into the beat poetry section. The shelves were already so packed full, Maxim wouldn’t have thought it possible to fit another book, much less the half dozen or so in Scott’s arms. But he seemed to make it work.
The bell on the front door jingled, stealing Maxim’s gaze away from Scott working his magic. But a woman and a small child entered the store, not Finley.
The sound of the bell roused Gerard from his noisy, bulldog slumber, though. With a snort, he scrambled off his dog bed and wiggled his way straight toward Maxim. He collapsed belly-up at Maxim’s feet and waited to be scratched.
Maxim dutifully obeyed.
Finley’s dog was spoiled rotten, but he was so ugly he was cute.
Plus, he was Finley’s.
Scott glanced at Gerard, writhing on the floor in a fit of ecstasy. “At least the dog likes you. That’s a good sign. He doesn’t like just everybody, you know.”
Maxim stood. He didn’t know that, actually. The fact that he’d gained the approval of Finley’s dog pleased him more than it should have. “For the record, it’s not like that between Finley and me.”
He figured he needed to make that clear before Finley got there, and Scott acted as if Maxim had misled him. It probably wouldn’t happen, but Maxim didn’t want to take that chance. There were enough things working against him without adding the bookstore manager’s misconceptions to the mix.
“She mentioned that as well.” Scott rolled his eyes. “She mentioned it so many times that I know better than to believe it. Now that you’ve also brought it up, I know for a fact that the two of you are hot for each other.”
“Interesting theory,” Maxim said flatly.
Scott shrugged and slid another book in place on the shelf. “I call it like I see it.”
As if on cue, Finley chose that awkward moment to rush through the front door. She’d barely crossed the threshold before Gerard launched himself at her, wiggling and snorting in ecstasy as she showered the dog with kisses and praise. It was quite a ritual to witness. Maxim almost envied the French bulldog.
Hell, who was he kidding? He definitely did.
Finley met his gaze, scooped Gerard into her arms, and stood. “Bonjour. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
Maxim’s gaze flitted to Scott, then back to Finley. “No. Just long enough, actually.”
Her cheeks turned that captivating shade of pink that Maxim loved so much. She glared at Scott. “What did you say to him?”
“Relax, ma chéri. Maxim and I were just having a little chat.” Scott returned to his place behind the register.
Finley’s gaze flitted between him and Maxim. “That’s what scares me.”
“As it should.” Maxim winked at her.
He knew he shouldn’t flirt, but he couldn’t quite make himself stop.
Nor did he want to.
“Why did I think meeting here would be a good idea?” she muttered to the ceiling. Then she aimed a death stare at Scott. “Do not answer that.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Je suis innocent. Besides, I’ve got work to do in the back. So I’ll leave you two to your business.”
Finley’s face went a slightly brighter shade of pink at Scott’s exaggerated emphasis on the word business. Maxim pretended not to notice.
With Scott gone, the room suddenly seemed smaller, swollen with innuendo and the extreme effort it took for Maxim not to bend and kiss her cheek. Or better yet, to gather her hair in his hands and run his lips in a lazy trail down the side of her neck.
“Thank you for meeting me here tonight.” At her words, Maxim managed to drag his gaze away from her neck and look her in the eyes, pausing only briefly to notice the way she was nervously nibbling at her bottom lip.
“You’re most welcome, although I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you wanted to see me.”
Gerard began to wiggle in Finley’s arms, so she put him down. He trotted back to his bed where he spun three circles before settling down for another nap.
Without the dog to hold on to, Finley seemed even more nervous. She crossed her arms, then promptly uncrossed them. Was it Maxim’s imagination, or was her gaze focused squarely on his chest?
She blinked and refocused on his face. “My boss ordered me to return your photograph.”
Maxim got the distinct impression that this wasn’t good news. He also couldn’t help but notice that despite her announcement, Finley made no move to actually return the picture. She just stood there looking like she was trying to decide whether to slide her hands up his shirt and kiss him again or to run away.
Maxim was greatly in favor of the first option. “I see.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. She wants me to give it back to you because it’s real. The girl in the photograph—the one you say is your grandmother—is the Grand Duchess Anastasia. The research department at the Louvre confirmed it.”
Maxim grew very still.
Behind Finley, through the bookshop’s front window he could see Point Zero in the distance. He could see the bell tower of Notre Dame glowing like a beacon of hope over the banks of the river Seine. On the sacred ground of that holy place, he’d been beaten and left for dead.
Was this why? Was it because he’d found out he was a Romanov?
It had to be.
“Are you telling me I’m the last of the Tsar’s direct line?” If Finley thought so, it had to be true. “But how? You told me that wasn’t possible. Anastasia died in 1918.”
“I don’t know what the truth is anymore, Maxim.” She shook her head and her luminous eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. He’d made her cry. Marvelous. Maybe he was better off not knowing exactly who he was. All signs had certainly indicated that was the case. “If my boss finds out that I told you the photograph is authentic, I’ll be fired. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you.”
Yet here she stood.
The pain that had been Maxim’s constant companion since his attack gathered at the front of his skull and throbbed to life. He couldn’t let her do this. Not anymore.
If his connection to the Romanovs was what had made him a target, that meant she could be in danger now, too.
The truth could hurt her. It likely already had.
He couldn’t let that happen. No fucking way. His life had spun out of control lately. He’d almost died. He’d lost his memory. The police blamed him for his own attack. He couldn’t change any of those things, but he could control this. He could protect Finley.
He could, and he would.
He shook his head and tried not to wince. The pain was growing worse. He could taste it at the back of his throat, terrible and bitter. “I should go.”
Finley flinched, almost as if he’d struck her. “You’re leaving?”
He buttoned the coat of his suit jacket. “I have an appointment, remember?”
“Yes, but . . .” She glanced at her wrist. She wasn’t even wearing a watch, but Maxim got the point. “We just got here. And I just told you something very confidential, something that could get me in a lot of trouble.”
She jammed her hands on her hips and positioned herself between Maxim and the door. She was angry. Good. She had every right to be mad as hell. Maxim could deal with anger.
Tears, on the other hand, would have done him in. Which is why the tiny wobble in her bottom lip nearly brought him to his knees.
Stay angry, Finley. Hate me. I’m not worth your tears.
Maxim wished with every fiber of his being that Scott would emerge from wherever he’d gone and toss him out again.
No such luck.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to get involved in this.” Maxim shook his head.
Given the choice, he gladly would have gone back in time and never walked through the doors of Shakespeare and Company two nights ago. He never would have sought her out. Never would have kissed her.
Liar. You know you would have done all those things.
Maybe he would have, but he could still do the right thing now.
His jaw clenched. “If what you’re saying is true and my grandmother might actually be Anastasia, it could be the reason I was attacked. It could also be the reason someone tried to break into my flat yesterday. You can’t continue to help me, Finley. If something bad were to happen to you, I’d never forgive myself. And that includes losing your job at the Louvre.”
“Seriously?” She lifted an agitated brow. To Maxim’s immense relief, the tears in her eyes had thoroughly vanished. Sparks of annoyance took their place. Still, he had to clench his fists at his sides to prevent himself from taking her in his arms. “You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t do. Whether or not I help you is my decision, not yours.”
His jaw clenched, and the pounding in his head kicked up a notch to jackhammer-like proportions. “Finley, don’t.”
She lifted her chin. “You asked me for my help. You can’t just decide you no longer want it. I’m already involved, whether you like it or not.”
They stood staring at each other in some kind of awkward standoff. Why was she making this harder than it already was? Didn’t she have any idea how difficult it was for him to turn his back on her?
A very real part of him wanted to walk away from this whole ugly ordeal. For the past twenty-four hours, he’d given serious thought to doing just that. Without a memory, without a past, he could start his life over again. Someplace else. Someplace new. He could sell his grandmother’s flat and leave Paris with all its nagging questions behind. He’d told himself time and again that there was nothing left for him here.
There was a flaw in that logic, though. Paris wasn’t through with him quite yet. He did have something here. He had Finley.
He could choose to give up on his search and forget all about the Romanovs. But to leave the past dead and buried would mean leaving a part of himself in the grave as well—the part that had come alive in recent days, resurrected by the reverence of Finley’s touch and the taste of her honeyed lips. He didn’t want to give up that part of himself. If he left Paris, he might even ask her to come with him, and that would be ridiculous. They’d known each other for all of two days.
He needed to go. Now, while he could still force himself to walk out the door.
Besides, Father Kozlov wouldn’t wait forever.
Maxim took a strained inhale, gingerly sidestepped Finley and reached for the door. When he twisted the knob, the bells on the door chimed. Gerard’s head popped up. His comically oversized ears twitched, and he peered unblinkingly at Maxim. For perhaps the first time in Maxim’s life, he truly appreciated the expression puppy dog eyes.
He stared back at the little Frenchie. Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the right thing.
Maxim paused, only for a moment. But it was long enough for Finley to aim a frank question at his back.
“Don’t you wonder why?” she said quietly.
Keep walking. Don’t turn around.
Maxim focused on the horizon. Just past the jade-green fountain at the entry to the bookshop, on the banks of the river Seine, stood Notre Dame. Right there, right in the shadow of the cathedral’s gothic beauty, the Point Zero marker was inlaid in the cobblestones. He couldn’t see it from where he stood, but it was scarcely a breath away—the place where everything began. In some morbid way, it seemed fitting that Point Zero had been the spot where he’d almost died. Because something new had started that night, something wild and wonderful. And now the pull of that something prevented him from crossing the threshold.
“Why what?” he said, without turning around. If he turned back and looked at her again, he’d stay. And if he stayed, he’d ruin her.
“Why I want to help you. As you’ve said, there are a million reasons why I shouldn’t. Surely you’re wondering why I want to.”
He did, damn it.
He’d lain awake at night wondering that very thing. Finley had everything to lose and nothing to gain by helping him. What’s more, there had been moments during the past two days when he’d suspected she’d wanted to tell him no, to leave and never come back.
But something kept bringing her around, again and again. He’d known better than to ask what it was. Or maybe he was just a coward, because the fear he sometimes saw in the depths of her emerald gaze told him her reasons were rooted in pain. And he couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting her.
“I know what it feels like to be lost, Maxim.” The anguish in her voice scraped Maxim’s insides, rendered him paralyzed.
He shouldn’t be hearing this. It would change things between them, just when he’d come to accept that he had no place in her life.
“What happened to you . . .” She paused, and all the air left Maxim’s lungs in a devastating whoosh, because he knew what was coming. How had he not seen it when all along it had been written in her eyes? “. . . it happened to me, too. I was assaulted, and it changed my life. It happened back home, in America, and it ruined everything—my education, my relationships. All of it.”
Maxim squeezed his eyes closed. But no amount of effort could rid his consciousness of the horrific images running through his mind. So he opened them and turned to meet her gaze. “Were you . . . ?”
Maxim couldn’t even say the words.
“Raped?” She gave him a sad smile, but a spark of defiance glittered in the depths of those eyes he loved so much. “No.”
Maxim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Still, fury burned low in his gut. It was a deep, dark rage he’d never felt before. Not even toward his own attacker.
How dare someone hurt her.
She crossed her arms, and Maxim got the sense it was an effort to hold herself together while she told him her story. “I’m still not over what happened. I thought I was, but when I met you and heard about what happened at Point Zero, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Two years ago, a stranger jumped me in the parking lot of my college campus. I’d just finished a night class—art history. My favorite class.”
She shot him a bittersweet smile that just about killed him, then continued, “He took a locket that had belonged to my great-grandmother. He ripped it right off of my neck. I ended up with a broken collarbone and two cracked ribs. They never caught my attacker. I couldn’t go back to school. I lost interest in my friends. Eventually, people stopped waiting around for me to move on.” She swallowed. “Even the man I was seeing grew tired of waiting.”
Maxim bit his tongue to prevent himself from voicing his thoughts about a man who would lose patience when someone he loved had been victimized. “You had nothing to be ashamed of, Finley. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” She nodded, and he caught a glimpse of defiance in the upward tilt of her chin. “I had a rough go of it for a while, but I also knew I couldn’t let that nameless, faceless stranger win. So I came here and completed my studies at the École du Louvre. It was just what I needed—a fresh start in a faraway place. A new beginning. I’m not okay, Maxim. But I’m getting there. Finally. For the first time in years, I feel connected to another person, and that person is you.”
“Finley.” He swallowed. With great difficulty. “I’m so sorry.”
Eyes flashing, she shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Just let me help you.”
He wanted to. God, how he wanted to.
He’d known she’d felt it, too. At times he’d had his doubts, but on a soul-deep level, he’d known. The feelings he had for her, a woman he hardly knew, couldn’t be one-sided. Something special was happening between them. Something sacred. Something that started two weeks ago at Point Zero, before they’d even met.
New beginnings.
But now that he knew what had happened to her, he could never let her continue to put herself at risk. Maybe that made him a chauvinist ass. He didn’t care. He cared more about protecting her than he cared about any of the names written in his journal. What difference did the past make if solving its mysteries hurt someone in the present?
Someone special. Someone like Finley.
He shook his head. “I can’t let you help me. I just can’t. Please understand.”
Ever so slowly, Finley’s expression closed like a book. She probably hated him now. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. She’d shown him her vulnerability, just as he’d shown her his on a bench in the Tuileries. He remembered how exposed he’d felt that afternoon among the tulips while she’d flipped through his journal. He’d fully expected her to tell him he was crazy and disappear back inside her grand museum.
But she hadn’t. She’d trusted him. She’d believed in him even when it didn’t make sense, and now she had every right to expect him to return the favor.
He wished he could.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She reached for her bag, resting beside the cash register on the bookshop’s counter. “Your photograph.”
“Keep it. Put it in the exhibit. It’s yours,” he said. “So is this.”
He removed his grandmother’s charm bracelet from his pocket and set it on the counter. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it, except that Finley had lost her great-grandmother’s locket and the things she’d just told him had left him feeling utterly powerless. He knew he couldn’t fix what had happened to her or make it go way. He couldn’t let her help him anymore, either. Not in good conscience.
But he could leave her with something. He could leave her with this.
Wide-eyed, Finley stared at the bracelet.
By the time she looked up, Maxim was already gone.