Chapter Eight

ACACIA SAT AT THE BAR and positioned herself so she could watch the door.

She knew better than to involve Luc in her suspicions, but she’d done it anyway. Now he was on his way over with agents.

She took another drink, fearing she’d destroyed her anonymity in one unguarded moment. She wrung her hands as she glanced around.

Luc appeared in the doorway.

At five-foot-eleven, he was only two inches taller than Acacia. His hair was sandy brown and needed cutting, and his handsome face was shadowed with scruff. He’d been attractive when they were students and was even more so now, wearing dark pants, a blue shirt, and a black leather jacket. He looked more like an actor than a policeman, although he surveyed the lounge with sharp eyes before he entered it.

“Caci,” he murmured as he approached her. He kissed her cheeks.

The greeting itself was innocuous. Friends greeted one another like that all the time. But Acacia felt a wave of nostalgia, made all the more poignant by the speed with which he withdrew.

She felt her face flame. “Luc, I—”

“Not here,” he interrupted, his blue eyes focused on hers.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a few Euro notes, placing them next to her half-empty glass. He nodded at the bartender and retrieved Acacia’s backpack from the floor.

As soon as she stood, he guided her to the door. His hand hovered at her lower back, but he didn’t touch her.

Acacia appreciated his professionalism but felt an underlying sadness. She’d given him up even though she’d loved him. She’d had her reasons, and they still existed. She needed to remind herself of them.

“Is there a place we can speak privately?” He kept his voice low as they walked toward the lobby.

“We can go to the staff room.” Acacia glanced around. “But you aren’t supposed to be in there.”

“I just need a minute.” Luc was in policeman mode and would not be deterred.

When they approached the staff room, Luc entered first and searched to see if anyone was inside. Once satisfied the room was empty, he beckoned to Acacia.

She closed the door behind her. “I called you about the painting because I was worried it was stolen. I didn’t expect you to come over.”

“You’re a witness.” He returned her backpack. “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right.”

Acacia rubbed her forehead in agitation. “I am in so much trouble. You have no idea what this could cost me.”

Luc’s blue eyes met hers. “The lead investigator of the Musée robbery is on his way. My colleagues are already in the building, and you’re with me.”

Her eyes flashed. “The hotel is going to be swarming with agents. The night manager was furious when I spoke to him. My supervisor will be apoplectic.”

“You did the right thing.” Luc spoke reassuringly. “The night manager is being interviewed as we speak. I can’t be involved with the investigation because of my connection with you, but I had to report what you told me.”

She crossed her arms. “What happens next?”

“The lead investigator, Philippe, will interview you. I’ll speak to him about assigning someone to keep an eye on you, as a precaution. I doubt your interview will take very long, although he may want you to come down to thirty-six Quai des Orfèvres to make a formal statement. One of the officers will drive you home afterward.”

“I have my motorcycle.”

“Too risky.”

Acacia tugged at her hair. “This is bad. This is very, very bad. I should have spoken with my supervisor before I called you. This will be all over the news!”

Luc’s expression grew grim. “We’re talking about possession of a masterpiece, not a case of stolen towels. If we recover it, you’ll be a hero.”

“I don’t want to be a hero!” She gesticulated wildly. “I don’t want my identity made public. Do you have any idea what this means?”

Luc came a step closer. “We aren’t going to plaster the name of a key witness all over the media. I’ve already told Philippe you’re a friend. He’ll treat you right.”

“Sure,” she murmured, unconvinced.

“Without question,” Luc said firmly. “If you help us close this case, you’ll have the thanks of the BRB.”

He reached for her, then stopped abruptly. He thrust his hands in his pockets. “I’ll make sure everyone understands you don’t want your name in the media.”

His expression softened. “I know it’s shit timing, but it’s good to see you.”

Acacia looked down at her shoes. “It’s good to see you. How’s Simone?”

Luc rubbed the back of his neck. “She moved out. That’s why I was having drinks with Yves and Véronique. They wanted the whole story.”

Acacia lifted her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Things weren’t working out.” He gave her a half-smile. “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

She lifted her backpack over her shoulder. “I work a lot. But I like my job, which is why I hope Monsieur Roy is understanding about having the BRB all over his hotel.”

Luc cleared his throat. “Leave it to us. I’ll take you to Philippe now.” He gestured for her to precede him through the door.

She paused. “I know things didn’t end on the best of terms. I’m grateful you came to check on me.”

His expression tightened. He nodded.

For a moment, Acacia considered turning over Marcel’s journal. The longer she held on to it, the more she was in jeopardy of withholding evidence. But the Paris police were handling the investigation of Marcel’s assault. She needed to turn the journal over to them.

With gritted teeth, she stepped into the hall, and Luc followed.

As they rounded the corner to the lobby, Acacia could see the beautiful space crawling with BRB agents.

All the air seemed to flee from her lungs. Luc didn’t know the source of her deepest fear or that his actions might have put her life and the life of her mother in jeopardy.

But it was too late.