Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Falcon turned to my family. “I’m really sorry to do this. He’s needed on a… very important project.”
At least the man had the decency to lie to them. I wasn’t sure what was causing him to protect me that way, but I’d take it. Now all I had to do was get him to stay there and wait for me.
“My room is the closest one right there,” I said, pointing to the hallway. I ran a hand through my hair, letting my shoulders sag and trying to look as defeated and resigned as possible. “I’ll be right back.”
Falcon’s eyes began to narrow suspiciously at me, but thankfully someone distracted him long enough for me to cross the lobby to my room. As soon as I was through the door, I raced into action, opening the in-room safe and reprogramming the code to MJ’s birthday before tossing all of my contraband in there along with the journal and grabbing my legal Kingston Wilde passport and my still-packed duffle bag.
Then I quickly eased open the sliding glass doors on the other side of the bed and snuck into the night.
3
Falcon
I had to be the world’s stupidest law enforcement officer. Something about King’s eyes seemed to put me into a trance. When I was around him, I wanted to protect him instead of arrest him, which is why I’d done the unthinkable and let him go to his hotel room unescorted.
When it became clear he’d bolted, I’d wanted to smack myself for being so naive, so gullible and easily manipulated. All he’d had to do was look at me with that expression of defeat, and I’d assumed that’s how he actually felt. The man was a master manipulator. When was I going to learn he was a liar and a faker?
I’d honestly contemplated calling in my resignation right then. I didn’t deserve my position on one of the world’s top art heist task forces . After I’d let him go at the scene of the Van Gogh heist two years ago, I’d learned my lesson. Or so I’d thought. Never in a million years had I thought he’d make a scene in front of his entire extended family.
But he hadn’t made a scene, had he? He’d simply wandered to his room and disappeared into the night. Like any seasoned criminal would have done.
I sighed and banged my head on the steering wheel of the rental car. How the hell was I going to explain this to my team? To my boss? We’d have to start back at square one to find him again, and I’d be lucky if Nadine even allowed me to stay in charge of this op.
Think, you idiot. He can’t have gotten that far.
But that wasn’t true. If he had access to a vehicle, he could have gone in any direction, north toward Oregon, east toward Nevada, or even back to San Francisco where he could get lost in a sea of strangers. The best thing I could do was get back on the plane and check in with my team in Paris. See if they could track him down electronically somehow.
I pulled the car into the lot and made my way to the small jet. The tiny airport was half-asleep this time of night, and the cool November air felt good on my hot cheeks. Humiliation was an even harder pill to swallow the second time around.
After trudging up the folding stairs, I ducked into the plane and made eye contact with the flight attendant. She gave me a flirty smile followed by an odd wink.
“Let us know when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.” She glanced toward the seating area and smiled in that direction too.
I spun around to find King Wilde kicked back in one of the large leather seats with his ankles crossed on the low coffee table in front of him.
He was clicking around on his phone like he’d been killing time waiting for me to arrive.
An intense feeling of relief rolled through me, followed by ire. “What the fuck?” I sputtered. “Are you… what… why are you here? Are you insane?”
He looked up at me with those same deep-set eyes I could get lost in. His dirty-blond hair flopped over his forehead in a way that itched to be pushed back. I clenched my fingers into a fist as he spoke calmly. “It’s the crown, isn’t it? You think I took it.”
I stared at him. How the fuck did he know this was about the crown? No one knew it had been taken. The Hungarian government had wanted the theft kept under wraps to avoid a public backlash, so they’d closed off the rotunda where it was displayed. The Holy Crown of Hungary was a national treasure, symbolic of Hungary’s special state as recognized by God. Admitting it was missing would be a major embarrassment and create a media firestorm.