Deceptive (6 page)

“Um...well, I think we can assume she’s a shopper. Maybe a shopaholic. She’s got emails in here from Nordstrom, Neiman Marcus, Gucci, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, and Armani as well as a couple of other ones that I haven’t heard of, but I bet they’re expensive.” Her voice changed. “Now this is interesting. Some airline ticket confirmations. Four days ago she was scheduled to fly from Naples, Italy to Paris.”

Zoe and Jack exchanged a glance. “It fits with what Oscar told us,” Jack said.

“But Naples?” Zoe said, “Do you think she’s there?”

“No idea,” Jack said, “but it’s a start.”

“Naples,” Zoe muttered. “It always seems to come back to Naples.” She and Jack had traveled to Naples last year in an attempt to discover who was behind the fraud at Jack’s company.

She thumped down in the other office chair. “It’s a start, but Naples is huge. Can you narrow down where she’s sending the emails from? Can you get a location on her computer...or something?”

Carla shook her head. “Nope, I already checked. She’s a little lax on password security—that’s how I got into her account, but she does use a virtual private network to hide her IP address. I traced it back through a couple of European servers to a location in Nevada, but couldn’t get farther than that. I can work on it though.”

“Don’t sound so eager,” Zoe said. “I think you’d better step away from the computer. I feel a bit like I’ve bought a drink for an alcoholic who’s been on the wagon.”

“It was fun. I haven’t done anything like that in years. But you’re right, I don’t want to go back there,” she said with a sigh. “Not if I want to keep my day job, anyway. There’s a second airline reservation. She’s flying into Paris again. Departs Naples on the fifteenth and returns on the sixteenth.”

“The fifteenth? That’s tomorrow.” Zoe and Jack exchanged a look. Zoe hopped up and crossed the room so she could study the computer herself. “She arrives at six. She could be going back to the gallery. Do you think we can do it?”

Carla looked back and forth between them. “Do what?”

“It’s probably our best chance,” Jack said. “If we can make a flight tonight we could arrive about the same time as her.”

“But the tickets. They’d be outrageous.”

“We’ll charge them.”

“But they have to be paid off sometime,” Zoe said.

“I’ll cover it. You’d do the same thing for me. In fact, you
have
done the same thing for me.”

Carla had been watching their conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, her gaze bobbing back and forth between them. “Y’all aren’t talking about flying to Paris, are you? Tonight? That’s crazy.”

Jack said, “Come on, Zoe. I have some money in savings and a credit card that hasn’t been used in months. I couldn’t touch it or the money while I was under the radar, but there’s nothing stopping me from using it now. How much can two last minute tickets to Paris cost?”

“A couple of thousand, at least.”

“I’ll cover it. You can pay me back, if it makes you feel better.”

“Okay,” Zoe said reluctantly.

“You can’t fly to Paris tonight,” Carla said.

“Why not? We both have passports,” Zoe said. “Dallas is an international hub. There will be plenty of flights. And for once, the FBI couldn’t care less if I left the country.”

“Not yet anyway,” Jack said. “And we want to keep it that way. How much are the tickets, Carla? Can you look it up for us?”

“And could you print her most recent emails for us?” Zoe added. “I can look through them on the flight, see if I can find anything else.”

Carla turned back to the computer. “You’re both crazy. You don’t just book an international trip and hop on a plane a couple of hours later. You need time. You have to buy guidebooks, plan your itinerary. You don’t even know what electrical adaptors you need.”

“Don’t worry. I’m getting used to it,” Zoe said.

***

S
ATO pressed the doorbell again. The Kid waited behind his shoulder, glancing at his phone. It was late, and Sato knew The Kid wanted to get home. An issue with another case had consumed the rest of the afternoon and early evening. They hadn’t been able to get out of the office until after six-thirty. Sato had told The Kid to go on...that he could handle the check in with Zoe Hunter on his own, but The Kid had said he wanted to meet the “cyber thief.”

After a few minutes, Sato went around back, pounded on the kitchen door. No answer. He hadn’t called, not wanting to give Zoe Hunter or the newly cleared Mr. Andrews any warning he was coming. He cupped his hand around his eyes and looked in the window over the sink.

A wadded dishtowel sat on the counter. Two tall glasses along with a few pieces of silverware rested in the sink. A smattering of paper, which looked like envelopes, trailed across the island as if someone had tossed them down on the way in from the mailbox. “Apparently, they are both out.” He stepped away, then went back and peered at the kitchen ceiling. Yep, the gaping hole in the drywall was finally fixed. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could take that as confirmation that Zoe had taken millions of dollars from a scam and hid it in a well-disguised bank account.

Sato turned from the window and surveyed the backyard where The Kid was pacing, checking the signal on his phone. “Looks like they’ve done some landscaping, too,” Sato commented.

“So you think she took the money?” The Kid asked with a nod of his head toward the house and a doubtful look.

“The house and neighborhood don’t exactly scream millionaire, do they?”

“No, but I suppose she could just be smart. You know, waiting it out so she doesn’t raise any suspicions.”

“Except for purchasing art,” Sato said.

“You’ve been in there before,” The Kid said pointing to the house. “Is she into art?”

“Only art I saw in there was mass market stuff, posters you can get at Target or IKEA. And unless she put up a very good front, she’s not any more computer savvy than your average Joe.”

The Kid’s phone beeped. He studied the screen. “This is it?” he read in a puzzled voice. He looked at Sato. “What does that mean,
this is it?

“Who’s it from?” Sato asked.

“Sophie. Do you think...? She’s not...?”

“You better go find out.”

The Kid shot him a look of excitement mixed with terror before he shot off around the corner of the house. For a nanosecond, Sato felt a nudge of something almost like longing. He’d never run like that in his life, not even in the last half marathon.

He gave himself a mental shake. What was he, crazy? He didn’t want to be that tied to another individual, to have his hopes and dreams, his whole life, wrapped up in someone else.

The Kid reappeared. “You have the keys,” he called as he sprinted toward Sato.

“I knew there was a reason you got promoted so fast. You’re sharp. Took you less than a minute to figure that out.” Sato tossed the keys to The Kid.

The Kid made a strangled sound. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“You take the car. I’ll call a friend to pick me up.” The Kid was gone before Sato finished his sentence.

He walked across the backyard and paused with his hands in his pockets to study the row of hedges against the back fence. Not extravagant, by any means. Extravagant would be a pool or an outdoor kitchen.

He turned away, making a mental note to drop by again tomorrow, then he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contact list. Ah, yes, Deborah lived a few blocks away. Maybe she was home...

––––––––

Z
OE glanced at her watch as they hurried through Charles de Gaulle Airport. “We’re too late.” Their connecting flight through London had a weather delay, putting them an hour behind their scheduled arrival time. “Her flight probably just landed.” Because their flight was international, they’d arrived into Charles de Gaulle, while Anna’s regional flight from Naples was arriving at Paris’s other major airport, Orly. “Do you think Anna’s flight could be delayed, too?”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think we should count on it,” Jack said, steering their single rolling suitcase through the airport. “I think we better go directly to Gallery Twenty-Seven and hope we can catch her there. Taxi or train?” Jack asked.

Zoe had spent some of the flight skimming the Paris
Smart Travel
guidebook she’d bought in the DFW airport. She hadn’t copy-edited a Paris or France guidebook, but felt she could find any info they needed. “Train, I think. It’s late in the day and traffic might be bad.”

Jack nodded and they followed the signs to the train, bought their tickets, and squeezed into one of the cars going into the city. “So the hotel is close to the gallery?” Zoe asked as she turned to the Metro map.

“Yes. Right across the street. It’s in the Seventh Arrondissement, near the Eiffel Tower.” While Zoe had been buying the guidebook, Jack had used the time at the airport gate to find and book them a hotel, saying he better make the most of the free Wi-Fi in the airport.

“Okay, Eiffel Tower it is,” Zoe said with a little shiver of excitement. The Eiffel Tower. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d dreamed of touring the City of Light, but she was here, and she was certainly going to take in all of Paris that she could—even a glimpse of Paris was better than no Paris at all. Of course she couldn’t see anything picture-postcard right now—they were whizzing through the suburbs—but they would be in the center of the city soon. “We caught the express, did you notice that?” Zoe said. “That’s good.”

They were wedged into the center of the train compartment, and Jack looked over his shoulder at her as he asked, “Good, because we’ll get to the gallery faster? Or, good, because we’ll get into Paris faster?”

Zoe closed the guidebook. “To the gallery, of course.”

Jack lowered his chin. “I know you better than that. I bet you’ve already mapped out at least three major tourist sites we’ll see on the way to the gallery.”

“Only two,” Zoe admitted. “If we get off at the Alma Marceau stop, we’ll be able to see the Eiffel Tower and cross the Pont de l’Alma bridge over the Seine.”

“That’s my girl.”

Zoe tried to tell herself she didn’t feel a warm glow at those words. “It’s only a few blocks from the gallery. Really.”

“Fine by me. Might as well see what we can while we’re here.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

After changing to another line, they emerged from the Metro and didn’t have to look hard to find the tallest structure in Paris. The graceful lines of the tower stood out sharply against the tangerine sky of sunset. Zoe came to a stop. “Wow. Can you believe people hated it when it first went up?”

“Really? Let’s move over here out of the way.” Jack took her elbow, and they shifted to the side, out of the middle of the busy sidewalk.

“Yep. They thought it was ugly, a monstrosity.” Zoe snapped a few pictures with her phone.

“You better let me navigate.” Jack took the guidebook from her hand. “You’re in full-on tourist daze.”

“Yes, I am,” Zoe said happily. “It was built for a World Exhibition, and some people wanted it torn down immediately. Can you imagine?” Zoe put her phone away, leaned over Jack’s shoulder to see the map. “We take a left. The gallery is a couple of blocks away.” She hooked her arm through his elbow and pointed at the gold dome on the skyline. “We head that way, toward Napoleon’s tomb. Slightly strange that he’s buried here, isn’t it?” Zoe said.

“Considering that they exiled him? I’ll say. Although, he is one of the most famous Frenchmen in history.” As they strolled along streets with five-and six-story buildings with cream-colored stone facades that contrasted with the distinctively French-style sloping dark mansard roofs, Jack commented, “Swanky.” At street level, they passed shop windows displaying spring fashions, small hotels with shiny name plaques, and cafés with awnings stretching over tables on the sidewalk. Above, through the tracery of tree branches scattered with buds of green, dark shutters bracketed iron balconies.

“Speaking of swanky.” Zoe tilted her head, “There’s Gallery Twenty-Seven.” They came even with a shop with an arched doorway. The window display was an Impressionist seascape, an intricately patterned Turkish rug, and a pair of silver candlesticks.

“Then this is our hotel.” Jack crossed to a pair of wooden doors inset with glass on the other side of the street. The doors swished open as they approached.

The desk clerk at the Hotel Madeleine welcomed them, took down their passport information, swiped Jack’s credit card, and then directed them up two flights of curving stairs, pointing out the minuscule elevator. Zoe thought their suitcase might possibly fit inside, but there was no way a person
and
a suitcase would fit inside.

Jack swung open the door of Room Seven and went straight to the window while Zoe looked around. The walls were white and covered with loads of molding and trim. A small crystal chandelier glittered overhead. Jack pulled back the sheer curtains, revealing two floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Excellent,” he said. “We can see the gallery, and it looks like there are living quarters directly above it.” He squinted. “Yes, there’s a spiral staircase on the second floor that must go down to the shop. I bet the owner lives above.”

Zoe wasn’t worried about the view. “Ah—Jack, the room is kind of small.” The room itself was narrow, only a few feet wider than the bed, which was a confection of pale pink pillows and ruffles. It was designed for one person, and a small one, at that. Someone who could fit into that elevator.

“Because it’s a single room.” Jack walked toward her.

“Oh, don’t tell me it was the last room they had, and we have to share. That’s just too, too—”

“Trite? I agree.” He stopped a few inches from her and reached for her hand. “That’s why I’m next door.” He put the old fashioned, oversized bronze key in her palm and curled her fingers over it.

Zoe cleared her throat. “Right.” She inched backward because the small room now seemed even more minuscule with Jack so close to her. Her calves bumped into the bed.

“I’m courting you, remember? Taking things slowly.”

“Wooing. Right.”

He leaned forward and brushed a kiss along her cheekbone, and all sorts of tingly sensations fired through her. “Get some rest, if you want. I’ll be next door, watching the gallery.” He left through an adjoining door, pulling it closed behind him. Zoe collapsed onto the narrow bed, her heart skittering. There was something to be said for this going slow. It was kind of delicious.

***

T
HE sound of a door closing woke Zoe out of a deep sleep. It took a second for the narrow bed, white woodwork, and gauzy curtains framing the windows to make sense. Paris. She was in Paris. It was dark now, and windows glowed in the building directly across from the hotel. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, remembering that very chaste kiss on the cheek Jack had given her before she left and the warm, fuzzy glow it had set off inside her.

She sat up abruptly. Jet lag. That had to be why she’d gone all mushy. She unzipped the suitcase with a vicious tug. She’d thought Jack’s attentions might taper off, but it was clear she’d have to do something. She couldn’t let it go on. It wasn’t fair to Jack. There was no way she wanted to replay the disaster of their divorce. And dating Jack again or...anything else...would have the same outcome. It would, no matter what Jack or Helen thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of light caught her attention. She could see just the top of the Eiffel Tower, glowing golden in the dark. Twin beacons of light at the top of the tower swept across the black sky. She sighed. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t say anything just yet. They were in Paris, after all.

She took a quick shower in the tiny en suite bathroom wedged into the corner of her room, then eyed the clothes she’d hurriedly tossed in the suitcase. Her packing had been slightly haphazard because her laundry hamper at home was overflowing, so her choices had been limited. She hadn’t had time to check the weather so she’d tried to cover all the bases. She’d thrown in a couple of long-sleeved shirts, jeans, a few tanks for layering, a simple wrap dress that didn’t wrinkle, a sweater, and a pair of capris, along with some sandals. She picked a long-sleeved pink shirt and jeans. She eased her shirt over her head, careful to avoid the tender lump at the base of her skull. It was still sore, but the swelling had gone down. She gingerly combed her hair then slipped on a navy sweater because the temperature had dropped with the sunset.

She tapped on the adjoining door, and Jack called out for her to come in.

His room was identical to hers. The lights were off, and he stood at the windows, a pair of binoculars at his face. He was wearing fresh clothes as well—a lightweight gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up. “Feel better?”

“Yes. Did you get some sleep?”

“Nah, I got enough on the plane.”

“That’s an understatement,” Zoe said. Unlike Zoe, who was an insomniac on an airplane, Jack could sleep soundly from takeoff to landing.

“It’s a gift,” Jack said. “I picked up some sandwiches from the café around the corner if you’re hungry.” Crinkled white paper covered the mirrored desktop.

Zoe took a sandwich with thin slices of ham, cheese, and buttered bread then joined Jack at the window. “You pack binoculars when you travel?”

“Always.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to put that on my essentials list.” She finished off the sandwich and reached for a small cup of chocolate and a plastic spoon. “What’s this? Pudding?”

“The woman at the café said it’s a custard.
Petit-pots
, she called them.”

“It’s delicious,” Zoe said after a bite of the creamy chocolate. She pointed at the window with her spoon. “Anything?”

“Not really. I’ve seen a man—kind of heavy with slicked back hair—Masard, the owner. I found an article on-line about the gallery with his picture. There’s a younger blond woman—his assistant, I think—who has been moving around, closing up. The woman just left, and Masard locked up.” Jack handed over the binoculars and went to the bed where her laptop was open. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not.
Mi
laptop is
su
laptop.”

“I used the log-in and password that Carla gave us to check Anna’s email, but nothing new.”

Zoe put the binoculars to her face and adjusted them. The gallery windows jumped into focus. She shifted her gaze higher and saw the heavy-set man moving around the second floor, which had a kitchenette with a sink and hotplate on the countertop along one wall. The rest of the room was set up like an office with heavy furniture, file cabinets, and a couple of armchairs positioned in front of a fireplace. “He’s making a cup of tea, it looks like.”

“Yeah, exciting stuff. I watched him file papers.”

“So what do we do if we’ve completely missed Anna?” Zoe asked, voicing her worst fear.

“I don’t know. It was a gamble, coming here. I guess we keep monitoring her email, see if she gives something else away.”

Zoe left the windows and swiveled the laptop toward her, hitting the refresh button. “I wish we at least knew where she was staying.”

“She probably didn’t have her hotel reservation sent to her email. Or, she used another email address.”

“We don’t even know for sure that she’s in Paris. This whole thing could be an enormous waste of time.” Zoe thought of those photos of Helen. What if they were on the wrong track? If something didn’t turn up soon, she’d have to call Helen and warn her, no matter how restrained Jack thought Oscar would be.

“Not a complete waste. You’ve checked the Eiffel Tower off your bucket list.”

Zoe sent him a crooked smile. “True, but that won’t be much of a comfort when I’m in prison.” Or if Helen gets hurt, she silently added, but kept that thought to herself, not wanting to rehash the argument with Jack.

Jack reached for a sandwich. “Let’s not start measuring you for an orange jumpsuit just yet. I do think Anna is here. If she’d changed or cancelled her reservation, there would most likely be an email since she had her flight details sent to her via email.”

“Okay, I agree with you there. But it doesn’t do us much good if we can’t find her.” Zoe hit refresh on the web page and tensed. “Oh, it’s just junk mail,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “Twenty percent off shipping at Macy’s this weekend.”

They ate their sandwiches and watched Masard eat a dinner of crusty bread and soup while he did paperwork. Zoe brushed the crumbs from her fingers and opened a bottle of fizzy water, then paced around the room, her mind skipping from one problem to the next. Every step in their precarious Rube Goldberg-like plan was riddled with potential problems. They weren’t even sure Anna was in Paris, or if she had the painting, or how they’d get it from her.

If all that happened to work out, then there was a whole new set of problems, including how to use the painting. She agreed with Jack that it was leverage, but for it to help them, they needed the right people on their side, and how were they going to accomplish that? She supposed she could call Agent Sato. She demoted that idea to the “last resort” category as she crossed the room. The idea of going to a U.S. Embassy or Consulate flitted through her mind, but she thought that route would be fraught with red tape.

Jack didn’t move the binoculars from his face as he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Zoe murmured, deep in thought. There was really only one person she trusted to help them out of this situation.

Jack removed the binoculars and looked at her. “You only pace like that when you’re upset. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”