Counterfeit Conspiracies (10 page)

"The Maiden's Head Buckle?"

"He corrupted my source—"

"The Van Gogh?"

"We learned—"

"Do you really want me to go on?"

I seethed inside but kept a smile on my face, unsure exactly who I was trying to fool, Jack or myself. Moran was the only crook who nearly always got the jump on me. There was more, but the fact Hawkes knew all of this was as much frightening as embarrassing. I didn't know how, but I needed to learn more about this man, and soon. I said, "The last time I encountered Moran was in connection with the Danish Emerald Parure. I received the highest congratulations on the recovery, from the queen regent herself."

"You have to admit it was a bit of luck on your part." He raised an eyebrow. "Bit of being in the right place, overhearing the right conspirator, all at the—"

"I get it." My hand itched to reach into my purse and grab the telescopic baton that usually resided there, and break his knuckles. That would set me free in more ways than one. But the darn weapons were illegal in the U.K., so I couldn't easily replace mine when I went on my earlier shopping spree. The Prada sat in my lap, ready to make the leap with me at first opportunity, but circumstances dictated I use the situation to grab intel while I could. "You know all, you see all, and you hide in my closet every night. But you have to admit I'm damn good at my job, and I can grab an opportunity when one presents itself."

"Absolutely." He glanced at his watch. "You are precisely skilled in the necessary talents required to complement my own and allow us to gain our objective."

"Are you trying to recruit me?"

"Let's just say secure an alliance."

This was too much. Who did this guy think he was? Who did he think I was? Correction, he obviously knew everything about me, just as I'd deduced in Italy. I shook my head.

"Hear me out," he said, his voice still so low in tone I had to keep my head close to his to catch his words. "Don't say no until you listen to everything I have to say."

I hugged my purse tighter with my unencumbered hand. Running sounded so promising a few moments ago. Now I had to readjust my ideas, to orient to his apparent need for roping me in on his plans. Although the big question was how much would he really tell me?

"Honesty. I demand honesty, Hawkes."

"Fair enough."

"So what do you have to say, and why should I believe you?"

"You're headed to the docks tonight to try to make contact with Jones, correct?"

I hoped my face didn't show my shock, but this was much more than I'd expected. "How do you know about that?"

"Babbage was scheduled to meet with him this morning, but if the meet didn't happen, the backup was at nine tonight."

"How do you know that?" I repeated.

His eyes softened. "Simon has a new girlfriend. I introduced them. She called me."

I kept my poker face. "Good for him. She's not a tall redhead by any chance?"

"No, Jane is a blonde about your height."

He was trying to shake me with the revelation, bring me into his corner. But with the emotional bullying I'd suffered from my "peers" once my father disgraced the family, I'd learned to run ice through my veins on command. Protective measures in place, I focused inwardly, and my thoughts went back to the calendar page I'd spirited out of Simon's office. The one that should have noted both appointments Hawkes just mentioned, with the name of Jones heading both prospective times—but didn't.

Instead, the scrap provided a location noting the docks region running southeast of where we now huddled, and only alluded to the evening meeting. I couldn't be sure if the missing piece corroborated Hawkes's story, or if he knew about the scrap and used the missing area to make his case. He hadn't mentioned the Amazon and didn't say anything about a redhead when I asked about Simon's new paramour. However, that didn't mean he didn't know about the Amazon, or didn't want me to know she was working with him. Those were just two possibilities—besides his not knowing anything about her at all, of course. I needed to tread carefully. Use him like he may be using me. In the meantime, I truly needed Nico to text back a GPS on the scribbled address. What could be keeping him?

At that moment, Cassie's phone buzzed. Nico's name appeared for a text alert. A swipe of my finger showed the street address for the evening's meeting. His translation skills came through once again.

"Something good? You're smiling," Jack said. "Rather smugly, I might add."

"Let's just say satisfied," I slipped my phone into a pocket.

"Now, now, didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

"Only with people who reciprocate."

"I've shared information."

"Gossip about Simon's new love and mostly your information about me. I already know all of it, and unless his girlfriend is someone I need to meet, I don't really need to hear that either."

"You don't want to hear about Moran, you don't like how much I know about you, you aren't interested in Simon's private life, and you won't tell me what your phone said." Jack stroked an eyebrow with his index finger. "If I had to guess . . . I'd say your compatriot just gave you information about this evening's meeting. If the message had instead reported Babbage or the sword was found, you would have responded as more relieved than excited."

How did he do that? Like the way fake psychics know what to say by asking a few questions and reading a person's facial expressions. Well, I knew the expression I carried right then was not one he needed to deduce. "How do I look now?"

"Pissed." Jack grinned. "So I must have guessed correctly."

Damn! Stepped right into it again.

Which left me wondering when Hawkes could have seen the noted information on the calendar if he wasn't telling the truth about the girlfriend, or working with the Amazon. The new question, however, revolved around how insecure I would sound if I demanded more information.

"I'm surprised Simon told anyone about his business."

"His girlfriend, you mean? She was in the office and saw the calendar when she tried to make a date for them this evening."

"So they don't live together?"

"Not yet."

"But she does live in London?"

He grinned. "Would you like her address?"

"Don't mistake my interest. I am very happy for him. Just concerned."

"I knew that."

Arrrrgggh.
I made myself breathe naturally. Yes, I was an art recovery specialist, but I prided myself on my abilities to blend, bully, and break anyone until I got the item and info I needed. Something told me conventional tactics would not work with Mr. Teal Eyes here. Time to try another tack.

"You seem to have all my credentials, Hawkes—"

"Call me Jack."

"Jack." I pushed hair behind my ear, knowing it was a tell for frustration, and that he would accurately recognize it as such, but I couldn't help myself. "Look, I need some references. Got any names I can call?"

"Her majesty is in town. You could try Buckingham Palace. I understand you were by there earlier today."

"You're telling me you've worked for the queen?"

"She was most appreciative. Much like your experience with Margrethe II of Denmark."

"I would never presume to call her by her first name."

"Understood. Just because Lizzie brought me in for tea after I stopped the theft of the Cullinan Diamond—"

"The largest gem-quality diamond ever found—"

"And still in the crown jewels due to the efforts of Jack Hawkes."

"But I thought you were MI-6."

"I never said that. Dylan said I was MI-6," he said. "But I have to ask, why is the number distinction of Military Intelligence the thing you fixate on?"

I smiled. The man so underestimated me. I didn't want to give everything away, though, so I focused on his question. Or fixated, as the case may be. "Because of my own contacts with the FBI and the CIA in the course of my work, I know the recovery of any crown jewel within the U.K. environs would fall under the jurisdiction of MI-5."

"If the prospective theft was on British soil, yes. But not if the prospective heist occurred while the royal family toured South Africa. Then it would definitely fall under the purview of MI-6."

I realized suddenly how long our gazes had locked, but try as I might, I couldn't look away. There was something about the man, a sexy strength, a confidence I rarely encountered. "The Cullinan Diamond?"

"Yes, the Cullinan Diamond."

"So your interest in the particular item we're pursuing is due to its jeweled hilt?" I asked, wishing I had taken that beer he'd offered to fetch. "Who is your prospective buyer, or are you connected with a museum or foundation, too? Or are you sticking to the MI-6 story?"

"In this case, my interest in the sword has nothing to do with art or profit, but rather to preserve a British treasure."

"But the Arthurian legend . . . It's just that, right? A legend. No matter how romantic the tale and lovely the bedtime story."

He shook his head. "Until I can see it for myself, and either get it authenticated or unmasked as a fraud, all possibilities are on the table. Legends exist because enough proof isn't yet available to call them real. That's not to say this sword isn't counterfeit, but it could also be precisely the proof needed for the Camelot legend. Or an early link in a chain of evidence."

At that moment, another customer jostled into the back of Jack's chair, rocking our table and the empty glasses.

"Sorry, mate." The guy was huge. No way would he have thought he could make it through the gap. His gaze met mine for only a second . . . and I knew. He was here to get me.

I shouted, "Block him, Jack." I pulled free in the excitement and pushed away from the table. My boots rang on the tiles as I fled for the exit. As I hoped, I heard Jack holding him off. The fact they didn't both come after me together said they weren't working together. Slightly comforting, until I realized it could also mean Hawkes was pulling an even bigger con. A double bluff was always a risk if I let myself get sucked in by the wrong person.

I slammed into the silver bar across the door and hit the sidewalk, wishing I'd grabbed Jack's umbrella during my escape. Too late. I looked around for a cab, but none stood unengaged. I almost stole one at the corner, until I saw a woman with a cane making her way to the door the cabbie held open and waiting.

Only options seemed to be to hijack someone's car or find a place to hide. The alley behind the pub gaped open a few feet away. I was a split second from choosing the best dumpster when Jack raced out the back door and grabbed my arm. This was getting a bit tedious.

"You have any wheels nearby?" I asked.

In response, he jerked me toward the street and produced an ear-shattering, two-fingered whistle. A driver popped up in the seat of an off-duty cab at the curb. The vehicle glided up to us just as the bruiser from the pub roared out of the back door.

"Guess I should try hitting him a trifle harder next time."

I slid onto the backseat. "Damn it, Hawkes, get in here!"

He hit the door locks as the cabbie broke into the traffic pattern, and we left the muscle-bound creep in the dust. At almost the same instant, Jack's phone rang. As he answered, he trained a gaze on me so strong I felt an almost physical push from the unwavering hold his eyes had on mine. Neither of us blinked when he said, "Cecil, I bloody well lost her. Our best suspect is MIA because you're too bloody cheap to provide me adequate backup. Get your shit together or get out of the game, mate."

I'd worried about a double bluff, but didn't dream I'd see him pulling one on someone else. One that protected me. And with his boss no less. Put him in a new light.

When he punched the key to end the call, I finally spoke, "Why?"

"We have a mole somewhere in this set-up. Possibly more than one. I am not ready to share what I know with anyone. Even Cecil. Maybe especially not Cecil."

The fact his words echoed my own thoughts added to his credibility. As long as they weren't part of a larger con.

I realized he was missing his umbrella. "Where's your brolly? I was wishing I'd grabbed it as I left."

"Too bad you didn't. I cracked it over the git's head, and the umbrella is the only casualty. Bloke has got a skull like iron."

He slipped his phone into his pocket. I used the action to segue into a new avenue of pursuit. "So, you and your boss believe I'm your chief suspect, huh?"

"Just as I'm likely yours. But you're looking more innocent all the time."

"No one has said that about me in years."

"Undoubtedly."

"You either, I'll bet."

He offered a grunt in assent, adding, "I'll save my wagers for something a little more risky. When the payoffs are higher."

I wasn't sure how to interpret any of this in relation to our next move, so asked instead, "What do we do?"

His lips offered that slow, sexy smile he produced the first time we met, and he switched to the southern drawl. "Why, we go rogue, darlin'. Sooner the better I always say."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm confused. You seem to have all the answers, and unless you're omnipotent, you must have quite a few people working on your behalf. Yet, you just told Cecil you need backup."

"One can always use more help in the field."

"But . . ."

"Yes?"

My eyes rolled for the second time in less than an hour. "Hawkes, you have to have your fair share of confederates."

"Ah, but they aren't Cecil-employed confederates."

"And that makes a difference?"

"Quite. To my bottom line at least, since my dosh pays for their help, and the recruiting along the way. Much like you and the pickpocket at Buckingham."

"I don't pay him, Hawkes."

"Again, you've forgotten to call me Jack."

"No, I don't think I did. I tend to shy away from becoming familiar with people who don't listen when I talk."

"I listen. You simply don't reveal anything important until I ask directly. So, how do you recruit help?"