Kissed in Paris (22 page)

Julien
really was
after a painting? Had he been lying to me all along? Did he even work for the government?

Why had I followed him?

What had I done?

I stormed past all the jolly, drunk wedding guests to where Julien was standing alone.

“I’m not coming with you,” I told him as the boat docked.

“What did you just say?”

“I
said
, I’m not coming with you. You’ve been lying to me all along, and I’m done.”

“What are you talking about?”

I left Julien’s side and joined the line of guests filing off the boat. He caught up with me and grabbed my arm. “What are you talking about?” he hissed into my ear.

I shoved the text message note into his stomach. “The bride used to be a French teacher. She translated this for me. Looks like you haven’t been telling me everything I need to know after all.”

Julien’s eyes combed the note, but I was already off the boat and pacing down the sidewalk toward the town. As soon as I found those two police officers, I would tell them everything they wanted to know.

Julien rushed to my side, grabbing a hold of my arm again, trying to slow me down.

“Get off me!” I snapped, jerking my arm from his grasp.

 Julien walked briskly to keep up with my stride. “Okay, you are right. I lied to you about the painting. But it has nothing to do with you. Everything else I’ve told you is true. And if we don’t go to Camille’s car now—”

“How can you say that when the message clearly says to stop me from going to the police so that
you
can get some painting you’re looking for? You’ve obviously been lying to me about being an undercover agent, about everything! And I’ve been desperate and dumb enough to believe you. I’m done listening to you. I’m going to go talk to those police officers and tell them everything that’s happened to me. And then I’m going to call my fiancé and tell him the truth. And if you don’t get your precious painting back as a result, you know what, I couldn’t care less! You have strung me along these past two days with nothing but lies and it’s time for me to go home.” With that, I jogged across the busy intersection, through the swarms of tourists, searching for any sign of men in police uniforms.

“Chloe, wait! Chloe!” Julien came up behind me on the street corner, grabbed my shoulders and spun me around.

“I know I haven’t been completely honest with you, but you have to trust me. If you don’t leave Annecy with me right now, you will not make it home in time for your wedding.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it is a reality. If you talk to the police now, before I have a chance to work everything out, it could ruin you, Chloe. It could ruin your life.”

“Are we talking about Miss
Valérie
again? Did she even exist by the way?”

Julien’s eyes hardened as his lips formed into a tight line. “I told you, she is dead. This is not a joke, Chloe. You are dealing with a situation and a group of people you know nothing about. I know what they are capable of.” He dropped his hands from my shoulders and shook his head at me. “But if you don’t believe me, fine. Go talk to the police. You will see, it will not work out as you are hoping.”

I left Julien standing alone on the sidewalk as I raced past the rushing stream, my sneakers skimming over the cobblestones, doubt boiling up inside of me. What if I went to the police, told them I’d been drugged and gave them any information they wanted about Julien or this painting, and they
still
thought I was in some way involved in Claude’s dealings? What if they still insisted on keeping me in France for questioning and wouldn’t let me leave in time for my wedding? What if that part of the story was true?

I flipped around to find Julien still standing in the same spot, watching me walk away. “You do see how crazy this all looks from my point of view, don’t you?” I called out to him. “I mean, if you were me, would you believe you?”

He walked up to me. “No, you are right. I would not.”

“Then just tell me the truth. Do you even work for the government?”

“Yes, I am working for the government . . . not quite in the capacity that I originally told you. But I do work for them. That is the truth.”

“I’ll pretend for a minute that I believe you and that I have a clue what you’re talking about, but first I want to know what is going on with this painting? Why do you need it so badly? And why would me talking to the police stop you from getting it back?”

A large group of high-school aged French kids barreled past us, joking and flirting with each other. Julien waited until they’d passed, then cornered in on me. “If I tell you the story of the painting, you have to promise you will never mention it to anyone, especially to the police. You must swear.”

“Okay, I swear,” I said, unsure now if I really wanted to be let in on whatever deep, dark secret he was about to reveal.

Julien took my hand and led me down one of the cobblestone alleys until we came to a quieter area of town where the tourists had evaporated and the only sounds came from a few pigeons squawking about, looking for scraps.

He scanned the street before stopping on a deserted corner. “It is not a mistake that I am on Claude’s case. Besides wanting to stop him from committing another fraudulent crime and hurting another innocent woman, I also have a personal reason to find him.”

“The painting?” I asked.

Julien nodded. “The painting is a Manet. It has been in my family for over one hundred years.”

“A Monet? Like Claude Monet in Giverny?” I asked.

“No, a
Manet
. Édouard Manet. Like Claude Monet though, Édouard Manet was a nineteenth century French impressionist painter.”

“I see. So where is the painting now?”

“That is the problem. Claude has stolen it.”

“So that’s why you’re
really
trying to find Claude? To get this painting back for your family? Is it just because it’s worth a lot of money?”

“Yes and no. Like I said, the painting has been in my family for over one hundred years. My grandfather’s father passed it down to him, then down to my father, and so on. It has special meaning in our family, and we would have never thought of selling it.”

“So, Claude just comes to your house one day and steals it?”

Julien glanced at me nervously then blew out a loud breath. “Chloe, there is one more thing I haven’t told you. I thought you would’ve figured it out last night at Marie’s house when she said my name, but you didn’t seem to notice.”

I thought back to the night before, my mind now a fuzzy haze full of clues, lies, and secrets. I couldn’t remember what she’d said. I’d been too focused on getting my ring back and getting the hell out of there.

“I don’t remember. What did she say?”

“She called me Julien Dubois.”

“Dubois? But isn’t that Claude’s . . .”

Julien placed a hand on my arm. “Yes,
Dubois
is Claude’s last name . . . and it is mine as well. Claude is my brother.”

I pulled away from Julien’s grasp, not able to believe what he had just told me. “Claude is your
brother
? How could you not have told me this? What in the hell is going on?”

“Shhh,” Julien said as an old couple sauntered past us.

“Don’t shush me. Just tell me the truth. All of it,” I demanded.

“Just two weeks ago, my father passed away. No one in the family has seen Claude for two years. He found out about my father though and came home for the funeral this week. My mother was devastated, but to have her youngest son back, you see, was a gift for her. She thought Claude would stay for a while, that maybe he’d changed. We all did. But instead, the morning after the funeral, Claude was gone. And so was the painting. My mother said to let it go. It was not worth chasing him around the country to find this painting. But when my mother and I met with the bank to discuss the business of my family’s vineyard, which my father had been running for years, we found out that my father had not been wise with his money, and if we didn’t come up with a large sum of cash immediately, we would lose everything. The vineyard, our home, our land.”

I sucked in a breath. “So that’s why you need the painting? To sell it and buy your family’s vineyard back?”

Julien nodded. “You see? You and me both. We need something important from Claude. This is why we must work together.”

My head throbbed trying to put all the pieces of this jagged puzzle together. “So that whole story you told me yesterday about Claude’s operation infiltrating the police—the
mole?
It was all just a lie to convince me to follow you?”

A somber expression swept over Julien’s face. “Yes, I am sorry. That part of the story was not true. I had to say that to—”

“And the part about you being an undercover agent? Also not true I suspect? I mean, call me crazy, but I’m having a hard time believing that you’re really a government agent who has been assigned to track down your own brother.”

“No, Chloe. This part is not a lie. For the past two years, I have been working with the government on a contractual basis, so to speak, going undercover to help them find and arrest other conmen like Claude. Technically, I have not been assigned to Claude’s case. I am the most qualified person to find him though, since he is my brother. And once he stole the painting, it was not an option. I had to go after him.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me all of this right from the start?”

Julien ran his hand through his messy brown hair. “I did not know if I could trust you.”

“But you expected me to trust you? Even though you started off by telling me a huge lie to divert me from the cops?”

“I know it does not make sense to you. But I know Claude. I know what he does, how he works. And I can help you get your passport back and get home safely. You are an innocent woman mixed up in this stupid mess my brother has created, and in addition to getting the painting back, I
do
want to help you.”

“Well then explain to me
why
you won’t get the painting back if I talk to the police. After all, that
is
why you lied to me in the first place about Claude having a mole on the inside, right? I’d really like to know that I haven’t been running around this damn country with you for nothing!”

“There are two reasons you should not talk to the police. The first is what I have already told you about all of the women who’ve worked with Claude in the past, and the fact that the police will not believe you when you say you are innocent and Claude stole everything from you. You saw this for yourself that morning in the hotel, no? They will suspect you are working with him and will have to complete an entire investigation before your name can be cleared. That is not a lie, Chloe. I did not lead you away from the police for nothing.”

“But even still,” I cut in, “let’s say we get my passport back and you and your high-up government connection clear the way so I can get through customs and go home in time for my wedding. When I get home, I’ll still have to deal with the fact that there has been fraudulent activity coming from my bank account. So my bank at home is still going to be running an investigation on me, right? I mean, how am I going to deal with that when I’m trying to get married?”

“I spoke to my government friend while you were in the bathroom on the boat, and he promised me that if we can get your passport back from Claude, he will not only help me to get you through customs, but he will clear your name from the investigation.”

“Are you serious? Who is this guy?”

“I told you, he is a good friend. And he is very high up, so he can take care of these things.”

“Okay. If that’s even true, then why can’t I just go to the police now with him backing me up?”