Page 80 of The Stipulation
She stops walking. I turn to her.
“So, it has to be someone that Delacroix knows is the type who would be willing to get his hands dirty,” she says.
“That was my initial thought.”
“He’s still hiding something,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
She bites her bottom lip, and God help me. Paris was supposed to stay in Paris. Instead, it’s unravelling me, and I have no idea how I will turn this off when we return to New York.
I take her hand, firm, possessive, and lead her down the street, my mind already turning. Delacroix is not going to break. Not for money. Which means we need a new plan.
Jo squeezes my hand. “I have an idea, but I don’t know how successful it will be.”
“Go on,” I tell her.
“The friends of my father’s, the ones on our list. Do you know them well enough to socialize with them?”
I think for a moment.
“We’re acquaintances. They aren’t people who would expect me to call and invite them around for a cup of tea.”
“Ok, then this may take a bit longer, but it can still work. Give me time to clean up a few more paintings, and then we can contact the suspects together, plus a few others, so it’s not obvious that it’s just them. We’ll tell them we are having an art exhibition. We won’t come out and say we’re selling off the paintings, but we’ll heavily imply it. That will get them for sure. Either because they care about the art or because they want to sniff around and see why we’re selling. To see if my father died broke and left us to clean his mess. And then it’s a matter of chipping away and hoping one of them fucks up and sayssomething they shouldn’t when they find out the Gainsborough is also there.”
I smile slowly. “Jo Button, you are a sneaky little genius.”
She beams under my praise. “We’ll give them some fine, strong whiskey, loosen their tongues. We’ll pretend we don’t know what paintings we have or what they are worth because Joseph didn’t catalogue them accurately, so we are going to get valuations done by Christies. And we’ll watch their reactions carefully. Even the best psychopath won’t be able to stop himself from betraying some sign of his guilt.”
I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
AXEL
The cab smells faintly of leather and stale cigarette smoke. Paris moves past us in streaks of gold and grey as the sun gives way to a shower of rain. I watch how the wet pavement reflects the wan sun. Scooters weave between the lanes of traffic. There are couples tucked into café corners. The driver has the radio on low, some soft French ballad humming under the engine noise. Jo sits beside me in the back seat, a coat folded neatly in her lap, her fingers loosely intertwined on top of it.
We’re on our way to the airport. Back to New York. Back to reality. Back to consequences. Neither of us has said much since we left the hotel. It’s not tension exactly. It’s awareness. The kind that sits between two people who know something has shifted and don’t dare to name it… yet.
We swore to leave Paris in Paris, but...
I glance at Jo’s profile. The city lights catch in her dark hair, turning it silk black. She looks thoughtful, and she is definitely being quieter than usual.
“Well,” I say casually. “The weekend wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
She turns her head slowly, one eyebrow arching. “Oh?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I achieved something.”
“And what would that be, exactly?”
I look at her fully now. “I made you fall in love with me.”
I wait for it expectantly. The laugh. The eye roll. The scoff. The sarcastic retort. One of them, or maybe all of them. Jo Button does not miss an opportunity to humble me. But she doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t roll her eyes. She doesn’t argue or call me ridiculous. Instead, she blushes. It’s subtle. A faint bloom of pink rising along her cheekbones. Her gaze drops to her hands.
And my stomach tightens. Because that is not embarrassment or annoyance. And that is definitely not amusement. That is the truth. For a moment. I just stare at her, something slow and electric spreading through my chest. Could it be that she actually feels something for me, something that won’t, can’t be left behind in this old city?
