“Let’s not forget who’s paying you to do this job. I want you to do what you were instructed to do in the first place. Find out what the guy knew and where that painting is, and don’t come back until you find me something to work with. Understood?”

  The phone clicked off in the blond guy’s ear and he threw it against the dashboard, dropping a few curses as he did so. He reached for a cigarette and dragged back hard to expose a bright glowing ring around the tip where the paper burned away. When he relaxed a bit, his tall friend spoke.

  “What now?”

  The blond swore again. “He wants us to go back and find out what the dead guy knew. Can you believe it? How are we supposed to go in there now with the place swarming with cops? He’s lost his mind. What’s so special about this painting anyway? They have too much money on their hands, that’s what it is.”

  “And what about the woman? Did he say anything?”

  “Nothing, he’s not even bothered by her. But I tell you, she recognized me, I’m sure of it. She’s the same one.”

  “So what? She knows nothing.”

  “Maybe, but he knows more than he is telling us. I can smell a rat a mile off, and he’s a fat one.”

  “The fact is they pay our bills, and handsomely, I might add. Let’s hang low until the cops leave and then we go back. Maybe we missed something in the rush. With the house quiet and off limits we might have a better chance of finding something.”

  The blond agreed that his partner made sense and they set off to the nearest bar to drown their sorrows until it was safe for them to return to the house.

  Pascale Lupin’s thumbs rapped anxiously on the black leather of his car’s steering wheel. His eyes darted cautiously between the rear view mirrors and the road ahead as he firmed his grip around the wheel and shuffled restlessly in his seat.

  His car pushed along the lonely road that snaked between tall trees toward the remote location he visited the same time every week. Usually, he’d be a lot more relaxed, but this week’s meeting had him on edge.

  It’s the closest he’d been to the end of his mission in years, yet, once again, the trail ran dead, literally. Just thinking about it again as he pushed the car faster up a slight slope, made his blood boil. He’d come so close this time, but once again Gerard Dubois was one step ahead of him. He was too influential and too experienced. Feeling defeated once more, he was convinced the man couldn’t be beaten.

  And, just as he had nearly done a dozen times before over the past seven years, Pascale was ready to walk away. He had had enough. Today was the day he’d finally bow out gracefully, call it quits, surrender defeat. Perhaps he’d been too close to it all these years. Perhaps it was time he stepped away and left Gerard Dubois to be someone else’s problem.

  It would be easy enough to disappear, he thought. He had money and he had the means to get a new identity. At fifty-two he had spent nearly half his life pretending to be someone he wasn’t anyway, except, this time it would be for his benefit alone. Heaven knows he hadn’t had a vacation in nearly ten years.

  When he noticed the time on the dashboard, he dropped a gear and sped the car faster along the road. If there was one particular day he didn’t want to be late, it would be today. He had rehearsed his speech a dozen times in the mirror that morning. It would be short and sweet, with the result that would, for once, leave him feeling in control of his own life once again.

  With newfound courage to do what needed to be done, he took the final turn toward the remote truck stop. It had served him well over the years. But, seeing it draw closer up ahead suddenly made him second-guess his decision to quit his mission.

  “Darn it! Stupid determination!” he shouted as his hand slammed against the steering wheel.

  For he knew Pascale Lupin was no quitter. It simply wasn’t in his make-up. It’s what made him the best, what had made him the best for nearly three decades. He couldn’t throw in the towel even if he wanted to. He had worked too hard, given up too much, sacrificed his entire life. Giving Gerard Dubois what he deserved had been what he lived and breathed for. It was his addiction, his drug of choice. He couldn’t let him win. He couldn’t stop, not now.

  When his car turned off the road and drove into the truck stop that was mostly concealed from the road behind a row of tall, dense trees and shrubs, the black SUV was already waiting for him.

  He parked his car behind it and took the few strides he needed to get into the rear seat. His boss greeted him with a friendly pat on the back as he settled into the plush leather seat next to him.

  “How are you, my boy? Are you holding up?” the much older man enquired gently.

  Pascale merely nodded, still in agony over whether to proceed or quit.

  “You look troubled. What’s up?”

  “We hit a dead end. Again. The guy is smart, I’ll give him that,” Pascal reported.

  “And you want to give up.”

  Pascale’s eyes met his other employer’s. He had been like a father to him and he knew him well, too well.

  “I can’t do this anymore. I’ll never outsmart Dubois. The guy is always ten steps ahead of me. How he does it, I yet have to discover, but I can’t live like this anymore. My entire life is a farce. Heck, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t want to turn into someone I’m not. It’s not worth it anymore.”

  When he had blurted out his jumbled speech, he waited for his boss and longtime mentor to respond, but he didn’t. He merely sat there, hands folded in his lap, staring into Pascale’s eyes.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Pascale eventually broke the awkward silence.

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. Say something.” His voice sounded desperate and childish.

  “If you want me to tell you that I’m okay with what you’re saying and that I give you permission to quit, that’s not going to happen. I’ve never known you to quit anything, ever. You’re a fighter, always have been. That’s what makes you so good at your job.”

  Pascale rubbed his palms over his eyes then up and down his thighs. Inside, his emotions were raging out of control. Part of him wanted to run. As far away from everyone and everything as his feet would allow. But the other part needed to stay, wanted to stay, to see this through to the end.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what’s tripped you up, son, then we can find a way past it?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know if there is a way through this. I’m in too deep, it’s a mess and I can’t see how I’m going to turn this around.”

  “Let’s try anyway. Humor me.”

  Pascale took a deep breath and proceeded to report every detail of his past week. About Züber’s death, the lifeline that led to his ex-cellmate which ran dead with a murder he was certain was ordered by Gerard Dubois, and the mysterious woman who seems to have suddenly popped up out of nowhere and who was somehow entangled in it all. And when he had gotten it all out and on the table, it was the simple words of his mentor that instantly melted the wall of ice that had blocked him from seeing a way through.

  “Find a way to make the woman your friend instead of your enemy. Do that and you’ll be back in the game. She knows something we don’t. Forget about Dubois for now, and set your focus on her. We have resources, Pascale. Use them.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Ana’s tears finally dried up and the girls stopped smothering her with sympathy, she looked up at Jorja with questions in her eyes.

  “Who’s she? I haven’t moved out yet! I’m still paying rent here, you know.” Her voice blasted accusations toward her girlfriends.

  “Hey, babes, chill. She’s not moving in. She’s just someone who passed by. Actually, who are you?” One’s attention turned to Jorja.

  “No one important. Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose.” Jorja handed Ana her handbag.

  “Then why are you here?”

  Jorja felt her throat close up as her mind searched for something to say. She had to find out if Ana knew anything about the painting. She was her last hope.

  “I knew your fiancé’s cellmate. He’s dead too. I came here hoping to speak to Jürgen about something but now he’s…sorry.”

  Ana jumped to her feet, her eyes suddenly blazing with heat, her chest heaving forward in attack.

  “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Did you kill him? Why, huh, what could you possibly have wanted with him?”

  Two girls held her small frame back and tried calming her down, but their eyes were suddenly alive with accusation too.

  “No, never! I didn’t kill anyone. And I’m on my own. I came here to speak to him. He was already dead when I got there, I swear!” Jorja defended.

  “About what? What could someone like you possibly want to speak to my Jürgen about? You’re not exactly his type.” Ana’s eyes filled with fresh tears.

  “It’s not like that at all. Like I said, I knew the man he’d shared a prison cell with and I just needed to ask him a few things, that’s all.”

  Ana slumped back onto the sofa and started digging around in her handbag on her lap. When she found her pack of cigarettes, she lit one and sat back in the sofa, one arm crossed around her thin waist while the other held her cigarette.

  “It’s about that stupid painting, isn’t it?”

  Her question threw Jorja off guard, surprise blatantly visible on her face.

  “I thought so. That’s precisely why he’s now dead. I told him to let it go, warned him it would be the death of him, but did he listen? No! He was so stupid.” Ana buried her face in the oversized fabric around her wrist, the cigarette glowing in front of her forehead.

  “You know about the painting?”

  “Of course I know about the painting. Jürgs and I didn’t have secrets. He told me everything.”

  Jorja sat on the low coffee table that stood opposite Ana and forced her eyes on hers.

  “Ana, I know you’ve been through a lot, and I know you loved Jürgen and won’t do anything to taint his memory, but it’s important you tell me everything you know about that painting.”

  Ana scoffed. “You’re joking, right? Why would I do that, huh? Clearly it’s what got him killed. The less I have to do with it the better. I might not be as classy as you, but I know a thing or two about people like you. You use people like Jürgs and me to get what you want, even if it means you kill for it. I’m not telling you anything so just leave!”

  “I agree, you should leave,” one of the other girls echoed.

  “No, wait, listen, it’s not like that. I’m not here to use you and I had nothing to do with your fiancé’s death. I’m trying to do the right thing here, that’s all. I need that painting, please. Just tell me what you know.”

  But Ana remained silent as her friends moved to physically pull Jorja away from her and get her out of their home.

  “Ana, I don’t know who killed Jürgen, but I do know they’re dangerous. They have friends, as dangerous if not more. And those friends nearly killed me too. If I don’t bring them that painting they’re going to kill the only true friend I’ve ever had. Please, you have to help me!”

  Perhaps it was something in Jorja’s desperate plea, or perhaps it was the tears that now rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks that had Ana and her friends suddenly pause to reassess their opinions, but the room fell silent around them.

  It was Ana who finally spoke first.

  “I don’t understand. I know it’s worth a lot, but why this one? What’s so important about this stupid painting that people have to die over it?”

  Her question was the glimmer of hope Jorja had been seeking and she didn’t hesitate to tell them.

  “Have you ever heard of a famous painter named Leonardo Da Vinci?”

  The girls shook their heads in near unison.

  “How about the Mona Lisa?”

  “Yes, of course we all know that one,” one of the girls answered quickly.

  “Well, Da Vinci was the guy who painted the Mona Lisa, but he also painted the Salvator Mundi, an exquisite oil canvas of Christ the Savior.”

  “You mean, Jesus,” Ana said.

  “Yes, however, unlike the Mona Lisa, this painting has been missing for years. No one has ever been able to find it after it went missing following an auction. It never made it to its destination.”

  “Yeah, I know all this already. So what?”

  “You know this, how?” Jorja asked, intrigued.

  “Jürgs told me, of course. I told you, we didn’t have any secrets between us.”

  “What else did he tell you, Ana?”

  “Oh, no, see, there you go again, thinking you can dupe me into telling you stuff. I’m not going to betray Jürgen, even if he’s dead.”

  “Ana, I’m not asking you to betray him. He’d already told my friend, his cellmate. That’s how I knew to come speak with him. They were planning to get it back.”

  “I know, that’s what would’ve gotten us out of this rubbish hole we’ve been stuck living in. We had it all planned out. We were going to leave Europe and find our own piece of paradise. Somewhere far away from everyone and everything that had it in for us. Now he’s dead and I’m still stuck in that nightclub working for his loser boss. I’m never going to get out now.”

  Fresh tears soaked her sleeves as her friends, once again, consoled her.

  “You should go, really. We’re sorry for your friend, but Ana’s been through enough,” one of the girls next to her said.

  But Jorja knew if she had any chance of getting Sokolov what he wanted, she’d have to persuade Ana to talk. So, she shrugged off the friends’ grip and leaned in closer to Ana’s face.

  “Look, Ana, I can’t stop your heart from hurting, and I can’t bring Jürgen back, but I can help you get away and still live the life you had planned to have with him.”

  When she saw that she’d caught Ana’s attention, Jorja continued. “I know what it means to run and hide from your past. I’ve done it for twenty years, successfully, and I can help you do it too. I have a friend who is able to create a new identity for you, give you a passport and everything. And I can give you money, enough to get you to your paradise and set you up for at least a year until you find a better way of earning an honest living. I’ll make it happen for you if you tell me everything Jürgen told you.”

  Ana looked at her friends for input, and when she’d found in their eyes what her heart had already decided, she wiped her eyes with her sleeves and said, “Can you really do everything you just said you can, for me?”

  Jorja smiled, her heart overjoyed that she had managed to earn victory over the situation.

  “Absolutely, and I’ll prove it to you right now.” She took out three tight bundles of large bills and held it out for Ana to take. “I’ll get the rest of the money and your new passport to you within twenty-four-hours if you help me. I don’t have a lot of time left.”

  Ana’s slim fingers curled around the cash, nearly dropping the cigarette she had pinched between two of her fingers.

  “This is a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is, and I’ll make true on my promise to give you the rest. You can start a new life, Ana. Away from the pain, away from the life you’re forced to live.”

  Ana’s eyes hadn’t left the cash that now lay in her lap. Two of her friends flanked her sides and quietly encouraged her to take the deal.

  “If they find out that Jürgen told me they’ll kill me too.”

  “Who, Ana, who?”

  “My boss, Jürgen’s boss. I know they killed him.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he’d been trying to leave the Gardiens ever since he got out of prison.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jorja waited for Ana to tell her more but the petite girl with the fiery spirit suddenly fell silent.

  “It’s okay, Ana, you can trust me.”

  “I don’t even know your name. How can I trust you?”

  “Jorja, Jorja Rose, and you can trust me as much as I am choosing to trust you.”

  “It’s a nice name,” Ana said, after a long pause as her lips curled into a faint smile that told Jorja it was safe to probe her more.

  “Tell me about the Gardiens. Is the name French, meaning guardians? Are they a mob?”

  Ana nodded.

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Why should you? You don’t strike me as the kind who gets mixed up with them. They’re one of, if not the biggest and most powerful, mob in all of Europe, probably the world. You don’t mess with these people. As far as I know the big boss orders hits like he’s ordering his caviar if you as much as think out of line. They say he lives somewhere here in Geneva but no one knows for sure. From what I hear, he has cells operating everywhere and none of them have ever seen the guy, much less met him. Jürgen was thirteen when he joined the mob and he hadn’t even come close to meeting him. Most of them never do. They report to their leader and he communicates to another guy, and so on. Like Chinese whispers. Jürgs was higher up the ranks so he reported directly to Franz.”

  “He’s your boss, at the club?”

  “Yes, I only took the job to get close to him so I could spy on him. Jürgs thought that me being on the inside was the only way of getting into his safe. I was meant to keep him occupied while some guy broke into the safe.”

  Soft cries escaped from her throat as she spoke. “Now Jürgs is dead and I’m still stuck on the inside.”

  “I’m going to get you out, Ana, I promise. Tell me about the safe. What’s in the safe?”

  Ana took a deep breath before she answered.

  “As far as I know, Franz was in charge of the cell who had stolen the painting. Jürgen was in that cell.” She dropped her head in shame over the part her dead fiancé had in it, then continued. “That’s why he went to prison: the police caught them, but Franz managed to escape with the painting. That’s how he moved up the ranks to club owner. He finished the job and got the payout while Jürgs and the others went to jail. All he knew was that the painting was bought by some rich guy in Dubai, I think.”