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Next to me, Ingrid releases a long, weary breath. “Do I really need to be here for this? I’m already late for work.”
“Shut up,” Lars barks, turning to Ingrid just long enough for Willow to sign something to her son, a rapid-fire movement of her hands that I don’t understand, but Sem does. He gives her a slow, solemn nod. Ingrid sees it, too, but she doesn’t let on. She gathers her teddy bear coat snug around her neck and mumbles something in Dutch, her breath sending curls of condensation into the frigid air.
Lars aims his gun back at Willow. “Listen to me, hear what I’m telling you. Xander was already dead when I got there. His safe was already empty. I saw the body and I got the hell out of there.”
“Is this some kind of trick? Because I already paid you plenty. As I recall, twenty thousand euros.”
“C’mon, Willow. You and I both know the diamonds were the real incentive.”
“What diamonds?” Fleur says, turning to Willow. “You promised this guy diamonds?”
“The diamonds that were in Xander’s safe!” Willow says, as much to Fleur as to Lars. She shifts her body another step to the right, and I see where she’s going, why she keeps creeping further into the room. She’s aiming for the spot between Sem and Lars’s gun so she can plant her body between the two.
The only problem is, she’s doing more than putting herself in the path of a bullet. She’s dragging Lars’s gaze to the wall of glass. Step by step, little by little. Another meter or two, and it’ll be hard not to notice the little boy sitting behind it.
“Why, though?” Fleur whirls to face Lars, not willing to let it go. “Whydid she hire you to steal the contents of Xander’s safe? What did she tell you was in there?”
Fleur is not the only one here who doesn’t understand. Willow hired Lars to creep through Xander’s apartment, to search the rooms one by one until he found the safe, which Lars claims was empty. So... what? He murdered Xander out of fury? For revenge? I don’t understandanyof this.
“Did you know I was there? Did you see me sleeping?”
It’s like I didn’t even speak. My words don’t register with Lars, with anyone. They’re all too focused on the missing diamonds, the empty safe.
Ingrid lets loose another sigh. “Can I just go? Seriously. This has nothing to do with me.”
It’s too many questions coming at Lars at the same time, and from too many people. He swipes an arm through the air, poking the gun first at Ingrid, then me. “You two, shut up.”
Fleur is next: “Lady, I don’t fucking know. Willow wanted those diamonds gone. She paid me to make them disappear. It’s not my job to ask why.”
And then, finally, he aims his words and weapon at Willow. “Asafe stuffed with diamonds, that’s what I was promised.”
“Not by me! I never promised you that.”
“Twelve diamonds worth a million, assuming you know where to sell them, plus an eleven-and-three-quarter-carat, internally flawless, original Prins-cut diamond that willnetyou millions—plural.”He glances at Fleur, lifting a single shoulder. “Probably not a direct quote, but you get the gist.”
“Eleven and three-quarter carats,” Fleur says, her voice flat. She turns to Willow, watching her through squinted eyes. “Internally flawless. Original Prins cut.”
“The Cullinan is in the vault at home. Ask Thomas. We just saw it.”
“And the other twelve stones?”
Willow juts a thumb in Lars’s direction; her other hand reaches under the flap of her Chanel bag. “You’re going to believe this guy? Honestly, Fleur. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Willow has a point. Lars is a thief. An admitted criminal who doesn’t seem all that opposed to murder. It’s not all that far of a stretch to think he’s a liar, too.
But also, there’s this: What are the chances? Two thieves, both sneaking past locked doors and security cameras to break into Xander’s penthouse on the same day, likely only minutes apart. I don’t believe Lars’s story, either.
But Fleur seems to. She glares at her sister-in-law, her fingers brushing over a lump in her coat pocket, tapping whatever’s in there until it makes a muted chinking sound. “Yes, I believe him, because I know the kind of stones Xander was peddling. I know he was growing matches and switching them out.”
Willow arches a plucked brow. “How, because you were helping him?”
“Helping him? You thinkIwas helping him?”
Willow’s hand fishes around in the bottom of her bag, and what’s taking her so long? Also, what’s her plan here—to shoot Lars through her Chanel bag? To whip out the gun and take him by surprise? Itry to catch her eye, but Willow keeps her focus on Fleur.
“There’s no way Xander could have gotten away with it for this long, not without help from someone inside the House. How else would he have known which stones to copy? Which diamonds were headed for jewelers in on the scheme? If anyone found out what Xander was doing, if consumers found out the rock they paid hundreds of thousands of euros for was worth only a tenth of that, it would be the end of the lab-grown line. Thomas’s pet project, destroyed. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”
Fleur laughs, a harsh, angry sound. “What about the twelve diamonds in Xander’s safe? Tell us about those, Willow. What were you planning to do with them?”