Page 22

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Lena

" L ena? Don’t come home.”

Lena sat up from where she’d been slouching against the car window, half-dozing, when her phone had started ringing. “ Papa ? What’s going on?”

“Somebody broke into the house last night.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was working late and slept in the office. A neighbor called me this morning when he noticed the door was open.”

“And Beaujoulais?” Lena’s voice was full of fear.

“Beaujoulais is fine,” the colonel said. “I knew I’d be late from work, so I dropped him off at Alexandre’s house yesterday. They’ll keep him for a few days.”

“Beaujoulais is my father’s dog,” Lena explained quietly to Tristan. She rubbed her eyes. “How far away are we?”

“About fifteen minutes away,” Tristan said.

“We’re almost there, Papa . I’ll see you?—”

“Is that Lieutenant Devallé? Put me on speakerphone, Lena.”

Tristan didn’t bother to mention he could hear both sides of the conversation already.

“The gendarmes are here,” the colonel said. “I don’t want Lena anywhere near the house.”

“Until they leave?” Lena asked. But Tristan knew better. That’s not what the colonel meant.

“She can stay with me, sir,” he said.

“Good.”

“What? No. Papa . I should be with you.” She turned to look at him. “Take me home, Tristan.”

“I’ll call you later,” her father said. “And, Tristan? Thank you.”

“You’re driving me home,” Lena said, placing the phone back on her lap.

“No.”

Lena sputtered, her face turning red. “No?”

“Your father’s right,” Tristan said, striving to keep his tone calm. “Until we know what’s going on, the safest thing is for you to stay away.”

“I said, take me home,” Lena repeated. “Take me home, or stop the car right here. I can walk.”

Tristan turned to look at her for an instant before bringing his attention back to the road in front of him. “How many break-ins do you think there are in Chamonix every year?”

“Eh … I don’t know.”

“Not many,” he said. “Add in the fact that your father is Colonel Pelegrin, and I don’t think it takes?—“

Lena blanched. “You think my father’s in danger.”

Tristan shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. But the teams are going to have to analyze every possibility. And your father wants you to be safe while they do.” Shit. She looked like she was going to pass out. “Breathe, Lena. Please.”

A soft rush of air passed her lips. “But my father …”

“Your father can take care of himself, Lena.”

“But if he’s in danger?—“

“Then you being there will only make things worse.”

She sighed, but apparently couldn’t come up with a counterargument.

The light turned green, and Tristan accelerated gently. “Okay?”

“On one condition. I don’t want to be left in the dark. The moment you know anything, I want to know as well.”

Tristan nodded. That was a deal he was willing to make.

“I promise I’ll?—“

Lena’s phone rang. She picked it up without looking at the screen, but her face fell moments later. “André. I’m sorry. No, now’s not a great time.”

Tristan could hear a man’s voice on the other side of the line, but couldn’t make out his words.

“The photographs?” Lena asked, distractedly. “No. I told you. Those are with the police.” She paused as the man explained something. “Okay. I’m not sure they’re in the same style, though, I usually focus on—“ Another pause. Whoever this asshole was, he was hardly letting her get a word in. “Sure. I guess we can meet tomorrow. Send me the address of the gallery. Thanks.”

“Bad news?” he asked, once she’d finished the call.

Lena looked distracted. “No, I suppose not. André’s an old high-school acquaintance who became a reporter. We hadn’t really kept in touch, but he reached out after we found the body. Now he says there’s a gallery interested in my photographs.”

“The photographs you took at the cave?”

She shook her head. “He was interested in those, but I explained those are with the police. The gallery wants to see my other photographs, apparently.”

“That’s … good, right?” He didn’t know much about photography, but it seemed like that could be an opportunity.

Lena nodded distractedly. “I guess. He’s going to introduce me to the gallery owner tomorrow.” She paused. “You really think my father’s going to be okay?”

Lena

Tristan unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting Lena walk in ahead of him. She didn’t hesitate—just moved past him with a soft brush of her shoulder against his.

He followed her in, their weekend bags slung over his shoulder, and shut the door quietly behind him. He hesitated for half a second, his hand brushing the lock.

“Don’t even think of locking that door,” she said, wishing her voice sounded firmer. “I won’t be locked in.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “You promise you’ll stay put?”

She turned to face him, arms folded loosely across her chest. “Only until we hear from my father. And if you hear anything, I’ll be the first to know.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Tristan agreed, sealing the promise.

Lena studied him for a moment—searching for any sign of evasion or sugarcoating, but found nothing. His blue eyes were earnest.

“Okay. Then I’ll stay,” she said easily.

With that, she slipped off her shoes, lining them up neatly by the door, and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the hook by the entryway. It was crazy how at home she felt in Tristan’s place.

“Kitchen’s yours if you want anything,” he said softly.

She flashed him a small smile over her shoulder. “I know. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Sure,” he said. “Let me make it. Why don’t you go sit down?” He’d taken off his boots and socks, and she couldn’t help but stare at his strong, wide feet.

“Stop treating me like I’m breakable, Tristan. I’m worried about my father, but I’m okay.”

“Of course you are. It’s just been … a long weekend. I know my parents can be a lot.”

Lena laughed at the euphemism. “I don’t think they liked me much. I’m sorry,” she said. She really was. She’d wanted them to like her, because … well, because they were Tristan’s parents. Because this—with him—felt real. And then she’d embarrassed them in front of their friends. She cringed at the memory.

Tristan shook his head, already filling the kettle. “Don’t apologize. You were great. You held your own in a room full of people who measure their self-worth by what’s hanging from their wrist.”

Lena leaned her hip against the counter, watching him move around the small, functional kitchen. She reached for two mugs and put them on the counter. “For what it’s worth—” she began, but was interrupted by a loud knock.

Tristan tensed. He moved fast, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. A quick glance out the window, and then he opened the door. Three tall, broad-shouldered men strode in. If they were surprised to see Lena there, they didn’t show it.

Tristan shook hands with each man in turn.

“Lena, you remember Alex, Ry and Lorenz?”

Lena nodded and murmured a greeting. Her face flushed in embarrassment, and she wondered if it would always be like this. If, every time she saw them, she’d have a flashback to being lost in the mountains.

“How’s your wrist?” she asked Lorenz, looking for something—anything—to take her away from her most humiliating memory.

“Almost as good as new,” Lorenz smiled, raising it to show her the splint.

“What are you guys doing here?” Tristan asked, ushering them inside.

“We figured we’d order dinner and catch you up on things before you come back to work tomorrow,” Ry said, pulling out a chair and straddling it.

“We already know the colonel’s house was broken into,” Tristan said. “The colonel called us on our way in.”

“Vincent and his team are still there. But the break-in is the least of our concerns,” Alex said, then looked at Lena quickly. “Sorry, Lena. I mean?—”

“It’s okay. In case it’s not clear, I’m not here to spy on my father,” she said, with more bravado than she was really feeling.

Tristan took her wrist and pulled her gently onto his lap. “We know,” he said cockily. “You’re here because of me.”

Lena smiled, allowing herself to lean against his hard chest. “I guess I am.”

“So. What else is going on?”

Alex was the first one to speak. “The forensic scientists finally identified the man whose body you found.”

Lena inhaled sharply. “They know who he is?”

Alex nodded. “Maxim Jubert. A lawyer who disappeared seventy-three years ago.”

Seventy-three years . Lena’s stomach twisted. Seventy-three years hidden in the mountains. Nearly three-quarters of a century, buried beneath snow and silence.

She shifted slightly on Tristan’s lap.

“Was it an accident?” she asked quietly. “Or…”

Alex glanced at Ry, then at Lorenz. “They don’t know yet,” he said. “He had a broken femur, which wouldn’t have killed him if he’d gotten help. But the back of his skull was also caved in, and that may—or may not—have been an accident.”

Tristan swore under his breath.

Lena felt a cold chill crawl up her spine. “You think someone brought him there to kill him?”

“It’s too early to tell. But it’s possible that someone killed him and left him there, knowing no one would find the body for a long time.”

She swallowed, suddenly aware of how cold her hands had gotten. Tristan reached for one and wrapped it in his own without saying a word.

“Who was he?” she asked. “I mean, not just a name. Why would someone want him dead?”

Ry leaned forward, forearms resting on the back of the chair he’d straddled. “Maxim Jubert was a defense lawyer in Geneva. Big name back in the forties and early fifties. Known for getting high-profile criminals off the hook.”

“Organized crime?” Tristan asked.

“Exactly. Ties to several known figures, some of whom disappeared themselves over the years. One theory is he was silenced after threatening to expose someone. Another is he was involved in something bigger, maybe even blackmail.”

Lena exhaled slowly. “And he ended up hidden right under Mont Blanc.”

“His car was never found. No evidence he’d been anywhere near the mountains. It’s like he vanished into thin air, and no one ever looked in the right place.”

“Until you,” Alex said, his gaze steady on Lena. “You uncovered something someone wanted to keep buried.”

The room fell silent.

Lena tried to absorb it all, but the questions just kept multiplying.

Lena glanced at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on some invisible point across the room.

“Does my father know?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Alex said. “We were waiting until we had confirmation of the identity. The colonel will be briefed first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lena nodded, her mind still reeling.

Maxim Jubert. A man dead for seventy-three years. A disappearance no one had solved—until her mistake unearthed the secret.

“There’s more,” Ry said, staring at Tristan. Lena felt him stiffen beneath her. “Budgets are being cut.”

“What?”

“Last year it was the firefighters, this year it’s us. It’s not finalized, but we have a rough idea of what they’re talking about, and it’s not good news. The helicopter we lost? We might not be able to replace it.”

Beneath her, Tristan tensed further. “Shit. We need that bird.”

“Isolde’s program offering therapy to friends and family members is also at risk.”

“We can’t lose that,” Tristan said, shaking his head. “No way.”

“The colonel, Beau, and Damien are meeting with the mayor tomorrow,” Alex said. “But I don’t know if there’s much they’ll be able to do. Yvette says this wasn’t the mayor’s call.”

Ry’s phone rang. He listened for an instant before ending the call. “That was Hugo. There’s a change of plans. We’re going to their place for dinner.”

“Is Jo okay?” Lorenz asked.

“She’s fine,” Ry said. “They just feel like company, I guess.”

“The last time Hugo called me over, I got to stand as a witness in his wedding,” Tristan said dryly.

“Right. Well, I don’t think he’s getting married again. Come on. Let’s go.”

“What do you think, Lena?” Tristan asked in a low voice.

“Of course, you should go. But don’t you think I should stay?—“

“Come with me. Please.”

“Come on, guys,” Ry called. “Hugo’s grilling steak.”

Steak? Lena looked out the window. In the snow?