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TWENTY-FIVE

Merlin

Paul

“You shouldn’t watch.” Merlin stands by my side, his disapproving glare heating the side of my neck.

Vivianne is awake and exploring her room.

Rohypnol is a fast-acting drug whose effects last up to six hours, sometimes longer. Vivianne was out most of the night. The doctor told me the residual effects could persist for up to twelve hours and would likely affect her memory. She won’t recall much, if anything, of last night, which means the chances are high that she has no idea where she is or how she arrived.

There was little choice in the chaos of last night.

My fingers curl. They tried to kidnap Vivianne.

My Vivianne.

I shake my head. “The feed stays on. I want her monitored.”

“She will be,” Merlin says. “But we agreed to give her privacy.”

I disagreed, but Merlin set down his foot. A deep rumble sounds from my chest—part possession, part frustration, and something much darker. An ache settles in my heart, too.

I need more, but I’m not ready to acknowledge what that might be. There’s the desire to take and claim, but something deeper waits there, too. An overarching protectiveness pulls at me, drawing me toward Vivianne.

After the doctor examined Vivianne and pronounced her safe for travel, I took her from the auction.

My choices were limited—return her to her hotel and leave her vulnerable to whatever my foster brother planned or bring her to the chateau, knowing she would be terrified when she woke to unfamiliar surroundings.

I should go to her now, but Merlin demands my attention. We have guests arriving in less than an hour, and I need to be on point.

What Merlin and I agree on is Vivianne and I will proceed with attending the auction on Lac Léman.

I can’t afford to draw suspicion on myself or my foundation by not showing up, not to mention what the American embassy will think. That piece of the plan will continue.

But what to do about Nicholas?

“Did you know he was out?” I scrape at the stubble of my beard.

“I thought we had a few more years before his parole,” Merlin says.

“We need to know.”

“Something happened.”

“Indeed.” My brother isn’t foolish enough to attempt escape from prison.

We’ve become complacent, thinking Nicholas was safe behind bars. If Nicholas is out, he’s calculated enough to stage a theft and commit murder just to spite me. But what’s the end game?

Why involve Vivianne?

I dip my head. “This is bad timing.”

“There is never a good time.”

I grind my molars. The air practically crackles with the energy surging in my veins.

“What now?” I force my body to relax, focusing on every major muscle group. I take a series of deep breaths. It doesn’t work. My teeth are still locked tight.

“We stick to the plan,” Merlin insists.

“The plan’s been compromised.”

At one time, Merlin’s jaw was chiseled with the strength of youth. Now, his features sag with his aging skin. Dark blemishes mar his face and dot the backs of his hands, but he’s lost none of his fire or his passion.

Merlin is on a quest and is determined to finish it before his spirit leaves the world.

“ Dr. Gachet is important,” Merlin insists. “The Americans will sacrifice it for their investigation, but I want that painting.”

“You want to return it to Orsay?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It doesn’t belong in Orsay.”

“But it’s been there for years.”

“Only because you failed.”

“Failed?” My pulse pounds.

I’ve done many things in life, but Merlin never accused me of failure. I tried copying the piece for several years, finally giving up. “What is so special about that painting?”

“It’s in the ledger.”

“They’re all in the ledger.” It’s a challenge to keep the frustration from my voice.

Merlin lives and breathes to cross lines out of his precious ledger. When the last line is crossed off, he still won’t be satisfied. The man demands retribution.

We rarely speak about the origins of the leather-bound journal, but the history of that time pulses in Merlin’s veins.

“She’s her granddaughter,” Merlin says.

The only surviving photograph of Merlin from his youth contains a young woman.

The bright-eyed teenage girl looks happy and carefree, not knowing a world war would ultimately change her life’s entire trajectory.

In the picture, Brigitte wears the earrings I saw on Vivianne that day we met. The brooch around her neck is still missing.

According to Merlin, the diamond has a unique flaw within its depths. A swan with wings outstretched caught in perpetual flight. He believes the brooch is with the Faulkses and is determined to return the setting to its rightful owner … Him.

My attention drifts from the banks of security gear to the only table in the room. Stainless steel, it’s devoid of everything, except Merlin’s life’s work.

My father goes to the table, dragging his fingers over the weathered leather journal. His fingers tremble with age, fluttering over the book as he opens the front flap. Inscribed inside in precise and perfect penmanship, hundreds of names, dates, and a list of items fill the pages.

Only half of the list has been crossed off.

Merlin turns a page. He leans forward and pinches his eyes. His finger taps a line. “December third.” His voice shakes. “It was taken in 1939.”

I peer over Merlin’s shoulder. “But there are no surviving family members.” We only take pieces we can return.

“This one is special.”

He said that before.

Special means Merlin isn’t willing to talk about it.

“Fine. We stick with the plan.” I turn to the darkened security feed. “I need to speak with her and explain.”

“You need to do more than that. She needs to know what you intend.”

“I’ll give her a few minutes to get dressed, and then I’ll collect her.” The door to the room is locked, so I have no fear she’ll go anywhere without my knowledge.