“Are you okay?” she asked, and began running her hands over his chest, his arms. “Nicholas, listen to me. You’re bleeding, bad, but I can’t find the wound. Where are you hit?”
His ears hurt, his throat was raw with smoke. His hands were blistered from the heat of the metal. He looked down to see his shirtfront was covered in blood from where he’d wiped his hands. “I’m fine. It’s not my blood, it’s hers. Kitsune’s gone. I think she shot Mulvaney.”
It had all happened in a split second.
Mike hit him on the shoulder. “You scared me again. Stop doing that.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Koh-i-Noor, still smeared with Kitsune’s blood.
Mike stared at the bloody stone. “So she gave it to you after all.”
He saw Kitsune’s face again, saw her smile, saw her walk into the heart of the fire. He cleared his throat. “She’d never hidden the Koh-i-Noor in Lanighan’s briefcase. She had it all along; it was in the blue bag. I saw her pry it out of Lanighan’s hand, and she gave it to me.”
Mike didn’t say anything. She’d seen Kitsune lean over him, but she hadn’t seen anything else, at least not clearly.
They turned and watched the fire, listened to the smaller explosions rip through the warehouse as the charges that Mulvaney had laid ignited. Nicholas could swear the Koh-i-Noor was warm in his hand, but when he looked down at it, he saw that the skin of his palms was burned and beginning to blister.
Mike asked, “Nicholas, did you see the other diamonds?”
“No.” Had he? He simply didn’t know.
“All that precious art on the bottom floor, all of it destroyed.”
The roof started to collapse, the corrugated metal walls buckling with an unearthly groan. Nicholas put his arm around her shoulders and turned her away.
“Enough. Let’s go home.”
98
Ritz Paris
15 Place Vend?me
Sunday morning
Mike came out of her bedroom the next morning to find Nicholas already showered, dressed, and sitting at the table in their living room, eating a croissant that she wanted to rip out of his hand.
He looked up and smiled at her. “Good morning. Before you ask, yes, my stitches survived.” He saw her arm was back in a sling. No wonder, given the way she’d jerked Lanighan over her shoulder last night. “How about yours?”
She waved him off. “All good.”
She sat at the table and stared at the beautiful plate of food in front of her—café crème, yogurt, croissants with strawberry preserves, and a big fat brioche.
He said, “Best of all, here’s coffee. You’ll need your strength. Our debriefing is in half an hour.”
She asked, “How are your hands?”
“I’ll do.” They fell into comfortable silence as they ate their breakfast.
Mike wiped the crumbs off the front of her shirt, glanced at her watch. “Okay, it’s time to fill them in on our adventures last night.” She opened her laptop and tapped into the CIVITS secure videoconference feed. The twentieth-floor conference room appeared on the screen. Zachery, Ben, Gray, Savich, and Sherlock were sitting around the table.
She waved a croissant at them. “Bonjour.”
Light laughter, then Zachery said, “It’s already all over the news, all over the world, and viral on the Internet. The Koh-i-Noor saved, but no details. Probably one of Menard’s men saw you with it but didn’t know how you’d gotten it. After we get things clear, we’ll hold a press conference here.
“I’m very glad to see both of you alive. Is the warehouse fire out yet?”
Nicholas answered, “At last count, there were two hundred firefighters and forty-five engines on scene, and the thing’s still burning. Mulvaney knew his business. All the surrounding warehouses went up in flames, too. The fire spread nearly half a mile through the area. They had to evacuate all the home.”
Mike said, “Not to mention every ounce of evidence was destroyed and all the priceless artwork stored there. It will be a week before the hot spots die down enough for a forensic examination to begin.”