The Darkest of Secrets. Kate Hewitt
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would want to legally off-load a whole lot of stolen art quite quickly.’
‘If he is honest.’
Michel shook his head, although there was a flicker of sympathy in his shrewd grey eyes. ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you, Grace.’
‘Neither did innocence.’ She turned away, her mind roiling from Michel’s revelations.
‘You know you want to see what’s in that vault,’ Michel said softly.
Grace didn’t answer for a moment. She couldn’t deny the fact that she was curious, but she’d experienced and suffered too much not to hesitate. Resist. Temptation came in too many forms. ‘He could just turn it all over to the police.’
‘He might do so, after it’s been appraised.’
‘If it’s a large collection, an appraisal could take months.’
‘A proper one,’ Michel agreed. ‘But I believe he simply wants an experienced eye cast over the collection. It will have to be moved eventually.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t like it. You don’t know anything about this man.’
‘I trust him,’ Michel said simply. ‘And I trust the fact that he went to the most legitimate source he could for appraisal.’
Grace said nothing. She didn’t trust this Tannous man; of course she didn’t. She didn’t trust men full stop, and especially not wealthy and possibly corrupt tycoons. ‘In any case,’ Michel continued in that same mild tone, ‘he wants the appraiser to fly to Alhaja Island—tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Grace stared at her boss, mentor and onetime saviour. ‘Why the rush?’
‘Why not? I told you, holding onto all that art has to be an unappealing prospect. People are easily tempted.’
‘I know,’ Grace said softly, and regret flashed briefly in Michel’s eyes.
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I know,’ she said again, then shook her head. That brief flare of curiosity died out by decision. ‘It’s not something I can be involved with, Michel.’ She took a deep breath, felt it sear her lungs. ‘You know how careful I have to be.’
His eyes narrowed, mouth thinning. ‘How long are you going to live your life enslaved to that—?’
‘As long as I have to.’ She turned away, not wanting Michel to see her expression, the pain she still couldn’t hide, not even after four years. She was known by her colleagues to be cool, emotionless even, but it was no more than a carefully managed mask. Just thinking about Katerina made tears rise to her eyes and her soul twist inside her.
‘Oh, chérie.’ Michel sighed and glanced again at the file. ‘I think this could be good for you.’
‘Good for me—’
‘Yes. You’ve been living your life like a church mouse, or a nun, I don’t know which. Perhaps both.’
‘Interesting analogies,’ Grace said with a small smile. ‘But I need to live a quiet life. You know that.’
‘I know that you are my most experienced appraiser of Renaissance art, and I need you to fly to Alhaja Island—tonight.’
She turned to stare at him, saw the iron in his eyes. He wasn’t going to back down. ‘I can’t—’
‘You can, and you will. I might have been your father’s oldest friend, but I am also your employer. I don’t do favours, Grace. Not for you. Not for anyone.’
She knew that wasn’t true. He’d done her a huge favour four years ago, when she’d been desperate and dying inside. When he’d offered her a job at Axis he had, in his own way, given her life again—or as much life as she could have, given her circumstances. ‘You could go yourself,’ she pointed out.
‘I don’t have the knowledge of that period that you do.’
‘Michel—’
‘I mean it, Grace.’
She swallowed. She could feel her heart beating inside her far too hard. ‘If Loukas finds out—’
‘What? You’re just doing your job. Even he allows you that.’
‘Still.’ Nervously, she pleated her fingers together. She knew how high-octane the art world could be. Dealing with some of the finest and most expensive art in the world ignited people’s passions—and possessiveness. She’d seen how a beautiful picture could poison desire, turn love into hate and beauty into ugliness. She’d lived it, and never wanted to again.
‘It will all be very discreet, very safe. There’s no reason for anyone even to know you are there.’
Alone on an island with the forgotten son of a corrupt and hated business tycoon? She didn’t know much about Balkri Tannous, but she knew his type. She knew how ruthless, cruel and downright dangerous such a man could be. And she had no reason—yet—to believe his son would be any different.
‘There will be a staff,’ Michel reminded her. ‘It’s not as if you’d be completely alone.’
‘I know that.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘How long would it take?’
‘A week? It depends on what is required.’
‘A week—’
‘Enough.’ Michel held up one hand. ‘Enough. You will go. I insist on it, Grace. Your plane leaves in three hours.’
‘Three hours? But I haven’t even packed—’
‘You have time.’ He smiled, although his expression remained iron-like and shrewd. ‘Don’t forget a swimming costume. I hear the Mediterranean’s nice this time of year. Khalis Tannous might give you some time off to swim.’
Khalis Tannous. The name sent a shiver of something—curiosity? Fear?—through her. What kind of man was he, the son of an undoubtedly unscrupulous or even evil man, yet who had chosen—either out of defiance or desperation—to go his own way at only twenty-one years old? And now that he was back, in control of an empire, what kind of man would he become?
‘I don’t intend to swim,’ she said shortly. ‘I intend to do the job as quickly as possible.’
‘Well,’ Michel said, smiling, ‘you could try to enjoy yourself—for once.’
Grace just shook her head. She knew where that led, and she had no intention of enjoying herself ever again.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THERE it is.’
Grace craned her neck to look out of the window of the helicopter that had picked her up in Sicily and was now taking her to Alhaja Island, no more than a rocky crescent-shaped speck in the distance, off the coast of Tunisia. She swallowed, discreetly wiped her hands along the sides of her beige silk trench coat and tried to staunch the flutter of nerves in her middle.
‘Another ten minutes,’ the pilot told her, and Grace leaned back in her seat, the whine of the propeller blades loud in her ears. She was uncomfortably aware that two of Khalis Tannous’s family members had died in a helicopter crash just a little over a week ago, over these very waters. She did not wish to experience the same fate.
The pilot must have sensed something of her disquiet, for he glanced over at her and gave her what Grace supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. It is very safe.’
‘Right.’ Grace closed her eyes as she felt the helicopter start to dip down. She might be one of the foremost appraisers of Renaissance art in Europe, but this was still far out of her professional experience. She mostly dealt with museums, inspecting and insuring paintings that hung on revered walls around the world. Her