The Man in the Black Suit

  “When we fled to Rio, we adopted new identities and changed our birth dates. I’m thirty-seven.” She fanned a hand over her forehead. “Where did you say my mother was?”

  “At a safe house in Manaus. She’s in the care of a former CIA agent. You can speak to her again tomorrow.” He paused, his brow wrinkled. “In the dossier, you and your mother are recorded as deceased.”

  “How good is your intelligence?”

  He adjusted the rolled sleeves of his black shirt. “Let’s just say I have friends in America.”

  Acacia’s stomach flipped. “Please tell me you didn’t give them our names.”

  “Of course not.” Nicholas’s eyebrows knitted together. “Your father is the person of interest. Let me add that our American friends were grateful for my report. They’ve been tracking your father for some time.”

  Acacia’s hands went into her hair. She rocked back and forth and tugged.

  “Don’t.” Nicholas’s hands covered hers. “You’re hurting yourself.”

  She allowed him to unwind her fingers from her hair and lower her hands to the mattress. “The CIA has my mother.”

  “No.” Nicholas returned his hands to his knees. “I have your mother. The ex-agent and his team are simply the ones on the ground.”

  “My father will find her.”

  “No, he won’t. The extraction was done quickly and quietly.” Nicholas touched her hand. “I should tell you that there were death certificates in the dossier, one for you and one for your mother. Anyone who has access to the dossier will think you and your mother died long ago.”

  “My father must have reported us dead after we fled.”

  “The death certificates looked official. Your new identities are solid. My best people investigated you, and there wasn’t even a hint of your true background.”

  “My mother bribed a government official in Rio. She cut ties with her friends and family in Minas Gerais before we left Jordan. We’ve never contacted them.”

  Nicholas gave her a thoughtful look. “Your fingerprints aren’t linked to another identity.”

  “I was so young when we went to Brazil, I hadn’t been fingerprinted. And then afterward, when we changed identities and moved to Recife, my mother bribed the same official.”

  “I’m sure it was very confusing for you while you were growing up.”

  “Hatred is the only thing I find confusing.”

  “You lied to me.” His voice was sad.

  She pulled the sheets back and swung her legs to the floor. “I lied to everyone. Just like you lied to me and the rest of the staff when you walked into Hotel Victoire.”

  He watched her for a moment. “Now that we’re telling the truth, is there anything else I should know?”

  “My mother found weapons in our apartment in Amman. When she confronted my father, he became violent.” Acacia gestured to where her scar was hidden beneath her hair. “I tried to protect her, and he beat both of us. He threatened to kill us if we told anyone about the weapons. My mother bided her time and was able to pay a man to smuggle us out of Jordan. We’ve been in hiding ever since.”

  Nicholas’s face darkened. “He beat you?”

  Acacia jerked her chin.

  “You were ten years old.” Nicholas lowered his voice. “He beat you?”

  “I have the scar to prove it.”

  “Jesus,” he swore.

  Slowly, he stood.

  She remained perched on the edge of the bed. “If he finds me, he’ll find my mother. There are too many ties between us—emails, phone calls, money transfers.”

  “You’re assuming he’d recognize you after all this time.”

  “I can’t risk it.”

  Nicholas made eye contact with her. He stepped closer. When she didn’t move away, his fingers sought her hair. He pushed back her curls and regarded her scar.

  “I’ve dealt with arms dealers before. I’m not afraid of your father.”

  “You should be.”

  Nicholas withdrew his hand. “He’s no different from others I’ve encountered in the art world over the years. The question is, what do you want me to do about him?”

  “Protect my mother.”

  Nicholas half-smiled. “You didn’t even take time to think before answering. Your mother will remain in the safe house until we assess the threat. I’ve demanded updated intelligence on your father and his people. We’ll see what we find out. What do you want me to do for you?”

  She hesitated.

  “Acacia?”

  She wrung her hands. “I’ll need a new identity.”

  “You want to keep running?”

  “No.” She clutched at her chest; the weight of her decision made it difficult to breathe. “I have no choice.”

  “If you want a new identity, I can secure one for you. Wouldn’t you rather stand your ground? Keep the life you’ve worked so hard to build?”

  “I may not have that luxury.” She inhaled slowly. Her eyes pled with him. “No matter what happens with us, promise me you’ll keep my secret.”

  “Are you anticipating us parting ways?” His tone was cautious.

  She ducked her head. “My father is a terrorist. I lied to you, about everything.”

  Nicholas was silent for a few seconds. He lifted her chin. “Did you lie to me in bed?”

  She blinked, confused. “No.”

  “Did you lie when you said you cared for me? That we would be monogamous lovers, as well as friends?”

  “Of course not.”

  “When you said I had a noble soul?” he whispered.

  “Your soul is noble.” Her voice wobbled.

  “You thought I’d send you away because you and your mother ran away from your father?”

  “I lied about who I am. I’m a Brazilian Jordanian Muslim, Nicholas.”

  “You think I’d stop caring for you because you’re Muslim?” He shook his head. “Muslims and Jews have their differences, but we are not natural enemies. We live in peace in many parts of the world. You know that. You also know I am not a racist.”

  “I know.” Acacia swallowed noisily.

  “You knew I was Jewish probably from the moment Madame Bishop gave you my real name.”

  “Of course. The Cassirers are a famous Jewish family from Germany.”

  “So my religion wasn’t a barrier to your affection.”

  “I don’t choose my lovers on the basis of their religion. I choose them on the content of their characters.” She sniffled.

  “Then we are the same. Don’t you see? We have our differences, but we share the same ideals.

  “Acacia, if a woman who’d been beaten by her husband came to me and asked for a new identity, I’d do anything I could to help. I’d be on the right side of justice in doing so. Of course your mother gave you a new identity when you were a child. She was protecting you.”

  Acacia covered her mouth with both hands as years of emotions flooded her. The strain of keeping so many secrets finally gave way.

  Nicholas wrapped her in his arms before the first tears fell.

  Chapter Forty-One

  ACACIA COULDN’T SLEEP.

  Nicholas held her in his arms, but her mind would not rest.

  She was afraid her father had seen her. She was afraid he’d find her mother. She was afraid her mother would never speak to her again.

  She was also afraid she’d cost Nicholas closure to his family’s tragedy.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured to the semi-darkness.

  Nicholas had insisted on leaving the bathroom lights on. Their warm glow spilled onto the bedroom carpet. On Acacia’s side of the bed, he’d lit a small oil lamp that flickered on her nightstand.

  His arm tightened around her. “Sorry for what?”

  “Everything.” She bit he
r lip.

  He kissed her temple. “That’s too much to be sorry for, mon amour.”

  Sorrow, keen and sharp, pierced her. She placed her hand over her mouth and willed herself not to cry.

  Nicholas drew her back toward him, his naked chest flush against her shoulder blades. “Hanin, you are safe now,” he whispered in Arabic.

  Acacia held her breath. “You speak Arabic?”

  “No.” He hugged her. “This afternoon I asked the staff to translate for me, and then I practiced saying it.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “I’ll continue calling you Acacia, unless you tell me otherwise. But I want Hanin to know she is safe.” He kissed the back of her head.

  “Hanin is lost.” Her voice was hoarse.

  He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You aren’t lost. You’re right here.”

  “I don’t know how to feel. I’ve kept secrets so long…”

  He squeezed her gently. “Now you have someone who cares about you who knows the truth.”

  “But I’ve put you in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Who else knows the truth?”

  “My father, my mother, the government official she bribed in Rio, and you and your people.”

  “I haven’t shared. My trusted team members know your father is a potential threat to you and your mother, but I’ve concealed as much as I can.”

  Acacia sighed in relief.

  “Does Luc know?” Nicholas’s tone was anything but casual.

  “No. When he decided to join the BRB, I ended things. I was afraid of what would happen if he found out the truth.”

  Nicholas’s body grew rigid. “What, specifically, were you afraid of?”

  “I was afraid the truth would end his career. I thought it would put him in danger. I also worried someone would investigate me because of him.”

  “But he knows you’re Muslim, and he accepted it.”

  She shook her head. “I hid my faith when I came to France. I was afraid of my father, but I was also afraid I’d be discriminated against. I practiced my religion in secret, but I always wore my hamsa pendant.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “My father?”

  “Luc.” Nicholas’s voice grew tight.

  “Yes.”

  Nicholas rolled her to her back and hovered over her. “Do you still love him?”

  “No.”

  Nicholas brought his forehead to hers. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Nicholas brushed his lips across hers, feather light. “The truth changes things.”

  She looked away. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” He caressed her cheek. “What I meant was that I’ll need to be careful to keep you away from the media. I don’t want your photograph splashed around.”

  “How did you avoid having your picture taken as Pierre Breckman?”

  “I avoided places where the paparazzi were known to congregate, and if a stray photo was taken, I bought it.” His thumb moved over her eyebrows. “You could have told me before. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her face. “You can’t say that. You have no idea what you would have done had I told you.”

  Artfully, he moved his hand so he held hers instead. “I know myself. That’s all I need to know.”

  She lowered her gaze to their hands. “Why aren’t you afraid of my father?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “He’s a terrorist.”

  “As I said, I’ve dealt with men like him before.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. “He could kill you, Nicholas, or have you killed.”

  Nicholas didn’t respond.

  Acacia’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Doesn’t that trouble you?”

  “My sister was murdered. I’m on a mission to find her killer. I have an elaborate network in place, designed to protect me and those I care about. That network wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate a threat.”

  Her gaze slid to the side, toward the lamp that shone from her nightstand.

  “Acacia,” he rumbled. “Stay with me.”

  Her eyes moved back to his.

  He touched her cheek once again. “While my network is different from your father’s, I’m confident it can protect us. I not only trade in artwork and antiquities, I trade in information.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I have contacts in various intelligence agencies around the world. I provide them with information, on occasion, and they do the same for me.”

  “So you’re a spy?”

  “No.” His denial was firm. “I’m only an asset to those agencies, as they are to me. I choose when to share information and what information I share. They do the same. Thus far, these relationships have been profitable for both sides.”

  “You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

  “Your father may be a threat to you, but I am a threat to your father. If he were to discover your identity, he’d find me as well.”

  Acacia let out an unsteady breath.

  “Mon amour, I’m not telling you this to frighten you. I’m telling you this to reassure you. You’re safe with me.”

  “I want to go back to Paris.”

  “Tomorrow. I’ve already made arrangements.” His hand slid down to her hip. “I have one request to ask of you.”

  “What?”

  “If the time comes for you to leave me, tell me before you go.”

  “Nicholas, I—”

  His dark eyes glittered. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  He squeezed her hip. “I’ve got you, Acacia. I’ve got you, Hanin. Anyone who wants to get to you will have to go through me.”

  She screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in his neck.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “HOW DO YOU FEEL?” Nicholas traced the back of her hand with his thumb.

  “I’m all right.” She gave him a brave smile and turned to look out the window.

  They were in Nicholas’s private plane and had almost reached Paris.

  In the hours before they left Hotel Dubai, they’d agreed Acacia wouldn’t change her identity. According to Nicholas’s sources, there’d been no chatter about her or her mother. It seemed her father hadn’t seen her.

  Acacia was cautiously optimistic. It was still possible her father had seen her and was simply lying in wait. Just to be sure, her mother remained in hiding, and Acacia had promised to be shadowed by Kurt at all times. Nicholas offered to take her to his home in Zurich, but she’d refused.

  He’d disappeared into the lavatory about an hour after takeoff to apply the prosthetic he wore to cover his scar. When he emerged, it was so artfully done, Acacia couldn’t even see where the prosthetic began and his real skin ended.

  “What will you do next?” he asked.

  “I need to find a job.” She shut her eyes quickly and opened them. “I need to let Luc know I’m back.”

  “Be careful.”

  Acacia faced Nicholas. “If I cut him off, he’ll be more suspicious.”

  Nicholas scowled. It was clear he wanted to protest, but he held his peace.

  She changed the subject. “I should probably call Madame Bishop tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “The Paris police might want to interview me again.” Acacia shuddered. “More attention I don’t need.”

  “I have a contact in the police service. The investigation is focused on linking Marcel’s murder to other assaults in the area.”

  Acacia stared. “But Marcel’s assault was premeditated. You figured it out.”

  “Yes, but I was aware of Marcel’s underworld activities. Obviously, Monsieur Roy has p
ointed the police in a different direction. I’ve kept Marcel’s journal as insurance, so the police are missing that as well.”

  “Shouldn’t we hand over the journal?”

  “We’d be putting ourselves at risk.”

  “But what about Marcel’s killers?”

  “They came after you once. We have something they want, which means we have leverage.”

  Acacia rested her head against the seat. “Do you think they’ll try to get the journal back?”

  “Not if their employer is as smart as I believe he is.”

  She drummed her fingers against the armrest. “How can you be so sure?”

  Nicholas shifted in his seat. “Because like anyone involved in the black market, he doesn’t want exposure. At the moment, we have a détente. Marcel, for whatever reason, was a threat to him. Marcel has been eliminated. The dealer wants the journal, presumably to clean up loose ends, but he knows we have it. He also knows we haven’t turned it over to the authorities. If he’s smart, he’ll leave us be and move on.”

  Acacia looked at Nicholas carefully. “Just how involved in the black market are you?”

  He gazed straight ahead. “The black market took my sister. I’m as involved as much as I have to be to find the ones responsible.”

  Acacia exhaled loudly.

  Nicholas leaned closer. “I know you’re feeling upset about the meeting I had to cut short. But I’ve already made progress. My analysts are cross-referencing the Paris art dealer’s associates with associates linked to Constantine’s contact in Dubai. It’s only a matter of time before we narrow the pool to a few wealthy Russians who’ve done business with both dealers. Then we’ll focus on that list and see if they can be linked to Yasmin. It may take time, but the leads are much more promising than anything I’ve had before.”

  “I don’t know how you can cross-reference leads when names are never exchanged.”

  Nicholas gave her a half-smile. “We have ways of uncovering identities.”

  “When you find Yasmin’s ex, you’ll be able to get your family’s artwork back?”

  “Perhaps.” Nicholas’s expression wasn’t precisely happy.