When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(64)
Author: Beth Kery

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” she heard Lucien say clearly.

“The prison lifestyle isn’t a healthy one.”

Elise’s mouth went dry. She’d been wrong to think the voice of the man Lucien spoke to was unfamiliar. She’d heard that German-accented voice once before, in Paris. It sounded like the same man Lucien spoke to that night she’d eavesdropped at Renygat.

Were they talking about Adrien Sauvage? Dear God, he wasn’t dead, was he?

She should back away. It was wrong to eavesdrop again. But what if she could learn something about Lucien’s secrets . . . about what was plaguing him? She held her breath, listening.

“I’ll say this for him. He never tried to blackmail any of you, and that’s twenty in all. The bastard hinted there was more, both to me and the police, although he was always coy and clever about offering anything of substance, lest it bring him to trial again.”

“Your powers of interview and interrogation must be huge. He opened up to you like no other.”

“He was vain. I was someone to brag to. Besides, it gave him a chance to learn about you. He soaked up that information.”

“And yet he refused to speak to me in person.”

“Perhaps he possessed a sliver of a conscience. His guilt wouldn’t let him face you.”

“That man didn’t know the meaning of guilt. What a sick fuck.”

Elise started at the amount of venom in Lucien’s usually level tone. He sounded intimidating in that moment. Frightening.

“Well, he’s gone now,” the man said.

“Too bad he couldn’t take his twisted legacy with him.” Her heart began to pound in the ensuing silence. What could make Lucien sound so bitter? Was Lucien truly that angry at his father that he would speak of him this way if he died? No . . . there was something about that possibility that didn’t fit somehow.

“What of the other matter? Do you think you’ll be able to locate the stolen funds?”

“The signs are good. I think I’ll have something to report to you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” she heard Lucien say, something about his brisk tone making her think he was concluding the meeting. “Herr Schroeder, thank you again for coming to Chicago. As always, your thoroughness and quick execution is appreciated.”

“Not at all. I was in the States when you called, so it wasn’t difficult to meet with you. I’ll leave for Switzerland to continue the investigation and call you as soon as I know anything—”

Elise jumped when she heard a totally unexpected sound—a quick, light tread on the stairs that led to the rooftop deck. She hastened guiltily from her spot in front of Lucien’s office toward the master bedroom.

“Elise!” Maria Oronzo, Lucien’s maid, squeaked when she saw Elise standing in the hallway. Elise had met the friendly middle-aged woman several times before and got along well with her. “You startled me. Lucien told me you wouldn’t be home until later.”

Elise smiled, trying to look calm even through her heart was racing. “I was due to come home later, but—”

The door to Lucien’s office snapped open.

“Elise?”

She turned, her breath burning in her lungs. Lucien stepped into the hallway, his gaze boring into her. “You’re home early,” he said.

“So are you,” she murmured, unable to keep her eyes off him. He looked tall and awesome in the shadowed hallway, his white shirt and light eyes a contrast to his dark gray pants and black blazer. Stubble shadowed his jaw, giving him a dark . . . slightly dangerous air. Someone cleared their throat and Elise blinked, realizing it was Maria, and that she’d been staring at Lucien and he’d been staring back.

“I must be going,” she heard Herr Schroeder say from just inside Lucien’s office. “The plane you have ordered for me will be waiting.”

“I’ll be going, too,” Maria said, giving Lucien a nod. “Everything is ready, Lucien.”

“Thank you. Thank you both,” Lucien said, pulling his gaze off Elise and glancing into his office. “Maria, would you mind seeing Herr Schroeder out before you go?”

“Of course,” Maria said, smiling at Herr Schroeder as Lucien stepped aside and the other man walked out. Elise caught a glimpse of a silver-haired, elegantly dressed man of about sixty before Maria was leading him down the hallway. Lucien and she stared at each other without speaking. A moment later, Maria called a good-bye and the front door closed.

“Come in,” Lucien said. He nodded toward his office. Elise stepped inside the luxurious, masculine, leather-clad room. “Have a seat,” he murmured, waving at one of two leather wing-back chairs that faced each other, a toasty brown walnut table between them. Lucien sat across from her. Elise searched for what to say. Would he suspect she’d overheard part of his conversation with Herr Schroeder?

“He’s a private investigator.” Lucien spoke before she had decided how to broach what had just happened. “Herr Schroeder is looking into the location of the embezzled funds for me. As you likely already realize, he’s worked for me on several occasions in the past.”

“He’s the man I overheard you talking with in Paris years ago. Lucien, what’s going on? The man you mentioned dying in prison, it wasn’t Adrien, was it?” she asked, anguished.

He blanched. “No, of course not. I was referring to a man you don’t know. A man you have no connection to whatsoever, and never will.”

“Then what has that man—Herr Schroeder—got to do with Ian Noble? You two were discussing Ian in Paris years back, and then you came here to Chicago. Please tell me,” she added softly when she saw how glacial his stare became.

“How will I ever cure you of this proclivity for eavesdropping,” he mumbled after a moment.

“You seem to have a talent for it yourself,” she returned quickly, referring to catching him listening to Ian while he’d been on the phone. He frowned. She heard the brass clock on his desk ticking quietly in the ensuing silence. Lucien remained unmoving, his arms reclining loosely on the arms of the chair. His gaze on her didn’t waver. She sensed his tension despite his relaxed pose, sensed him studying her with that laser-like stare. Suddenly he stood.

“I need a drink,” he said, walking toward a sideboard with several decanters and glasses set on a tray. “Will you have a glass of cognac with me?”