Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lucien Kite Estate

October 22

L ucien Kite looked out the soaring Palladian window above the front door as Clara Gautreau climbed on the back of the motorcycle. The guy was a surprise—a biker in ripped jeans and a T-shirt. Kite would have thought Clara was more of an Armani suit type. The helmet obscured his face, but Lucian pictured a bearded tough guy who fancied himself a player. Still, the man had been clever enough to follow Kite’s guards or track Clara’s phone. Perhaps Reynard had hired a bodyguard for his princess.

It hardly mattered. Reynard could hire an army; it wouldn’t stop Lucien Kite from getting what he wanted. Or, in this case, keeping what he wanted. Clara Gautreau had fucked with the wrong man. Putting an end to her little Robin Hood act would not only curry favor with some very influential people—many of whom would be in attendance at his soiree—it would give Lucien the satisfaction of knowing he had been the one to outsmart the uncatchable Lynx. He had already unmasked her. Now, he was going to catch her in the act in front of hundreds of gossiping witnesses.

His mind danced with fantasies of what he would do to her then. Killing her seemed like such a waste. Maybe he would keep her caged in his bedroom or chained in the stables. Kite knew he wanted to ruin that pretty face; beauty was the ultimate privilege—one he could not buy despite his best efforts. Kite would destroy her body and soul.

Or perhaps auction that privilege to the highest bidder.

His ego had gotten the better of him today, but he couldn’t resist taunting Clara. What had she done? She had returned his bravado in equal measure. I’m going to steal that painting right out from under your nose.

Unfortunately for Clara, Lucien Kite was not some unsuspecting art lover content with a good alarm and a deadbolt. He turned back to the office, finding his house manager waiting by the double doors.

Willoughby followed him into the room and stood between the two guest chairs opposite the desk while Kite took his usual seat.

“How are the preparations coming?”

“Like clockwork, sir. The event will exceed your guests’ expectations, as it does every year.”

“No one comes into this house without being vetted. No cater waiter, no maintenance person, no delivery man, no one.”

“Of course.”

“One of those goddamned birds cracked the window. Have the pane replaced.”

“I’ll add it to my list,” Willoughby said.

“And have the security company check the alarm on the new glass. I want this office locked up tight for the party. There will be a thief in attendance.”

“Your guest list always includes colorful characters. Part of what makes this party so memorable.”

“This particular thief plans to steal that painting.” Kite gestured to Somewhere .

Willoughby smirked. “I wish him luck. The security in this room is impenetrable.”

“Her. The thief is a woman.”

His house manager merely shrugged. Kite had information in his bedroom safe worth infinitely more than this annoying work of art. Part of him wished Clara would steal the damn thing. It would be an excellent test of his security measures.

“I want two guards at the door at all times during the party.”

“Understood. Do you really think she’ll try to steal the painting?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it.”

“Should make for an interesting evening, sir.”

“Indeed.”