12. Emmett
Chapter 12
Emmett
Behind the keycard-protected door, a short hallway provided access to two restrooms, plus a break room at the end. The latter included a kitchenette with shelves and racks for hanging personal items. Off that room was a small storage area with cleaning supplies.
The public restroom was likely far nicer, but it wasn’t close enough to the secure storage for my signal jammer.
I ducked into the first room and locked the door behind me.
Jean-Philippe might have told me the truth, and they’d sold the scarab. But his refusal to provide details—even when I asked again after my phone call with Scarlett—and the fact it was missing from the inventory didn’t add up.
So, where could I hide the jammer in preparation for Jayce’s recon tonight? It was the size of my palm, disguised as a container of mints with a fake lid that wouldn’t open. A magnet on its back would hold it in place if there were any appropriate metal surfaces. But the sink was marble, attached to the wall with a single shelf underneath. Over it, a slim-profile mirror with a gilt frame. A low-profile toilet completed the room. Next to the standing toilet paper holder, a wall panel controlled the bidet functions.
Without any lower cupboards or a skirt around the sink, the only hiding spot was behind the small waste bin in the corner. But a cleaner would easily find it, then either throw it out with the trash or alert someone to our work.
The ceiling was plaster, as I’d have expected in such an old building, so the ceiling was out, too.
Okay, Plan A didn’t work.
Plan B? I’d peeked into the other restroom, which was exactly like the one I was in. No options there, either. Could I place it in the break room? It didn’t have a locked door, so I’d have to be fast in case someone came in. But was it too far from the storage room door or the cameras?
I pulled out my phone and texted Brie: Range on the device? I don’t have a lot of options close to the security panel.
She immediately replied: 50 ft. Steel walls will reduce that a bit.
I sent her a thumbs-up emoji. Hiding it in the break room would be risky, but it was the best option.
As my hand landed on the door handle to leave, I heard another door open and close nearby—the keycard-protected door. Someone—more than one someone—walked toward the restroom.
If they went to the break room, my opportunity to set the jammer was gone unless they were in and out.
“The truck will be here at midnight.” The first voice was soft but masculine, speaking English with a light Scottish accent. Definitely not one of the gallery staff I’d met. “We’ve prepped the pieces for the yacht and still have to finish with the auction items.”
“Bene.”
Ice shot up and down my veins, and my head grew light. My knees wobbled, and I rolled away from the door, hand against the wall to keep myself upright.
I knew that voice.
I’d know it anywhere.
He spoke again. “I wish we were flying to Napoli instead of sailing. It takes so fucking long.”
A bag flew over my head, shutting out the world.
“Massimo has so much junk to transport.”
A fist to my face. Stars in my eyes.
Deep breath, Em. You’re not in Venice.
The kick to my ribs would come next.
You’re safe. The door’s locked. He doesn’t know you’re here.
It was Enzo.
The man who’d beaten me. Not the brains behind my kidnapping, but the sadistic muscle.
I sank slowly to the floor, fumbling for the poker chip in my pocket. Breathing. Trying to suck in slow breaths, so he wouldn’t realize I was still conscious.
No. You’re not in Venice, Em . The slow breaths are so he doesn’t find you in the restroom.
The Scottish man spoke, quieter this time, as they moved past my door. “And we’ll be picking more up at the auction.”
I gripped the poker chip, holding it against my lips. Breathing. Still breathing.
“Once we have the disc,” said Enzo, “we’re almost done. The boss will be happy.”
Listen to them. This is important. Stop freaking out .
“Any chance we won’t win it from the auction?”
“None,” said Enzo. “No one will outbid Massimo for a simple golden disc, no matter what the auctioneer says about it.”
“And we leave as soon as we have it onboard?”
A bead of sweat rolled down my back, and I flattened my palm against the cold marble floor.
Their voices grew muted, they must have gone into the break room. If it had been someone else—the guard or Jean-Philippe, maybe even Dante—I could have strolled in and found some way to divert their attention long enough to shove the jammer under the sink.
But not…
Deep breath.
Not Enzo.
How long would they be there? Someone would get suspicious if I stayed in this locked room too long. If Enzo was one of those people, I was done for.
I pressed my cooled hand to my forehead, wiped the sweat away, and focused on calming my heart.
Swallowed.
Breathed.
I was in the room closest to the exit. If I slipped out quietly enough, they wouldn’t peek their heads around the corner, and I’d be out of the gallery in under three minutes. There’d be no stopping to finalize the blue scarab’s sale with Jean-Philippe. Someone else would have to come back for the scarab.
I’d need an excuse to leave.
Or not. I could slip out the back door and no one would ever know.
But Jenn.
I’d be leaving Jenn here with Enzo in the building. A wave of nausea flowed through me. I couldn’t leave her alone here with the wolves. But I also couldn’t let her see me like this.
Call in backup? No, I couldn’t let the team see me like this. Scarlett or Mum would force me home and into therapy. They’d ban me from doing any ops until a stranger decided I was ready.
Fuck that.
I was better than that.
After one final clench, I stuffed the poker chip back into my pocket and braced myself against the wall. Stood up. Knees weak but functional. My pulse thrummed in my neck, but I had more important things to worry about.
Step one: Slip out of the restroom, out of the employee hallway, and across to Jenn.
Step two: Tell her we need to go. Concoct some excuse about her safety and escort her out the back door.
Step three: Run for it? Fuck, no. If I let her see my panic, she’d lose her rock. That’s what I was for her last night in her hotel room. She’d been losing it, and I was her rock. If I couldn’t keep my shit together, I’d be useless.
Still not good enough.
Never good enough.
The real step three: Channel all my mental energy into willing Enzo to stay in the gallery long enough for Jenn and?—
“And the scarab?” Enzo’s voice snapped me back into the moment. They were passing my restroom again. “I heard it was back from the goldsmith?”
I stood my ground, pressing my ear to the door. Sold, was it, JP?
“We’ll take it to the auction coordinator tonight. I’d planned to take it with the painting, but the art restorer’s not finished yet.”
“Bene. I’ll be in Nice this afternoon,” said Enzo, “but will be back when the truck’s ready. Check on the restorer before you leave. I don’t like what happened at her?—”
The door exiting the short hallway opened and closed, shutting me out from the rest of their conversation. I leaned my forehead against the door and went inward. Find your control . Focus on what’s important.
Enzo was in Monte Carlo. He was one of the Fenix Group’s captains. They were here.
Massimo and Dante were working with them.
The scarab was going to the same auction as the painting Jenn was working on. Jean-Philippe’s lie about it being sold and Brie not finding it in their inventory were of little import now. Cozying up to Massimo didn’t matter, either. He was working with fucking Fenix.
I fumbled for my phone and texted Scarlett with shaking hands: Can’t talk. Tell the team Enzo’s in town.
Her shocked What?! reply came quickly, but I didn’t have time for a discussion.
Protecting Jenn was now my priority. It wasn’t about my conscience anymore. Or about mistrusting a man who wasn’t right for her. Or the look in her eyes when she started panicking in her room last night. It was about keeping her safe. Enzo didn’t sound like he knew her link to Reynolds Recoveries—we had to keep it that way.
Now all I had to do was put my professional face back on, hide the jammer in the kitchenette, pay for my little blue scarab, and get Jenn the hell out of here.