16

Calais, France

Either his glass was spinning or Jasper wasn't drunk enough. Taking no chances, he signaled the bartender for another whisky

and downed the golden liquid in one gulp. It no longer burned his throat, merely offering an intoxicating caress of oblivion.

He propped his tuxedo-clad elbows on the polished bar and breathed in the heavy scent of cigarette smoke permeating the dimly

lit room. It was the kind of hole-in-the-wall joint where patrons secreted away for a real drink after being forced to sit

through a formal dinner with in-laws or a boss. Here, ties loosened, dress hems rose, music swanned, and drinks knocked a

man back. Here, everyone grasped after pleasure, wanting to lose themselves while silently hating everyone for acting as a

mirror to what they despised most about themselves.

Jasper didn't hate himself. Nor did he hate anyone else in the room for seeking escape. He had passed the years and hours

in the fragrant arms of pleasant women as they danced the night away, but always the wretched quiet followed when the music

stopped and the alcohol dried up. And the silence summoned her .

She strolled out of the haze just as she had the day they met. Armistice had been declared and all the bells in Paris were ringing. People young and old flooded the streets, cheering and clapping, hugging and crying. Jasper had been on leave with a few of the lads from his unit when word came that the war was over. They'd joined the celebration sweeping along the Champs-élysées where a brass band had set up among the waving flags.

The first chords of "Daisy Bell" were playing and suddenly there she was. Long dark hair rolled and pinned up at the nape

of her neck, a red skirt and jacket, and a hat tilted to the side. She'd walked straight up to him, kissed him full on the

lips and then with a saucy wink she'd disappeared into the crowd.

His world had turned upside down.

Hours later his mates dragged him into a café for a pint and there she was again. Tucked into a corner booth laughing with

four other girls. He and Esme had found a quiet booth of their own and talked until night fell.

"What if I told you I might fall in love?" he'd asked, drowning in her sky-blue eyes.

She'd taken the pint from his hand, sipped it, and smiled. "What if I told you I'd break your heart?"

"I'm lost either way."

An hour later they were married. A passionate kiss, a ring on her finger, a photograph, and the nearest hotel they could find,

and the rest, as they say, is history. And history, as they also say, is bound to repeat itself.

"Isn't that the truth?" Reaching into his wallet, he plucked out the shiny gold band he'd slipped on her slender finger. Not

twelve hours later she'd given it back, and like a sentimental fool he'd carried it around for four years. Imagining that

one day he would find her and she would want it back. "Joke's on me."

He dropped the ring into an empty glass and rattled it around to catch the bartender's attention. "Another."

A frown flickered across the bartender's face, but he was too much of a professional to stop a rummy from spending more money

and poured another shot as the jazz band tripped into a song Jasper had never heard but that sounded an awful lot like the

hollowness groaning in his chest.

A newcomer slipped onto the barstool next to Jasper and nodded to the freshened drink in his hand. "What's your poison?"

The man took on a vaguely familiar form. Jasper blinked in concentration. Fair with a missing right arm. Mond.

"Loneliness." Jasper saluted his friend with the glass. "It started off as barely controlled rage." He pointed to the first

empty glass lined up in front of him. "Then disbelief." He pointed to the second. "Then my own idiocy—a double for that. It's

a game I'm playing. I drink to see how much it takes before Glenfiddich's finest starts pouring out of the hole in my heart."

"Don't swallow the ring. It'll hurt like the devil coming back up." Always a dry wit, that Mond.

Jasper drained his glass dry, catching the ring with his teeth. He spat it back into his hand. "Did I say heart? I meant pride."

Mond took the empty glass and added it to the expanding row. "Oh no. I think your heart got roped into that golden circle

long ago. Otherwise you would have pawned it for something more useful."

Jasper appreciated the straightforwardness he shared with Mond. Most days. Today was not one of them. "Why are you here?"

"You sent me a telegram." Mond pulled out a yellow slip of paper from his breast pocket and waved it in Jasper's face. "Urgent

you claimed." He dropped it on the counter and flattened it with his palm.

Jasper blinked at the telegram and spotted his name typed at the bottom. "Oh. So I did. And it is. Urgent." He frowned at Mond's empty hand. "Do you want a drink?"

Never one to turn down a refreshing drink, Mond signaled to the bartender. "Scotch and soda, s'il vous plait."

As the bartender gathered the requested order, Jasper didn't linger on unnecessary niceties. "I've found Esme."

Mond sighed and shook his head at the soda the bartender was about to add. "I've changed my order. Neat."

"She's eluded me for the past month. At first I thought she'd traveled to Milan to give the tiara to that woman who hired

her, but none of my contacts had seen her heading south. Nor did anyone spot her in Milan."

"Neither did mine," Mond added.

"Then I asked around in Paris." Warming to the topic of a chase, Jasper's mind pulled itself from the whisky-induced haze.

"She was spotted at Gare de Lyon. When I arrived and questioned the stationmaster, he claimed Esme had been there a month

ago and purchased a ticket but never boarded her intended train to Milan."

Accepting his drink, Mond sipped the amber brew. Lucky old sport. He didn't have need to toss it all back in one go. "She

probably knew she would be too easy to track using the train and only bought that ticket to throw you off."

"I considered it a possibility until the stationmaster checked his logbook and found a gendarme report from the day she was

supposed to depart. An Italian man was found bleeding and unconscious in one of the platform's waiting rooms, and a woman's

busted-open suitcase and clothing were strewn all about. It was Pirazzo, Countess Accardi's goon."

Mond frowned. "Why would Pirazzo show up in Paris if Esme was taking the tiara to Milan?"

"Obviously the countess has trust issues after Esme handed her a fake one last time."

"Esme wouldn't double-cross the old broad, not when she had a payout coming."

"Unless the countess had no intention of paying and sent Pirazzo to collect the tiara and dispose of Esme." Fingers clamping

around his glass, Jasper stared into the emptiness. No amount of drink could blot out his shock and anger upon hearing the

rest of the report for the first time.

"A cord shaped into a garret was found with dried blood on it. The beast tried to strangle her."

Mond let out a low whistle. "Bad luck for her mixing up with that lot."

Jasper forced his grip on the glass to relax. Shattering glass in his hand was counterproductive to his line of work and he

needed all the advantages he could muster. He needed a cool head, and thoughts of Esme in danger only made his blood boil.

He'd warned her to cut ties with that old gorgon. Impulsive minx that she was, Esme hadn't bothered heeding his warnings.

And now look where she was. On the run from a hit man and a barmy old diva, leaving a trail of scattered breadcrumbs for Jasper

to track across the English Channel.

At first he'd thought crossing paths with his estranged wife over the Valkyrie was an odd and twisted set of circumstances,

but now he was convinced this was no coincidence. "A posh aristocrat's mistress, an Italian opera singer." Duke had a number of affairs, many of them with Italian women and many of them performers of some sort, so it seemed conceivable that Countess Accardi was one of his conquests who believed she was owed more for her services rendered. Such as a diamond tiara.

"Two days ago I received word from an old comrade who works the loading docks in Dover," Jasper said. "A Miss E. Fox was on

a ship's manifest that landed three weeks ago. She sailed to England."

"So the question is, what's her plan for the tiara now that she's on the run?"

"I don't care about her plans." A lie. He ordered another drink to prove how much he didn't care. "The only thing I need concern

myself with is tracking her down and taking back the tiara so I can be done with this job once and for all. It has caused

me nothing but headaches."

"It's that woman. She's what's going to give you an ulcer. Look at this." Mond jabbed at the row of empty glasses. "You're

crawling into the bottom of a bottle because of her."

"As if a woman hasn't sent you on a bender."

"Not for a month straight. My heart may break for an evening, but there's always another dish around the corner willing to

soothe me."

"Heart," Jasper scoffed. "I told you my heart has nothing to do with this. Wounded pride, that is my affliction."

"Wounded pride stings. It makes you curse at the moon and go out looking for a brawl with the first sorry sot to cross your

path. But a woman who has her hooks in you, well, that's a whole other set of problems. Makes you lie to yourself, for one.

Listen to weepy music." Mond jerked a thumb at the band, who chose that moment to back up his statement with "Three O'Clock

in the Morning." "Drink the juice joint dry. And my personal favorite, chase after her in hopes you'll get her back."

Jasper reiterated his scoff. "I'm not chasing her, and I do not want her back."

Mond raised his eyebrows in mock rebuttal.

"There are rules to be followed— my rules. Keep the job entertaining. Don't make enemies. There's a third... somewhere..." He tapped his head in concentration.

The gold wedding band stared accusingly at him. "Oh, there it is. Never allow the job to become personal."

"I'd say you've broken that rule a thousand times over in the past few weeks."

"The Valkyrie is the only thing of importance to me. Esme and I had our chance. She didn't want me, and I should have known

better—that she wasn't the sort of woman to stick around." The bartender set a freshly poured whisky in front of Jasper. He

didn't reach for it as his resolve sobered. "I want someone who wants me ."

"Then go get the Valkyrie and put all this behind you."

Jasper pinched the simple wedding band between his fingers, turning it this way and that. Dim light sparked off its smooth

gold surface. Flicking it in the air, he positioned the whisky glass, where the ring landed with a splash. It sank to the

bottom, along with whatever might have been with Esme.

Pushing away the glass, he dropped a generous tip of coins on the counter.

"I intend to."