He had a high-end address not far from the Louvre and the Tuileries, but his actual decor was simple and understated. There was an entire hallway full of framed photos of his extended family in all manner of silly candids and more formal shots. His love for his family was the most prominent personal piece of him displayed in the apartment besides his carefully curated art collection.
The rest had been… depressingly cold. All with the exception of his bedroom. I’d only peeked in it for a split second, but I’d gotten a feeling that was where he nested. There were soft blankets and pillows in a comfortable pile on his bed, and homey lamps sat on two bedside tables. Graphic tees and worn-in jeans had been in a folded stack on a dresser with neatly folded socks on top, and a coffee cup and open paperback were on a small side table next to an overstuffed armchair by the window.
The only piece of art in the room was a stunning Henry Scott Tuke bather painting. It was highlighted with a dim spotlight that made the colors of the sand and sea fade softly behind the bright pale skin of the nude male subjects.
I’d wanted to ask him a million questions about it at the time, but then I would have had to admit to snooping in his private space.
King rolled over on top of me until our naked bodies were pressed together. My arms automatically came around his back so my hands could take advantage of all that skin. Soft lips dropped onto the edge of my mouth and brushed across to my ear.
“I would really like that. No one has ever cooked for me on a date before.”
I ran my hands through his wet hair, brushing it back from his face. His eyes were striking, even when they weren’t focused on me, but when they were? They were mesmerizing.
“Maybe you’ll have to make a trip over the river and through the arrondissements so I can show you how the other half live,” I suggested. “I even have an extra bedroom if you, uh, decide to stay over.”
King’s eyes squinted in laughter. “You’d make me sleep in the guest room? That’s harsh, Agent Falcon.”
I felt my face heat. “No… I just didn’t want to assume…”
His smile faded. “I’m sorry about before. I… Well, let’s just say I have trust issues. So… I apologize for being immature and jealous.”
He handed me the perfect opening to ask for more detail about what happened between him and Elek. “What happened on the Van Gogh job?”
King rolled off me and lay on his side, propping his head on his hand. “He tripped the alarm.”
“By accident?”
King flopped onto his back and closed his eyes with a groan. “No. Definitely not. We were arguing. He… he hit me over the head and tied me to the fucking radiator. And then he left and set off the alarm on the way out.”
It was more or less what I had expected, but that didn’t make it any more surprising. “Why? What the hell were you arguing about?”
“I don’t even know. I mean, it was…” King sighed. “I’d begun second-guessing him more and more. I’d finally started realizing I didn’t like stealing art just to have it wind up in the hands of people who didn’t fully appreciate it or didn’t properly care for it. It weighed on me. Made me sick. So I’d started pushing back a little. I guess he finally figured out he no longer had a compliant tool to wield. But that’s just a guess.”
I was proud of King for having stood up for himself, but I could tell he still felt a lack of closure. “What happened when you confronted him about it?”
He turned his head to look at me again. “I didn’t. When I got back to our apartment, the locks had been changed, Tibor—the butler security guy—acted like he’d never seen me before, and Elek blocked my number.”
“You’re kidding. And you lived together?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I thought maybe he’d found someone else. I don’t know. When he left that night, he told me over comms he had a wife. So that’s what I thought until you and your team told me otherwise. What can I say? I’m a gullible idiot.”
I hated hearing him talk about himself that way. “No, you aren’t. He’s a controlling, entitled, pompous jackass.”
“And I was in a relationship with him. So what does that make me?”
I reached for his hand and held it. “Naive, maybe. Young, definitely. And most likely an idealist at the time.” I took a minute to get up the nerve to ask what I really wanted to know. “Do you miss him?”
King shook his head emphatically. “Not one single bit. I knew the minute he left me there, we were through. But I really would have liked to have gotten my stuff out of the apartment. After that, I started stashing go bags with ID and money all over Europe just in case. I was convinced it was only a matter of time before I would fall prey to another manipulator. It was like… uncovering a fatal character flaw in myself. I thought maybe I was simply destined to fall for people’s bullshit because it was how I was wired or something.”