“Jacqueline.”
Her gaze jumped to Preston.
“Who is this jerk?”
“He’s—”
“The new boyfriend.” Remy had finished his croissant. He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips feathered over her knuckles. “So you can see why I get pissy when you start doing annoying things like call her ‘darling’ or say she’s your ‘fiancée’—when clearly, she’s not.”
“Boyfriend?” Once more, Preston’s laughter boomed. “Now who is dealing in bullshit?” He pointed at Jacqueline. “You’ve barely been gone a few days. You seriously expect me to think you found this creep and fell in love with him so—”
“Yes, she did find me. She fell for me. Now I’m standing between her and the rest of the world. Deal with it.” Flat. “I want the fucking safe.”
Preston wasn’t laughing any longer. He leaned forward, and his tie dipped into the food on his plate. “How do you even know about it?”
“I have my ways,” Remy responded.
“Who are you?” Preston breathed.
Remy shrugged. “I’ve gone by quite a few names.”
He had? Oh, sure. He’d probably done a ton of undercover work when he’d been with the FBI.
“I’ve been Michael Vermeer. I’ve been Paul Seurat. I’ve been Henri Delacroix.”
Who were those people? Were those just random aliases? They didn’t seem to mean anything to Preston. He just kept frowning.
“But when I was born, my father named me Rembrandt. These days, I’m Remy to my friends and to my enemies.” Hesmiled. “My last name doesn’t matter. It’s no more real than most of my aliases.”
Preston’s eyes widened. “Rembrandt?”
“Um. That’s what I said. Named after my father’s favorite artist. God rest his soul. The artist, not my father so much. I’m pretty sure my father’s long list of crimes means that he doesn’t get a whole lot of rest.”
Preston swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re notthatRembrandt.”
“Which one?” Remy released her hand. “The famous artist who died so long ago? Clearly, I am not. Though I do like to think that I am a talented artist in my own right. Even if some of my work is well…forgeries.”
“Fuck me, you are him.”Stunned, Preston sagged against his chair.
She looked between the two men, aware of a frisson of alarm coursing through her veins.Don’t be worried. Relax. Remy is probably just delivering one of his old cover stories. No big deal.She’d wanted to come along for this ride. So she needed to pull up her big girl panties and play along. And not flip out needlessly.
“Him?” Remy murmured.
Preston’s stare flew around the dining area. Sweat dotted his brow. Was he trying to make sure they weren’t being overheard? No one seemed overly close, and it looked like most people had gone back to their meals.
“Him,” Preston whispered. He reached for his mimosa again. Drained it in one long gulp. When he put the flute down, his fingers were trembling. He sent Jacqueline a pitying glance. “What happened? You decide to jump straight into the fire?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” She didn’t. Truly.
“He’s worse than me. Do you have any idea of the things he’s done? If half the stories about him are true…” Preston heaved out a long sigh. “You fucking found yourself a monster.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. Anger vibrated in her voice. “You know nothing about him, so how dare you say—”
“You’re the one who seems to know nothing.” Speculation showed on Preston’s face. “Where the hell did you find him?”
A bar in the middle of nowhere.
“Or…” Even more speculation. “Did he findyou?”