“Why don’t you take off early and get some rest?” Denise suggested. “You look dead on your feet.”
“It’s Saturday night,” Elise reminded her as she arranged some greens on a plate.
“We’re completely prepped for the post-theatre crowd, and Evan and Javier are both here. Go on, Elise. You worked like a maniac today. I don’t want you to get sick. I need you too much.”
Elise gave the older woman a weary smile. “Maybe I will get some rest,” she conceded.
“Good. There’s no time like the present,” Denise said briskly, taking the knife Elise was holding in preparation to slice a juicy loin of pork. “Have a wonderful weekend.”
The penthouse was dim and silent when she unlocked the front door that evening, so she wasn’t sure what caused her to go still in the entryway. She listened intently, curious as to what had made her pause and go wary. All was quiet, but then she heard a scraping sound, as if a chair had been pulled a few inched across a wood floor. Her heart jumped into her throat. With her pitched hearing, she heard a man’s voice. It was too muffled to interpret what he’d said, but it sounded guttural and unfamiliar to Elise’s ears.
There was someone in the penthouse.
Chapter Twelve
She fumbled in her backpack for her cell phone, starting to back out the door. She’d call the police and wait with the doorman downstairs until the authorities went up to check things out and hopefully arrest the interloper. Her cell phone screen flickered on. She’d missed a text from Lucien, she observed distractedly as she started to close the door behind her.
She halted the door when it was an inch from closing. Lucien’s message said that he’d rushed to finish his work and would be on a plane by six p.m. Paris time. Given the time difference, he’d have been in Chicago now for hours.
She warily reentered the penthouse and moved down the hallway, her tread silenced by the thick carpeting. A flicker of relief went through her when she heard Lucien’s voice, although she couldn’t make out exactly what he said. A moment later, she stood outside Lucien’s closed office door.
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” she heard Lucien say clearly.
“The prison lifestyle isn’t a healthy one.”
Elise’s mouth went dry. She’d been wrong to think the voice of the man Lucien spoke to was unfamiliar. She’d heard that German-accented voice once before, in Paris. It sounded like the same man Lucien spoke to that night she’d eavesdropped at Renygat.
Were they talking about Adrien Sauvage? Dear God, he wasn’t dead, was he?
She should back away. It was wrong to eavesdrop again. But what if she could learn something about Lucien’s secrets . . . about what was plaguing him? She held her breath, listening.
“I’ll say this for him. He never tried to blackmail any of you, and that’s twenty in all. The bastard hinted there was more, both to me and the police, although he was always coy and clever about offering anything of substance, lest it bring him to trial again.”
“Your powers of interview and interrogation must be huge. He opened up to you like no other.”
“He was vain. I was someone to brag to. Besides, it gave him a chance to learn about you. He soaked up that information.”
“And yet he refused to speak to me in person.”
“Perhaps he possessed a sliver of a conscience. His guilt wouldn’t let him face you.”
“That man didn’t know the meaning of guilt. What a sick fuck.”
Elise started at the amount of venom in Lucien’s usually level tone. He sounded intimidating in that moment. Frightening.
“Well, he’s gone now,” the man said.
“Too bad he couldn’t take his twisted legacy with him.” Her heart began to pound in the ensuing silence. What could make Lucien sound so bitter? Was Lucien truly that angry at his father that he would speak of him this way if he died? No . . . there was something about that possibility that didn’t fit somehow.
“What of the other matter? Do you think you’ll be able to locate the stolen funds?”
“The signs are good. I think I’ll have something to report to you by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good,” she heard Lucien say, something about his brisk tone making her think he was concluding the meeting. “Herr Schroeder, thank you again for coming to Chicago. As always, your thoroughness and quick execution is appreciated.”
“Not at all. I was in the States when you called, so it wasn’t difficult to meet with you. I’ll leave for Switzerland to continue the investigation and call you as soon as I know anything—”
Elise jumped when she heard a totally unexpected sound—a quick, light tread on the stairs that led to the rooftop deck. She hastened guiltily from her spot in front of Lucien’s office toward the master bedroom.
“Elise!” Maria Oronzo, Lucien’s maid, squeaked when she saw Elise standing in the hallway. Elise had met the friendly middle-aged woman several times before and got along well with her. “You startled me. Lucien told me you wouldn’t be home until later.”
Elise smiled, trying to look calm even through her heart was racing. “I was due to come home later, but—”
The door to Lucien’s office snapped open.
“Elise?”
She turned, her breath burning in her lungs. Lucien stepped into the hallway, his gaze boring into her. “You’re home early,” he said.
“So are you,” she murmured, unable to keep her eyes off him. He looked tall and awesome in the shadowed hallway, his white shirt and light eyes a contrast to his dark gray pants and black blazer. Stubble shadowed his jaw, giving him a dark . . . slightly dangerous air. Someone cleared their throat and Elise blinked, realizing it was Maria, and that she’d been staring at Lucien and he’d been staring back.