A Golden Betrayal

Agent Heidi Shaw was back, a half-filled cardboard coffee cup in one hand, clipboard tucked under her opposite arm with a sheaf of papers Ann assumed were some kind of investigative notes. Agent Shaw was playing bad cop to Agent Fitz Lydall’s good. She was five feet even, maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet. While Fitz was two-twenty of solid muscle with a face like a bulldog and the shoulders of a linebacker. Privately, Ann thought the roles should be reversed, but she hadn’t offered up that suggestion.

Either way, since she’d watched a few detective dramas in her time, it was easy enough to see through their textbook ploy. The fact that she was innocent was also going to mess with their strategy. Psychological tricks and circular questioning were not going to trip Ann up and make her tell them she was selling a stolen antique statue on behalf of her employer, Waverly’s Auction House.

She’d learned a lot about Rayas’s Gold Heart statues in the past few months. Three statues had been commissioned by King Hazim Bajal in the 1700s. They were said to bring luck in love to his daughters, who’d been required to marry for the convenience of their royal line and their country. One of the statues was still safe in Rayas with a modern branch of the Bajal family. The other had been lost at sea when the Titanic sank. A third had been stolen five months ago from another branch of the Rayasian royal family, the one that included Crown Prince Raif Khouri. Prince Raif was convinced Roark Black had stolen the statue on behalf of Waverly’s. The accusation was preposterous. But the crown prince was a powerful, determined man, and he had both Interpol and the FBI dancing to his tune.

Heidi set her clipboard on the scarred wood table, and scraped back the metal folding chair to sit across from Ann. “Tell me about Dalton Rothschild.”

“You don’t read the tabloids?” Ann countered, giving herself a moment to consider this new line of questioning. Dalton was the CEO of Waverly’s rival, Rothschild’s.

“I understand the two of you were close.”

“We were friends.” Ann paused. “Were being the operative word.” She’d never forgive Dalton for betraying her and destroying her professional reputation. His lies about their supposed affair were one thing. But his attack on her integrity was at a whole other level.

“Friends?” Heidi mocked with obvious skepticism and disdain.

“So, you do read the tabloids.”

“I read everything. So I know you never denied he was your lover.”

“Would you like me to deny it?”

“I’d like you to answer the question.”

“I just did,” Ann pointed out.

“Why are you being evasive?”

Ann shifted her body on the hard metal chair. She was being honest, not evasive, and she resented the agent’s new barrage of questions. She articulated her next words slowly and carefully. “We were friends. He lied about me. We are no longer friends.”

Heidi stood.

Ann longed to do the same. But every time she’d tried to rise from the uncomfortable chair, someone had brusquely ordered her to sit back down. Her legs were starting to cramp from inactivity, and her butt was killing her.

“Where’s the statue?” Heidi fired at her.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Roark Black?”

“I have no idea.”

“He works for you.”

“He works for Waverly’s.”

Heidi smirked. “Semantics.”

“‘I don’t know where he is,’ is not semantics. It’s a statement of fact.”

“You do know it’s illegal to lie to Interpol.”

“You do know I’m capable of calling a reporter at the New York Times.”

Heidi braced her hands on the table, making triangles out of her thumbs and forefingers, and leaned forward. “Is that a threat?”

Ann realized her nerves were getting frayed, and her temper was starting to boil. She allowed for the possibility that she was no longer acting in her own best interest. “I’d like to call my lawyer.”

“Guilty people say that all the time.”

“So do women who’ve been denied a restroom for five hours.”

Heidi’s expression turned smug. “I can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you.”

“And without a restroom?” Ann taunted.

“You think this is a joke?”

“I think this is ridiculous. I’ve answered every question six times over. I have complete faith in Roark Black. There are two statues at play here. And Waverly’s is absolutely not trading in stolen antiquities.”

“So, you raised the Titanic?”

“I don’t know the whys and the hows of where he got it, I only know Roark has the missing statue, not the stolen one.”

Roark had also signed a confidentiality agreement with the mysterious owner of the Gold Heart statue that had gone missing one hundred years ago. He’d destroy his own career and compromise Waverly’s reputation if he revealed the person’s identity to anyone, including Ann.

“Where’s the proof?” Heidi demanded.

“Where’s my lawyer?” Ann shot back.

Heidi drew a breath and rose to full height. “You really want to go that route?”

Ann was out of patience. She was through being cooperative, through measuring her words. She was innocent, and nothing anybody said or did would alter that fact. “You really want a long and productive career in law enforcement?”

Heidi’s brows shot up.

“Then start looking for a new suspect,” said Ann. “Because it’s not me, and it’s not Roark. Maybe it is Dalton. Heaven knows he’s the guy with a motive to discredit Waverly’s. But if it is him, he’s done it without my knowledge and certainly without my cooperation. I’m about to stop talking, Agent Shaw, and there’s not a single thing you can do to make me say more. You want to be the hero, solve the big, international case, get promoted? Then stop focusing on me.”

Heidi paused for a beat. “You’re an eloquent speaker.”

Ann felt like she ought to say thank-you, but she kept her lips pressed tightly together.

“Then again, most liars are,” Heidi finished.

Ann folded her hand on the table in front of her. She’d requested a restroom, and she’d requested a lawyer. If they were going to deny her requests, tromp all over her civil rights, she really would take the story to the New York Times.

* * *

Crown Prince Raif Khouri was completely out of patience. He didn’t know how investigations were conducted in America, but in his own country of Rayas, Ann Richardson would have been thrown in jail by now. Let her spend a few nights in the bowels of Traitor’s Prison; she’d be begging for an opportunity to confess.