Better than he can imagine, but I force myself to just keep breathing. Surely if he has evidence against me, he would be using it by now?

“You’ve had it out for St. Clair from the start,” I say quietly. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

I hate lying, but this is true, in a way. What we did may have been technically illegal, but I still believe we did the right thing to get back at Crawford. That Armande belongs to St. Clair’s family.

“Oh no?” Lennox goes in for the kill. “Then why are your fingerprints all over the crime scene? It doesn’t look too good.”

I freeze, my heart stuttering in panic, but then I remember. “I was at the gallery for the party, and before then, too. St. Clair and I had a guided tour, we oversaw the delivery of his exhibit. I must have touched a dozen things.”

Lennox scowls. “And where were you the night before the opening?”

“With St. Clair.” I stand firm; it’s the truth. I don’t have to tell him what we were doing. “We were together all night.”

He remains unconvinced. “How convenient.”

The good cop routine must be wearing thin, because now Lennox glares at me. “You know, at first I thought you were a smart girl, Grace. But standing by a man who will give you up to save his own ass is incredibly stupid.”

“What do you mean, give me up?” I frown.

“Didn’t you know?” Lennox smirks. “St. Clair’s in the other room right now, telling us everything. I wanted to see if I could cut a deal with you, get you out of this before he sold you out completely, but I guess it’s too late now.”

I stare at him, notice the tension in the hand he’s clinging to the table with, and suddenly, my fears are gone. He really is bluffing.

“St. Clair would never do that,” I say.

Lennox leans forward and lowers his voice. “You’re not the first woman to believe a man’s lies. You can’t trust a thief, Grace. They are all liars.”

I look Lennox in the eye. “He doesn’t lie to me.”

Lennox scrapes back his chair and heads for the door. “Just ask yourself: are you willing to bet your future on him?”

I don’t even need to think it over.

“Always,” I vow. Lennox snorts, and then he’s gone.

I’m stuck waiting in the interview room another hour, so I figure I may as well finish off those croissants. Now that my panic has passed, I’m feeling better. Lennox really is clutching at straws here. Still, it makes me wonder: will he ever give up?

He’s followed St. Clair halfway across the world, stalked him at every turn…even if St. Clair never pulled another heist, and reformed to live as a good, law-abiding citizen, Lennox would be right there behind us, lurking, waiting for some reason to pounce.

Just how far will he go to bring St. Clair down?

Eventually, the door opens. It’s Lennox again. He doesn’t look happy.

Another man pushes past him, small and French. “I’m so sorry for the delay, mademoiselle,” he gushes. “Please, come this way.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Wherever you wish. You’re free to go,” he explains.

I look at Lennox, but he’s scowling at the floor. Clearly, he’s been overruled.

I stand and lift my chin, perking up already. “Finally.”

“Again, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The short man glares at Lennox, then ushers me out to the front lobby of the police station. I can hear a familiar voice as we get closer—it’s St. Clair, sounding furious.

“…I’ll be lodging a formal complaint. This is unacceptable—”

“Monsieur St. Clair.” The Frenchman rushes forward, raising his hands in apology. “Please, there’s no need to shout. Your friend is safe and well, and free to go.”

St. Clair sees me, and rushes to pull me into his arms. He holds me tightly, and I lean into his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.” I pull away. “Everything’s okay.” I look around at all the cops, and people, and reporters jostling by the doors. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Right away.”

“I wouldn’t go too far,” Lennox says, planting himself in front of us. “I still need to reach you for questioning.”

St. Clair looks like he wants to land a swift right hook on the agent’s face, but I’m too tired to deal with anything more. The events of the past 24 hours hit hard, and I have to hold on to St. Clair tightly to keep from falling over.

“Please,” I whisper, “No more fighting. Just take me home.”

“Of course.”

He wraps a protective arm around me, and leads me through the chaos.

CHAPTER 13

As soon as I get back to the apartment, all I want is to soak in a long, hot bath.

“I’ll go get you some tea,” St. Clair says, looking at me with concern. I don’t blame him. My reflection in the mirror is a total mess: bedraggled hair and dark shadows under my eyes.

“Tea sounds good.” I give him a tired smile. He heads downstairs, and I run the hot water into the huge clawfoot tub, emptying in a whole bottle of fancy lavender bubble bath. As the tub fills I strip out of the gown that I loved so much, now grayed with prison dirt and stained with tears and who knows what else. The sweet smelling steam fills the room, and I sink down into the bubbles and let the soapy suds wash away the last twelve hours.

I’m floating and half-dozing when St. Clair returns with a tray. “There’s cake too,” he adds. I laugh, thinking of the croissants I’ve already eaten today.

“Getting arrested is turning out to be hell on my waistline,” I quip, sitting up a little.

St. Clair looks surprised. “I’m surprised you can joke, after what you’ve been through.”

“I’ve been through worse,” I say simply. “A night in a jail cell is nothing compared to those nights I spent at the hospital with my mom.” I shrug. “Besides, I knew you would come get me in the end.”

“I nearly caused a diplomatic incident,” St. Clair admits with a wry grin. “I called everyone I could think of, dragged the ambassador out of bed at three in the morning.”

I smile. “So I’m guessing we won’t be invited to their next party then.”

“I can’t believe you’re so calm.”

“Tired,” I correct him. “But I’m okay. I’m not saying I wasn’t scared, but I knew Lennox was bluffing.”

“I can’t believe he’s punishing you just to get back at me.” St. Clair’s jaw sets in a grim line and he kneels beside the tub to take my hand in his firm, reassuring grip. “The thought of you in there, in jail, without me…” He shakes his head. “There’s no excuse. I never should have let you do anything illegal.”

“Hey,” I interrupt. “I wanted to do this. It was my idea to begin with. Don’t blame yourself. This was my choice. Mine. And I don’t regret it.”

St. Clair looks like he wants to say something, but he stops. “What did he say?” he asks. “In the interrogation?”

I shrug. “Just that they had my fingerprints at the scene, that he wanted to cut a deal with me, to sell you out. He said you were already confessing,” I add with a smile. “That you were implicating me in the next room.”

St. Clair laughs harshly. “I would never sell you out. Never.”

“I know,” I reassure him. “That’s when I knew he had nothing. After that, I was just waiting for you. I half-expected you to come sneaking in, disable all the alarms, and break me out,” I smile.

He softens. “I thought about it. But that would have made you a fugitive, and I couldn’t do that. We’ll find a way to get Lennox off our case, I promise.”

“I know. For now, I’m just happy to be back with my creature comforts again. Like hot water, and you.” I reach out and hook my finger over the top of his collar, pulling him closer.

“I missed you.” St. Clair lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers.

I spread my hand and he kisses my palm. My skin starts to tingle. “Even a single night without you in my bed is too long.”