“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I lie again. “I have lunch plans with Paige.”

“You’re making it a regular daily appointment then.”

Crap! I forgot I told him about yesterday. I try to cover. “You know us girls—we just can’t stop talking!” St. Clair gives me a puzzled look. Stay, cool, Grace, geez. I take a breath. “It’s just been so long since I got to spend any time with her, you know? I’ve really missed her.”

His face softens. “I understand. Rain check on lunch?”

I nod. “Definitely.” After I go off to meet a man who wants to arrest you and ruin your life. “Can’t wait.” I check the time. “I should get going.”

I get up to leave, but he catches me on my way to the door, and pulls me in, close to his chest. “Maybe dinner tonight instead?” he says, low, and I can see the desire in his eyes. He traces the outline of my lips with his fingertip, and I can’t help but melt against him.

My mind may be torn and conflicted, but my body has no doubt.

He kisses me, and I can’t help it: I kiss him back.

My guilt is as heavy as a statue.

I walk to meet Lennox at the address he gave me: the Green Frog’s Pub in Soho. It’s a small, sort of old fashioned English bar with lots of wood and flags outside, not as hip and modern as the other neighborhood spots. I bet that’s why Lennox chose it—not as many people to overhear a discreet midday conversation.

My heart is racing by the time I step through the door. I don’t know what my game plan is, I just know, I need to find out more. It’s going to be tricky dealing with Lennox, but I remind myself: he needs my help. He doesn’t know about St. Clair’s calendar, and I don’t have to tell him just yet, not until I’m sure.

Inside, the pub is dim and quiet. I find Lennox sitting in a small back room, empty save for one other occupied table that houses two men talking low and intently.

“I feel like we’re in a gangster movie,” I say as I sit down. “Are you actually a cop?” I joke, but I really am nervous. I snuck out of the office even though I’m sure St. Clair’s not following me. I feel like I’m doing something shady, like I should be cloaked and slipping out into the shadows under the cover of darkness.

A ghost of a smile tugs at Nick’s lips. “I thought you might be more comfortable somewhere inconspicuous.”

“Okay.” I jiggle my leg, not sure what to say and full of nervous energy.

Lennox studies me and then says, “You’ve found something, haven’t you?”

I stop shaking and jerk my head at him. “No.” Damn! I really need to work on being cool under pressure. “I just want to know more about the case.” I force myself to calm down. “These are big accusations you’re throwing around. And if it is St. Clair, then that might make me guilty, too. An accessory or something like that. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

Nick nods. At least he looks like he believes me now.

“I knew you weren’t stupid,” he says. “You’re right, you need to think about yourself. You might have been an accomplice to his crimes without even realizing it, and that could get you in big trouble. Unless you cooperate now. Then I can help you, cut a deal.”

“You mean, testify against him?” My stomach drops. “But I told you, I don’t know anything.”

Anything concrete, at least.

“You don’t know that for sure.” Nick leans forward. “We need to go over everything you’ve seen and heard since you met him. There must be something you’re overlooking. Tell me what you know. It’s the only way we can get you out of this mess.”

I study him for a minute. He looks so eager.

That’s when I realize: I’m not the one who needs help. He does.

“You really don’t have anything on him, do you?”

Nick frowns. “I know he’s guilty.”

“But that’s not enough, not to arrest him, or have any chance of winning a trial.” I sit back, feeling more in control. “You’ve got nothing.”

Lennox leans back into the leather booth and strokes his stubble. He makes a tiny shrugging motion like he’s decided it can’t hurt to tell me. “Okay, Grace, here’s the deal. I checked his travel and the dates match up. I know St. Clair was in the city of each stolen painting on or near the date of each robbery.”

I feel weirdly relieved. If Lennox already knows that, I don’t have to tell him – or betray St. Clair. But then it hits me – Lennox does have some evidence, after all.

He watches my reaction. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“St. Clair travels a lot. So do many other high-profile businessmen,” I say, trying to keep cool. “I bet there are dozens of people whose travel patterns fit the same dates.”

“But St. Clair is the one who fits the psychological profile,” Lennox says, looking stubborn. “This guy has rule-breaker all over him. Look at his family, his upbringing. He was punished for breaking his father’s strict guidelines and now he won’t play by anyone’s rules, including the law.”

“Lots of people were raised with strict parents.” I find myself defending him, even though I don’t know why.

“Yes, but combine that with his need to win, to possess anything he wants…” Lennox shrugs. “His profile speaks for itself. He has motive, he has means, and we can prove he had opportunity. Lots of it.”

“So according to you, all rich men raised by overbearing fathers are destined to become white collar criminals?”

He shrugs. “Not all. But definitely this one.”

My mind races. Lennox hasn’t told me anything I don’t know – and all his evidence so far is circumstantial. A coincidence. It’s certainly not enough for a jury to be convinced. That means he’s not even close to arresting St. Clair.

Why does that make me feel relieved?

“What I’m hearing is a whole lot of theory, and no hard evidence,” I tell him, even though it all seems plenty damning to me.

“That’s where you come in.” He leans in, his brown eyes intense and sharp. “Career criminals like St. Clair are good, smart. Hard to catch. And I’ll tell you something else—I need a break in this case soon or I’ll lose it. That’s the truth. He’ll make a mistake eventually, but by then my bosses will be onto the next thief.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to catch that guy.”

“I’m going to catch this one,” Lennox vows. “You can get close to St. Clair, Grace. I need your help to get the proof we both need.”

“You want me to spy on him?” That’s too far. “I won’t betray him like that.”

“It’s not betrayal! You’d be bringing him to justice.” Lennox looks around to make sure no one heard him.

“But what if he’s innocent?” I still have hope that he is. He has to be.

Lennox smirks, like he knows I’m clutching at straws. “Well, then you won’t find anything, will you? And I’ll have to move on. Everyone wins.”

He’s good. It’s a Catch-22 for me: either tell him to go to hell and then risk getting charged as an accessory to St. Clair’s crimes, or spy on the man I care about in order to prove his innocence.

But I don’t have to play Lennox’s games, I remind myself. I can buy some time, and figure out what I’m really going to do next.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I say, rising from the chair. “I have to go.”

Lennox sighs. “He’s not innocent, Grace. Trust me, he’s behind these heists.”

That’s the thing, I don’t trust him. I’m not sure if I trust St. Clair fully right now either, but I trust how I feel when we’re together, trust that his sweet caresses are genuine, his generosity not a cover for ulterior motives. “Sometimes instincts are wrong,” I point out.

“They certainly are,” he says as I head for the door.

Outside, I walk along a cobblestone path that winds along the Thames. I watch the grey water lap at the embankment, my mind racing to figure out what to make of this situation.

Is it a mistake to believe in St. Clair? To believe in the man who has made me feel special and safe, who makes me laugh and makes me weak in the knees, the man who believed in me right from the start, even when no one else did? This whole fairy tale job-slash-romance has seemed too good to be true from the get-go, but now that might really be the case.