Chasing Lies (Ebook)

IT WAS ALMOST too easy. Where was the fun in that? Etienne slid the zip open and eased his hand inside. His fingers touched the unmistakable cover of a passport. It was out of her bag and into his pocket before the car passed and continued down the road.

He watched her as she walked away from him. Jostled by tourists and shoppers, she crossed the road, oblivious to his actions. A chill wind blew across the back of his neck and he flicked up the collar of his coat. Bowing his head to hide his face, he followed her on the other side of the street.

The bustling sound of the bars and cafes that surrounded Maastricht’s main square lessened with each step. A group of American tourists exited a shop on his left, and he blended in behind them as they chatted excitedly. The streets were narrower here, making him more vulnerable to detection. Not that he had much to worry about if her surveillance skills were anything to go by.

She’d followed him most of yesterday, and not very subtly. Granted, she’d managed to dodge out of his way most of the time, but her porcelain white face framed by glossy dark hair made her too distinctive. She didn’t look like she had the stomach for crime, so he presumed she’d been hired by the insurance company.

Careful to keep his head averted, Etienne continued to follow her as she strode down the street, still unaware of his pickpocketing skills. From the direction she took, he guessed they were heading to the university library.

She came to an abrupt halt just past a clothes shop. The crowd of tourists carried on walking past, parting around her like she was one of the bollards that governed the traffic in the Dutch town.

Etienne stepped into a shop doorway. From this vantage point, he could see her image in the glass of the window, but the wall of the entrance hid him from sight.

She’d noticed her bag was open and was now frantically pulling it apart as she searched fruitlessly.

“Shit.” The softly uttered word drifted across the pavement.

Turning away from the street to keep his profile hidden, Etienne shook his head at her naivety as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the passport. He ran a thumb over the cover. British. No surprise there. But the lack of stamps or visas as he flicked through the pages was curious. An insurance investigator that never went anywhere seemed unlikely. Maybe he was mistaken.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

He peered at the reflection in the window. Her hand flew to her forehead as she looked up and down the street before turning her gaze back to the bag hanging limply from her shoulder.

Etienne twisted his lips in a wry smile. Amateurs. They were the worst. He paused at the ID page. Kate Jackson. 28. Born in Edinburgh. No wonder she was dressed so lightly for the weather, unlike him, she was used to the cold.

He glanced up at the sky above him. The monotonous grey seemed to be darkening before his very eyes. It was a far cry from the blue skies and warm autumn rays of the Mediterranean sun he was used to at this time of year.

Committing the details to memory, he returned the passport to his pocket. She’d started to retrace her steps, scouring the pavement in front of her. He hung back. It would be too easy for her to notice him. If she did, then she was bound to realise who had her passport. The woman might be an enigma to him, but she clearly knew who he was, or at least thought she did.

How did she hope to recover a painting before it disappeared, probably forever, if she couldn’t keep tabs on a simple passport? Even the tourists knew to keep their valuables safe in the crowded streets around the Vrijthof.

Was her naivety just a ploy? Perhaps it was a double bluff. A way to get him to show his hand. He glanced over to the middle of the pedestrianised street where she was searching through her bag again and dismissed the thought. Non. That pale face with a desperate expression said something different.

But she must be aware of the character assassination the insurance companies held on him, or why keep him under surveillance? The last guy had been a lot harder to shake off. And a lot harder to spot in the first place. Etienne’s jaw clenched at the reminder of his own ineptitude that had nearly ruined everything he’d set up so far.

She, on the other hand, had been much easier to notice, and not just because of those kissable lips that were currently drawn down in a frown of dismay. There was something about her stature that drew the eye and made her stand out in a crowd. It wasn’t her height or her clothes that made him notice her, but something more subtle. He’d been aware of her yesterday, even before he caught a glimpse of her darting out of his view.

Then he’d seen her everywhere. So much so, that at first he thought it was some kind of test from Mercier. At the restaurant, the Galerie MOA, even following him back to his hotel. Not that it was a secret where he was staying. His family’s wealth meant that the gossip columnists kept a track on his movements, and he helped them do so. It provided him with more freedom to go where he pleased on days like these.

Hiding in plain sight was always the easiest disguise. Downplay his clothes and his mannerisms, and no one noticed him. He’d even walked right past her in the hotel lobby this morning, before returning yesterday’s compliment by following her back. The feel of her passport beneath his fingers as he slipped his hand into his pocket was proof enough as to who was better trained.

The shrill tinging of a bicycle bell made her swing around unexpectedly. Etienne turned and pretended to study the patisseries in a shop window. His neck itched as he felt her gaze upon him. He could well imagine her furrowed brow and eyes narrowing while she tried to ascertain if it was him or not. Needing to throw her off the scent, he stepped to the right and entered the shop, purchasing the first thing he saw. He kept his head towards the woman serving him, but his gaze rose to the mirror that hung above the racks of bread.

His target had moved on, continuing towards the junction they’d crossed a few minutes before, still tracking the pavement looking for her passport. Etienne paid and thanked the woman behind the counter before hurrying out of the shop. He wasn’t ready to give up following her just yet. Passing the bag of food to a homeless person in the doorway of an empty shop he continued briskly along the street.

By the time he’d caught up with her, she’d reached the junction where he’d taken her passport and was approaching some people sat outside a bar. He paused beside an illegally parked van, too far away to hear what was said, but the shaking of their heads gave away the gist of the conversation.

Her shoulders visibly dropped.

A twinge of guilt rested uncomfortably on his chest. He grimaced at his own sentimentality. Stolen art was a ruthless business with no time for weakness, and collateral damage was an occupational hazard. Her fate was inconsequential. He needed to give her the slip before he made his next move, and losing her passport would surely slow her down for a while.

Etienne glanced across at her again. Except she didn’t have that hardened demeanour of a career criminal, nor the jaded edge of an insurance investigator. If she hadn’t followed him yesterday, he’d have thought she was just another tourist in her black jeans and winter jacket.

She reached up with one hand and dug her fingers into her hair. Her frustration was palatable even from several meters away. At any other time, he’d have enjoyed playing Mademoiselle Jackson’s knight in shining armor. The fact that he’d been the one to distress her in the first place just added to the appeal, which showed what a twisted fuck he’d become.

It was a shame that this particular lady was looking to trap him or steal from him. Possibly both.

He turned to carry on back down the street. Now that he had what he wanted, there was no need to hang around. A movement in his peripheral vision made him hesitate. She’d given up on her search and had started to walk across the square towards the old part of town. Gut instinct said following her might prove useful. After all, where did one go when you’d just lost your passport? Common sense dictated your hotel, but she was walking in the wrong direction, which meant she was expected somewhere.

Pushing past some tourists, Etienne quickened his step to catch up. The heavy clouds made the late afternoon seem darker than normal, and he worried that he would lose her as she turned down one of the side streets at the other end of the square. The glow from the brightly lit shopfronts spilt out onto the pavement and illuminated her face briefly before she disappeared from sight.

Bordel, the woman walked fast. He sped up, and as the road opened wider in front of him, he saw her cross the junction heading towards the park. Where was she going now? Perhaps he’d misjudged her. Maybe she did court danger. During the day the park was safe enough, filled with joggers and mothers pushing prams, but now, in the twilight and the oncoming rain, it was asking for trouble.

It also left him with nowhere to hide.

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