Double Take (31 page)

It was a lot of fun while it lasted and she missed her
old man
terribly. It never occurred to her—until it was too late, that is—that their large age difference could mean she would be a very young widow.

She fiddled around in her jewellery collection, looking for a pair of earrings to match her new suit. Normally she would buy the outfit and accessories from the same boutique. But this outfit was handmade. She'd seen it on Uma Thurman at Paris Fashion Week and simply had to have it. She chose a pair of dangling diamonds that matched her engagement ring.

Other than her manicurist, due in an hour, she was looking forward to a night alone. Tonight's plan was to sit by the fire with a brandy or two, listen to some jazz, and watch her diamonds sparkle in the firelight. She'd never really noticed how much they sparkled until a couple of ladies at The Society Club commented on the rare two-carat Pink Princess. That's what she called it. It was fun giving names to her assets.

The sound of the doorbell had her glancing at the clock. It was just after 6 p.m. Too early for Pauline, her manicurist. One thing Tiffany hated was unexpected visitors. Thankfully she was dressed up. As a fashion designer's wife, or rather widow, it was important for her to look impeccable. Sometimes it could be draining, but a quick flashback to her previous life always snapped the foolishness away.

The sound of male voices had her curious. She walked out to the balustrade to listen in. It sounded like the men were actually in the foyer. Tiffany dug her nails into the polished wood, furious that Mariana had disobeyed one of her rules. In recent years, the amount of people who came knocking on her door begging for money had tripled. She'd been forced to employ full-time security guards to fend them off. But the trade-off was just as frustrating. The beefed-up chumps followed her around like hungry dogs. Privacy was a thing of the past. Which was one of the reasons she hadn't brought them with her to Chamonix. The other was the cost. They wanted four thousand euro. For two men. For six days. Ridiculous.

The voices grew louder. Clearly Mariana had welcomed them into the chalet. This would not do. Now Tiffany was beginning to regret not paying the money for the security hounds. And she didn't
do
regret.

She crept down the stairs. At the bottom she quickly pushed her feet into her emergency six-inch heels. As she rounded the corner, she thrust her chin up, ready to confront whoever they were with disdain. “Mariana, what's going on?” She folded her arms across her chest.

Mariana's eyes widened. She knew she was in trouble. “Mrs Delacroix, these
messieurs
—”

Tiffany waved the woman away. Mariana would be looking for a new job tomorrow. It would be quicker to ask the questions herself.
“Que puis-je faire pour vous monsieur?”
But the second her eyes fell on the hideous scar on the bigger man, her stomach lurched. She'd never forget it. It had been over nine years and back then it was scary. But now it had her heart racing a million miles an hour and her brain working in overdrive.

“Hello again, Tiffany. Nice accent.” It was the scrawny man who spoke.

She studied his face. Something was familiar. His eyes, his lips. She couldn't quite pinpoint it. “Do I know you?”

“Maybe this will jog your memory. Last time we met, you shoved a cloth soaked in chloroform over my buddy's mouth. Does the name Jack ring a bell?”

Jack?
The name triggered an avalanche of questions, the first being,
how did they find me?
The realisation came fast. Her husband's funeral. Her previous excitement at her photo being on the worldwide news suddenly seemed foolish. The second question,
what do they want?
was easily answered.
Money
. And by the look of them they needed it. The pair had obviously been wearing the same clothes for days.

She waved her hand at them. “You must have me mistaken for someone else. It happens all the time. How about you come back—”

“You remember me, don't you? I saw the twitch in your eye.” She would never forget him.
Steel.
The name was like a bulldozer crushing everything in its path. She put on her best confused face and shook her head.

“Superintendent Montgomery Steel,” he said. “We met at the police station where you spun that bullshit story nearly a decade ago. You've been busy, Gemma.”

Gemma
. She'd left that name behind when she hit the shores of Europe. Never in her wildest dreams did she think it would crop up again. She needed a moment. “Can I offer you gentlemen a drink? Brandy, scotch?”

“Sure. We have plenty to discuss.” Obviously Steel was the one in charge.

As she turned on her heel and strode off, she tried to marry up the pieces that would put Steel and Jack on the same team. No matter which way she analysed it, money was the answer. That didn't scare her. Since Jacques had passed away she could literally swim in it.

Tiffany slipped in behind her expensively stocked bar. When she'd had it professionally designed she'd never thought to put an alarm in. She was kicking herself now. The bar, however, did allow her some distance from the men and it bought her time to set a plan in place.

She cleared her throat, annoyed that a lump had formed there in the first place. “What do you want?”

“What's your hurry? We have a whole decade of catching up to do.” Jack's voice was louder than it needed to be. He was nowhere near as calm as Montgomery Steel. “See, that's nearly how long I was in jail.” Jack nearly spat the words out. “I spent years trying to convince everyone I didn't have that money. Bitch.” The last word he did spit out.

Her initial question was regarding their choice of alcohol. But if that's how they wanted to do this, she'd play along. She filled three large balloon glasses with a finger of brandy. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Steel pointed at her. “Gemma, there's no point lying to us.” Steel smiled and her insides squirmed at how confident he looked. “Remember Murray and his kids, Trent and Max?”

“No.”
Oh shit
. This wasn't good. Those boys could get her in serious trouble. The fear in her back moved to acid in her stomach.

“Yes you do. How about we cut the crap. Let's talk about the money you stole from Jack.”

Tiffany gave up the original thoughts of bluffing her way out. She placed the two brandy glasses onto the glass-topped coffee table in front of the men and moved to sit on the single white leather sofa. It was time to move to plan B. “Steel, I told you everything you needed to arrest Jack and his gang. Whatever happened after that had nothing to do with me.”

“Bullshit. You had everything to do with it. And now, we have proof.”

“Really. What exactly do you have?” Gemma knew he was bluffing. Her plan had been foolproof.

“Murray couldn't live with himself anymore. Especially as his oldest son is now in the police force. Murray showed Trent your kiss-off letter.” Jack turned to Steel and a look of confusion crossed Jack's face but it vanished in a second. “You remember that don't you? The note where you left Murray just $100,000.”

She laughed, but in reality her mind was scrambling. This was a disaster. “Is that what brought you from Australia to me? You fools. That note just shows how generous I am.”

Jack made a noise that bordered on a growl. “You really are a piece of work. Why don't you just confess and save us all time.”

She rolled the amber liquid around and took her time inhaling the rich scent. “What do I have to confess to?”

“Receiving stolen property.”

Tiffany crossed her legs and eased back as if she had all the time in the world. “Mr Steel. Nobody is interested. People have already paid for that crime. The case was solved, thanks to you and your team.”

“But you've overlooked one very significant factor.” Steel's smile wasn't pleasant. “People are still looking for the money.”

She shook her head. “The bank claimed it on insurance. It's well and truly forgotten by now.”

“The bank, yes.” Steel smirked. “But the insurance company revisits the file every year. They'll have a field day when they learn about your new financial status.”

Tiffany stood up and moved back behind the bar. Putting some distance between them and her suddenly seemed important. She sipped her brandy—actually it was more like a gulp—swallowed it back, and allowed the fire in her belly to boost her slipping confidence. “Jack, you paid for the crime because you committed it, and Steel, you solved the crime because I helped you. End of story.”

Steel stood up. “Clearly you don't understand—”

“Sit down. I haven't finished!” Even she was surprised she'd raised her voice. She waited for him to sit before she continued. “How much do you want?”

“We don't want your filthy money.” Jack finally found his voice. “We want your confession.”

“Don't be bloody ridiculous, everybody wants money. Besides, that will never happen. I've suffered too. I took risks. I changed my whole life. I just got lucky.”

Steel edged forward on his seat. “Okay then. How about we sit right where we are, by this cosy fire, until Murray and Trent get here. Trent's talking to the local police as we speak. They should be here soon. Then with what Murray has to say, I'm pretty certain you'll be arrested on the spot.”

She came out from behind the bar and looked Steel squarely in the eye. “Rubbish,” she said with confidence.

He reached for his brandy glass and rolled the amber liquid around. “Cheers.”

Jack looked about ready to leap out of his skin. But Steel, on the other hand, looked comfortable. Too comfortable. She needed another change of plan.
Plan C
. She took a large gulp of brandy. “It was a pretty good plan, don't you think?”

Steel pounced. “We've both been to hell and back because of you.”

“So how about I compensate you. How does one million sound? Each.”

“You think a million dollars is enough to cover the shit I've been through?” Jack said. “It should be more like ten million.”

“Okay, ten million. And you walk out that door and never show your faces around me again.”

They looked at each other. She could see them contemplating her offer. It was a good offer. But she nearly laughed aloud at their naivety. Clearly these guys didn't know her. She'd be dead before she parted with that kind of money. Every penny she had was hard-earned. And now, without Jacques watching over her, she wouldn't have to explain where the money went.

Finally Jack turned to her. “You're a fool if you think money is our motivation. We want your arse in jail.”

She was gobsmacked. “Mr Rich, you are the fools. I did absolutely nothing wrong so I have nothing to confess to. I will never go to jail.”

Steel thrust his thumb in the air. “Number one, you stole Tiffany Black's driver's licence and disguised yourself as her to spin your story at the police station. That's theft, impersonation and conspiracy. Number two, you talked Murray, Trent and Max into going under the boatshed and recording Jack's meetings on Trent's boom box. That's recording a conversation without prior consent.” By this time Steel had three fingers splayed and Tiffany had eased up against the bar. “Number three, you stole over seven hundred thousand—”

“No it wasn't.” She couldn't help herself. “It was only a quarter of a million.”

“Bullshit. We know you took over seven hundred thousand dollars.” Steel's eyes portrayed triumph.

They knew too much. Fear weaved its way up her spine.

“We're not leaving until we get a confession.”

“Fuck off.” Originally she'd had no intention of raising her voice, but that restraint was long gone. It was time to end this. She eased back from the bar.

“Now that's more like you, isn't it? I'm sure your friends at the high tea society would like to know who you really are.”

“Maman, qui sont ces gens?”
Tiffany spun to the corner. Her daughter stood there in her pyjamas, twirling her long dark hair around her hand.

“Go back to bed, Candice.”

“Candice!” Jack shot up from his seat. “Couldn't even think of your own name, so you stole my wife's.”

She straightened her back and turned to them. “You leave my daughter out of it.” This was a disaster. The last thing she needed was for them to find out about Candice. “We'll finish this in a moment. Stay here while I take her back to bed.”

She snatched Candice's hand and marched her daughter towards the stairs. At the top stood Mariana. Fear was written all over the Spanish woman's face. And so it should be. After tonight she would never work as an
au pair
again.

Tiffany shoved Candice forward. “Take her to bed, then meet me in the study.”

“
Oui, oui. Désolée. Désolée
Miss—”

“Now.” Tiffany didn't raise her voice this time. Sometimes controlled anger worked much better.

Tiffany went straight to her late husband's leather-topped study desk. It was exactly as he'd left it. She hadn't been able to bring herself to pack up his things yet. Tiffany snatched up a pen and scribbled a note on the pad in front of her. By the time she tore out the page, Mariana was standing in front of the desk.

“Ring the police.” Tiffany said it slowly. She couldn't afford for Mariana to mess this up. “Tell them there are intruders in my home. When they arrive, give them this note.” She folded it over and thrust it at Mariana. “You and I will talk when I return in the morning.”

Mariana clutched the note in her hand. “But where are you going?”

“None of your business. Now do it.” Tiffany strode out the door.

In truth, she had no idea where she was going, but she had to get out of there. She couldn't go to any friends' places. They'd ask too many questions. And the local hotels were out of the question. She'd be recognised. No, this required somewhere further afield.