Chapter Twenty-Seven

Like a cornered mouse in the middle of the night, I turned my head into Karl’s shoulder. A natural, understandable impulse.

Go.

The next impulse. To run from the cameras. Give them the chase they wanted.

It was what Stavros would have done, grabbing my hand, or my head, forcing it down under a coat.

Thrilling. Awful.

My heart started to race, anticipating the adrenaline rush. But then I realized, this was not as awful as it seemed.

I whispered Karl’s name. “Do you mind terribly if I go back to the car?” I smiled a little, hating that it would be analyzed and discussed all over the internet shortly. “That will give you a little more time to look around without all the fuss.”

Karl glanced at the photographers, massing at the side of his beloved dirt pile, and promptly said, “Whatever makes you comfortable. I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you need,” I murmured.

The backseat was warm and as private as I was going to get these days. I wasted no time, reaching into my handbag and taking out the cell phone that Sergei had given me in Tuscany. Miraculously, it still had a good battery charge. I hit a button and returned a call.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hello.”

Scottish-accented English.

“This is Caroline. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.”

I kept an eye out of the car window. Karl was walking around the archeological site and heading toward Chantal Louis. Free publicity. I hoped he appreciated my gift.

“I’ve been worried about you,” I told Christian.

“You’ve always been so kind to me,” he said.

“I’m in Drieden now,” I explained.

“I know.”

I shivered, despite the heated seats. “About your proposition…”

“You’re still considering it?”

“Of course. It’s the story of the century and I need a gig.”

He chuckled. “Don’t we all.”

“How are we going to do this?” It was an aggressive tactic, but intuitively I felt that Christian would appreciate that. One disgraced person to another. “I’ll need to interview you thoroughly.”

“You can do it now. Over the phone.”

Astrid and I had discussed this. “No,” I replied easily. “No newspaper or magazine will take a print interview like this without photo proof that you’re alive. They’ll consider it a hoax. If you really want Clémence Diederich to broadcast your story, you’ll have to meet with me and we’ll take a photo.” I drew a deep breath. “Together.”

That kind of publicity would be irresistible. At least, that’s what Astrid and I were counting on.

“I’m talking to other reporters, you know.”

“I doubt that anyone is taking you seriously. You’re dead, Christian. And if you want anyone to believe otherwise, you need a reputable journalist and photographic evidence.”

There was a long pause. I saw Karl had finished his conversation with the bunch of reporters and was walking back toward the car. My phone call would have to wrap up soon.

“You really want this?” Christian said, with a hefty dose of suspicion in his voice.

“I don’t have a life anymore. What else do I have to look forward to?” I asked.

“Meetings with billionaires?” he suggested. I gasped. How did he know? “I won’t be double-crossed,” he warned. “Remember, I can send proof of your columns about Thea and Felice and Albert out at any time. Your family does not handle betrayal well. You’ll be back out on the street if they find out what you’ve done.”

My gut twisted at the truth of his words and a wash of doubt poured over me. What was I doing, consorting with the enemy this way? Risking everything?

But then I remembered that I really had no choice. If Christian truly had this information about me, then he could release it whether I played this game or not. I might as well do it for a good reason. Karl was six feet away from the SUV. My time was up.

“I’ll call you back with a place to meet,” I told Christian. “But I won’t keep chasing you. That’s not the way this is going to work.”

Then I hung up to the sound of my heart racing as fast as a Formula One car in the final lap of the Monaco Grand Prix. There were only two options for me at this point: crashing—or winning.