Page 11 of Fergus

“Positive. The only jewelry I possess is a cameo ring my father gave me when I was seven. It has sentimental, not monetary, value and is still in its box on my dressing table. So, you see, nothing was taken but the pillow. Which, quite frankly, even I know sounds ludicrous.”

It did sound a little…lacking in substance. Fergus doubted the police would even be interested enough to send someone out to take Thea’s statement, let alone check the apartment for fingerprints.

But Lev Yegorov’s interest in marrying Thea, an interest she said she didn’t return, was of greater concern. Especially if, as could easily have happened, Lev had arranged for someone to break into Thea’s apartment. No doubt in the hope she might turn to him for protection.

Fergus had heard and read enough about Yegorov junior to know that, like his father, what he wanted, he usually got. Anyone who tried to say no to him had a habit of changing their mind or conveniently disappearing.

Lev seemed to be humoring Thea’s refusals to his marriage proposal at the moment. But that didn’t mean he was averse to using underhand methods, such as frightening her into depending on him, to attain his goal.

Did Fergus want to become embroiled in Thea Morgan’s problems?

The answer to that was a resounding no.

Should he, as the only man she said she felt she could trust—understandably, it seemed, after the situation she had described to him—help her?

His cell phone rang before he could answer that question, the ringtone of “Incy Wincy Spider” telling him exactly who his caller was. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he told Thea as he stood up.

“Of course.”

Fergus moved to stand a few feet away from her before answering the call. “Angel, my love, it’s lovely to hear from you!” he greeted warmly.

* * *

Thea only hadto hear the affection in Fergus’s tone when he answered the call, so different from the cold and indifferent way he spoke to her, to realize her assumption that he didn’t currently have a woman in his life had been wrong.

She glanced over to where he had turned slightly away from her as he continued his conversation with the woman he called Angel and my love. He had lowered his voice so that no one—especially Thea?—could overhear what else he had to say to his lover.

Forcing Thea to acknowledge she was nothing more than an intruder in Fergus’s life. A ghost from Fergus’s past he wanted nothing to do with. A reminder of an incident in his life he would rather forget.Theawas probably someone he would rather forget. She had been a fool to ever think she could come to Paris and ask for his help.

Fergus was still turned slightly away and deep in conversation when Thea rose silently to her feet and turned to disappear into the crowds of people enjoying a leisurely stroll along the famous Champs-Élysées.

Within minutes, she was able to turn down the side street where the George V was situated. Unlike the previous times she had entered the hotel, she barely registered the opulence of the lobby as she made her way through to the elevators.

Her mind was blank as she stepped into the ornate space to press the button for the floor where her suite was situated. It remained as empty of thought after she had stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to her suite.

Until she noticed that the door to her room was partly open.

Followed by the immediate thought that the maid must be inside making her bed and cleaning the room.

That thought was quickly followed by the realization that the usual service trolley wasn’t parked outside with the clean sheets and toiletries stored on it.

“Hello?” Thea called hesitantly as she pushed the door open further and entered the suite.

The sitting room was as tidy as when she left it. Tidier. Which meant that the maid had already cleaned this room.

The bed was made in the adjoining bedroom, which meant the maid had cleaned in here too.

A quick glance into the bathroom showed it was empty and also tidy, clean towels hanging neatly on the heated rack at one end of the bath.

Thea turned back to the bedroom, her heart starting to beat loudly as her gaze became riveted on the only thing that definitely hadn’t been there when she went out early this morning.

Sitting in the middle of the neatly made bed was the pillow—well, the pillowcase: she doubted it was the same pillow inside—that had been stolen from her apartment in London three days ago.

She froze when she heard a slight shuffling noise behind her.

Before she could turn to identify the source of that noise, something struck her hard on the side of the head, and she was immediately enveloped in darkness.

CHAPTERFOUR

---