Page 58 of The Devil Wears Orange
Rashid’s mind flashes to the incident on the water and his failure to protect Charlotte. What if next time Levan succeeds? He has to agree with Noam; love (or perhaps the promise of it) will do Rashid in.
“You’d like my help, but I don’t think I’ve ever been mistaken for Robin Hood,” Rashid says, choosing his words carefully. Thisis a personal matter for Noam, and when emotions interfere, problems arise. Like falling for your pawn in a heist, Rashid reminds himself. He knows better, yet he flew Charlotte to Dubai, offered her a job, and shares a hotel suite with her. Now Jack’s arrival has further complicated things, and his story about recognizing Charlotte is obviously a lie. There’s no question that Jack is after him, and it’s very possible that Charlotte is, too. His misgivings about Charlotte tear him apart, but he knows he can’t let his feelings for her blind him. At least with both of them staying at his family’s hotel, he’ll be able to spy on them to get to the truth.
Noam smiles. “You’ll be paid quite handsomely, but the trove of stolen art must be returned to all the families. It’s unpleasant for men like us to do good in the world.”
Men like us?Rashid’s eyes flicker to Noam. He’s technically a thief, yes, but not a killer, a torturer. He’s nothing like Noam, and to be thought of in such a way makes him cringe.
“The file contains information on Hector’s home in Switzerland that was once a grand fort. We believe he keeps the stolen artwork there. I paid a great deal of money for the plans that you hold.”
“And how accurate are they?” says Rashid, scanning over blueprints.
“It was quite difficult to piece all the information together, and while we are sure the plans are accurate for the main floor and above, we can’t be sure of what lies beneath the home. There is a rumor of secret passageways and hidden dungeons, but who can tell for certain? Take the file and give me your final answer in 24 hours. I trust the temptation of what’s hidden there will be too great, and do with it what you will, however, return to me and others what is rightfully ours.”
“And you want only the paintings back?” Rashid questions carefully.
“No,” Noam says, leaning forward in his chair. “The sins of the father are visited on the son. I want the man dead.”
Rashid stares, contemplating a way to refuse without ending up dead himself, when a smile breaks out on Noam’s face.
“It’s just a joke.”
Another thing Rashid knows about Noam Erhlich is that he is a humorless man.
Chapter 34
“Hamed. Hamed.”
I stir in bed, roused by Rashid’s voice. He must have forgotten he had dismissed Hamed before he slipped out for his late-night business meeting. Creeping out of bed, I open the door a crack, and peek. Rashid stands in his darkened doorway, his white shirt untucked, buttons undone.
“Did I disturb you?” he says.
“It’s okay. You sent Hamed home.”
“Oh, yes,” he says in quiet exasperation.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“No,” he says and remains by the door.
“Rashid, please tell me what you need.”
After another moment of hesitation, he sighs and says, “I need help changing the dressing on my arm.”
“Be right there,” I say and close the door behind me. I slip my arms through a robe and, in the bathroom, swish mouthwash. There’s no reason to torture Rashid with bad breath. Suckingin deeply, I’m satisfied with the minty scent. Then, I yank my phone from its charger and, on the way to Rashid’s room, search YouTube for how to change a bandage.
I’m disappointed to find Rashid’s room lit only by a few weak lamps, and hoped to gain insight into him.
“In there,” he says.
I proceed to the bathroom but an open folder on the lit dresser catches my eye. My pace slows, allowing me to linger at the scattered contents – photographs of artwork and a blueprint. Good lord. Is he already planning something so soon after the last fiasco?
“Charlotte?” Rashid rushes over and gathers the papers together, giving me a scolding look. Lifting a painting off the wall, he reveals a safe.
My thumb scrolls across to the camera setting on my phone and, switching on video, zoom and record. Rashid shifts in front of the pad to block me as he keys in a code, but I maneuver my phone into a better position. Fingers spread wide on the pad, he hesitates, tilts his head slightly towards me, and then uses his other hand to cover what he’s typing. The safe opens, and he pops in the folder. I stop the recording, hoping I captured enough to determine the pin number.
“What are you doing with your phone?” Rashid barks.
I move my thumb quickly back to the browser where it opens to my last search and flip the screen to him. “YouTube. I’m sure a nurse has posted a how-to.” I wander into the fully lit bathroom and spend a few minutes watching the video I found. “Got it,” I say, then turn to eye the supplies – gauze pads, clean towel, cotton-tipped applicator, and transparent dressing – laid out on the marble counter. Rashid sits in a chair by me and retrieves a cleaning solution from a drawer.
