Page 63 of The Devil Wears Orange
“You’re a loose end.”
“A loose end,” I repeat, and my voice cracks. “That’s whatyoumade me.”
Finally, Jack draws his eyes away from the artwork. “Are they going to try again?”
Shaking his head, Rashid says, “I will protect you, Charlotte. You have my word.”
I guffaw and glance toward Jack before returning my gaze to Rashid. “It’s that man from the races?”
Rashid seems taken aback. “Levan, yes.”
“You’re the reason my life is in shambles,” I say, staring hard at him. I’m disappointed in myself for letting my suspicions falter.
Rashid winces, the look of stinging pain on his face. In quiet contemplation, he knots his brows. “I’m afraid I’ve involved you in something quite serious. Believe me, it was not my intention to bring harm to you.”
“I’ve lost everything. My job, my friends, my reputation. I felt guilty wanting to unmask you, but Iwasright all along...” I trail off. The part of me that had hoped myself wrong remains, and I’m not quite sure how to reconcile my emotions. “You stole that painting and had everyone suspect that I was in on it. Why me? Did you plan to use me or was I just convenient?” My voice rises until I become increasingly agitated.
Rashid looks away, too cowardly to face me.
“Take it easy, Charlotte,” Jack says quietly.
“Take it easy?! I’ll remember that the next time they try to kill me.”
“They’re done with all that,” says Jack, his tone unconvincing. He places his hand on my back.
“Don’t be condescending,” I say, shaking off his hand. Silence fills the room. Jack seems to search for something to say.
To Rashid, Jack says, “By the way, Charlotte told me how you rolled up theMistress, probably added more cracks in the paint. I hope you at least stored it flat in an acid-free box.” His eyes land on the painting, then back to me. The painting. Me. “You know, now that you’re both in the same room, I see an uncanny resemblance.”
My gaze drifts back to theMistress. “I should slap you.”
“Me?!” says Jack.
“No. Rashid.”
Rashid’s eyes flick up at me with a look of resignation as though he’s in agreement. I’d never slap anyone. I’m incapable of inflicting pain on another, even if it’s deserved. With the painting within reach, I postulate a return to my old life. Surely, I can hand it over to the police with a perfectly logical explanation of how it ended up in my possession.As though they’d believe you,theMistresssays with an eye-roll.
“Where do we go from here?” I say.
Rashid practically rushes to me. “It should never have gone this far. I promise, I will fix this, but you must trust me.”
“Ha!” I shout and look to Jack with an expression to impart my mistrust of Rashid.
“I understand,” says Rashid in a low voice. His eyes lift to meet mine and he says, “But now you know the truth to do what you will with it.”
I should despise him. Exposing Rashid and clearing my name is what I’ve been planning and hoping for, yet I read the anguished guilt expressed on his face and I can’t explain how disoriented I feel at the moment, my emotions muddled.
“IfI were to trust you…”
“Am I the only sane one in this room?” Jack says.
“I saidif,” I hiss. “Anyway, how will you fix the madness you created?”
“I’ll show you.” From the drawer of an end table, Rashid produces a remote. Blinds snake down, lights go dim, and a screen lowers against a far wall.
“Oh, look, a show,” Jack says facetiously.
“If you give it a chance, you’ll quite enjoy it, Professor. As an art historian, I’m sure you know of the painter, Karl Sonnenberg.”
