Page 61 of The Devil Wears Orange
I suck in a breath, anticipating an alarm to sound. I let the breath out, relieved by the quiet, but aware that there’s always the chance of a silent alarm.
Jack pulls on the door but it won’t open.
“025974.”
“You said 825974 before.”
“That was a guess.”
“You dragged me here for a guess? I thought you said you have the number.”
“Mostly,” I say in a thin, defensive voice. “He blocked my view so I didn’t quite get the first number. 025974.”
Shaking his head, Jack keys in the number. “Any more guesses? At some point, the safe may lock us out.”
“Do you think there’s a silent alarm?”
“Well, I do now. Maybe we should forget this.”
“No. Try 525974.”
Jack presses the numbers, wraps his hand around the handle and pulls it open.
“What’s in there?” I say in an excited tone, peering over his shoulder.
“I don’t know yet.” He removes a folder, slides documents out from envelopes and lays them out on the dresser. There are countless B&W images of paintings and artifacts, a blueprint of a building, and surveillance pictures of a middle-aged man. Jack retrieves the blueprint and studies it. “Does this mean all this artwork is located here?”
“Is it the blueprint to a museum?” I hope not. It would mean that despite the turmoil he’s put me through, Rashid has no qualms about destroying more lives. I reach for some of the photos and fumble them with trembling hands. Jack snaps pictures with his camera phone, and I replace them into the envelope one photo at a time.
I hover andtsk. I’m irritating him, I know, but I can’t control my anxiety. “This is nerve-wracking,” I say. “Is there anything there?” Part of me hopes the answer is “no.” I’d rather feel like a fool putting Jack onto this crazy assignment rather than find something.
“I don’t know yet,” he mutters.
Jack flips through documents and, angling his phone, snaps multiple pictures of the same page in sections. It’s as though he’s deliberately toying with me by taking his sweet time with our foray into larceny. Then again, is it larceny if we don’t take anything? Is it merely a matter of breaking and entering without the criminal elements?
“This whole thing makes my stomach flip,” I say.
“Why don’t you keep an eye on the front door?” suggests Jack.
I open the bedroom door an inch and peer toward the entrance below. If Rashid returns early and walks in on us, what would I do or say to him? “I’ve changed my mind,” I announce.
Jack abandons the safe and turns to me. “What is going on with you today? This was your idea.”
“I know, it’s just that, well…” My voice trails off. How can I explain to Jack that after spending a considerable amount of time with Rashid, I’m reevaluating my perception of him? Maybe I got it all wrong, and it wasn’t Rashid who made me an unwitting participant in the theft ofMistress. Maybe I’m suffering from PTSD and somehow misconstrued meeting the Prince that night at the magazine’s party with meeting the thief. Or perhaps those men on the boat forced him to steal the painting. That doesn’t sound so far-fetched.
“What if I’m mistaken? I mean, Jack, this sophisticated, generous, wealthy man can’t possibly be whom we suspect him of being.” I abandon my spot at the door to plead with him.
Jack slowly blinks his eyes. “Charlotte, are you falling for the mark?”
I whip my head back and bellow in gross exaggeration. “What? No, it’s just that he...isn’t as bad as I initially thought...” I look up at Jack as the heat of a blush spreads over my face. “I’m not sure anymore. I’ve spent a lot of time with him lately. Sometimes I feel grateful that he’s giving me this great life. Other times Ifeel I’m being held captive like that syndrome. You know when people feel they can’t escape even when they can.”
“Stockholm.”
“Yes, thank you. Stockholm. See? This craziness is affecting me. Everything that I thought I knew is in question.”
“How cruel the last week must have been for you. Races and dinner parties and shopping.”
My eyes narrow.
