Page 75 of The Devil Wears Orange
“Which one am I?” asks Rashid.
“Oh, you’re definitely James Spader.”
“Your Highness,” someone calls from behind us.
Turning, I spot the Bannings in the center of a hall, greeting guests like they’re the Royals in Buckingham Palace.
“Mr. Banning, thank you for having us to your lovely home,” Rashid says.
“My pleasure. May I properly introduce my wife? My dear, Ivonete, please meet Prince Rashid Mohammed al-Zayed and Ms. Charlotte Milton.”
“How do you do?” Ivonete says, eyes squarely focused on Rashid. Around her neck rests the Heart Diamond, glistening with the sparkle of a million stars.
“Lovely necklace,” I say. My tone is biting but with a subtly that I’ve only seen perfected by Meryl Streep. Perhaps I should consider a career as an actress.
Mrs. Banning turns to me with a slight tilt of her head and, in a sultry tone, says, “Thank you. It was a gift from my husband.”
“Perfection deserves perfection,” Mr. Banning chimes in, then gestures to the next room. “Please make your way into the ballroom and enjoy yourselves.”
I have seen plenty of chateaus in France that this grand ballroom is modeled after, but none of them are as stunning. The crystal chandeliers sparkle; black chairs surround white-clothed tables, and tiny bouquets of white tulips hang in black cones from the centerpiece candelabras. Over to one end, a quartet plays, while at the other, a large band sets up.
Introductions are made. Faces blur from one to another. Some behave as though they know Rashid personally, most likely having seen a biography about his family on PBS. Others try toohard to impress, failing miserably. Then there are the one or two who pretend his title is inconsequential.
In the midst of yet another group of hangers-on, I excuse myself, in search of the ladies’ room. But I really just want to find Jack. We haven’t been in contact since he left Dubai, and this leaves me feeling discombobulated. I wanted to reach out to him, but Rashid worried any unnecessary contact may expose him in this crazy plan. While there have been moments within this amateur hour of espionage when I found myself questioning everything, I never wavered from clearing my name.
By the time I enter the corridor leading to the ladies’ room, I still haven’t spotted Jack, and I need confirmation that everything is in place. Inside the elegant powder room, I dampen a small cloth towel with cold water and pat my neck. My nerves are getting the better of me. My fingers tremble.
Be cool, I tell myself. Everything will work according to plan once the fireworks set off.Or even better, I add as a precaution and send this out to the universe.
Chapter 42
Ablack cube vanwith the words “Specialty Fire Displays” sprawled on the side idles outside the servants’ entranceway. When the front gate had called earlier, Jack confirmed them as part of the festivities, then waved the van over. It looks ordinary, like any other cube van a business would use. This truck, however, is a specially-made armored vehicle complete with bulletproof exterior and smash-proof windows. Jack tries not to think aboutwhythey need to protect themselves against bullets, but he’s not an idiot. He’s fully aware of the danger they’ve put themselves in. The men, dressed in all black with “Specialty Fire Displays” in small lettering on their T-shirts, unload straight away and blend in with the other workers traipsing in and out. Other than Peter Lorrie & Co. back at his apartment, he hasn’t been in communication with anyone else, aside from emailing them the vault photos.
Inside the kitchen, Jack swipes a tray topped with champagne flutes and glides past other waitstaff through a door and intothe ballroom, his eyes on the prowl for Charlotte and Rashid. He meanders through the crowd of men in black tuxedos, and women in black ballgowns, a handful in white. There are too many of them that he’s jostled about and nearly drops his tray. He holds it steady in both hands. It’s a monotonous and torturous job. Empty the tray, pick up empty glasses and return to the kitchen for more. Each time he cuts a path through a crowd, his eyes skitter in search of Charlotte. Finally, on one of his many returns from the kitchen, he spots her with Rashid and the Bannings.
God, she’s beautiful.He misses her laughter that sometimes ends in a snort. He misses her humor even when it’s unintentional. But mostly he misses that brief intimacy they shared on the boat when he thought he had lost her. The two weeks he’s spent here working his way into the Banning home has made him nearly forget what the very essence of her does to him. He thinks back to that night at the police station when her eyes first landed on him. How she rejected him at first, then changed her mind. Even now, he can hear her heels clickety-clack their way back across the cobblestone to accept his offer of a ride back to her hotel. And he can still feel her hips grinding into him that night at the vineyard, her lips thirsty for his, his hands roaming over her body.
Jack is irritated by the way Charlotte stares at the diamond around Mrs. Banning’s neck. When this is over, he half expects Rashid will surprise her with the necklace. And where would that leave Jack?
The Bannings walk away, leaving Charlotte and Rashid alone. She whispers something, he bends forward, her head tilts up, and together they share a laugh. He notes the gentleness in how Rashid wraps an arm around Charlotte’s waist.
Charlotte breaks away from Rashid and heads toward a corridor. Jack follows and whispers to himself, “Be cool.”
Chapter 43
“Champagne, ma’am,” a malevoice offers as I exit the bathroom. The tray hovers beside me, and I can’t help notice how odd it is to be nabbed like that outside the ladies’ room. I’m about to decline when I look beyond the flutes to the waiter’s face.
“Jack,” I say, but it’s whispered in such a breathy tone that it comes out more a sound than anything resembling a name. My eyes caress his face. I certainly didn’t think the two-week absence would be this impactful. “You had me so worried when I hadn’t heard from you.” I glance at partygoers within close proximity, coming and going into the bathrooms.
“Are you having a wonderful time,ma’am?”
The emphasis on his last word suddenly annoys me, and, hearing him use it twice now, I wonder if he’s insulting me on purpose. He has a few years on me.
Jack steps in close and mumbles, “I knew you weren’t paying attention when we went over the plan.”
A quickenedohfollows, my body in betrayal mode. I clamp my mouth shut. It embarrasses me that I more or less forgot the code word that encapsulates everyone is in play. Still, I can’t let on that Jack caught me, nearly upending our plan. “I’m playing my part as you should be. Help shouldn’t be communicating with guests,” I say in a hushed tone. I glance at our surroundings, but it doesn’t appear that anyone is paying attention to us.
“This servant is troubled carrying a gun in the midst of this.”
