The Darkest of Secrets. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ could be. Dealing with some of the finest and most expensive art in the world ignited people’s passions—and possessiveness. She’d seen how a beautiful picture could poison desire, turn love into hate and beauty into ugliness. She’d lived it, and never wanted to again.

      ‘It will all be very discreet, very safe. There’s no reason for anyone even to know you are there.’

      Alone on an island with the forgotten son of a corrupt and hated business tycoon? She didn’t know much about Balkri Tannous, but she knew his type. She knew how ruthless, cruel and downright dangerous such a man could be. And she had no reason—yet—to believe his son would be any different.

      ‘There will be a staff,’ Michel reminded her. ‘It’s not as if you’d be completely alone.’

      ‘I know that.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘How long would it take?’

      ‘A week? It depends on what is required.’

      ‘A week—’

      ‘Enough.’ Michel held up one hand. ‘Enough. You will go. I insist on it, Grace. Your plane leaves in three hours.’

      ‘Three hours? But I haven’t even packed—’

      ‘You have time.’ He smiled, although his expression remained iron-like and shrewd. ‘Don’t forget a swimming costume. I hear the Mediterranean’s nice this time of year. Khalis Tannous might give you some time off to swim.’

      Khalis Tannous. The name sent a shiver of something—curiosity? Fear?—through her. What kind of man was he, the son of an undoubtedly unscrupulous or even evil man, yet who had chosen—either out of defiance or desperation—to go his own way at only twenty-one years old? And now that he was back, in control of an empire, what kind of man would he become?

      ‘I don’t intend to swim,’ she said shortly. ‘I intend to do the job as quickly as possible.’

      ‘Well,’ Michel said, smiling, ‘you could try to enjoy yourself—for once.’

      Grace just shook her head. She knew where that led, and she had no intention of enjoying herself ever again.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘THERE it is.’

      Grace craned her neck to look out of the window of the helicopter that had picked her up in Sicily and was now taking her to Alhaja Island, no more than a rocky crescent-shaped speck in the distance, off the coast of Tunisia. She swallowed, discreetly wiped her hands along the sides of her beige silk trench coat and tried to staunch the flutter of nerves in her middle.

      ‘Another ten minutes,’ the pilot told her, and Grace leaned back in her seat, the whine of the propeller blades loud in her ears. She was uncomfortably aware that two of Khalis Tannous’s family members had died in a helicopter crash just a little over a week ago, over these very waters. She did not wish to experience the same fate.

      The pilot must have sensed something of her disquiet, for he glanced over at her and gave her what Grace supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. It is very safe.’

      ‘Right.’ Grace closed her eyes as she felt the helicopter start to dip down. She might be one of the foremost appraisers of Renaissance art in Europe, but this was still far out of her professional experience. She mostly dealt with museums, inspecting and insuring paintings that hung on revered walls around the world. Her job took her to quiet back rooms and sterile laboratories, out of the public eye and away from scandal. Michel himself handled many private collections, dealt with the tricky and often tempestuous personalities that accompanied so much priceless art.

      Yet this time he’d sent her. She opened her eyes, saw the ground seeming to swoop towards them. A strip of white sand beach, a rocky cove, a tangle of trees and, most noticeably of all, a high chain-link fence topped with two spiky strands of barbed wire and bits of broken glass. And Grace suspected that was the least of Tannous’s security.

      The helicopter touched down on the landing pad, where a black Jeep was already waiting. Her heart still thudding, Grace stepped out onto the tarmac. A slim man in a tie-dyed T-shirt and cut-off jeans stood there, his fair hair blowing in the sea breeze.

      ‘Ms Turner? I’m Eric Poulson, assistant to Khalis Tannous. Welcome to Alhaja.’

      Grace just nodded. He didn’t look like what she’d expected, although she hadn’t really thought of what a Tannous employee would look like. Certainly not a beach bum. He led her to the waiting Jeep, tossing her case in the back.

      ‘Mr Tannous is expecting me?’

      ‘Yes, you can refresh yourself and relax for a bit and he’ll join you shortly.’

      She prickled instinctively. She hated being told what to do. ‘I thought this was urgent.’

      He gave her a laughing glance. ‘We’re on a Mediterranean island, Ms Turner. What does urgent even mean?’

      Grace frowned and said nothing. She didn’t like the man’s attitude. It was far from professional, and that was what she needed to be—always. Professional. Discreet.

      Eric drove the Jeep down a pebbly road to the compound’s main gates, a pair of armoured doors that looked incredibly forbidding. They opened seamlessly and silently and swung just as quietly shut behind the Jeep, yet Grace still felt them clang through her. Eric seemed relaxed, but then he obviously knew the security codes to those gates. She didn’t. She had just become a prisoner. Again. Her heart raced and her palms dampened as nausea churned along with the memories inside her. Memories of feeling like a prisoner. Being a prisoner.

      Why had she agreed to this?

      Not just because Michel had insisted, she knew. Despite his tough talk, she could have refused. She didn’t think Michel would actually fire her. No, she’d agreed because the desire to see Tannous’s art collection—and see it, God willing, restored to museums—had been too strong to ignore. A temptation too great to resist.

      And temptation was, unfortunately, something she knew all about.

      As Grace slid out of the Jeep, she looked around slowly. The compound was an ugly thing of concrete, like a huge bunker, but the gardens surrounding it were lovely and lush, and she inhaled the scent of bougainvillea on the balmy air.

      Eric led her towards the front doors of the building and disarmed yet another fingerprint-activated security system. Grace followed him into a huge foyer tiled in terracotta, a soaring skylight above, and then into a living room decorated with casual elegance, sofas and chairs in soothing neutral shades, a few well placed antiques and a view through the one-way window of the startling sweep of sea.

      ‘May I offer you something to drink?’ Eric asked, his hands dug into the pockets of his cut-off jeans. ‘Juice, wine, a pina colada?’

      Grace wondered if he was amused by her buttoned-up attitude. Well, she had no intention of relaxing. ‘A glass of sparkling water, please.’

      ‘Sure thing.’ He left her alone, and Grace slowly circled the room. She summed up the antiques and artwork with a practised eye: all good copies, but essentially fakes. Eric returned with her water and withdrew again, promising that Tannous would be with СКАЧАТЬ