“It was a long time ago.” She forced a smile.
“Wanna talk about it?” The question slipped from him before he could think it through. He never invited women to talk about their problems. He never cared, never wanted to know.
She was quiet for so long, he thought she didn’t. And strangely enough it bothered him that she didn’t want to talk about it.
“The Trophée Éric Bompard. It’s a skating competition, one of the top ones. Usually happens in the fall, and that year it was in early November. I entered and I won. It was thrilling because it was the first competition of the Olympic season, and it was important to start on the right foot. Afterwards, I was on my way to the airport. The cabbie was speeding. I think he was impatient because I told him I was running late and I’d promised him a big tip if he could get me there fast. I didn’t want to miss my flight home. Then we were hit by some rich guy in a red Lamborghini, which was also speeding from what I understand. I don’t really remember…everything after the accident is sort of hazy.”
Dane’s mouth went dry. “Did you say a red Lamborghini?”
She nodded. “I saw it. It T-boned the taxi.”
“Jesus.” Apprehension cut through him. He’d been driving a red Lamborghini when he’d gotten into his accident in Paris.
Five million dollars. Nobody paid that kind of money unless it was death or something similar. But five million could’ve been the price for killing her Olympic dream.
Stop jumping to conclusions, he told himself. It could’ve been some other driver. He wasn’t the only person in Paris who had a red Lamborghini. It could all just have been a coincidence.
“Hey, it’s okay.” She forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.”
“How long?” he asked, unable to help himself.
“Seven years.”
He swallowed, light-headed. It couldn’t possibly be…
“I don’t really think about it,” she added.
Not much more than him, undoubtedly.
He shook himself and spooned her, kissing her shoulder. “Get some sleep. We still have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t we call or something? Let them know we aren’t coming home?”
The last thing he wanted to do was call Al. “They’re used to me doing whatever I want. We’re fine.”
She nodded, stretched, and soon drifted to sleep. When he was sure she was dead to the world, he slipped out of bed.
Restlessness rode him. He dragged his hands through his hair.
Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. He didn’t know anything. It could be just a coincidence.
Right. He should just crawl back into bed and get some sleep. He really should.
Except…
How many red Lamborghinis had hit a taxi in Paris that particular November?
* * *
After two scotches to bolster himself, Dane called Henry Wagner’s personal cell phone.
After three rings came Henry’s sleep-heavy voice. “Hello, Dane. Is everything all right?”
“That depends. I need to verify something.”
Henry yawned, but he didn’t complain. He was a partner at Rosenbaum, McCracken, Wagner, and Associates. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“My car accident in Paris. You handled it yourself, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, along with some associates from our firm in Paris.” Henry didn’t sound so sleepy anymore.
“Name or names of the people in the taxi. What were they?”
A slight pause. “I don’t remember,” Henry’s tone was Teflon-smooth. “It was so long ago.”
“Then remember by COB tomorrow and call me.”
“The files are in storage in our Paris office. It’s going to take at least a week or so to pull the information.”
“Are you telling me it’s not in a digital database?”
“That’s right. I feel bad saying this, but I don’t think I can help you if you need the information right now.”
Did the lawyer think Dane was stupid? Henry had a memory like a bear trap—once information entered his brain, it never left.
“They were paid five million dollars, Henry,” Dane said quietly. “It makes you sick to your stomach if you have to cough up five cents more than you have to. Are you telling me you honestly have no clue?”
“Sorry. Like I said, it was seven years ago.”
Dane hung up, not interested in bullshit excuses.
Henry wouldn’t have tossed five million bucks out there without an okay from somebody with a lot of monetary control in the family. Since Dane hadn’t known about it, that left either Shirley or Salazar.
Dane started dialing his father’s number, then stopped. If Henry was keeping quiet, it was due to a strict directive from someone in the family. The only person alive he’d obey like this was Salazar, and Salazar was the last one who’d tell Dane what he wanted to know.