3 The Braque Connection Read Free

create a spreadsheet with all the reasons why we should not break through the wall.” His lips twitched. “I remember saying something funny in return, but I can’t remember what.”
    “You didn’t say anything.” The corners of my mouth turned down with the memory. “You smugly handed me a spreadsheet with reasons why you should break through the wall. You had anticipated my reasoning and were arrogant about that.”
    He attempted to hide his smile, but gave in. “God, I’m good. I remember creating the spreadsheet, but not handing it to you. What else do you remember?”
    “I fed the papers into the shredder.” An uncomfortable emotion tugged at me. I was feeling guilty about my pertinacious unwillingness to listen to his arguments. “You laughed at me and handed me another copy. That one I put in my handbag. I shut down my computers and we left.”
    “Was there anyone else still in the office?”
    I thought for a moment. “No. Vinnie had only been there until lunch. Francine had left an hour before us. Oh, wait! Angelique was still in the office. We walked past her on the way out. She didn’t look up when you greeted her.”
    Phillip’s personal assistant was a dedicated woman and fiercely loyal. Recently she had been less successful in her attempts to cloak her discomfort around me.
    “Was Phillip still in the office?”
    My eyes flashed wide open in shock. “Phillip would never do something like this. Why would you even suggest it?”
    “He’s friends with Millard,” he said as if that would explain everything. Manfred Millard worked for Interpol, and on request of the president headed our team as we worked to find the man who had tried to kill the president and his family six months ago. Colin and Manny had a history and a deep dislike of each other.
    “We should phone Manny.”
    “Later. First we need to speak to Vinnie. Don’t argue with me on this one, Jenny. Rather tell me what else you remember.”
    “We didn’t see anyone else, only Angelique. We took the elevator down, left the building, found the car where you had parked it and got in.” I frowned. “I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t know whether you even started the car or drove home.”
    “Was there someone in the car?”
    “I don’t know.” My hands fisted on my lap. My whole life I had worked with single-minded determination to have and maintain full control over my life. Not having any control, not having any memories was causing me severe psychological distress.
    “Hey.” Colin reached over and took one of my hands in his. “It will be okay. We’ll find out what happened.”
    It was hard to believe him. How could we find out what happened if we couldn’t remember anything? I pulled my hand back, only to experience a blitz anxiety attack when I saw the inside of my forearm.
    On the pale skin was a tattoo. There was no scabbing or other signs of healing, indicating that it was not done with a needle. Knowing that this was just a henna tattoo brought only a small measure of comfort. It was an intricate design of curls, twirls and whorls, beautiful only in its decorative purpose. There was no picture. I rubbed the centre of the tattoo even though I knew my skin would be stained for at least a week. I rubbed harder.
    “Get it off me. Get it off.”
    “Jenny, stop.” Colin took my hands in a firm grip. “I thought you weren’t going to like this.”
    “Did you do this?” Before I finished my irrational, impulsive accusation, I was shaking my head. “I know you wouldn’t. Why would somebody do this? What is this?”
    Colin exhaled heavily. “I think all of this is a message. Being drugged, kidnapped, taken to my unknown safe house and your tattoo.”
    I saw it in his face. He had the same suspicions that had entered my mind. I closed my eyes against these thoughts and wrote a few more bars of the piano concerto. When I opened my eyes, he let go of my hands. “Why don’t you go find some Mozart to put