King Me (Forever Wilde 7)

“No, I can’t,” I said. “But that’s irrelevant at this point. And because President Carter’s decision to finally return it to Hungary had been such a diplomatic expression of trust and a kind of benediction of sorts, we couldn’t risk telling them about the mix-up at the time. We simply had to let it stand.”

King sat forward, clearly interested now. “You’re kidding. So that’s why this is so hush-hush. We need to swap them out before returning it. Right an old wrong.”

“Exactly. So now you know why we can’t simply go in and arrest Elek. The US can’t be involved in this, and that includes an FBI art crimes team being the ones to find the crown,” I explained. “We simply need to get the forgery out of circulation and concoct a way of returning the original to where it belongs.”

“Where is the original?” he asked, turning in his seat to face me. “And did Elek know he had a forgery?”

“The original is currently on its way to Paris. And you tell me if Elek knew. I hope not.”

King shook his head, hair flopping adorably from one side to the other. “No. He was never good at spotting forgeries—that’s partly what drew him to me in the first place. Also, people don’t tend to look for them unless they have reason to suspect. And if he took this piece off the display under guard at the parliament building, he would have never in a million years expected it to be a forgery.”

“Good. If that information got into the wrong hands, it could be a big problem for the US. Once the forgery is destroyed, there at least won’t be any proof of the mistake,” I said.

“The deception, you mean,” King corrected. “Or, what some might call the theft of a valuable piece of art.”

I bit back a sigh. The man deserved his bitterness.

Ziv stood up and stretched before wandering up front to hunt down some drinks and snacks. Mouse pulled a travel blanket out of a nearby compartment and snuggled into the far corner by a window to sleep. Linney stuck in her earbuds and started a movie on her iPad.

That left King and me in awkward silence.

Why did I feel compelled to apologize again for doing my job and following orders?

I clenched my jaw together to keep from saying something stupid.

“I’m pissed off at you,” he mumbled, turning toward me and leaning his head on my shoulder. The public display of affection surprised me. I looked up, but no one was paying attention. Besides, according to Linney they all knew anyway. So much for professionalism.

I reached for his hand and threaded my fingers through his. It felt so good to touch him again.

“I know,” I admitted softly. “You have a right to be. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t accept your apology, but I’m going to put it aside for the duration of this flight because I’m exhausted and you’re warm and soft.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, secretly thrilled I was still allowed to touch him. “Every FBI agent’s dream is to be described as soft and warm.”

“It’s better than grumpy and deceptive.”

Touché.

I turned and reached for the adjustment on his seat, reclining it back all the way before doing the same to mine. After finding a couple of blankets and throwing one over him, I settled back into my seat and reached for his hand again, pulling him until his head was back on my shoulder.

“Better,” I murmured. “Sleep.”

It was a five-hour flight to Paris, and we spent every minute of it trying to get as close to each other as possible, trying to make the most of every one of our final moments together.

If there was one thing the forgery situation had made clear, it was that I still didn’t fully trust him, and he sure as hell didn’t have reason to trust me.

And there was no future between us without trust.

As soon as we landed in Paris, the agents escorted us directly to the office, despite the ungodly early hour. When we arrived, Nadine was waiting to take custody of the forgery.

“Well done,” she said with a huge smile after peeking into the bag. She didn’t remove the crown since there were a few support personnel in this part of the building, but she took a good look at it to confirm we’d accomplished what she’d sent us to do. “Let’s go into the conference room and regroup.”

We followed her into the room, but before everyone sat down, King asked where the men’s room was.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I should have shown you on the way in. I’ll take you.” I turned to excuse us, but Nadine stopped me.

“Back out to the reception and hang a left. Agent Falcon, please stay. I want to ask you something while Mr. Wilde is out of the room.”