Page 39 of Crystal Veil

I end the call before she can try to talk me out of it. Before she can list all the reasons why this is dangerous, why I should let someone else handle it, and why I should play it safe.

I immediately dial Nick's direct line. If anyone can help me get to the bottom of this, it's him.

He answers on the second ring. “Martinez. How are you feeling?”

His voice is gruff but concerned. Nick has been checking on me constantly since the poisoning, calling every day to make sure I'm okay. It's sweet, in his own stoic way.

“Better. Physically anyway. But I need information.”

“Tell me what you need.”

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I voice this suspicion, there's no going back. “Celine Boucher. I need you to dig intoher background. Everything. Personal, professional, scandalous. Use every source you've got.”

Nick is silent for a quiet second. I can practically hear him processing, mulling over the implications of what I'm asking.

“I know she's his side piece. But do you think she's tied criminally to Bennato?”

“I think she's more than tied to him. I think she's the knife he hides under his sleeve.”

“That's a serious accusation, Elena. What makes you think that?”

I lean against the window frame, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon. “Her behavior at the gallery. The way she reacted to the heist. And something about the poisoning... it felt too precise. Too calculated.”

“Celine's an art dealer, not a scientist.”

“Art dealers travel. They have connections all over the world. They know how to acquire rare things.” I pause. “Including rare poisons.”

Nick is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is carefully neutral. “You want me to dig into her romantic history? See if there's a pattern?”

“Yes. Exactly. She’s French and only came to this country a few years ago.”

“This could be dangerous territory, Elena. If you're right about her, if she really is Bennato's secret weapon, then investigating her could put you in more danger than you’ve already been in.”

“I'm already in danger. She tried to kill me with that letter.”

“You think it was her.”

“I think she's been cleaning up messes for Bennato for years. And I think I'm just the latest mess on her list.”

Nick exhales slowly. “Understood. Give me a few hours. I'll call when I have something.”

“Thanks, Nick. I owe you.”

“You don't owe me anything. Just stay safe, kid. And maybe tell your boyfriend what you're thinking. He's got resources we don't.”

The line goes dead, and I'm alone again with my thoughts. The next few hours drag by. I pretend I’m fine, but inside, I’m unraveling. Every article I pull up on my laptop sends another tremor through me. I keep digging, chasing leads and connections, doing everything I can to stay ahead of the fear while I wait for Nick to call.

I try to focus on the words on the screen and not the growing certainty that I've stumbled onto something bigger than I can handle. But my mind keeps returning to Celine's face, to that small smile that I now understand was triumph.

When the phone rings, I nearly drop it. My hands are shaking again, and I have to grip the device tightly to keep it steady.

“Talk to me,” I say without preamble.

Nick doesn't bother softening the blow. “Celine was engaged to a French diplomat in 2016. Jules Marceau. Wealthy, connected. Died in his sleep. No official cause. Private burial. No autopsy.”

My pulse slows, dread wrapping around my ribs. “No autopsy?”

“Family requested privacy. Money talks, especially when it comes to avoiding uncomfortable questions.”