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Instead, he stood. He needed to hear it from her, needed her to trust him with her story.
Mikel stood as well. “I think of Quinn as my second daughter,” he said. “No harm will come to her on my watch.”
Surprise rippled through Gabriel at Mikel’s declaration of affection for Quinn. Yet he shouldn’t be astonished. Mikel was fiercely loyal to the royals, treating them as though they were his own family. There had been that tackle when Mikel had thought Gabriel might leap off a cliff. The delicate debriefing after Gabriel’s abduction when Mikel had walked a shifting path that required him to elicit the information he needed to track the kidnappers while not adding trauma to Gabriel’s already damaged psyche.
“All of us are very fortunate to have you on our side,” Gabriel said, holding out his hand. “Not just because you are skilled at your job, but because you care. That is a priceless gift. Muchas gracias!”
Mikel shook his hand with the firm grip that Gabriel always suspected he moderated for courtesy’s sake. “Caleva is a place of second chances. I am glad to be of service.”
As Gabriel exited Mikel’s office, he wondered yet again what Mikel had wanted to leave behind him.
Quinn stared at the large screen on the wall of the conference room, watching Paul Ricci’s face. He had blurred the background behind him, as though they didn’t know he was at his—or, more accurately, his wife’s—beach house in San Diego. He wore an open-necked white shirt, and his blond hair looked blonder because he had a tan. Asshole.
Mikel sat beside her, adding his intimidating presence to make sure Ricci took this conversation seriously.
“Antoine DeGuerre,” Quinn read the third name on her list. DeGuerre was one of Dupont’s cronies. She didn’t expect Ricci to know him, but it was worth a try.
Ricci at least pretended to consider the name for a long moment before he shook his head.
“Odette Fontaine,” Quinn read, careful to keep her tone neutral.
“No.” A pause. “Wait. I think my wife knows her.” He stared upward as he snapped his fingers to indicate his attempt at recall. “Yes, they have lunch together sometimes in Paris. They met…” He thought longer before he lowered his gaze to the screen again. “Cosmetics. Something about skin cream. That’s it. Odette Fontaine got my wife hooked on some very expensive skin cream that her company sells. Sylvie claims it’s miraculous.”
“How long ago did they meet?” Again, she kept her voice even while excitement pinwheeled in her brain. But not surprise. She had been sure there was a connection.
Ricci waved a dismissive hand. “Two or three years ago, maybe. How could a cosmetics salesperson be involved in kidnapping a duke? That’s rather far-fetched.”
“We’re following all leads,” Quinn said in an official monotone. “How often do they see each other?”
“God, I don’t know. I suppose every time we go to Paris”—he paused—“together, which is about four times a year.”
“Have you ever met Ms. Fontaine?”
“No. Yes. She came to a party at our apartment. I don’t remember when.”
“What did you speak with her about?” Quinn asked.
Ricci’s laugh had a nervous quaver. “I have no idea. There were a lot of guests. I assume Sylvie introduced us, and then I imagine we made small talk.”
“But she knew you were an otolaryngologist?”
“Probably. I’m quite prominent in my field.” The arrogance was back. “This is ridiculous. Odette Fontaine couldn’t be connected with the kidnapping.”
Ricci wasn’t going to give them any more useful information about Odette. He considered her unworthy of his attention since she sold nothing but frivolous, overpriced cosmetics.
“Let’s move on to the next name.” Quinn glanced down at her list. “Elio Kodra.”
“No. Never,” Ricci said.
She read off four more names that received negative answers.
“All right. We’re done. Thank you for your time, Dr. Ricci.” She said the polite words in a tone of utter insincerity.
“If we have further questions, we will be in touch.” Mikel’s voice was edged with menace. He swiped a finger across his laptop screen, and Ricci’s face disappeared. “Gilipollas,” he muttered before he swiveled his big leather chair to face Quinn. “There’s your connection. Buen trabajo. Good work.”
Quinn tamped down her elation to keep her reply professional. “So many data points surround Odette Fontaine.”
“Before we go to the king, review them for me,” Mikel said.
