Read Spotless for Free Online Page B

table.”
    “The table?”
    He dismissed my concerns with a quick flick of his left wrist. “No need to elaborate on that.”
    “What changed your mind?”
    “You’re a bit scrawny. I realized that if he wasn’t careful enough, you might die before either of us had a chance to learn anything.” As he said this, a little disappointed sigh escaped him, which I found somewhat euphemistic considering the implications of his words.
    I tried to breathe my rising panic out. “What makes you think I know anything about that diamond?”
    He shook his head in disbelief and placed a menacing index finger on the rifle’s trigger. “This is getting ridiculous. I could shoot you in the knees, and you’d tell me everything you know.”
    Said knees buckled at the prospect.
    “Wouldn’t that cause permanent injuries?”
    “Undoubtedly.”
    I laid anxious eyes on the long suppressor extending the rifle’s barrel. “March . . . I don’t understand any of this. Please . . . at least explain—”
    An expression of doubt appeared on his features, like he wasn’t sure what to do with me. “I assume you know what the Cullinan is?”
    “The big diamond? The one they made the crown jewels from? You’re aware that those are in London and not in my bedroom, right?”
    “Don’t play with me. I’m talking about the Ghost Cullinan, the one your mother stole from my employer.”
    His words hit me like a slap in the face, dissipating my fear in favor of white-hot anger. “What? How dare you? My mom never stole anything from anyone!”
    “I can assure you, she did. My employer has spent the past decade looking for it, until they learned from one of your mother’s former associates that she had entrusted it to you.”
    “What are you rambling about? She was a diplomat! How would she have ended up involved in a diamond heist? March, I really think that you and those guys have the wrong person—”
    March’s eyes hardened. “Are you Island Chaptal?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Born on September 20, 1989? Daughter of Léa Chaptal and Simon Halder?”
    “You’re not listening—”
    He placed his index finger on my forehead and pressed gently, as if to force his words directly inside my brain. “
You
listen. Island, your mother was
never
a diplomat. Her position as a consular officer was one of many covers. Your mother worked for a criminal organization called the Board; she was a spy and a remarkably gifted thief . . . And believe me when I say that the CIA could fill an entire room with the classified files her name appears in.”
    CIA? Spy?
My knees were shaking again, and I was tempted to hold on to something. I think March saw it: he took a step forward, and his left hand moved as if to catch me. I staggered back, holding my handcuffed hands in front of me in attempt to keep him at a safe distance; I’d sooner drink the milk from a thousand cereal bowls than collapse in his arms.
    “You people are all insane!” I shouted. “You . . . you broke into my house, and then you kidnapped me, and I keep telling you that I have nothing to do with this, and . . . and—” I had to stop. My eyes were watering, and I could feel my voice crack.
    “You’re a smart girl, Island. I doubt she fooled you entirely,” March said, his tone softer.
    She had.
    Maybe.
    I wasn’t sure anymore. I needed air. Yet the air wasn’t coming. My lungs were contracting rapidly, struggling to find oxygen for my brain. I thought of my mother, of the little I knew about her career as a diplomat, of the car accident in Tokyo.
    Had I unconsciously refused to see certain things?
    I racked my brain for memories that might have served to back March’s claims, but I couldn’t find anything conclusive. True, during my first fifteen years spent with her, we had more or less lived from a suitcase, always gliding from one place to another too quickly to form any ties to the people around us. As a result, I had been homeschooled—make that