“No. I don’t think so. I think the biggest question for me right now is if this is linked to your EC135.”

“Let’s assume it is. That’s the worst-case scenario.”

“Yes. I think that’s prudent,” Welch responds.

“There’s nothing I can achieve there that I can’t do here. Besides, I think we’re safer on the boat.”

“There’s that,” he agrees, then pauses. “I know all our leads for a potential suspect have led to nothing. But we’ll double-check all the footage in and around Grey House. We will find this person.”

“Do. Nail the prick.”

“The police forensics team are in the server room right now, dusting for prints.”

“I bet Barney’s thrilled about that.”

Welch’s laugh is wry. “He’s not.”

“Goddamn it, this is frustrating,” I mutter into the phone.

“I know, Christian. The EC135 was dusted for prints by the FBI a few weeks ago. We’re still waiting to see if that yields a suspect. Eurocopter have the helicopter now. They’re assessing the damage to see if it can be repaired.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call if there’s an update.”

“Thank you.” I hang up and stare at the coastline, where the city lights of Cannes are beginning to wake and welcome the dusk.

What the hell am I going to do?

What have I done to deserve this?

Grey, don’t go there.

The tender is being craned onto the bridge deck, which means Ana must have returned.

Ana. My girl.

She might get caught in this crossfire. I put my head in my hands in an attempt to drive the image of Ana lying unmoving on the floor from my psyche.

If anything happened to her…

The thought is torture. I need to see that she’s back in one piece. Now.

Quelling my morbid thoughts, I go in search of her. Stopping outside the master cabin door, I take a deep breath to calm my anxiety, and step inside. Ana is sitting on the bed with a parcel beside her. “You were gone some time.”

Startled, she looks up and eyes me warily. “Everything in control at your office?”

“More or less.” I don’t tell her more; I don’t want to worry her.

“I did a little shopping,” she says with a sweet smile.

“What did you buy?”

“This.” She places her foot on the bed, and around her ankle there’s a silver ankle chain.

“Very nice.” I run my fingers over the little bells that hang from the chain. They have a sweet, delicate chime, but the chain doesn’t hide the faint red line from the cuff yesterday.

The mark I left on her.

Hell.

“And this.” She holds out a wrapped gift box, a little too eagerly—to distract me, I think. Of course, she’s bought me something, and my mood switches to curious delight.

“For me?” The package is surprisingly heavy. Sitting down beside her, I give it a quick shake. Grinning, I clasp her chin and kiss her. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t opened it yet.”

“I’ll love it, whatever it is. I don’t get many presents.”

“It’s hard to buy you things. You have everything.”

“I have you.”

“You do.” She smiles.

I unwrap the paper to find a digital SLR camera. “A Nikon?”

“I know you have your compact digital camera, but this is for…portraits and the like. It comes with two lenses.”

Portraits?

Where is she going with this?

My anxiety returns in full force, prickling my scalp.

“Today in the gallery you liked the Florence D’elle photographs. And I remember what you said in the Louvre. And, of course, there were those other photographs.” Her voice drops.

Oh good God. I don’t want to talk about them!

“I thought you might, um, like to take pictures of me.”

“Pictures? Of you?”

She nods, blinking, her uncertainty obvious, and I examine the box, playing for time. It’s a state-of-the-art camera, a thoughtful gift from my thoughtful wife, but it makes me uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable

Why does she think I want to photograph her naked?

That isn’t my life anymore.

I look up at her. “Why do you think I want this?” I whisper.

A frisson of alarm crosses her face. “Don’t you?” she asks.

No, Ana. You’ve got this all wrong.

Suddenly, I see it clearly: my old life and my new one careening together like a car crash and inflicting untold damage. Those photographs were fundamentally to protect me—to protect my position and my family. I have to make her understand that I don’t need this from her…but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

Try the truth, Grey. Communicate.

“For me, photos like those have usually been an insurance policy, Ana.”

And for your pleasure, Grey. Yes. It felt intimate, but deep down I knew I was safe viewing my subject through a lens. I was always at a remove; the camera put a wall between me and my sub, even though it was a thrill to capture them in the most intimate poses.

Fuck. Shame washes over me, and I’m in the confessional spilling my darkest secrets. “I know I’ve objectified women for so long.”

Ana tucks her hair behind her ear, and looks as confounded as I feel. “And you think taking pictures of me is objectifying me?” she whispers.