Free This Wicked Game by Michelle Zink Page B

feel under her skin. She had to fight the urge to run from the room. Fight the need to escape the feeling that something evil was wrapping its fingers around her heart and soul.
    “One of us should keep watch while the other searches,” Xander suggested.
    Claire forced herself to focus. “Want to take guard duty while I keep searching?”
    “Sure.” Xander moved to the side of the desk and took up residence near the window.
    The desk was the most obvious place to start. It was old, probably rented with the house. The wood was dark, its grain coarse and visible even under the papers, files, and valise that cluttered its top.
    Claire started with the top drawer. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t complete emptiness. It didn’t even hold a pen or a paper clip.
    She moved onto the drawers on either side of the footwell. They were empty, too, except for a stack of printer paper on the left.
    She looked up at Xander. “Anything?”
    He shook his head, eyes still on the street, and Claire turned her attention back to the desk.
    The first thing that caught her eye was the corner of a photograph, peeking out from behind the folders and papers that littered the top of the desk.
    This one was different from the ones on the wall in Eugenia’s room. Older. It showed a group of people standing on a lawn somewhere. It looked like a party. The adults held glasses in their hands and the children were dressed for some kind of important occasion. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but Claire couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
    She set it aside and moved on to the file folders on top of the desk.
    The first one held travel information, including itineraries and flight plans from Romania to Paris and then to New York. It didn’t surprise her that Eugenia and her companions were foreign, though Claire hadn’t expected Romania. Her eyes ran down the list of names: Eugenia Comaneci, Maximilian Constantin, Jean-Philip Constantin, Herve Constantin.
    Maximilian Constantin. Max. The silver-haired man Estelle Toussaint had been talking to near the carriage house. And who were Jean-Philip and Herve? Maximilian’s sons?
    She filed the questions away in her mind. Whoever they were, there weren’t three of them as she and Xander had thought—there were four.
    Which meant one more possibility of someone stumbling on them in the house.
    She picked up her pace, moving the first file aside and opening the one underneath it to reveal a stack of paper.
    She flipped through it, trying to get her head around what it was.
    “Xander . . .” she said softly.
    He looked over at her.
    “It’s a list of all the Guild’s supply houses in the city.” She paged to the back of the stack, her hands slowing. “Scratch that. It’s a list of all the Guild’s supply houses.”
    “All of them where?” Xander asked.
    Claire shook her head. “Everywhere. Here, the rest of the United States; there are even addresses in London and Asia and . . . here’s one in Turkey.”
    Xander thought about it. “Well, Eugenia does have a key. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that they have a list of our locations. They’re entitled to entry anywhere.”
    “I guess,” she murmured, looking at all the names and addresses. She hadn’t realized the Guild was so far-reaching. “But why would they need a list in every country?”
    “I don’t know, but I think we should hurry.” He turned back to the window and parted the draperies.
    Claire closed the file. She shuffled through the rest of the papers on the desk, but there was nothing more of interest. Just some receipts for area restaurants, a streetcar ticket, and strangely, a movie stub.
    Claire focused on the valise. It was substantial and masculine. She could almost see the man named Maximilian moving through the city, the leather case under his arm.
    She undid the brass clasp and folded back the top, surprised at how thick and supple the leather was. The case had to be