Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Ilsa closed her eyes. This situation required poise and a sober mind – two things she had always prided herself of possessing. God knew she had worked long and hard to evolve inherited character traits into reliable social skills she could use to intimidate opponents, silence critics and stay ahead of things.
Why was the accusation of being a thief so unsettling to her? Heavens, Ames was a thief and it had never really disturbed her.
Because in those two years you're working with the team now, you have gotten your hands dirty, darling, that's why. And more than once.
Oh great, now, on top of everything else, her conscience was speaking up.
You have become a criminal Ilsa, like it or not. How many people have you bribed? Blackmailed? Held captive against their will? Not to mention those two people you killed.
Guerrero's eyes rested on her, blue as arctic ice.
And let's not forget the man you're now going to bed with either. A coldblooded, multiple murderer.
"We haven't been to bed yet!", Ilsa wanted to reply angrily and stopped herself just in time from saying it out loud.
"Mrs. Pucci? What about an attempt at an explanation why your necklace replica ended up in Countess Brunswik von Korompa Wankel de Martonvasar's safe? I like amusing stories." Detective Meierle was now positively smirking at her.
"Dude, I'm not sure if you realize…", Guerrero jumped in, followed suit by Winston ("If the necklace alone was proof enough you wouldn't…") and Chance ("If I were you I would be a little more…").
Ilsa silenced them all with a strict wave of her hand. "I don't tell stories, Mr. Meierle. I'm going to give you a truthful account of that evening's events and you will see that your accusations are clearly unfounded." Ah, now she sounded like Ilsa Pucci again.
Guerrero, however, shot Ilsa an amused look. Truthful?
She didn't dare look back, worried Meierle might notice. Guerrero knew the answer anyway. She'd give an abridged version of the evening's events… just adjusted enough to neither get her into conflict with the law nor make her a fool in Chance's eyes.
"In order to protect our client's well-being…" (Ilsa decided it was not wise to let Meierle know that all of this had been about a man's attachment to his musical instrument, not a physically threatened life) "…I attended the ball incognito. For reasons that fall within our professional duty of confidentiality, I had to keep close to the musicians that were hired to entertain the guests that evening. Unfortunately one of the musicians proceeded to leave his post."
"He had smelt the rat because you didn't manage to keep watch on him unobtrusively enough…", Chance readjusted the story in his head.
"When I set out to follow him, as our client's well-being required, the very experienced and highly trained hotel personnel, manifested in form of a chambermaid, realized that I was not on the official invitation list." Ilsa was gaining confidence. So far this didn't sound that unbelievable, did it?
"You stumbled after him so bluntly, probably panicking that he was getting away, that you did something to raise suspicions… probably knock down a buffet table or accidentally push that chambermaid out of the way…" Chance couldn't help but grin at the images that flashed up in his mind.
It had been the chocolate fountain, by the way.
"As is their duty, two staff members escorted me to a room in the basement and told me to wait for the fine men of the Gendarmerie to arrive – which I had every intention to do."
"That intention", thought Chance, "must somehow have changed shortly before you called me and asked how to build a bomb…"
"Through some inexplicable and totally unexpected coincidence, however, an explosion blew a hole in the wall of said room in the basement. It was so intense that it set my dress on fire and I had no other choice but to extinguish the flames in the Danube. I believe I must have lost the necklace on my way to the water."
Chance rolled his eyes. "You set yourself on fire with your own bomb? Didn't Baptiste tell you that with that kind of bomb you need to stay at least ten feet away?"
"An inexplicable and totally unexpected coincidence…", Meierle repeated, tiny eyes giving Ilsa a look that said "Well, I told you I like amusing stories…".
"A short circuit maybe?", Ilsa suggested. "You never know with 18th century European building stock. The things they used to put in walls two centuries ago…not to mention the building's complete but very quickly executed restoration after 1945. The construction supervisor probably took a shortcut or two…"
The look on Guerrero's face indicated that they would put in some serious work on Ilsa's lying skills in the very near future.
"Mrs. Pucci, even if an during the building's restoration accidentally immured Second World War hand grenade had chosen exactly the moment of your imprisonment to explode I still would be convinced you stole that necklace." The insurance detective was completely unmoved.
"And why is that, Mr. Meierle?" Judging by her outward appearance, Ilsa was completely unmoved, too. If she had only been like that from the very beginning. In conning, there was no warm up phase….
"Because your accomplices are sitting all around you." He looked ostentatiously at Winston, Guerrero and Ames. "You all have been seen."
Just then the security system alerted them to another visitor. To Chance's utter surprise it was Philippa.
"I came to pick up my idiot son", she told him as he met her at the elevator. He would sent her and Ash downstairs with the freight elevator, so Meierle wouldn't see the boy and draw conclusions.
"Who told you…?"
"A concerned party", Philippa smiled, despite her obvious worries. "This is very serious, Chance. We need to sit down and decide what to do."
Chance nodded, but with a tilt of his head towards the conference room he also made it clear that at the moment it was not possible.
Philippa sighed. Chance was very important to Ash – how he dealt with the situation mattered a lot more to him than whatever she had to say. But she understood. It was no coincidence that in Chance's line of work a family and children were a rarity.
Quietly she collected a very sullen Ash.