Page 145 of The Chase
“Add icing.”
“Oh, I’ll see if I have any.” I opened a cupboard door.
“I wasn’t talking about the cake,” he said softly.
I turned to smile at him.
He leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. “But now we’re on the subject let’s bake it and have cake in bed.”
I’d never known this kind of happiness before. I reached for that packet of icing. It was impossible not to smile.
“Zara.”
I turned to face him.
“I think it’s going to be amazing.” He grinned. “More delicious than we ever imagined.”
26
The week whirled by as I threw myself into work with passion. Those spontaneous dinner dates with Tobias had been exhilarating, and I couldn’t wait to see him again tonight.
Thoughts of him clouded my brain in the best kind of way, and thinking of Tobias was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of these hours spent huddled over a table at the Witt Library.
I loved this place and had spent most of my student days here. It was named after art historian Sir Robert Witt and was a big part of The Courtauld Institute. This library had once been my home away from home.
Forcing my attention back on the file in front of me, I reread the details of Interpol’s case where a Titian had been stolen weeks ago, from the Burell family in Amboise in France.
For the last six hours I’d been entrenched in scrap pieces of paper, official records, old photos and tenuous provenance. With another twenty files to go through this was going to be a painstaking process.
Danny sat to my left at a desktop computer clicking away through the Witt’s database.
He was chewing on a stick of licorice and now and again he huffed his frustration.
We’d not traveled far from The Tiriani Building, with Huntly Pierre’s offices being a stone’s throw from here.
Danny and I had been provided with one of their larger rooms to work in, enabling us to spread out our paperwork and focus in the quiet.
Danny leaned back in his chair. “What are we looking for again?”
“Anything that might link the artwork. Give us an idea of why these paintings were chosen by Icon.”
“We know why. They’re worth a fortune. And he’s a greedy asshole.”
“Come here.” I stood and spread the paperwork out and pointed to the photo Danny had brought up on the screen during his earlier presentation.
We peered down at the image of a golden-lit rotunda, a grand feature at the Burells’ family home. Also in the photo before us was an impressive collection of art, including many of the Old Masters, lining the circle of the room. That long wire hanging from the center of the roof was a stark reminder of what our thief had achieved.
“He stole the Titian,” said Danny. “Rappelled in.”
“He’s fit. We know that. Probably works out.”
“So what am I missing?”
“You told us he used a power tool to cut a hole in the ceiling’s stained glass window? And the police report validates that.”
“Yes.”
“See anything interesting?” I pointed to the other paintings.
