Page 171 of The Chase
Tears stung my eyes.
He looked concerned. “You okay?”
“A little tired.”
He kissed my forehead and pulled back. “Here.” He used the spoon to scoop out a loose clam that was free of its shell. “Taste.”
I leaned forward and let him tip the small mollusk into my mouth; it tasted of garlic and butter and melted deliciously on my tongue. “Amazing.” I managed a smile. “I wanted to thank you.”
A tilt of his head. A narrowing gaze. An expression of acknowledgment.
“For all you’ve done. You’ve helped me in so many ways. Dealing with my dad’s paintings and securing them at the National. Being with me when the police wanted to know more aboutSt. Joan—” I studied his face.
“I’d do anything for you, Zara, you know that.”
“You’ve done so much.”
“Let’s eat.”
He dished up the clams into china bowls and removed piping hot garlic bread from the oven. He uncorked a bottle of pinot grigio and poured white wine into two glasses. He handed one to me.
We sat on bar stools at the central island and dipped our bread into the sauce. I made noises of pleasure at how delicious it all tasted. He was so good at so many things, a man who quite possibly was capable of anything.
Was I breaking bread with Icon?
I feigned that all was well as I dipped my torn-off piece of bread into my sauce and chewed, grateful for this incredible meal.
Was this our last together?
Nursing my wine, I listened to Tobias tell me about his day and I told him about mine.
“You can’t go back to the palace,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I have no plans of ever seeing Francis Blandford ever again.”
“Tell me if he contacts you.”
“Okay. Any news on when Francis is going to sell his Goya,La Maja Desnuda,the painting we went to see?”
“No.” He lowered his gaze. “It would be wise never to mention it to anyone.”
“Of course.”
“So, how did Christie’s security footage look?” He broke off some bread. “See anything interesting? You hung up on me so I assumed you’d caught a break?”
“The guard’s in two places at the same time.” I held his gaze.
“Technical issue?”
“Well, you know more about all that than me.” My fingertip circled the rim of my glass.
“You seem distracted. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is what you found at the Witt still upsetting you?”
“Apparently, every single painting stolen in the Interpol case has a prior broken provenance.”
