Page 70 of The Chase
“Can I take a closer look at the file?” I asked.
“Sure.” Danny slid the bird feathers over to me. “I’ll copy the file for you.”
“I appreciate that.” I raised the bag and marveled that our man had the guts to see the job through. “Did the bird set off any of the alarms?”
“Didn’t trigger motion detectors or the floor panels,” said Danny.
“Most people would have panicked and abandoned the heist,” I said. “I mean, he was against the clock.”
Abby agreed with a nod. “Son of a bitch is unflappable.”
“He’s going to be a challenge to catch,” said Shane. “This guy’s professional.”
“We need to think like him,” I said. “Get into his head.”
“He’s achieved more art thefts than any one man in history.” Danny tapped the screen.
Abby let out a sigh of frustration. “Who the hell is he?”
Danny’s face lit up with a mixture of intrigue and awe. “Icon.” A chill descended on the room.
Taking a moment to read our reactions, Danny’s gaze lingered on each one of us as though giving us a moment to consider this. “That’s what they’re calling him.”
13
Clutching my notepad and leather satchel to my chest, I waited just inside the door.
Two analysts were holding up a stereomicroscope to a Monet, focusing on keeping it still and at the same time protecting the masterpiece. I recognized Andrew Chan from the website, and I held back a little when I saw he was deep in conversation with a male colleague.
I’d never had the privilege of visiting Christie’s lab until now. The cold, stark room was situated in the basement and here and there were paintings on countertops awaiting their turn for authentication. The owners of each piece having to endure the long wait to see if their family heirloom was worth anything. If so, Christie’s would handle the auction right here in this celebrated house.
My father had brought me to Christie’s auction room as soon as I’d learned to walk, and I couldn’t remember a time when this place hadn’t been part of my life.
The heritage of Christie’s was exceptional and the founder himself, James Christie, had been painted by Thomas Gainsborough in 1778—an oil on canvas that now hung at the Getty Museum.
The fondest memories washed over me. I’d raised my first gavel here and won my father a Giovanni Francesco Barbieri. What six-year-old could have resisted an angel with wide sweeping wings? Luckily, Dad only had to pay out a few thousand pounds for my mistake.
That one had been taken in the fire too.
I refused to slip into melancholy, right when things were getting good.
Just this afternoon I’d had the most mind-blowing sex of my life with the most incredible man I’d ever met. Even if Tobias was mysterious and off-the-charts bossy, my calling was to get to the center of each mystery and shine a light on it.
On him.
It wasn’t only that Latin tattoo that had me intrigued, I yearned to know more about his entire world of business and innovation. What else had he invented? And where did he spend his days tinkering? The thought of visiting his LA gallery filled me with the anticipation of discovering even more life-changing delights surrounding him.
Why was I continuing to give him free rein within my thoughts? He’d already admitted he was leaving for LA.
Before I’d met Tobias nothing had felt so right and after him...
I shouldn’t give him a second thought and no way should I pursue a relationship. No matter how incredible he made me feel and no matter how deliciously forbidden it felt with the way he touched me.
My core tightened with the thought of how easily he’d flung me around and controlled me like he had a right to my body. There came a cruel comfort knowing my days would predictably return to normal and I’d be saved from being drawn into a man hotter than the sun.
That tattoo was so damn sexy I’d almost buried my teeth in it like a wanton hussy.
Bloody hell.
