Page 23 of The Prize
“I want to protect you from everything that is wrong with this world. Cocoon you.”
“What did you find?”
“Burell is selling fighter bombers to foreign leaders who like to drop dirty bombs on villages. He’s murdering kids, Zara.”
He was right I didn’t want to see beyond the veil of his cruelty but ignoring it was worse. “What can we do about any of that?”
“Bring Burell down.”
“There must be another way.”
“I’m open to suggestions. You’ve seen how powerful he is. The FBI knows he has your paintings and they can’t touch him. He still has Rembrandt’sThe Storm on the Sea of Galilee, for fuck’s sake. And they know it’s stolen. His lawyers are ruthless. They’re the gatekeepers to his hell.”
“I agree something needs to be done.”
Tobias softened his tone. “When I hacked his computer I unearthed a deleted email from Eli Burell to his dad. In it he informed his father he was taking care of the ‘Leighton problem,’ and ordering a large shipment to be transported to the East Coast. The assignment was code-named King.”
“That’s why we’re here?”
“My satellite followed the shipment to this city. Then it went underground and I lost track of it.”
“Do you believe we’ll ever get them back? I mean, really?”
“We’ve seen the security measures he takes.” He breathed out his frustration. “But I’m willing to do everything we can.”
“What about Eli?”
“He doesn’t get his hands dirty. In Arizona he panicked. The trap he sent us into wasn’t finished. His impatience is our advantage.”
I recalled us being trapped in that underground cavern four days ago with the modern-day wheel converting water into energy, a weird art piece he’d designed for his twisted fun. It also served as a security device and the same one that had almost drowned me.
I shook off the memory. “If we wait for a clue perhaps—”
“If your paintings are shipped on to another country...like Dubai.”
I tried to think of another way. “Burell will place your fake painting through a stringent authentication process.”
“Maybe you’d be open to viewing the painting before I place it under Burell’s nose?”
“I think you’re asking the impossible of yourself.” I threw my hands in the air. “Leonardo da Vinci!”
“I’ve studied his work all my life.”
“Tobias, I’m sorry my circumstances have led you to consider this.”
“I saw the photos of those children, Zara.” He brought his hands up and covered his face. “He’s a monster. I have to bring him down. I know I’m crossing the line here. I’m doing it for you and for those people. Give me this, Zara. Let me leave my mark as Icon in a good way. MyMona Lisawill live for a matter of days and then she’ll be gone from this world, and yet what she’ll leave behind will be remarkable.”
I drew in a sharp breath.
He stepped closer. “I would walk across the world for you if this is what it took to find you peace in your heart.”
I caressed my chest to soothe the uneasiness. “I’ve asked too much of you.”
Wilder’s mouth lingered an inch from mine. “I promised to get your paintings back. Our lives too—”
“I’m grateful for the thought you’ve put into this. I am.” I rested a hand on his chest to persuade him.
“No one will know of her existence. No one. Only Burell. He selfishly ferrets his paintings away. He won’t tell anyone about her.”
