Page 80 of Painted in Love

Being a professional, she recovered quickly, especially when it hit her that she had an even bigger scoop than she’d thought possible. Her voice, however, was calm. “How could Hugo Lewis claim your work?”

Saskia went on to explain, just as she’d practiced. “Like San Holo, I was painting anonymously when I first met Hugo. I called myself Lynx.”

A collective gasp rose from the audience. The Mavericks knew, but no one else had.

Saskia continued smoothly, in her element now. “It was very easy for Hugo to say all my murals were his because there was no real person’s name on them.”

Wren’s brow furrowed. She didn’t miss a trick. “But is this something you can prove?”

The four of them—she, Clay, Adrian, and Gareth—had planned this meticulously. Hugo’s payback time. “In the same way San Holo puts a hidden symbol in every work, so did Lynx.”

She looked straight into the studio audience, even though she couldn’t see past the lights. She knew where he was sitting. Sebastian had called Clay on his cell to tell him while they were in the green room. Saskia spoke directly to Hugo. “Hugo, why don’t you find the hidden symbol in each piece of art you claim is yours?”

She could feel every head turn, searching. A spotlight lit up the audience, centered right on Hugo.

Originally, they’d planned to make the challenge through the camera. But Hugo had set himself up by joining the live audience, which made it so much better. All the butterflies she’d felt flying around in her stomach simply flew away. She was in control.

“When you can’t,” she called, “I’ll be happy to show everyone myself.” She held up an envelope. “This contains photos of all the artwork I created prior to five years ago. The work I—” She tapped her chest. “—signed with the name Lynx. I’ve circled where my hidden symbol is on every piece.” She handed Wren the envelope.

The talk show host was practically foaming at the mouth. Her show’s ratings would go through the roof. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the first photograph, studied it only a moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge here. Hugo Lewis, are you up to it?”

Hugo looked around him, red-faced, flustered, his mouth working but no words coming out.

Saskia hoped he’d scurry off like the scum he was, muttering like a madman.

But once he found his voice, Hugo stood. “I’ll meet that challenge.” People moved out of his way as he strode down the steps of the studio audience. He’d gained weight and lost hair, his face florid in the harsh lights.

Wren’s grin stretched ear to ear, showing off her brilliantly white teeth as she home in on Hugo. “Let’s choose Lynx’s most famous piece, The Merry-Go-Round.”

On the big screen behind them, the producer put up the image, which was readily available on the internet. In it, kids of all races played happily together, their hair whipping out as the merry-go-round seemed to move faster and faster in a slight blur.

For just a moment, Saskia’s stomach lurched. Was it possible Hugo had figured out her lynx symbol?

He climbed onto the soundstage, the camera following him as he stalked to the big screen. The art had no background, just dirt beneath the merry-go-round, then white space.

Hugo didn’t point out the symbol immediately. In fact, he seemed to be scanning every inch.

Wren, with a hint of sarcasm, said, “Are you having trouble finding it, Hugo?”

He didn’t turn but flapped a hand at her. “This is one of my earliest pieces, and I’m trying to remember exactly where I put the fleur-de-lis.”

He’d been so confident Saskia would never challenge him that he hadn’t bothered to look for a symbol. Maybe hadn’t even thought of it. And he was so damned linear, believing she would have used the same symbol when she became San Holo.

Wren turned to Saskia and raised one brow. “A fleur-de-lis? But I thought—” She didn’t finish.

Instead, she said, “San Holo, or Lynx, as the case may be, can you find the symbol for us?”

Smiling, triumph bubbling through her, Saskia slipped out of her chair, walked to the screen, and stood next to Hugo. Just stood there for a long moment. Drumroll, please. Then she pointed to a little girl whose pigtails flew out behind her in the wind. “There.”

The screen zoomed in on the spot Saskia pointed to.

Wren put the tip of a perfectly manicured nail to her bottom lip. “But gosh…” Sarcasm dripped off each word. “It’s not a fleur-de-lis at all. It’s a lynx.”

Hugo staggered back three steps.

Wren asked, “Shouldn’t you know that, Hugo Lewis, since you’ve called yourself Lynx for five years?”

The studio audience erupted, and the technicians turned the lights on him. A man cried out, “Holy heck, I own a Lynx print. And now to find out it’s stolen?”

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