Page 111 of Share with Me

“Excuse me?” Ivan protested. “I’ve never played any of her Strads.”

“No? Art told me otherwise.”

“Art?”

Art!

Ivan’s jaw dropped as he realized who had bought the Schoenberg Strad at the auction. It was hard for him to believed that Brinley had paid over five million dollars for it. Why had she done it? Why?

“Art works for us,” Dillon continued. “I suppose you knew that.”

“I’m afraid this is the first time I’ve heard of it.” Ivan felt defeated.Why didn’t Brinley say anything?

“Brin wants to keep Art on the payroll in spite of his injuries. We’re going to get to the bottom of this sooner or later. Our investigators are working with the FBI Art Crime Team. We’re going to get the thieves who stole my sister’s Strad. Let’s hope you have nothing to do with it.”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“A five-point-four-million dollar violin could come in handy for debt reduction.”

“What? Wait a minute! You’re pushing it, man.” Ivan stepped forward, then thought better of it. He was in someone else’s house. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for assault.

“My investigators tell me you’re deep in debt,” Dillon went on. “Near bankruptcy.”

“That’s none of your business.” Ivan flinched and his left hand instinctively reached for his left ribs, thumping them with the cast.Ouch.

He took short, quick breaths.

“It’s my business if you’re going out with my sister. What happens to her inheritance affects me.”

Now Ivan was mad. “Oh, and you think that this”—he held up his cast—“is part of my nefarious plan?”

“A violinist with a broken left wrist. You’re useless.”

“Pretty much.” Ivan perked up. “See, we agree on something.”

Dillon raised his eyebrows.

“Does it make sense for me to damage my own future?” Ivan sighed. “I may never play again. The violin is all I know. This is how I make my living.”

“So you need my sister to live on.”

Many thoughts jumbled up in Ivan’s head, but he couldn’t get a single word out. He realized that no matter what he said, there’d always be a divide between him and Dillon.

And maybe also between Brinley and me.

“I think I better go.” Ivan tried to rein in his anger.

“You’d better.”

“Better what?” Brinley was at the top of the stairs looking down. “Hi Ivan. I see you’ve met Dill, the best brother in the world.”

Ivan nearly gagged.

Brinley glided down the stairs in a simple pair of boot-cut jeans and a Christmas sweater.

She stopped where Dillon was. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the Christmas Eve service? Lots of room in the church van.”

“I’m sure, Brin.” Dillon eyed Ivan. “I’ll see you and Aunt Ella back here at six forty-five and we can have dinner out.”

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