Page 105 of Fresh Canvas
A small beep sounded. “Input user error” scrolled across the modern technology.
Crap.
I braced for the alarm or pounding footsteps, though neither affronted me. After a few minutes, my posture softened, my poor lip chewed raw.
I huffed out another obscenity, tempted to give up. Maybe I could figure out the code later and come back?
But my keycard would have turned into a pumpkin by then.
I closed my eyes, recalling Val’s voice.“The service elevator opens into a hall with three doors, each of whose locks require a four digit code that changes almost daily.”
Changes almost daily? How could the staff keep track of all those passwords? Did they have to continually ask for the updated codes every day? That would be super annoying, unless they could somehow know them automatically…
A literal lightbulb flared to life above me, the temperamental motion sensor lights reactivating after going dark.
“Today’sdate. Month. Day.” I gulped. It was worth a shot.
The blue light shone again through my glowing fingertips as I pressed the digits for July twenty-seventh.
“Zero, seven, two, seven, enter.”
To my utter astonishment, a mechanical hum reeled within the metal door. A distinct click sounded within the lock, rusty hinges creaking as I pushed the door open.
Sunlight filtered through high-placed windows, pooling on the wooden floor in geometric patches of gold. A few particles of dust swirled amidst the glowing beams at my unexpected presence. Even the humidity-controlled air seemed offended, affronting me with a cool wave of precisely seventy degrees, as indicated by the thermostat by the light switch.
I swept the area for surveillanceand found nothing.Maybe my assumptions had been correct? Or had Kendra planned this blind spot as well?
My footsteps creaked against the wooden floor, the tired sound absorbed by the multitude of crates filling the room. Rows of smaller artifact boxes lined floor-to-ceiling shelves. The storage crates grew larger with each row, ending with the telltale painting crates. These crates were wide, shallow, and slotted on top of each other between metal rungs.
“Okay, Val. Tell me how you did it…” I paced the floor, folding my arms as I perused the rows.
Lake Attersee was a large painting. It wasn’t like Val slipped it into his pocket. Plus, this room seemed like a major security blindspot. If the perpetrator had any brains at all, they wouldn’t have risked a traditional exit. Which begged the question: how did they get the painting out and the forgeryin?
Hairs bristled on the back of my neck, rising as though a lightning storm had approached without me noticing. I froze mid-step, blood rushing through my ears as my heart threw itself against my ribs.
Footsteps.
Muffled, but unmistakable.
A whispered yelp strangled from my throat. My eyes darted around the room, landing on an oversized wooden crate in the farthest corner. I launched myself toward it. Seconds raced by, my body infuriatingly slow.
The lock on the door clicked one second before I dove behind the crate, balled my legs, and ducked my head. I willedmy breathing to slow, concentrating until my heavy panting faded into shallow breaths.
Hinges creaked before a set of heavy footsteps fell against the floor. They slowed to a stop, thankfully far away by the painting crates. A few deafening heartbeats passed.
“Yes, Kendra? I found it. Slot 294.”
Val’s deep voice caused a flutter even as my blood froze. That velvety tone assaulted me with memories of darkened living rooms and empty declarations. The ghost of Val’s finger lifted my chin. “I hope you know how much you mean to me.”
Liar.
I swallowed the lump, anger churning in my belly. My hands clenched with an urge to wrap around him, though I wasn’t sure if they’d encircle his waist or his throat.
The impulse to peek over the crate felt almost impossible to ignore. Idea forming, I wiggled my phone from my pocket and unlocked it. A soft ping sounded from the device.
I froze, not daring to breathe.
Silence stretched on, giving me no indication if Val had heard it or not. I silently cursed and set the phone to silent. Toggling the camera to video, I angled the phone’s lens just past the barricading crate and pressed record. Since I couldn’t see the recording screen, I patiently laid my head against the wooden slats and listened with all my might. All I needed wasoneincriminating phrase.
