Page 113 of Brushed By Moonlight
“Keep moving, everyone. Keep moving,” the security guard called urgently.
Oh, I would keep moving, all right. I ran my hand along a table, then took three measured steps through the darkness and reached out. Nothing. My heart pounded as I reached farther. Then, whew. My hand tapped the edge of another table.
I felt along it, located my purse, and pulled out a tiny, laser-point flashlight. I held it with my teeth without turning it on, then bent down, feeling along the frames in the crate.
There. My hands found the biggest, then flipped to the smaller painting beside it. Only then did I click on the flashlight.
Bingo. The Van Gogh.Dad’sVan Gogh, as I’d started to think of it.
I turned off the light, removed the painting, and crept across the room. This would be the hard part.
“Anyone left back there?” someone yelled.
I crouched and held still, thinking,No one in here but us art thieves.
My heart hammered, and I piqued my senses, locating the silhouette of someone in the doorway. They waited, listening. Looking.
I took a deep breath and prepared to activate my emergency backup plan. The one I hadn’t told the guys about.
Shadow-walking. Being there, but not there, like that night Henrik had stalked me from the attic.
If I’d had more practice — or better nerves — I might have tried shadow-walking into this room in the first place. No invitation from Dobrov needed. But I’d only pulled off that trick a handful of times at home, never in an unfamiliar environment.
So, shadow-walking was strictly a backup option. Like now, with the security guy squinting into the darkness right at me.
He turned away and shut the door behind him.
Whew. Good news, but where the hell was Henrik? He was supposed to help me, dammit.
Well, fine. I started feeling my way forward, then stopped and grabbed a second painting —Thawby a Monet wannabe. Yes, it was a forgery, but it was a good one, and a sudden brainwave told me it could be useful.
I felt my way forward, then grabbed in panic for whatever I’d just knocked over.
Clang!A goblet hit the floor and rolled against my foot.
I froze, looking toward the doorway.
After a few heart-stopping moments, I exhaled, placed the goblet carefully on the table, and continued slowly across the room. Too slowly?
I glanced at the door, then hurried the rest of the way toward the dumbwaiter in the adjoining office. All I had to do was place the paintings there and knock three times. Bene would lower the contraption to the ground floor and stash it in a vehicle he and Marius had parked on an adjoining property earlier. If a problem arose, the backup plan was for him to hide the paintings amid catering supplies.
I reached the threshold of the adjoining office and—
The lights went on.
I jerked back, cursing. Roux had promised to give us four or five minutes. That had barely been three.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and my stomach dropped.
I looked at the paintings, then the dumbwaiter. Not enough time to reach it. I shoved both paintings onto a row of books in one of the library shelves and hurried back to where I’d left my purse. Too hurried, because I knocked over the dreary Munch in the process. It toppled over, and I grabbed for it.
Which was why I was clutching a flashlight in one hand and a painting in the other when the security guard dashed back into the room.
“Hold it right there!” he yelled, pulling a gun.
I stuck both hands up, flashlight in one, painting in the other. “Don’t shoot!”
Someone ran up behind him. Running at full speed, in fact, then tackling him. They both went flying, and the gun skidded across the floor.
