He turned quickly and looked back at her. “What the hell do you know about fabricating a fake?” His volume rose with his anger. “You think you could do better? You hold up your end of our arrangement, keep sending me the goods, and I’ll do my part. I don’t need your advice.”
“Are you going to their shop or not?” She stood watching as he turned out the last of the lights. He disappeared into the back of the store and the overhead lighting went out as well, except for the lights by the entrance.
“I’m going. I’m not promising to leave Abbott to die on his own, though. And I want you to think about something, love.”
“Don’t call me that,” Francesca said.
Carlo shrugged, pulling his keys from his pocket. “Whatever. I’ve been wondering. How much of a liability is Robert Lane? Because I think—”
Francesca smacked Carlo hard across the face. As he reeled back, she looked down at her hand, shaking it. She stepped toward him. “Don’t you dare.” She spun and stormed out, not looking back.
Carlo exited too, pulling the door closed and locking it behind him. Avery thought he would go after her, but he headed the opposite direction. Down Twenty-Fourth Street, Francesca hailed a cab and was gone. Carlo got into a sleek black Jaguar opposite his shop and peeled away from the curb in a cloud of burning rubber and squealing tires.
Art’s truck jerked to life, and he took off in pursuit. “Buckle up,” he said to Avery. She let go of the door handle long enough to do so, then held on for dear life as Art’s truck took the left onto Tenth Avenue, following Carlo’s Jaguar. She watched the speedometer digits climb into the forties and fifties, the world flying by in a blur as Art dodged traffic to stay behind Carlo.
Beside her, he spoke into his phone. He’d bypassed Graham this time, and he’d stopped tracking Francesca. “I’m in pursuit of a late-model black Jag, license plate Frank-Nora-Larry-five-two-four-five. Suspect is armed and dangerous, heading northbound on Tenth Avenue approaching Thirtieth Street.”
Art dropped the phone to wrestle with the steering wheel. The low body of the Jag took the lane changes and turns much easier than Art’s pickup truck. Avery grappled under her seat but couldn’t find his phone.
Sirens screamed through the air nearby. Carlo’s car turned left onto Thirtieth Street and Art stayed with him, slowing his truck for the turn.
“Suspect heading toward Hudson Yards,” Art shouted. Avery shot a glance at him, but she knew he was yelling in hopes that he’d be heard through his phone, wherever it had landed.
Carlo’s Jag looked as if it hadn’t yet recovered from the sharp turn onto Thirtieth at high speed; it wove back and forth wildly. Up ahead, three police cars converged as the Jaguar appeared to attempt the turn onto Twelfth Avenue, but it had lost too much control.
The Jag’s taillights swung hard to the left, tires skidding on the pavement as the car at first headed straight for a building. Carlo tried to brake and instead spun out, catching a curb with the front end of the car. The Jaguar’s headlights veered crazily upward, and then a sickening clap struck the night air, a grotesque crunching noise amid the sound of screaming metal and tires skidding into stops on the pavement. The Jag was on its roof at Thirtieth and Twelfth, wheels spinning, flames spiraling from the back of the car.
Art braked hard, throwing an arm out to steady Avery and stopping at a safe distance. They watched through the windshield as the aftermath of the chase played out like a movie that was far too real.
Police officers cautiously moved toward the car, weapons drawn, none of them getting too close. Gunshots filled the air, and it took Avery a moment to realize they were coming from the Jaguar as officers darted behind their vehicles. Then the night fell silent, so quiet for a few seconds that the only sound was that of the growing flames coming from the car. Officers’ shouts broke the silence, demanding that Carlo exit his vehicle peacefully.
She saw the flash inside the upside-down car that ended it. Carlo fired one last shot into the cluster of law enforcement, and the Jaguar ignited and burst into flame. She shielded her eyes from the bright flames reaching for the sky. She could feel Art watching her. She finally turned and faced him, her heart racing from the roller coaster of everything she’d just seen and heard.
“Avery. Are you all right?” His brow was furrowed in worry as she met his gaze.
She blinked at him, swallowing hard. “I think so. Are you?”
The corner of his mouth rose in a half smile. “I’m fine. Let me get you home. The police have it from here; there’s nothing more we can do.”
Before he could move away from her and start the truck and take her home, Avery put her hand on his scruffy cheek. “Thank you, Art.” She leaned in and kissed him. She’d completely surprised him; she felt it in his hesitance. She sat back, moving out of his space. She had no clue how he felt about her. As kind as he was, as magnetic as the pull between them seemed, she was probably just part of his job, one that had begun a year ago and was now over.
“That wasn’t fair,” Art told her. He hadn’t moved; he looked slightly dazed. The glow from the flames outside the truck’s window cast his face half in a soft, warm light and half in shadow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We can go now.”
“Avery.” She loved the way he said her name. Like a statement, not a precursor to one. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”
She stopped breathing. She shook her head.
“For about the last year. Or at least the last two weeks. Definitely since you found me at MOA and yelled at me and demanded I help you.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
He shook his head. “Too complicated. This had to be about the job. I knew, once I did, my judgment would be clouded. It had to stay about getting your dad back to you. But now—”
Avery’s heart pounded at his words. She leaned into his arm that was stretched out along the backrest. She ached. She needed him to touch her, to stop talking and just kiss her. “Art.” She said it the way he said her name. “I get it. Could you—”
Art pulled her against him, his strong arms around her, and kissed her, and she didn’t care anymore that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need air when she had Art.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
When the doorbell rang Wednesday morning in Lilac Grove, Avery and Tilly beat Halston to the front door.
William Ayers was nearly knocked off his feet by his daughters throwing their arms around him. A big man, he laughed and wrapped them in the tightest hug he could, one arm around each of them. In khakis and a blue plaid shirt, their dad looked thinner and a little paler than his usual robust, healthy self, but his smile reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “Oh, my girls.” William turned his face into Avery’s hair, and then he kissed the top of Tilly’s head, and still he didn’t let go of them.
Aunt Midge appeared in the foyer, her fingertips covering her mouth and tears welling up in her eyes. William slowly loosened his grip, and Tilly and Avery let go so he could hug his sister. He dwarfed Aunt Midge. When she finally released him, she smacked him in the chest. “You could have told us you were alive.”
“He really couldn’t.” Art spoke from the doorway. Behind Art was William’s handler with the federal WITSEC program, a balding middle-aged man with a tired face.
Aunt Midge filled coffee cups for everyone around the dining table. The handler, who introduced himself as Agent Miller, placed an envelope on the table in front of Avery.
“What’s this?” She pulled out a white form. It was the original copy of the forged certificate for the Emperor’s Twins. “This looks nothing like Mom’s signature,” she said, assessing it and then turning it around for her family to see. “The As are too rounded instead of sharp, like Mom’s were, and this stupid loop under the Y isn’t at all right. I couldn’t even make that out on our yellow copy. How did you get this?” She looked up at Agent Miller.
“Our agents found it in t
he safe at Rizzolo’s, along with bullets that match the casings we found at Micah Abbott’s and near Oliver Renell’s body. We also took possession of several pieces of jewelry we believe are stolen as well as a few large gemstones we’ve got specialists working to identify. One does appear to resemble the ruby eye of your medallion—”
Avery interrupted. “You found it? The real ruby that was stolen last year? He still had it?”
Agent Miller shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. This appears to be a spinel, based on our team’s evaluation; we assume it’s the one Rizzolo was creating for Francesca to swap with Renell’s ruby.”
“Oh.” She sighed heavily. “I guess it was crazy to hope he still had it. And this?” She tapped the certificate in front of her. “Does this mean Tyler Chadwick really was part of this? Was he working for Francesca? He had access to the basement through the film set. Was he responsible for stealing this?”
“That’s the working theory, especially since we’ve had no success in reaching him using the contact information we were given. Not sure it’d matter if we did find him. So far, there’s unfortunately no actual proof of Chadwick’s involvement,” Agent Miller said.
“There’s a little good news, though,” Art said. “Agents did recover receipts. Rizzolo was a thief, but he was still a businessman. He had documentation of each and every sale he and Francesca collaborated on.”
“What?” Avery asked. “What does that mean?”
“We’ve got the buyer for the Emperor’s Twins ruby,” Miller explained. “Based on the listed purchase price, we doubt the buyer was aware he was purchasing a stolen jewel. Operatives are already in Versailles with the goal of bringing the ruby back to the museum. I can’t say much more, but the fake that Rizzolo was making to replace Renell’s was just one of several he had in the works. Francesca Giolitti doesn’t seem to be the only person he was working with. This is much bigger than you know. You and Art Smith here probably saved inestimable fortunes, perhaps even other lives.”
Avery had no response to that.
“Nice going, A!” Tilly had a response for everything. “Double A, actually.” She nodded at Art. “High five, Art Smith.”
“Detective,” Aunt Midge corrected her. “Impudence, my dear. You know better. It’s Detective Smith.”
Art smiled. “Or how about Art?”
“That’ll work,” Tilly said.
“What about Francesca? Did you catch her?” Avery asked. “And how did Renell know he shouldn’t get his ruby appraised at Rizzolo’s?”
“I’ll take that one.” William spoke up. “I was able to connect the collector who submitted the Emperor’s Twins, Edward Johnstone, with Oliver Renell.” He glanced at Agent Miller. “I was forbidden to get involved. But I did get a message to Johnstone that he had to tell Renell not to trust Francesca. Johnstone was pulled into the case by law enforcement a week or so ago when it became apparent that the medallion itself might have been tampered with.”
“Oh wow. That makes so much sense,” Avery said.
“Francesca is gone,” Art interjected. “When I made the decision to follow Carlo, I lost Francesca’s signal, and Detective Graham was too far away to pick it up. We can’t find her.”
“What do you mean,” Avery asked. “She’s, like, gone gone?”
“Her apartment is cleaned out,” Agent Miller said. “Her car is still in its spot in the parking garage. She left a note addressed to Sir Robert, which of course we opened.”
“And?”
“It’s just a good-bye letter. No word or hint about where she was heading. Interpol has her profile. We’ll get her sooner or later.”
“I don’t want to be around when Sir Robert reads that note,” Avery said. “Poor guy.”
Aunt Midge went to the refrigerator and began pulling out items. “We’re having pancakes. William, you’ve lost weight, and I don’t like it. Are you here to stay? You’re not going anywhere?” She turned and addressed him sternly, hands on her hips.
“Yes, Midge. I’m here to stay. I promise.”
* * *
On Friday, Art arrived ahead of schedule to escort Avery to the MOA charity gala. Upstairs and nearly ready, Avery heard Tilly invite him in, telling him she liked his penguin suit before Aunt Midge chastised her.
Avery was halfway down the stairs when she caught part of the conversation between Art and her dad. William’s deep voice carried up the stairway.
“I’d go ahead and grill you, ask what you do for a living and what your intentions are with my daughter, but I don’t think I need to do that,” he told Art.
“No, sir, probably not,” Art replied.
“I hope you know how grateful I am that you never gave up. A different man, a lesser detective, might have slacked or passed it down the line. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Art said. “Getting you home to your daughters was the most important thing.”
Avery stepped into the foyer, tears in her eyes. “Guys, stop.” She swiped under one eye. “This stuff isn’t waterproof!”
Art stared at her, his lips parted, dumb struck.
Tilly slid through the foyer behind the two men, slowing to whisper to Art, “Get a grip, man. It’s just a dress.”
He blinked and closed his mouth. “Avery. You look beautiful.”
“She always does,” Tilly said sweetly from the doorway. “She just doesn’t normally look this girly.”
Avery’s simple black gown for the gala was a silky, shimmery sheath that skimmed and clung to her curves. The sequined spaghetti straps, generous slit up one thigh, and plunging back were a little much for her typically tailored taste, but she’d caught sight of this dress at Rachel’s Mixed Bag in town and had to have it. Rachel had asked her to stop by the store yesterday, as she hoped to hire Avery to appraise a stunning jeweled tiara she’d found at an estate sale. Avery had happily agreed to help, and then she’d spotted this vintage 1920s gown on her way out.
Tilly was cheeky about her look tonight, but she wasn’t wrong. Avery was stepping out of her box, and she loved the feeling. She’d have preferred her running shoes to the bejeweled heels she wore, but there was time enough for that. She’d missed her runs lately. The marathon was still months away, and she figured all the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours had to count for something.
Avery and Art had one stop to make before the gala. Walking through the hospital hallways toward Micah’s room, Art took Avery’s hand. “We’re getting some looks,” he told her. “Actually, I should say, you’re getting some looks.”
She glanced at him. “It’s all you.”
Micah smiled at them from his hospital bed. Avery was surprised to see Sir Robert already here visiting, dressed in his tux for the gala.
Noah stood as they entered the room, gathering his backpack and jacket. “I’m heading out to see Tilly before I catch the train. Wow, you two look great.” He gave Avery a quick hug and shook Art’s hand and was gone.
“He couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” Micah said. “Something’s going on between him and your sister, you know.”
Avery bent and carefully hugged him. “I noticed. Tilly’s been waiting.” She went around the bed and greeted Sir Robert, keeping her hands on his arms after they’d hugged. “How are you?” She searched his expression.
He couldn’t hide the effect losing Francesca had had on him. His sadness shone right through the small smile he gave her.
“I’m doing okay. Really,” he stressed. “Or I will be eventually. She left me a letter, you know.”
Avery nodded. “I did hear that. Was it . . . did it help ease any of this for you? I know how strongly you felt about her. I can’t even imagine how difficult this has been for you.”
He nodded. “She did love me. It’s the one thing I don’t doubt. She said as much in the letter. I may have started out as a simple pawn in her plan with her ex-husband, but Francesca sounded tortured over having to leave me in order to save her own skin.”
> Avery squeezed his arms and finally let go. “I believe she loved you too. We all saw the way she looked at you. I’m so sorry, Sir Robert.”
He cleared his throat, pushing the painful subject aside. “Tell us about your dad. Does he feel all right? What the hospital told us about him being in surgery for so long the night of the accident—I take it that part wasn’t a lie. How is he?”
Avery sat on the edge of Micah’s bed. “He seems to be doing fine. He’s lost some weight, I’m sure the past year was as hard on him as it was on us. And he’s quiet. But mostly he’s just so happy to be home.”
Micah covered her hand with his. “And you girls have your dad back. We’ve all missed him so much. It’s a wonderful miracle.”
She nodded. “He can’t wait to see you both. He’s coming to visit you tomorrow, Micah. And I’m sure he’ll be back at work next week.”
“Oh!” Sir Robert said. “We got a bit of good news. The Barnaby’s account is ours if we want it.”
Avery looked at Micah, who was still smiling, and then back at Sir Robert. “We want it! Don’t we?”
He nodded. “I’ve already accepted,” he admitted.
“Perfect. That’ll be fantastic for business. Which means you need to hurry this up,” she said to Micah, waving a hand over his hospital bed.
“I’m working on it, I promise. After making it through this past week, I’m just happy to be here.”
* * *
As the MOA gala began to wind down, Art asked Avery for one last dance. His hand was wide and warm at the small of her back, and she felt his heartbeat under her palm on his chest.
“I know what’s different,” she said, meeting his gaze. She nuzzled his cheek with hers. “You shaved.” She tipped her head, stroking her fingertips along his jawline, sharp enough to cut glass.
He grinned. “A rare occurrence. Do you hate it?”
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his bare cheek. “So much.” She’d started and then stopped herself so many times in suggesting they extend their evening, as the time had flown by much too quickly. Aunt Midge’s apartment was empty and only minutes away; the thought of spending more time with Art in a cozier setting was almost irresistible.
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