The Prize

by Vanessa Fewings

  “We talk often. Come with me to see him in Paris.”

  I wiped my hands on my napkin. “That would be lovely.”

  “You don’t sound too sure.”

  “Tobias, you and I...”

  He pushed his plate aside. “I see.”

  “I need you to tell me you’ve changed your mind. Tell me you won’t try to fake a painting. Certainly not one as prestigious as the Mona Lisa.”

  “I’ve created a template. I was going to show it to you. Reassure you this is possible. We can get Burell with this.”

  My stomach turned and I regretted eating so much food. “I’m trying to reason with you here.”

  “We’ve come this far.”

  “You just told me you believe you have your head on straight. Yet we spent the day with you showing me how you break into houses. This is not normal, Tobias. This is not okay.”

  “When I stayed here my grandmother would take me out and buy me comics. I’d sit right over there and read them from cover to cover. I even wrote a few of my own. In those comics justice was always served. Always. I was nine when I realized that’s not how the world really works.”

  “Do you see yourself like those superheroes, Tobias? Men who took justice into their own hands and got away with it? Because those men don’t exist.”

  “It’s better than being a victim.”

  “That’s unfair, I’ve done everything in my power to restore my father’s reputation.” I slid off the bar stool. “Every good decision I ever made was threatened when you and I met.”

  “Zara—”

  “Creating the other Mona Lisa is impossible.”

  “Jade’s helping me.” He gave a sweet smile. “Don’t underestimate Jade’s talents.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I lied and headed away from him and off to goodness knows where, though walking out the front door seemed reasonable. Instead, my crazy side went for the lounge.

  I needed to put some space between us so I could think straight.

  This was a gorgeous room with its wall-to-wall rosewood paneling and artwork providing an old-world feel. A plush green carpet and low hanging chandelier hinted it had hosted parties once and probably with influential guests. This Art Nouveau theme made me feel like I’d been transported to a simpler time.

  Tobias burst through the door. “Why are you mad at me?”

  “Where do you keep the Bombay thingies?”

  “Zara, it’s only 3:00 p.m.”

  “I deserve a treat.”

  “Why did you walk away?” He read my angry glare. “Okay, step aside. The mixologist is in the house.”

  I folded my arms and stubbornly stuck to my spot behind the bar and let him work around me, quietly seething at him for the insanity he’d unleashed on me. I considered how to best deliver what was going to sound like uncensored screaming.

  Tobias filled two glasses with ice, poured a dash of vermouth into each one, grabbed a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin and poured that in too. He stirred it and then tipped it through a sieve into two fresh cocktail glasses, leaving the ice behind. His fingers deftly squeezed lemon into each one. “Olive?”

  “I’m freaking out here.”

  “I can see that.” He handed me the glass, then rested his hand on the bar looking suavely confident.

  “What was that really?” I pointed toward his workshop.

  “In what way?”

  I took a gulp of my cocktail and it burned my throat but it was a good burn, the kind that took my mind off my terror for all of five seconds.

  He gestured to my glass. “Slow down.”

  I set my drink down. “You think you’re training your protégé. Is that it?”

  “This is what protection looks like.” He sounded stern. “This is me looking out for you. You demanded into my world. There’s a caveat.”

  I lifted my glass and swigged several more gulps and was pleasantly struck with the way my body flushed with warmth, and it went straight to my head.

  Tobias’s brow arched as he watched me take another sip and he lifted his own glass to his lips. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “What’s next? Weapons?”

  “Okay, Annie Get Your Gun, take a breath. I’ve never used a weapon. I’ve never hurt anyone.”

  “Why does everything you do feel wrong?”

  “I thought you liked my crazy golf.” He held out his hands. “Come here.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think I’d rather be taking you to a museum—” he waved his hand through the air “—strolling through Central Park with you—”

  “You mean instead of forging a painting?”

  “We’re against the clock, Zara.” Tobias caressed his brow. “This is happening with or without you.”

  My sharp intake of breath revealed my horror.

  He turned away to stare at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar as though needing a moment to weigh his answer. “This is the only bait that will work.”

  Tobias set the bar too high with his rascally exploits and yet I understood his need to right those dreadful acts. This was who he was and what he had always done to find meaning to his life, restoring paintings to their rightful owners.

  So far I’d stayed because of my belief I could find a way to untangle my life and have a say in how my future unraveled. I’d demanded to be shown more of his world, and perhaps it was time to explore why I was resisting the inevitability of my life changing minute by minute. I had to find a way out of this.

  I reached for my drink and took a large gulp.

  Justice only worked when the law played along and proof of this was the authorities turning away from me in favor of protecting Elliot Burell. He had blood on his hands like the mark of a warlord. The cruelest stain.

  Eli had revealed that his family prided themselves on taking what they wanted and when they wanted it. Perhaps we were the only ones daring enough to stop them.

  Tobias plucked an olive out of his drink. “I’ll have my jet fueled and made ready for you. Just say when you’re ready to leave and I will make it happen.” He popped it into his mouth and chewed while offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll miss you.”

  “And what about you? What will you do?”

  “Nothing changes.”

  My shoulders slumped with frustration. “Do you really believe you can pull this off?”

  He relaxed a little. “Do you want to see what Jade’s come up with?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you do.” Tobias gestured toward the center of the room. “Bring her up for us, Jade.”

  Hanging midair in the center of the room was a hologram of the painting of Mona Lisa, and even her measurements appeared to match the thirty inches by twenty-one inches of the original, and she looked stunningly compelling. I couldn’t look away. “This is her?” I’d been holding my breath.

  “This is the template.”

  My gaze shot to his. “You’re really going through with this?”

  “Yes. I’ll incorporate what I’ve learned about Leonardo’s techniques. The way he utilized light, his knowledge of anatomy, how he transitioned from one area to the next without detection.”

  “This invention must never be shared, Tobias.”

  He shrugged. “You can watch me delete the program when this is over.”

  “You really believe she’ll pass scrutiny?”

  He looked over the hologram. “You tell me.”

  I set my half-finished drink on the bar and approached the life-size hologram hovering midair, bewitched by her beauty and mesmerized he’d managed to capture her. Instinctively, I reached out to touch the canvas and my hand went through her. The detail was extraordinary. This was almost as good as being in the room with her and I didn’t want the spell to break because this felt like home.
/>   “There’s a slight variation from the original in the Louvre,” I realized.

  “A minor difference to reflect an evolution from the one he gave the Giocondos. This one feels more intimate, don’t you think?”

  “It’s subtle.” My heart fluttered with the realization Tobias had blended in the differences so well. “You’ve captured his technique.”

  Tobias came toward me and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m working on my fake collector’s provenance. I need decent clues to her origin if I want to pique Burell’s interest.”

  “Like?”

  “Perhaps the seller’s family once lived in Florence?”

  “That would work.” I couldn’t believe I was even saying this.

  “Maybe his relatives lived near the wealthy Florentine silk merchant Francesco del Giocondo.”

  “Giocondo commissioned the real painting to celebrate the birth of their second son, Andrea.” I looked over at Tobias. “Mona Lisa’s glow is quite possibly because she’d just given birth and was breast-feeding. Maybe she was lulled by the oxytocin in her bloodstream released during feeding.”

  “Okay, wow, that’s a first for me.”

  “Look at her. She’s radiant.” I leaned in.

  “Or maybe my collector is somehow related to Salaì.” He gave a shrug at his suggestion. “Leonardo’s assistant? After all, his master gifted Salaì with many of his paintings.”

  “A clean provenance inspires confidence.”

  He smirked.

  I shot him a glare. “Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”

  “I may have eased the cogs a wee bit.” He looked amused.

  And I’d fallen right into his trap by sipping his cocktail like Alice in Wonderland, and then deliriously diving down the rabbit hole after him.

  Tobias was incorrigible.

  I spun round to face him. “Leonardo da Vinci’s uncle helped raise him, Tobias.” I gave him a knowing smile. “You have so much in common. He had a challenging childhood with a lot of pain and betrayal. He adored math, science, botany, engineering, oh so many things but especially inventing.”

  Tension caught in his jaw.

  I could see I’d gotten to him. “His biological parents were never married.”

  “Leo was a survivor.”

  “Organized, dependable and controlling.”

  “Ah, you’ve got me.”

  “Bossy, hard to keep up with and annoyingly brilliant.”

  “I have my moments.”

  “I’m still talking about da Vinci.” I turned back to the frame. “The columns are not finished just as in the original in the Louvre. Not bad, Wilder.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not done.”

  He looked amused. “Do you think Mona Lisa’s husband demanded the painting from da Vinci because he was taking so long?”

  “Maybe he thought da Vinci was dragging out time with his wife. Four years is a long time to spend company with a married woman.”

  “She’s enigmatic.”

  “Lisa Gherardini Giocondo,” I whispered to her. “Will they believe you were painted by the same hand as your sister in the Louvre?”

  He stepped closer to her. “Fess up, Lisa.”

  “She lived across the street from Leonardo’s father.” I read his smile. “Of course you knew this.”

  “When I saw that sketch in your London flat—” He dragged his hands over his eyes to say the rest.

  “Your reaction was adorable.”

  “You eccentric English broad.”

  I deserved that as most women didn’t have priceless artwork tucked away in their bedrooms.

  My gaze returned to the hologram. “I think I’d have liked her very much.” My eyes wandered over her face, those kind eyes and that smile, and I pulled back a little to take in the canvas, recognizing the detailed touches and enthralled by the idea it would be re-created by using da Vinci’s exact methods garnered by Tobias’s AI. “I need to go back to the Louvre so I can spend time with the real Mona Lisa.” I let out a sigh. “Leonardo only worked on a classic Renaissance ground of white. So you will have to find paint that matches that era. No small task.”

  “I know.”

  “Look at her. She’s sensual. Carries a certain wisdom.” My gaze locked with his and a moment passed between us, a deep connection contradicting our current standoff, and I read what could have even been love.

  Love, from the man whose presence burned me up from the inside out, and this more than anything scared me.

  My stare shot back to Mona Lisa. “What was your first instinct when you saw her just now?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Hard to describe.”

  “She beckoned you?”

  “Yes, she’s mesmerizing.”

  “There’s a subtlety stirring an instinctual feeling hard to articulate. I always trust this. In the original painting hanging in the Louvre, Mona Lisa conveys aloofness. Her smile belongs to her.”

  “Impressive.”

  I strolled around the portrait, surprised to see Tobias had managed to capture a realistic backing. “Can you increase this?”

  He flicked his fingers over the image and enlarged it to such an extent it looked like it had doubled in size.

  I pointed to the edge. “How did you capture this backing?”

  “I accessed photographic records from the Louvre. The backing doesn’t have to be exact. Different painting. Different frame.”

  “Same master.” I threw him a disapproving glare.

  “I’m enjoying watching you look at her. There’s awe in your expression, Zara. Coming from you, that is a compliment.”

  I strolled around to face her again and breathed in an admiring sigh.

  Tobias straightened his back. “Burell will be falling over himself to own her.”

  “Because she’s one of history’s greatest treasures.”

  He brought our drinks back over. “What’s the verdict, Leighton? Will she pass if we create her from this?” He raised his glass in a toast.

  I accepted my cocktail from him. “There’s a flaw.”

  He stared at me for the longest time. “What’s the issue?”

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  “If it’s because of the eyebrows and eyelashes being present, I’ll be making sure those have disappeared from sight due to either overcleaning or time passing.”

  Just as the original—where most people didn’t even notice Mona Lisa’s eyebrows were missing.

  “I guessed you’d know that. However, that’s not the issue. If your painting is created off this image it will not pass scrutiny.”

  “Why?”

  I took a long deep sip. “Look at her again and tell me what you sense.”

  “The uncanny valley?”

  That small inner voice warning something isn’t quite what it seems, eliciting a sense of uneasiness when you look at it.

  “Tell me so I can fix it.”

  I handed him my glass and walked toward the door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilder.” At least when I fell asleep tonight my conscience would be clear.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SITTING ON THE edge of the wall I stared beyond at the monastery within walking distance, those ancient pillars looked like they’d barely survived the surrounding city. It saddened me to see the weather had ravaged the roof and caused tiles to fall away.

  I drew in a wary breath of early morning air, glad for my parka with its fur hood and my Ugg boots. My heart beat faster when I heard Clara’s dialing tone and my fingers tightened around Tobias’s phone.

  He stood a few feet away and, though he’d offered to let me chat with her alone, I’d told him I felt comfortable having him overhear us. He looked relaxed in his jeans and was now clean shaven, making him extra suave in tha
t black blazer and scarf.

  He’d not mentioned our conversation last night over the flaw I’d found in his hologram, though despite the subtlety of Mona Lisa’s expression eventually he’d see it.

  I went to hang up.

  “Hello?” Clara’s voice sounded reassuringly familiar.

  “Hey, it’s me.” I forced the cheeriness.

  “Are you okay?”

  A rush of homesickness came at me and a well of guilt for disappearing without a word.

  “How are you?” I kept my voice even.

  “For God’s sake, tell me you’re not in any danger?”

  “I’m fine. What do you know?”

  “You may be connected to the suspect Icon who has been mentioned in the news. He sounds dangerous, Zara. I’m worried about you.”

  “Clara, I’m fine.” I glanced up at Tobias. “I’m working on the Icon case and it seems our paths have crossed.”

  “Come home.”

  “I’ve been hired by a client of Huntly Pierre on a very special commission. I’ve done nothing wrong. Please don’t worry. The money’s fantastic.”

  Tobias rolled his eyes with amusement.

  “Give me a sign you’ve not been kidnapped,” she said.

  I hated being a source of worry for her.

  “Zara,” she snapped. “What have you gotten yourself into? Abby Reynolds wants you to call her.”

  “I can do that.” Though when I looked at Tobias he was shaking his head.

  Everyone was overreacting because my job was waiting for me when I got home, and after I got my paintings back we’d all laugh about this...

  Same old lie.

  Her silence lingered. “Remember, you did this last time to me? Scared the shit out of me.”

  I tried to drag that memory back. “When?”

  “You pissed off to Tunisia without me.”

  She was warning me her phone was either bugged or she suspected it was because it had been her that had flown off to Tunisia without me back in our college days. I’d been fine with it because I had exams. She’d ridden on a camel in the desert and snogged an Arabic Berber with bright blue eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured her.

  “Where are you?”

  “Let me call you back. It’s a bad line.” I hated lying to her.