The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  “If you care about Tobias, you’ll do the right thing.” She stormed out.

  “Please tell your client we’ll be in touch,” I called after her.

  “No need.”

  “Ruby?” I played my hunch. “Ruby Ryan?”

  She paused in the doorway and twisted her head to the left, proving she knew that name. When she turned to face me, I saw the truth in her startled gaze and realized Tobias had used her elite membership to the private orgy to get us in.

  Ruby was Logan’s alias.

  “You’ll never see him again.” She stormed off.

  With weak legs I managed to make it to my chair.

  I hated the idea Tobias might have attended one of those parties with her. No, I reassured myself, he’s already told you he doesn’t share his women.

  I’d merely glimpsed further into Logan’s psyche; she was not only ambitious but also had a penchant for debauchery.

  Mortified, I realized she’d seized my only way of contacting Tobias.

  Logan’s floral perfume lingered...

  Sucking in a shaky breath I tried to center myself, draw on that courage I’d always managed to rally when life’s edge went for my jugular.

  I reached into my handbag and brought out my old iPhone. Its smashed screen was now an omen to all the crap I’d not seen coming. The thing still worked, thank goodness.

  My gaze found those tall buildings rising out of Canary Wharf again. I was sure I’d find a number for Tobias’s offices by a simple online search.

  But what was the point?

  My heart sank with the realization that if I was going down I had no right to take anyone with me, not Huntly Pierre, and certainly not Tobias.

  Gathering my files I continued to prepare for that meeting I’d just asked for, determined to at least prove I had the talent for this job—

  Even if it was my bloody last day.

  All I had to do was keep it together and not embarrass myself by becoming a jabbering mess long enough to deliver what I’d discovered.

  I was about to turn this case on its head.

  Afterward, I’d offer Adley my resignation and hope he didn’t accept it, and continue to do the right thing by putting my friendship with Tobias Wilder behind me.

  Breathing through the pain, it was hard to work out which hurt more.

  17

  I was doing this.

  Making my way around the cubicles and nodding to staff here and there, I tried to convey my usual chirpy nature. My smile might have been forced, but my enthusiasm to join the meeting was sincere. Maybe, just maybe, I could salvage my career at the wire.

  Mostly everyone was gathered already, and it was a little daunting seeing Adley, Danny and Brandon all waiting on what I had to say.

  Abby flew in and threw me an enthusiastic wave. “Got your email, Zara. You have something for us?”

  A jolt of pride nudged me out of my melancholy. “I have something on the Jaeger case.” I opened my file. “If I may?”

  Adley gave a nod.

  I slid out the photo of Hulbert Jaeger. “I studied the Jaeger file,” I said. “There’s a discrepancy.” Their gazes locked on me.

  I held up the photo of Hulbert for them. “This is staged.”

  “What makes you think that?” asked Abby.

  I pointed to it. “This was meant to have been taken in 1920 of Hulbert Jaeger, their grandfather, and is meant to help prove the provenance.”

  “Looks authentic,” said Shane. “Paper checked out.”

  I slid my fingertip and rested it on Hulbert’s wrist. “Can someone please explain to me how Hulbert Jaeger is wearing a Seiko Astron?”

  “It wasn’t made yet?” asked Abby.

  “This brand wasn’t made until 1969,” I clarified.

  “Well done, Zara,” she said.

  “It’s half-hidden by his cuff,” I said.

  “Look at this!” said Brandon as he tapped away on his keyboard. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  A rush of excitement flushed my cheeks with the realization what I’d found really mattered.

  “Got you, bitches.” Brandon slapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, boss.”

  Adley gestured for him to continue.

  Brandon slid his laptop around to show us the screen. “Just ran our Edvard Munch through the Nazi-era database.”

  My jaw dropped. “Our Edvard Munch is listed?”

  “Hot as a jacket potato,” said Shane.

  “What’s a jacket potato?” asked Danny.

  “You call them baked potatoes,” said Abby with a smile.

  “Who cares,” snapped Brandon. “Look, our Edvard Munch was once listed as being owned by a member of the Nazi SS.”

  “We never thought to check the Nazi database,” said Shane. “The provenance looked solid.”

  “The painting came through Germany,” I said. “Not Norway.”

  “And any painting coming through Germany in the 1940s has shaky provenance,” agreed Adley. “We were thrown off by its history.”

  “Maybe the Jaegers know?” Danny suggested. “Maybe that’s why they faked this?”

  We moved onto our next agenda, Icon, and Adley pointed out it appeared the thief was becoming more brazen.

  “A new clue has emerged,” he said. “I received a call from the director of Interpol an hour ago.”

  We all leaned in, ready to hear.

  “Interpol has kept this back until now,” he continued. “It does seem relevant. There was a raven’s feather left at the scene of the crime at the Jaeger home.”

  “Is he antagonizing us?” asked Danny.

  “He’s letting us know that no one will ever be hurt,” I realized.

  “’Cause he didn’t hurt the raven at the Burells’?” asked Danny.

  Adley seemed to give this some thought. “Icon’s motivations are greed,” he said. “If he is selling them on the black market to private estates, he’s going to be caught. Sooner than later.”

  By then the damage would be irrevocable.

  “The Met are holding a press conference later today,” said Abby. “They’ll be sharing with the public what they know so far about Icon.”

  There were so many questions to answer. With Abby leading the way, Shane, Brandon, Danny and I spent the rest of the day collating what we had and brainstorming how best to proceed.

  We agreed to discuss our new concerns with the Jaeger family and hoped to garner a confession of sorts.

  Chances were Interpol would find Icon first, but the high price tag on his reward had seen Adley giving us permission to at least try to beat them to the chase.

  Adrenaline spiked my veins that I’d been accepted into the team as one of them and I knew that Seiko watch was to thank. I prayed this wasn’t short-lived.

  After the meeting ended we agreed to reconvene on Monday, and were permitted to continue our individual projects at home as the best way to maintain our progress. That gave us three more days to study the file.

  I’d left the conference room exhilarated right up until I remembered I still needed to speak with Adley about my own personal scandal.

  I was merely holding my inevitable fall from grace at bay. I’d savored this brief interlude of popularity.

  With this familiar lump in my throat, I made my way to his office. Adley wasn’t there.

  I stopped off at the reception desk to ask Elena where he was.

  She finished up on a call. “Hey, Zara, heard there are exciting things coming out of the Icon meeting?”

  “It’s coming together,” I said. “I’m looking for Mr. Adley?”

  “He’s visiting his mom. She lives in an assisted-living home in Kensington. He always goes there
right from work on a Thursday. Is it urgent?”

  “No.” Though I wished I’d gotten this out of the way. “It can wait.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Kind of.” I blew out a sigh of uneasiness. “Something came up yesterday, and I just wanted to keep Mr. Adley in the loop.”

  “Try his mobile?”

  “Don’t want to disturb him. Thank you, though.”

  “How would you like to join us for drinks? It’s a Thursday tradition. It’s me and Abby, Shane, Dan and Brandon.”

  “I think I’ll go home.” All this stress was starting to catch up with me, and I hadn’t exactly gotten much sleep last night, merely a few hours in between my “Tobias time.”

  Vaguely, I wondered if he’d texted me.

  After Logan had snatched my phone I’d probably never know.

  “One drink?” said Elena. “You look like you need it.”

  “I do,” I admitted. “I need a bloody big glass of wine.”

  * * *

  Within the hour we’d locked up our offices and together with Elena, Abby, Shane, Danny and Brandon, made our way over to Covent Garden.

  We settled at a corner table of the Coach and Horses pub. It didn’t take long to realize this was a great decision.

  The place had a modern, roomy feel, those black-and-white prints of old London covering the walls added a nice touch to the leather seating, private booths and dark wooden trim around the bar.

  I stuck to just one glass of chardonnay, and began to relax a little.

  The evening enabled me to get to know them all so much better. It was fun to hear Abby talk about how much she enjoyed journaling, Shane’s love of Manchester United, and Brandon’s obsession with Sherlock Holmes. Danny’s enthusiasm for exploring London’s historic sites was an inspiration and his passion invigorated mine.

  The night out had been just what I’d needed to forget.

  Huddled in my warm parka with my hood pulled up and warmed by the wine, I headed out of the pub and made my way toward Covent Garden tube station, dodging the other pedestrians.

  Luckily, my old iPhone worked just fine and I popped in my earbuds and fired up my iTunes and people watched as the stations flew by.

  I was still upset with Logan for stealing my new phone and her ulterior motive was glaring. This wasn’t about her protecting her boss—she was acting out of jealousy.

  Still, in my own way I wanted to protect him, too.

  18

  After taking a leisurely hot shower, I wrapped a towel around my wet hair and pulled on my silk pajamas and threw myself into cleaning. This was the best way I knew to burn off nervous energy and hopefully get Tobias out of my system too.

  I tackled the kitchen first and spaced out when I moved on to rearranging my spice rack. There was something comforting about normalcy and this also seemed to focus a part of my brain that problem solved.

  I couldn’t wait to visit The Courtauld Institute’s library. The Witt’s vaults held an impressive collection of well-worn books that could very well hold the clues we’d need, secrets that might connect all the stolen paintings. I felt like I was born for this kind of work.

  The doorbell rang.

  A quick glance in the bathroom mirror proved I was in no state to see anyone. I pulled off my towel and ran my fingers through my wayward damp locks. If it was Tobias, I’d probably put him off for good and get this heart-wrenching pain behind me.

  The walk to my front door seemed endless and with each step I regretted not dabbing my face with makeup. It didn’t matter about my pj’s, for goodness’ sake, Tobias had already seen me naked.

  Nervousness welled in my belly and my step quickened, all I could think of was having another chance to talk with him and get to explain what happened to his phone.

  I flung open the door—

  An ID was flashed in my face.

  I stared beyond it at the pale, middle-aged woman, her salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by her face with etched hard lines around her mouth. Her formal trouser suit was covered by a long woolen coat. “Ms. Leighton?”

  “Yes.”

  Her steely blue gaze moved past me into my flat. “I’m from Scotland Yard, ma’am. Inspector Ford. May I come in?”

  My forearms prickled as I peered at her ID. She wasn’t smiling in that photo, either. “What’s this about?” I said.

  But I knew, St. Joan had cracked open a can of worms. My life was about to nosedive.

  My heartbeat took off at a rapid pace but I smiled through it, trying to look casually confident. A wave of guilt swept over me.

  Yet I’d done nothing wrong.

  “We’re investigating an incident at Christie’s. We’re talking to everyone who visited the auction house yesterday.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” I opened the door for her.

  We made what felt like an endless journey to the kitchen.

  “Sorry for this.” I gestured to my hair. “Wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  She waved it off with a smile and it was nice to see a flash of kindness. “Please.” I pointed to the table. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Love some.” She dragged a chair and sat in it.

  I busied with the kettle and put a tea bag inside a mug.

  “You live alone?” She looked around.

  “Yes.”

  She gave a slow steady nod. “Me too. Divorced. A kid in school.”

  “Sorry to hear that. About the divorce, I mean.”

  “We’re much happier.” She added a frown.

  “How can I help?”

  “You were at Christie’s yesterday?”

  “Yes, for work. I was checking on the provenance of a painting. I’m a forensic art specialist at Huntly Pierre. Provenance is—”

  “I know what provenance is.” She lowered her gaze. “Huntly Pierre’s an exclusive place to work. Bet they pay well.”

  “Is this about that St. Joan of Arc?” I cursed myself for saying it.

  She gave a slow steady nod.

  A sharp knock startled me.

  “That’ll be my partner,” she said. “He was trying to find parking.”

  “Oh, okay.” I was so shaken I’d forgotten they traveled in twos.

  “Ms. Leighton?”

  I paused at the door. “Yes?”

  “You don’t seem too upset.”

  I blinked at her. “They haven’t authenticated it yet.” Somewhere in the far reaches of my addled mind I recalled Tobias telling me to say that.

  “Wasn’t that convenient,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  Her pursed lips gave away her disapproval of something I’d done. That second knock startled me.

  She gave a thin smile. “Can you let him in?”

  Wasn’t that convenient? Inspector Ford’s words made no sense as I replayed them on my way back to the front door.

  With the authentication process generally taking about twenty-four hours we were close to seeing scientific evidence to prove St. Joan was all too real. Though I didn’t need a lab to tell me that no matter how much I wanted to believe it was fake.

  I pulled open the door.

  Tobias’s grin widened. “It was the sexting, wasn’t it?”

  A rush of happiness swelled in my heart at seeing his friendly face and I beamed at him.

  “Too much?” he added.

  My grin faded as I glanced down the hallway for that second policeman.

  God, Tobias looked gorgeous in his pinstripe suit, that black scarf wrapped around his neck just so, and his five o’clock stubble contradicting his otherwise snazzy appearance and making him ooze that bad boy aura.

  He was holding up a lush bouquet of pink roses in one
hand and in the other he was holding a Peppi’s Kitchen Pizza box. The delicious scent of baked dough, tomatoes and mushrooms wafting; my stomach grumbled.

  “The sexting?” he clarified. “I came on too strong?”

  “Oh,” I realized, anxious Logan might have read his texts. “No, I lost my phone.”

  “You only had it one day!”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Maybe you lost it at work. Have you asked around?” He reached for his phone. “We can track it.”

  “Don’t bother. Logan took it. She explained everything.”

  “Logan?” His frown deepened and I sensed his quiet resignation as it sunk in that I’d already gotten his message.

  That kindness I’d seen in him was authentic at least.

  “I thought you were away. I mean traveling?” Though he’d never actually told me where.

  “Canceled it,” he said brightly. “I needed to see you again.”

  Dread made my chest tight with confusion. “Tobias, you can’t come in.”

  His gaze slid to my hallway and he blinked his concern.

  I paused for a beat, realizing this was my chance to protect him and knowing full well this was the best way to do it.

  His eyebrows raised in a question as he realized I wasn’t alone.

  “Yes,” I managed.

  His fingers tightened around the box.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “You should go.”

  Dragging this goodbye out any longer was making things worse. All I wanted to do was fall into his arms and hug him.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said shakily.

  Tobias lowered the flowers to his side and gave a nod of understanding. “Do you guys want the pizza?”

  With a shake of my head I declined it. I’d never eat again from the way my stomach wrenched.

  “What about taking your paintings to The Otillie?” he said softly.

  “I’ll take care of them.”

  He closed his eyes as though the embarrassment had caught up and then gave a reluctant nod.

  With my chest tight and my throat hurting more than it should, I watched him stroll off.

  Breathing through this doubt I questioned going after him.

  With him out of sight the spell was broken.