I returned to the kitchen, telling myself I’d done the right thing, though doubting I had after replaying his expression.
After Tobias’s compassion I’d betrayed him with the worst lie.
Trying to tame these trembling hands, I finished up making tea for the inspector.
“That wasn’t him?” Her stare burned my back.
With a shake of my head I pretended to be focused on pouring hot water into her mug.
When the doorbell rang again I made my way back to the front door, concerned Tobias had ignored my attempt to send him away.
A rugged, tall man with a buzz cut raised his ID. “Sergeant Mitchel. Is Inspector Ford here?” His sharp gray eyes assessed me with the ease of habit and I tried to get a read on him too, taking in his trench coat that was seemingly a little too thin to hold off the cold.
I closed the door behind us and led him toward the kitchen.
The sergeant strolled beside me, carrying himself with the kind of confidence that came from a well-practiced routine. “Parking’s a nightmare,” he said. “Took me all this time to find a space.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, as though it was my fault.
Within a few minutes I made them both tea and sat opposite them, ready to face their questions.
The inspector talked me through my visit to Christie’s and I explained how I’d intended to merely check on the provenance of an Edvard Munch and ended up discovering there was a painting there resembling the one that once belonged to my family.
“You were shown the St. Joan of Arc?” she clarified.
“Yes.”
“Your thoughts?”
I shifted in my seat. “I’m waiting on Christie’s evaluation.”
“It looked like the one you once owned?” added Mitchel.
“My dad.” I gave a nod. “I was ten when we had a house fire.”
“It was meant to have been destroyed?” Ford flipped over her notepad. “Your dad filed an insurance claim? St. Joan of Arc by Walter William Ouless was included in that claim?”
Holding my hands in my lap I forced them to still. “I believe so.”
Mitchel leaned forward. “Apparently, you have a knack for spotting fakes?”
My gaze stayed on his as I realized he’d spoken with Christie’s staff who’d no doubt relayed to them about my time in their lab. I’d unwittingly proven my uncanny talent.
“It’s a little confusing,” I admitted.
“So it’s the real deal, then?” said Mitchel.
My throat tightened as I fought with the answer. “I’m not sure...”
“Where were you last night?” asked Ford.
“Here. Why?”
“Alone?” Her tone cut through my resistance.
“No.” I bit my lip. “I mean...”
My heart thundered as I ran through every way this could go and nothing looked good.
“Ms. Leighton?” Mitchel’s fixed stare held mine.
“I was—”
“With me all night.” Tobias stood in the kitchen doorway and threw me a comforting smile. “Pizza, anyone?”
Jaw gaping, my fear rose for Tobias’s vulnerability as well as my confusion at having believed I’d locked my front door after letting Sergeant Mitchel in. Feeling dazed I watched Tobias casually wash his hands at the sink and then find four dinner plates. He sliced the pizza and placed them onto the plates and then handed them out to each of us. As well as one for himself.
“Where do we keep the vase?” he asked.
I pointed to the left cupboard and watched him retrieve it. Mitchel and Ford were also following his every move.
Tobias filled the vase with water and then dropped in the roses. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”
“This is Tobias.” I forced a smile.
Ford and Mitchel introduced themselves. Their demeanors altered slightly, a visible shift in their level of respect, which was probably due to the way Tobias was dressed and his relaxed attitude.
“Tobias Wilder,” he said with ease and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “See, I remembered, no anchovies. Do I get boyfriend points?”
My weak smile told him he did.
He also got my silent BAFTA nomination for the way he played the boyfriend role so convincingly. He even went into my fridge, pulled out a bottle of pinot grigio, uncorked it and poured two glasses of wine.
He handed me one.
“You guys are on duty,” he said. “So I won’t offer you one. Unless...”
“We’re fine,” said Mitchel. “Thank you.”
Despite several gulps my mouth was still dry.
“You haven’t asked why your girlfriend has two policemen sitting at her kitchen table?” Ford’s tone was accusatory.
“I’m assuming you’re here to apologize on behalf of Christie’s?” He sat in the chair beside mine. “There’s been a lot of confusion over a questionable piece.”
I wanted to grab his arm and pull him out and privately ask what the hell he was thinking? And why was everyone talking cryptic?
“You’re referring to the St. Joan?” asked Mitchel.
“Aren’t you?” Tobias slid napkins toward them. “Here you go.”
“We were asking Ms. Leighton about her whereabouts last night,” said Mitchel. “Were you together all night?”
“Yes.” Tobias bit into his pizza. “God, I’m starving.”
I sipped my pinot and it tasted bitter.
“Excuse me for asking,” added Ford, “did you both sleep in the same bed?”
Tobias shot me a look of affection. “Of course.”
My blush burned my face.
“Do you take sleeping tablets?” asked Mitchel.
I shook my head. “No.”
Mitchel turned to face Tobias. “You?”
Tobias shook his head. “Though I do admit to too much caffeine.”
I bit into that slice Tobias was holding to my lips and a burst of tomato and basil melted on my tongue, these rich flavors and this crusty dough felt comforting. I’d not eaten since that packet of crisps in the pub and my stomach grumbled to remind me.
“Neither of you left this apartment?” said Ford.
A shake of my head as my cheeks burned up.
“What is this about?” I asked.
Tobias handed me a napkin. “I’m so happy to see you eat, Zara.” He pointed to Ford’s plate. “How is it?”
“Good,” she answered in between chewing.
“Peppi’s Kitchen.” Tobias looked cheerful. “Just around the corner.”
Mitchel pushed his plate aside. “Mr. Wilder—”
“Call me Tobias, please.”
“Tobias, why would we need to apologize on behalf of Christie’s?”
He shot them a look of surprise. “Seriously?”
The inspector narrowed her gaze.
Tobias glared at her and said, “Interesting technique to interrogate using the art of boredom.”
Ford threw a wary glance at her partner.
Tobias reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Christie’s had a break-in last night,” he said. “You’ve not had the TV on? It’s on the news.”
“No, I’ve been cleaning.” I used a napkin to wipe sauce off my lips. “Rearranging my spice rack.”
Tobias looked amused. “Wish you’d waited for me.”
I almost laughed. “Was anything damaged?”
“St. Joan of Arc was stolen,” said Mitchel flatly.
Invisible icicles soaked into my bones as I replayed his words.
“Are you sure?” Blood drained from my face as I realized they were talking about my St. Joan.
Ford peered down at her notebook. “There’s a lot resting on
it getting authenticated. Isn’t there?”
“Was anything else taken?” I managed to sound calm.
Ford’s frown narrowed. “Just Walter Ouless’s St. Joan of Arc. They did an inventory.”
A chill ran up my spine at what this meant.
I’d lost St. Joan all over again.
Scattered thoughts came together in a collage of images as I marveled at Tobias’s timing. He’d been one of the few people to even see St. Joan and, other than the staff, no one else knew about her.
And he was here, now, right when I needed him. He never did leave town when he’d told me he’d planned to. Instead, Tobias had turned up as my shining knight at Christie’s.
Was the connection between us this profound or was something else going on?
My hand trembled as I reached for his, as though I’d be able to tap into his thoughts and see him more clearly, understand just what we were.
I needed to know what I meant to him.
“We’re wondering on the motive?” said Mitchel.
“Isn’t it always money driven?” said Tobias.
“Was there a power outage?” I whispered.
Ford’s steely blue gaze held mine. “You’ve heard about Interpol’s investigation?”
I swapped a glance with Tobias.
He looked remarkably serene, and I drew on his unwavering strength; my thoughts spiraling with just how well he handled this kind of drama. His ice-cool temperament impressive, the kind of nature that would be good for a thief like Icon.
Bloody ridiculous.
The stress was messing with my mind.
Tobias was an established businessman and a remarkable inventor who spent his free time as an ambassador for art.
I shook off this doubt and refocused on these questions I was going to have to get right.
“It came up in a meeting at work,” I said. “The art thefts in London look like they’re connected to the ones in Europe.”
“There does appear to be a connection,” admitted Ford.
“Only,” I began, “all the others were from private homes.”
“You’re absolutely certain it’s that Joan of Arc we saw yesterday?” Tobias asked. “They have a lot of paintings in there. It’s a big place.”
Ford’s sympathetic gaze fell on me. “Afraid so.”
“Tobias, you were there too, yesterday?” said Mitchel.
“I picked up Zara after work.” Tobias reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “We were going to have dinner and then realized we just wanted a night in.”
“If it’s okay with you,” said Mitchel, pushing himself to his feet. “We’re just going to have a peek around?”
“Of course.” Tobias held out his hand for the paperwork.
“We don’t have a search warrant yet,” admitted Ford.
“Ah,” said Tobias. “Then it’s a no.”
Mitchel sat back down.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I’ve nothing to hide.”
Tobias beamed. “Other than that priceless Michelangelo she has stashed away in her bedroom!” He roared with laughter.
I let out a feeble laugh.
Trying to fathom Tobias’s motive for dutifully playing the boyfriend card, I reasoned he was the kind of friend who came through when you needed him.
Oh my God...
I’d locked my flat door and somehow he’d gotten in...
Yet, he was my greatest alibi in all of this.
“Michelangelo.” Ford grinned at Tobias’s joke. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
“Do you have the name of the owner?” Tobias asked flatly. “The person who dropped off the painting?”
I frowned, remembering Nigel mentioning it had turned up in Venice and wishing I’d paid more attention.
“That’s confidential, for now,” said Ford.
“The provenance would likely prove this painting belongs to your estate, Zara?” said Mitchel.
“The last time I saw it I was ten.” There were more questions than answers.
Tobias smiled brightly. “It’s a good thing it wasn’t the real thing.”
“What makes you say that?” said Mitchel.
“Didn’t Zara tell you?” Tobias shook his head woefully. “The original was destroyed in a fire. Some idiot’s gone and stolen a fake.” He breathed in a sigh of relief and his gaze rested on the pizza. “Who wants the last slice?”
19
A chill of fear slithered up my spine.
Tobias was at the front door talking with the police. Their hushed tones possibly hinting at their realization of the distress they’d caused me. I heard the sound of the door closing and the latch being placed.
The kitchen door opened and Tobias strolled in. He eased my glass out of my hand and went ahead and poured more pinot into it and then refilled his own. He gave it back and then took his place against the counter, leaning casually and finally peeling off that scarf and throwing it aside. He picked up his wine and his focus zeroed in on me.
“None of this makes any sense,” I said. “No one would risk being arrested for stealing a fake. How did they even know it was at Christie’s? God knows how they knew it was real.”
He blinked at me inquisitively.
The wine failed to quench my throat’s dryness. “Tobias, what were you thinking?”
He didn’t react, just continued to look calm and in control, his beautiful face staying as focused as when the police were here.
This silence raised the tension.
“What happens when they find out we’ve only known each other a few days? You acted like we’ve been together for years.”
There was no way we’d managed to fast-forward to the kind of place where we looked like we’d been together any length of time.
“Have you quite finished?”
Pursing my lips, I forced back my response.
He looked thoughtful. “First, you accuse me of lying when you lied to me?”
“To protect you.”
“I’m not the one who needs protecting. I was worried about you after not hearing from you all day—”
“Logan stole my phone—”
“I’ll deal with her. You could have used a landline?”
“I don’t have your number.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “She threatened to put a restraining order on me if I reached out to you.”
“When?”
“Today. I’ll probably end up in prison anyway for bitch-slapping her.”
He arched a curious brow. “I’ll talk with her. She’s out of line.”
I pointed to the door. “I hated having to send you away.”
“I was surprised after last night.” His jaw clenched. “Logan went rogue. I’m sorry she upset you.”
Logan had admitted she’d worked for Tobias for years and yet surely she’d well and truly overstepped her boundaries.
“Tobias,” I relented. “What have you done? You lied to the police.”
“Not necessarily. We are together. Aren’t we?”
I set my glass on the table. “You want this?”
He came toward me and wrapped his arms around me. “God, yes.”
I crushed against his firm chest with the kind of relief I’d not known I was holding in.
Breathing him in, nuzzling and refusing to deny myself him. “Why did you change your mind about leaving town?”
“I wanted to talk with you.” He seemed conflicted. “About us.”
I looked up at his gorgeous face, wanting to believe that, needing to, but was I willing to fall for someone so much like my father, a man just as mysterious?
“I had a suspicion there’d be residual details that might surface from St. Joan.�
�
“Do you think it was Icon who stole her?”
He broke my gaze and stared off, seeming lost in thought. “Maybe.”
“The police...do you think they believed us?”
“I gave you a solid alibi. Trust me, you don’t want them digging around your office or your home, or more specifically your bedroom and finding priceless paintings stashed away in there. Even if they’re locked away in a safe. Details like that tend to make the police antsy.” He gulped his wine and looked revolted. “Where did you buy this?”
“Why?”
He blinked his disgust at the pinot and set his glass down. “I was keeping it especially for situations like Logan.”
“Must I suffer too?” He gave a smile. “I need to explore your wine cellar.”
“Funny. Look, I need to find out who dropped off St. Joan to Christie’s. I have to ask them who they bought the painting from. Follow the provenance. I need to find out how anyone managed to bypass Christie’s security. The police suspect me.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Me, of all people? I have to find out if it’s connected to those other heists—”
“You need to take a breath.”
“This is my life we’re talking about.”
“I respect that. My team’s on it.”
“What does that mean?”
“This is a delicate situation that must be handled with precision.”
“I’ve never experienced anything like this.”
“I know.” He shook his head wryly. “This is uncharted territory for you. I get that. My lawyers will talk with Christie’s legal team—”
“How did you get in?”
His gaze narrowed on me.
“Your timing is uncanny. After I let Sergeant Mitchel in, I locked my door. You got creative, didn’t you?”
He lowered his gaze.
“I’m not letting this go.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“You’ve got me.”
My breath stilted and my stomach flipped.
He raised his hands in surrender. “What gave me away? The report on how smart Icon is? How fit? Versatile? How brilliant and inventive he’s proving to be? How dastardly he is to outwit the entire British police force along with Interpol who are tight on his heels?” He gave a smile. “Not to mention the reports on how handsome he is.”
The Chase Page 19