The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  I grabbed the key card and bolted for the stairs, sprinting faster than I’d ever run. The clue that Tobias had a meeting with someone called NG kept spurring me on. I was damned if I was letting him get away with stealing my beloved possessions.

  I was getting my paintings back. Today.

  A guard sprang from out of nowhere and closed in on me. He cut me off from the entry to the stairwell.

  I bolted right and in a blur of adrenaline and desperate heaves of panic, my legs carried me into the lift—even as my brain screamed against it.

  I shoved the card into the strip on the wall panel...that guard looming closer and threatening to join me in here.

  Frantically searching for buttons and not seeing any, one small gold knob to the right of the panel was my only choice.

  I slammed my palm against it.

  “Executive suite,” came a virtual female voice. “Transparency mode activated.”

  “What?” I snapped.

  No longer terrified by the guard whose hands reached out—the doors slid shut as he pulled his fingers free.

  My scream echoed out on my final breath as I shot upward at a million miles an hour.

  Terror gripped me as I watched the floor transforming from a steel base into see-through glass exposing the sheer drop below.

  I dropped to my knees and froze. My ears popping.

  Zooming upward like a rocket.

  Finally, my walled prison came to a stop.

  The doors slid open.

  Twisting my head slightly, I made out the blurred image of a vast open floor plan. Stark white walls. A patterned couch and chairs were positioned to the left for guests who’d survived this face-off with death, and would need a place to sit and contemplate this miracle.

  I crawled out on all fours.

  Sucking in a gulp of air and hating this sense that the ground was unstable, I scrambled to my feet.

  There he stood—

  A few feet from the lift.

  His expression predictably serene. The “too dashing for his own bloody good” Tobias fucking Wilder. That usual pose of his hands casually tucked inside his trouser pockets and his chin arrogantly raised.

  Yes, buddy, I found you!

  I pointed back to the lift and screamed at him, “Who was the mad, fuck-wit bastard who invented that piece of crap?”

  Tobias’s left brow arched inquisitively. “We can always rely on Miss Leighton to make a memorable entry.”

  21

  Wriggling free from Tobias’s ironclad grip was impossible.

  We hurried past the stunned faces of his staff and continued along a hallway, speeding by a lengthy window to a conference room—

  I sucked in a gasp when I saw my Michelangelo secure on an easel. Beside it rested my Vermeer and the da Vinci. The contents of several folders were strewn on the long dark wooden table.

  Logan was in there talking with a balding man who had his back to me. I could only assume he was some private dealer ready to part with some serious cash. Logan gave me the stink-eye as we flew along the hall and I reciprocated with a scowl.

  Tobias called off his guards and demanded one of his slew of pretty receptionists bring him a towel.

  “You’re a lying, cheating bastard,” I said.

  “Let’s save the compliments until we’re out of earshot, okay.” We flew through a door.

  I broke away from him and took a few steps back.

  “Come here.” He opened his arms for me to fall into. “I had no idea you were so scared of elevators? Or is it heights?”

  I ignored him and snapped my head around at the posh-looking everything. The room so big it could only be his office. An enormous desk with a sleek computer facing that enormous TV hanging midair. A lounge with chairs and a leather sofa at the other end. The view of the city was spectacular with the River Thames winding off toward the horizon, and my legs wobbled as I remembered how high we were.

  In the distance rose the fluorescent blue of the London Eye.

  A young brunette came in and handed Tobias a towel. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “No interruptions. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” She shrank out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  “Unsurprisingly, you have quite the collection of tarts working for you,” I said.

  “I have an HR department.” He threw the towel over my head and rubbed away.

  Making me feel like a silly schoolgirl who’d stepped in from the rain.

  “Where’s your umbrella?” he said. “Didn’t you wear a coat? We need to get you out of those clothes.”

  “Isn’t that convenient!”

  He went to speak and thought better of it.

  I pointed at him. “Bet you’re surprised how I found you.”

  “We’re standing in one of the tallest buildings in London. Maybe the tower sticking up above all the others helped?”

  “How could you?”

  “What are you talking about, Zara?”

  I glared at him from beneath the towel. “I went to The Otillie. Miles told me he hadn’t seen you. And guess what I just copped a glance at?”

  He arched a questioning brow.

  “My paintings.” I sucked in a sob. “You’re selling them right under my nose.”

  He stepped back, leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Although I can’t deny this is thoroughly entertaining—”

  “Fuck you.”

  He smiled his amusement. “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry. Delightfully fuckable. That snippety English demeanor pleasantly replaced by that fiery Welsh attitude finally rising to the surface to delight us all.”

  “You can’t use your clever-speaking Americana to seduce me anymore. I’ve seen what you’re capable of, and I’m immune to your charm.”

  “You gave me permission to deal with this.”

  “To take them to The Otillie.”

  “You didn’t read my note, I take it?”

  “What note?”

  “The one I left on your hallway table.”

  “There was no note.”

  “For God sake, Zara, you missed it.” He shook his head. “All you had to do was phone me.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “Why?”

  “Give it to me.”

  “No.”

  “Zara.”

  I rummaged through my handbag and held it up. “Why? What do you want it for?”

  “I entered my number in it earlier. Before I left.” He gestured. “Go on, take a look. I’m under W. Obviously.”

  Squinting at him, I searched through my contacts.

  His name and number appeared right at the end. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “In retrospect it would have been a good idea. I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I’ve been freaking out.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby.” Again he gestured for me to come to him.

  “No, you don’t get to call me that. Why are my paintings here and not at The Otillie?”

  “We assessed the gallery’s capabilities—”

  “We?”

  “My team.”

  “That’s right, your elusive team.”

  “God help me I’ll put you over my knee and spank you if you don’t stop this.”

  “Why are they here?” I snapped.

  “We, that is my legal team, decided the National Gallery is best suited for your Michelangelo. When the gallery announces there’s a priceless painting of this magnitude, the attention will be unimaginable. We’re talking millions of new visitors. The Otillie isn’t set up to h
andle that kind of foot traffic.”

  “Why not take them straight to the National?” I raised my chin, proud of my reasoning.

  “Getting a Michelangelo into a world-renowned gallery is relatively easy. Getting one out is virtually impossible. First, they must agree to our terms.”

  “Terms?”

  “Yes, Zara, terms. A watertight contract that enables you as the exclusive owner, as stipulated in the paperwork, which you saw on the table, to remove the paintings from the gallery after five years. Should you so wish.” He gave a shrug. “You might want to have it tour the world. Perhaps stop off at The Wilder in LA.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re obviously not thinking straight. What girl keeps a Michelangelo in her bedroom? One who is clearly torn up with grief, that’s who. If we’ve learned anything, it’s you need me.”

  “Icon doesn’t know I even exist,” I whispered.

  “I have a feeling he does.”

  “Why?” Fear slithered up my spine.

  “You’re investigating him.”

  “I’ve been in denial.”

  “That’s not the safest place.”

  “But I’m part of a big team? I’m insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”

  “You may well be his biggest threat yet.”

  I blinked at him, trying to understand his reasoning.

  “You’re proving a great investigator,” he added.

  I wiped my hand across my nose. “Yeah, right, I just fell at your feet after melting down over some huge misunderstanding.”

  “I wish it wasn’t me who had to shine a light on your naivety.”

  My feet wobbled as the madness of my last few decisions reared. I’d been scared, confused, and had totally mishandled those paintings.

  I knew better.

  Parting with them was my final goodbye to the art-filled life I cherished with my father.

  All those memories clutched at me as they faded day by day.

  I tried to remember Dad’s face. His laugh. Those kind eyes that told me how much he loved me.

  That bleak hospital room at Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital. The sympathetic expressions of the nurses as they relayed he didn’t have long.

  Take care of our paintings, Zara, he’d whispered as he’d clutched my hand. Guard them with your life.

  Wilder took a step closer. “Do you want to talk about your elevator phobia?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Something happened to you?” He looked at me with compassion. “Zara, I’m here for you,” Tobias’s voice sounded distant. “I can’t believe you really thought I’d do that to you.”

  “I overheard you, Tobias, when you said, ‘I will end this. It will be swift and sure. It will happen. And it will be...kind.’”

  He blinked his confusion. “I was talking to Logan. That was my way of reining her in.”

  Staring down at my hands, I saw they were still shaking.

  All that had gone before had thrown me off center. My past had ruined me in the worst kind of way, burned through my ability to trust or ever love again.

  “You need to let the adrenaline wear off.” He made his way over to his desk and pushed a button on his phone. “Hot tea for Ms. Leighton, please. Soon as you can.”

  “Right away, sir,” came the reply.

  “Now, let’s get you—” he waved his hand at my hair “—tidied up so you can meet with Magnus Needham. He’s the head curator at the National Gallery.”

  Oh God, I knew Magnus. Though he’d lost more hair since I’d last seen him. “NG?” I whispered.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

  “When?”

  “You walked out of the bathroom and didn’t wait to say goodbye?”

  “When you were showering?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was my goodbye. I took your words seriously.”

  “What words?”

  “Minutes before, you made some big speech in the kitchen about freedom. About art, like love, not being defined. You mentioned something about hating the idea of it being ‘controlled. Owned. One needs freedom to become fully realized.’”

  My words came back to haunt me like a bad dream.

  “I distinctly remember you saying you wanted your freedom.” Tobias gave a nod to seal the memory. “The look of finality you gave me while you were in the shower proved it.”

  “What look?”

  “This look.” He mimicked an expression of stubbornness and of pure resignation, with a dash of indignation thrown in.

  “I didn’t give that look.”

  “You did.”

  “Well, you gave me a look of affection. Of you wanting to take us to the next level.” I mimicked it to make sure he got my point. “Like this.” My expression turned wistful.

  “That was sadness. Because you didn’t want to continue with us.”

  “That wasn’t sadness.” I pointed at him. “I can read faces.”

  “You put your hand on the glass.”

  “So did you.”

  “That was an obvious goodbye and good luck. That was clearly a ‘It’s been fun, Big Guy.’”

  “The look I gave you was of me realizing you and I had something special.” I arched my brows and widened my eyes just as I’d done back then. “This is me telling you I’m ready to see where our relationship might go.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, Zara, you’re going to have to work on your expressions.”

  “You scared the hell out of me, Tobias.”

  “The only thing scary around here is your hair. Have a look in the mirror.” He pointed across the room.

  I eyed what suspiciously looked like a private bathroom.

  “Do you have a brush?” He gestured to my bag.

  I fumbled around in there for my comb.

  “Come on, do something miraculous with your hair. I want to introduce you to Magnus and not scare him. He’s old-school. You can read the paperwork and sign it.”

  “Might need some dry clothes.”

  “I’m sure my staff is working on it.”

  “How embarrassing.”

  “You’ve been under tremendous pressure. I understand.”

  A sob caught in my throat and I felt an ugly cry coming on. “It’s going to be okay. Isn’t it?”

  Tobias stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me and he hugged me tight. “More than okay. We just admitted how we feel about each other. We averted a near disaster.”

  “Disaster?”

  “You’re my favorite, Zara.”

  I looked up at him. “How many Zaras do you know?”

  “Actually, you’re my first. And I’m ready to admit I’ve been secretly dating you.”

  “Secretly?”

  “Well, it involves spending time with you, getting to kiss you, and the privilege of getting to taste you...”

  My body weakened in his arms.

  “Most off all,” he whispered, “I get to be inside you. And nothing on this planet comes close to that.”

  22

  Secretly dating me.

  Sitting here on the edge of his desk, I was too busy swooning as I listened to Tobias explaining how a touch-air keyboard worked.

  I’d complained about the stupid way I’d been asked to sign in and in usual stubborn Tobias fashion, he needed to convince me otherwise and provide a demo of his invention.

  I’d been too full of fear upon my arrival to be impressed by any advanced technology I encountered. Now I tried to understand the need for a virtual keyboard as Tobias waved his hand, commanding it to appear out of thin air. H
e was rambling on about laser projection and nono-bytes of data which, while kind of hot coming from this hunk du jour, it was not as interesting as ogling him, and to be honest, he’d lost me with the involved details. I reasoned it was no surprise I’d feared Tobias was Icon, and even though I now knew my paintings were safe, I allowed my imagination to gather the clues. Like Tobias, our man would also have a great understanding of technology; he’d also have similar resources, and the same level of ingenuity.

  Everything pointed to Icon having stolen St. Joan.

  My gaze swept over Tobias’s face and I slid off the desk to stand closer to him, reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into me, his gaze seemingly trying to convey something he wanted to tell me.

  You’re tired, I reassured myself, dazed from having believed I’d lost everything. Everyone becomes a suspect when your back is against the wall.

  I daydreamed further that a better knowledge of Tobias’s world would help me better understand the thief’s universe, perhaps the way his mind worked.

  His true motives.

  My feet wobbled as the madness of my last few decisions reared. I’d been scared and confused and had totally mishandled those paintings.

  I knew better.

  Before the meeting with Magnus, I’d sat in Tobias’s private office en suite bathroom, wearing a robe from the Tower’s spa while his staff arranged for my clothes to be dry-cleaned. Apparently, the process could be expedited to less than twenty minutes, which gave me time to dry my hair with the blow-dryer borrowed from the gym. Turned out this was like a little village, with restaurants, that pool his receptionist had mentioned, and all sorts of other impressive amenities like a five-star restaurant and a cozy café—all I’d seen showcased on the promotional video he’d shown me.

  Tobias kept opening his arms to me and I willingly fell into them, needing his hugs.

  I imagined he had held back on sharing proof of his grand wealth so as not to intimidate me. Perhaps he’d also needed to explore my motives for being with him.

  Maybe that was what he meant by “secretly dating” me.

  My day had gone from one of the worst ever to blissfully happy now that I knew my paintings were in good hands.

  The meeting with Magnus went well.

  With Tobias’s two-man legal team guiding us through the process of all that legalese, I’d gotten the reassurance I needed that our plan to secure the artwork in his prestigious gallery would go smoothly.