Maylis settled Gabriel at the studio with her, and Theo was relieved to see him looking as well as he did. He shared his theories about Vladimir’s involvement in the art theft with him, because he wouldn’t sell him the painting he wanted, and Gabriel confirmed that it would be hard to pin it on him, even impossible. But nothing could convince Theo he wasn’t part of it in some way. And he wondered if the paintings were on the boat. It would be the perfect place to conceal them. But the police had told Theo point-blank that there was no justification to get a search warrant on Stanislas, and even Athena thought it was unlikely that he was actually responsible for it. He didn’t have an adequate motive for it, except for a temper tantrum that Theo wouldn’t sell him the painting he wanted. And she didn’t think Vladimir was crazy enough to steal it along with eleven others. Only a madman would do that. Or a major criminal. Theo thought he was both and had said so to the police.
The only thing that consoled Maylis from the tragedy of losing twelve of Lorenzo’s paintings was worrying about Gabriel and taking care of him. Theo was still running the restaurant for her, because she didn’t want to leave Gabriel alone at night, and he didn’t need a nurse. He was recovering well, and she was lavishing affection on him, and deeply grateful that he had survived. Their relationship had blossomed since his heart attack, and nearly losing him, and Marie-Claude’s harsh speech to her, which even Theo thought had been warranted. Gabriel’s heart attack was a turning point for them all.
Theo was working with the insurance company and their investigators every day. But they had discovered no more than the police. And even Athena and Steve had hit a slump. While they pondered the little information they had, and continued interrogating the employees, Princess Marina sailed away. Athena was slightly bothered by it, but Vladimir wasn’t a suspect and there wasn’t a shred of evidence to tie him to the crime.
Vladimir had suggested a trip to Croatia to Natasha, and she liked the idea, and a few days in Venice on the way back. They were planning to be gone for the rest of June. They had no reason to stick around Antibes, and Vladimir got restless if they stayed at any anchorage for too long.
The cruise to Croatia was peaceful and relaxing, but once there, their trips ashore were boring and less interesting than Natasha was used to, and she found the people unfriendly. There was something sad about it, the scars of the war were still evident in some places, and Natasha was anxious to get to Venice. They decided to head back earlier than planned, and cut farther out to sea than usual. They passed a small battered freighter one day that hailed them and showed signs of distress. It was flying under the Turkish flag, which didn’t seem unusual, and the yacht crew was about to put a tender in the water to help them, when the security guards came to tell Vladimir that they were sure the freighter was manned by pirates, and they were at risk to be boarded. They had been watching closely with binoculars and had seen that the crew members on the freighter’s deck were armed. When the guards warned Vladimir, Natasha was standing nearby and heard what they’d said. She looked frightened as Vladimir turned to her with a stern expression. Nothing like it had ever happened while Natasha was onboard, and she was terrified.
“Go down to the safe room immediately,” he said to her, and he spoke to the bodyguards, and told them to distribute the guns they had onboard. They raised the tender back up. Natasha hurried down the stairs, and she heard gunshots outside, as she ran past the room where the security guards were handing out automatic weapons to the crew.
The door to the gun room was standing wide open, as they handed out the weapons. She glanced in as she ran past, and suddenly she saw them, a dozen wrapped paintings standing in the corner of the room. She didn’t have time to look carefully, but she suspected instantly what they were, especially since there were twelve of them. She was sure Lorenzo Luca’s paintings were onboard. Vladimir had stolen them, or had someone do it. Natasha’s eyes flew open wider as she realized what she’d seen, and then she ran to the safe room, as Vladimir had told her to do, and locked herself in. There was food and water, a small refrigerator, a communications system, and a toilet and a sink in a separate room. The door to the safe room was armored and bulletproof, and there were no portholes or windows. It had been designed to keep them safe in the event of an attack or a kidnapping attempt, or an act of piracy like the one they suspected was about to occur.
There was a narrow bed, and she lay down on it, with her heart pounding as she thought of the twelve carefully wrapped paintings in the gun room. Vladimir called her on the radio system in the safe room a little while later, and told her everything was all right. The incident had been avoided. They had left the freighter far behind them, and were moving at full speed. They hadn’t been boarded, but he said he wanted her to stay in the safe room for a while. He didn’t sound concerned, and said he’d come for her soon. All she could think of was what she knew was in the gun room. She was certain they were the missing paintings, otherwise what were twelve wrapped paintings doing concealed in a locked room? She couldn’t believe he would do a thing like that, but he had. And she had no idea why. To own them? To sell them? To possess them? To punish the Lucas in some way? To get even with Theo for doing the portrait of her? It made no sense to her, and she wondered if she was responsible for it by accepting the portrait from Theo, if that had angered Vladimir so he was seeking revenge. But that wasn’t adequate justification for Vladimir to steal twelve paintings of enormous value. He had eventually told her that he had tried to buy one the night he went to dinner there without her, and he was angry that they had insisted the one he wanted wasn’t for sale. But to steal twelve of them as vengeance for their not selling him a painting he wanted was insane. It made her wonder what he was capable of. She felt sorry for Theo and his mother, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t tell anyone, or Vladimir might go to prison. And if she did tell someone, he would know that she had given him away. It would be the ultimate betrayal, and there was no telling what he would do to her then. But she didn’t want the Lucas to lose their paintings either. She felt as though her whole existence were at stake, and she wasn’t willing to risk everything for twelve paintings. But if she didn’t speak up, she was as guilty as he was for the theft, if they were indeed the Lucas’ paintings. Her head was spinning when Vladimir came for her two hours later. She was pale and shaken, which could have been her reaction to the danger they’d been in. It was her visceral response to what she’d seen and what it told her about him.
“What happened?” she asked him, worried.
“They were pirates. They’re around here and there. Fortunately our men caught on to it quickly, before they had a chance to board us. And we were too fast for them. They’re far behind us now. We reported it to the authorities. They’ll keep an eye out for them. They weren’t Turks. They looked more like Romanians, or a motley crew of some kind. It was bold of them to try and board us.” She nodded, frightened by the incident, and even more so by what she’d seen in the gun room. Her life was unraveling, or could be. And she was well aware that the pirates could have killed them.
“I heard shooting,” she said, still looking nervous.
“Just warning shots, so we’d cut our engines. No one was hurt,” he reassured her. Vladimir seemed calm about it, although he had acted quickly the minute he’d been warned of what was about to happen.