Henry looked in the mirror, straightened the tie on his tuxedo, brushed his fingers once through his hair, and then spun away from the image.
Gabe, with her unbelievable intelligence and inquisitive eyes, liked his furnishings. Except the one piece that mattered. The exasperation of possibly losing his most precious belonging faded when he thought about her appraisal of the work itself. Her pink hair and black leather facade morphed into a confident and capable professional as she ripped his world apart.
Simon, dressed in a similar tux, strode in and seated himself on a chair in the corner. His dark hair stuck up a bit longer than a buzz cut, but he still looked military. If he had an ugly face and lost those blue eyes, he’d be scarier than hell.
“You’re on time.” Henry slipped his feet into shiny Cole Haans.
“I said seven o’clock. Reliable is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is O’Rourke. I think it means untrustworthy and insolent.”
“It means ruggedly handsome and well hung.”
“Right.” Henry laughed. “What do you think of Gabe?”
“She’s very pleasant for a girl with a safety pin in her ear.”
“I thought the same thing. She possessed an unusual understanding about my furnishings. She even knew the maker of several of the pieces.”
“Interesting.”
Henry stood and took his topcoat out of the closet. “Strange, though, she believes the Lawrence portrait is a reproduction.”
A rare frown emerged on Simon’s face. “She’s what, twenty-three at the most?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And a recognized scholar in her field? Doubtful.”
“She has an uncanny understanding of both art and furniture design. I’m almost hesitant to get the portrait appraised now.”
Simon’s brow creased as he stared at his brother. “Appraised? Didn’t you just have it restored?”
“I’m using it as collateral for a loan to fund a project with the Ripon Women’s Group. It’s the only thing of value I own outside the family trust.” He hated discussing his inheritance with Simon. Henry had inherited everything from their father, mostly through the family trust established to preserve wealth for future generations. Simon, being the bastard son, had received nothing.
Rising out of his chair, Simon turned to look out the window. “Maybe you should wait.”
“No time. The group is getting kicked out of their place in a few months. I need to start the renovations at the castle as soon as practical so they have a place to move.” Grabbing his billfold and the keys to his car from the dresser, Henry headed to the door.
Simon followed. “If a switch happened, which I doubt, when do you think it occurred?”
“A year ago. The only time it was out of my sight was during the restoration, but instead of restoring it, maybe they replaced it. I’d noticed a change from the original when it returned, but I thought the sharper color was the restoration and not new paint. Perhaps I was wrong.”
They entered the garage, and Henry jumped in the worn leather seat of his black vintage 1968 Jaguar. Simon followed. The wood dashboard was beginning to show its age, but Henry didn’t have the funds to restore the car.
“If it was stolen, the odds are against you finding it again.” Simon spoke with his trademark nonchalance.
The purr of the engine increased to a mild roar as Henry pulled into the roadway.
“My odds will increase if you can help me.”
“Me?”
Henry nodded. “I’ve never asked for anything from you, despite your abuse of my name to gain access to the most obnoxious parties in England.”
Simon grimaced. “I’m not sure what I can do for you.”
Henry steered the car past the city limits and picked up speed on the highway toward London. The lights illuminating the road flashed through the windows. It did nothing to calm his nerves.
“I need access to events where stolen paintings are sold.” He glanced at Simon to see his reaction.
Simon rubbed his bottom lip and stared straight ahead. “I don’t think it’s as social an endeavor as you’d think. You’ll need to visit private galleries. Since you’ve never taken an interest in collecting stolen art in the past, I’m not sure anyone would trust your intentions.”
“Provide me with a few introductions. I can do the rest. I’ll even create an alias.”
“You couldn’t be anyone but yourself, and I say that with the highest respect for you and your benign pursuits. After five years of being a civilian, your life is more books than bullets. Keep it that way.”
No one would regard Henry’s exploits in the Royal Navy as tame. He’d held one of the highest security clearances. He had far more experience in the world than Simon gave him credit for.
“I need the painting or my plans will fall apart. Think of the women you’ll be hurting if you say no.”
Simon regarded him with a seriousness that bordered on a threat. “Dear God. That’s low even for you.”
Despite Simon’s tough exterior, he had a soft moral center Henry had exploited since they’d found each other years earlier.
“No one has a gun to your head.” He downshifted, but still cut into a curve too fast.
Simon reached out to brace against the dashboard before swinging his gaze to Henry. “What if Gabe’s wrong?” His brow furrowed. “I have a hard time believing a girl who hides from the police and dyes her hair the color of an Easter egg.”
“I know it’s odd, but I think she’s telling the truth.” He trusted in her ability to spot a fake. Her arrival was nothing short of destiny. She could help him find the painting, and he could protect her from the person Henry wanted to punch in the face for harming her.
He shifted gears again, and the car shot forward.
“You’re bloody batty as hell,” Simon huffed. “You trust a person who tried to smash up your house?”