She studied the screen and brought up her calendar. “I’ll be in Paris for the next two weeks working with our art supplier, Luc. He’s handling the artifacts from Afghanistan.”
“Careful around him. He’s known as much for murder as he is for art deals. Want me to come? I could be your hunky boyfriend. Brainless, but great in bed.” He sauntered over to her.
In her amazing way of making him feel emasculated, she laughed and smacked his ass. “Not this time. I may have an inside track to his supplier. I hear Luc lost his girlfriend a few months ago and may be on the lookout to replace her, so a big, hunky boyfriend would be a liability. As of right now, you and I have broken up. You cheated on me, you bastard.”
Simon laughed. “If you put out more, I wouldn’t need to sow my oats with lesser females. And yes, I am a bastard.”
She’d willingly enter the bed of an enemy in order to gain every advantage possible. Although he hated Nicola placing herself in the middle of a dangerous situation, they both chose to live their lives undercover, always at risk of being exposed. Still, he felt protective of her. “Call me if you need backup. I’ll take the train over.”
She waved him away, never one to ask for assistance. “You’ll be calling me for backup, pansy boy.”
Simon walked to the small window overlooking Battersea Park on the other side of the Thames and savored a few sips of his drink. Should he ask her? Probably. If a man couldn’t trust his partner, he might as well shoot himself in the head to accelerate the inevitable.
He leaned on Nicola’s desk. “A dinner guest of Henry’s claimed the Lawrence in his gallery was a fake.”
Nicola stopped typing on the computer and whirled her chair in his direction. “Did anyone else hear him?”
“No. She was some pretend college student who I still can’t identify.”
Her brow creased. “How did she know?”
“Something about the eyes in the portrait. Not being an expert on paint, I have no idea what she was talking about, but Henry believes her. She mentioned she was hiding from someone. I want to know more about her. She might be useful. Henry thinks so. He’s decided to use her to find his painting. They helped me acquire the Picasso in Edinburgh and are going to Atlanta in a week for an auction. If they can buy it there, then everything can continue without too much involvement by us.”
“And if they can’t locate it?”
“Then we’ll take control. Locate it and then offer enough money to the seller to take it off the market.”
Nicola shook her head. “That could take a few months. And neither of us can leave until you’ve met with Teodor.”
Simon’s heart raced at the thought of Henry being hurt. Regret and guilt soured the Coke in his stomach. Taking his brother’s painting had been a monumental mistake. “Last night, Roman hinted that he’d sold the painting a week ago to Quinn. We missed the damn thing by a few days. Where is it now?”
Nicola pulled up a satellite tracking program and typed in a unique identifier. A light popped up on the screen in the United States.
“Zoom in,” he ordered.
The screen zoomed in on Georgia.
“Atlanta. Must be the Carleton gallery.”
“Good. If it hasn’t been sold already, Henry can bid on it for a fraction of the value, and we’ll keep the insurance companies and our contacts in the dark. I’ll reimburse him somehow without letting him know how it ended up on another continent.”
Nicola shook her head. “We went through a lot of work to put it out there just to retire it.”
“I didn’t think he’d ever learn about the switch. What are the chances of some punk girl identifying a chemical in a blue pigment?”
“Punk?” A disparaging look appeared on Nicola’s face. She was horribly intolerant of anyone who didn’t fit her version of normal.
“Sort of. She had pink hair when she showed up in Oxford, dressed like a drug addict in need of a fix, although now she dresses more like an American heiress.” Simon pulled out his mobile and sent Gabe’s picture to Nicola.
“Did she have a name?”
“Gabrielle West.”
“Do you happen to have a picture?”
“Check your email.”
Nicola turned back to her screen. “I love your efficiency.”
“Efficiency with a smile, baby.”
She brought up a photo of Gabe riffling through Simon’s dresser. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth formed into a frown. “The picture’s at a funny angle, so I may not be able to use the facial recognition program, but I’ll try. I’ll also search for missing art experts and thieves and see what I can find.”
Nicola had a cold, calculating, and relentless mind wrapped up in the body of a supermodel. She’d track down the identity of Henry’s bride-to-be. Yet he needed to protect Henry as well. “For now, I want this investigation to remain outside the Office.”
Nicola typed on the keyboard again, looking up Gabe’s alias. “For now.”
…
Henry woke up intertwined with Gabe on the couch, fully clothed and aching from their contorted positions. They packed their bags and fled the hotel before the sun crested the horizon, because they didn’t want to run into anyone from the party. When they arrived at Ripon Manor, they both escaped to their own rooms. Henry contacted the university to arrange for someone to take his classes for the week after recess and then fell asleep. When he awoke, he was starving in so many ways. A few eggs would at least ease his stomach. He searched out Gabe, but Martha told him she’d gone for a walk. It was dark when she’d returned.
Had her abuser been at the gallery? Someone had been there, and damn her that she refused to divulge the person’s name. Chasing the painting was becoming less important than protecting Gabe. The trip to Atlanta seemed more and more perilous.