Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Glancing up, I noticed he wore a matte black balaclava to hide his face. So was the driver and man who’d grabbed me. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but I hoped the fact that they didn’t want me to be able to identify them meant that I was going to make it out of this alive.
“No more harm will come to you so long as your man cooperates with our demands.”
“My man?” I echoed, my brows drawing together.
“There’s no use in pretending you’re not dating Aston Couillens,” he muttered.
The driver nodded. “Not after we saw you kiss him after he pulled up in front of your building.”
“I don’t understand.”
The guy who manhandled me tugged on my arms to pull them behind my back. He forced my wrists together, and the ratcheting zip of plastic rang out like a warning. The tie bit into my skin, tightening with each harsh pull until my fingers almost went numb.
Once I was secured, he crouched in front of me. “Don’t play dumb. We know that you’re aware the Caravaggio is a fake.”
I shook my head. “How do you know of my suspicions about Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence?”
“Your museum should pay closer attention to their cyber security,” the driver sneered. “It’s almost as though they’re practically begging for a smuggling operation to hit them with how easy it was to get into your emails.”
I thought about the message I’d sent to one of my former professors with a groan. They were a Baroque specialist, so I’d reached out to see if they had any more details about the painting. “I have no proof that the painting auctioned off was a forgery. And I certainly don’t know where the real one is.”
“That’s where your boyfriend comes in,” the man in the passenger seat drawled.
“He doesn’t know anything about the painting,” I protested, hating that I’d dragged him into this mess with my meddling.
“You have no idea who you’ve been parading around town with, do you?” I couldn’t see his expression, but there was no missing his surprise. Or the thread of humor in his voice. “There isn’t anything about the black market for art in Georgia that Aston Couillens doesn’t know about. Which is why you’re the perfect leverage to use against him. Normally, there are no chinks in the armor surrounding the DeLuca’s operation, but it’s clear as day that their top forger would do just about anything to keep you safe. Including betraying the Mafia.”
Holy crap. The man I’d been falling head over heels for wasn’t just an art expert. He was a forger. For the freaking Mafia.
“You’d better hope we’re right about his interest in you,” the man who grabbed me grumbled.
Only an hour ago, I would have shouted from the rooftops that Aston would do whatever was needed to keep me safe. But that was before I found out that he’d been lying to me the entire time I’d known him.
If only I’d learned all this before falling into Aston’s bed. Or listened to my gut when I realized how much he’d distracted me from my investigation into Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence.
Maybe then I wouldn’t feel quite so devastated by his betrayal.
12
ASTON
“Where is the Manet now?” Rafa asked, leaning back in his desk chair.
“In the underground vault at Vellum & Vine. I didn’t want it at the gallery in case Ellis tips off the police and they decide to search it. I doubt they’d find the vault there either, but I decided to hedge our bets.”
“Bene,” Rafa murmured before he set the papers down and looked up at me. “What about—”
My phone rang.
“Désolé,” I apologized as I pulled it from the inner pocket of my suit coat, intending to turn the device off. But Melanie was calling. Kerrigan had misplaced her phone a time or two, so I’d insisted she give my number to her best friend.
“It’s Kerrigan’s roommate,” I told Rafa with a deep frown.
He nodded his understanding and waved a hand, indicating I should pick up the call.
“Melanie,” I answered.
“Is Kerrigan with you?”
“No. She should be at work by now.”
“I know, but we were supposed to have lunch later today, and I called to see if we could move the time. They said she never arrived.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I tried to remain calm and not overreact. “You tried her cell phone?”
“It went straight to voicemail.”
Now, my pulse was racing.
“Have you checked to see if her car is in the parking lot at your apartment?”
I heard the sound of flesh being smacked, probably when she slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh duh! I’m sure she just ran out of gas or something and walked to the station up the road.”
Her tone said she didn’t believe it any more than I did. But she was hoping.