Chapter 19
Olivia beat Ethan to the National Gallery, which surprised her. Didn’t matter. She was focused on the painting before her. She’d been given a few minutes to herself with the painting, at the request that she remain six feet away from it. The bomb squad had yet to arrive, but the museum didn’t want to take chances of anyone getting too close and setting the thing off.
She did not need to be reminded what one wrong touch could do.
The vandal had placed a miserable forgery over a valuable painting: Sir John Everett Millais’s Lorenzo and Isabella. One of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood’s youngest members, Millais had been only twenty years old when he’d painted the scene featuring Isabella and Lorenzo, characters from one of Keats’s poems, at the moment they fell in love. His use of color and the fluidity of the brushwork were amazing. The symbolism was rife, from the blood orange representing decapitation, a man kicking a dog, and shadows that some argued were phallic.
The upper right pin had fallen out and lay on the floor inches from Olivia’s shoe. She wouldn’t touch it, but its tip had yellow paint smeared on it. That fallen pin allowed the forged canvas to curl forward and expose the original beneath.
If the painting beneath even was an original.
Olivia tugged out the folded list from inside her purse. She’d kept it after Ethan had written it up for her. It was important evidence. Scanning the dozen titles and locations, she didn’t see the Millais listed.
Had Ethan forgotten one of his father’s forgeries? Possibly.
Or perhaps the vandal had chosen a genuine masterpiece. Would that choice have been in error or intentional?
Tucking away the list, she tapped a finger to her lips and peered closer, taking a few steps forward.
* * * *
Ethan rushed down the halls of the National Gallery, following the director. He’d been granted admittance through the employee entrance. The wing where the vandalized painting was housed had been cordoned off for a week. Cleaning and rearranging old works and incorporating new arrivals had been underway, so the public hadn’t been allowed in. None of the staff had reason to go into the gallery until a half-hour earlier.
His heart raced as he pushed by a few officers. Over a bustle of half a dozen heads, he spied Olivia’s red tresses. She stood before the painting, partially blocking it. His heart sank as he approached.
The air was tainted with the obvious scents of oils and varnish, and probably some sort of cleaning fluid they’d used on the hardwood floors. He did not smell sulfur or anything burned. Fortunately, the employee who had discovered the painting had immediately reported it to the museum director, who had called Scotland Yard. The Yard warned the museum not to touch it.
The bomb squad was parked in the back, away from visitors’ curious eyes, preparing to enter. Yet it would not take long for the media to grasp onto this.
Ethan couldn’t believe anyone had been allowed into the room. But Olivia probably asked to look at the painting and take photos before it was removed.
He stepped up behind her, taking a few seconds to calm his erratic thoughts. Now was no time to allow personal struggles to interfere with pressing matters. But standing next to the woman who smelled like his dreams wasn’t making it easy.
* * * *
“I wouldn’t get too close.” Ethan’s voice irritated her.
Olivia shrugged. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Of course not.” Duly admonished, he smoothed a hand down his shirt. The blazer was wrinkled at the hem. Must have picked it up off the floor.
Olivia winced. She would not think about what had just happened between them, both the good part between the sheets and the ugly part about the painting.
“I saw the bomb squad pulling up as I arrived,” he said. “They’ll be in shortly. Museum security has already announced they’re closing early, and they are keeping an eye out for sneaky media. What have you ascertained?”
Olivia didn’t want to tell him anything. But she checked herself. She was not the type of person who held grudges or treated others poorly simply because she didn’t agree with their world views. Or their professions. Former or not.
And he smelled like leather and musk. Mercy, she wanted to lick that smell off his skin. Damn him. He must not have showered.
“I haven’t learned much.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.
He slipped up beside her, his hand stroking the stubble on his jaw. The same stubble that she’d felt skim her inner thighs earlier as he’d…
She stepped away.
* * * *
Ethan stared at the painting. The forgery was obnoxious, but he couldn’t be offended by it. He knew which painting had been vandalized.
“Hell. The Millais.” His voice cracked.
Livi flicked the paper she held. “It’s not on the list you wrote up for me. Unless you forgot to add the Millais to it?”
Of course it wasn’t. And he knew exactly why.
“Unless… Is this one of your father’s forgeries?” she asked quietly, her eyes sweeping the room.
Ethan shook his head. He didn’t have words right now. So many wild conjectures raced through his brain. The vandal must have a strong fixation on his father and obviously knew his son—him—as well. What was the bastard trying to say to him? He didn’t understand.
At first he felt angry, then helpless. He didn’t like that feeling. He needed to fit his hands about the vandal’s neck and shake the truth out of him.
“This one is sloppy,” Livi said as she pointed to the folded corner of the canvas and then indicated the pin on the floor that he’d almost stepped on. “Do you think he was spooked? Off his schedule so he had to work in haste?”
Ethan looked over the pin as he carefully stepped away from it. “Does it matter?”
She turned completely toward him now and studied his face. “What’s wrong, Eth—I mean…” She made her tone firm and calm. “… Mr. Maxwell.” Softly, she added, “You don’t look well.”
“I am perfectly well. I am pleased, is all, that we’ve an intact piece to study. What’s security had to say about this?”
“One of last night’s guards was called off work early because his wife went into labor at the Royal London Hospital.”
“No other guard on duty to watch the cameras?”
“Sounds like there was a period of time where the fill-in guard was not in attendance because he’d received the summons after the regular guard had left for the hospital.”
“That’s odd. The security cameras were left untended for an extended period of time?”
“We’ll have to question security and take a look at the tapes.”
“Indeed. Why don’t we step back and let the bomb squad handle things? I assume you’ve taken photographs?”
She nodded. “And so has Howard.”
Ethan noted the forensics specialist lingering in the hallway before the gallery, dressed in white scrubs and signing to one of the museum staff.
“This is your father’s work?” she whispered, glancing toward the gallery entry. Outside, the bomb squad was suiting up.
Ethan straightened and stepped back, tugging Livi’s arm to put some distance between them and the painting. He didn’t let go, and she put her hand over his. She felt cold and…did she shake subtly?
“Ethan?”
As if her voice had summoned him from a long distance, he met her gaze and shook his head. “No, not my father’s work. It’s mine.”
He turned and strode out of the gallery, leaving her to talk with the bomb squad as its members filed in.
* * * *
Ethan found the employee’s lounge, and when he’d asked after tea, a staff member told him to help himself. A pair of women sat at a table gossiping about the police activity. They eyed him, and when he nodded to them, they turned away and started whispering.
He put two bags of Earl Grey in a cup and poured in hot water. Tea time, indeed. He needed the caffeine boost. Taking the cup over to the window, he stood, looking out over the traffic bustling by on Orange Street below. When another person entered the small lounge he didn’t have to turn to know it was Livi. Her ambiance preceded her. It was not even a scent, but rather an experience. He heard her pour a cup. I fucked her an hour ago. And licked her breasts, and came above her.
And he wanted to do it again.
And now she hated him because of The Death of the Gravedigger and his forced confession that he was also a forger. Had been a forger.
Bloody hell.
The sex they’d had this afternoon? It hadn’t been a teasing hook-up like last night. Hell, last night had meant something to him. And even though she insisted it meant nothing—well, he didn’t know about her. Perhaps she was unfeeling and merely looking for sexual release.
Why had he allowed such a thing to continue?
When she stood beside him, silent, peering out the window and sipping, he wanted to turn and put his head on her shoulder. To succumb to the weakness that all men possess, yet hold tight from escaping for fear of appearing less-than, imperfect, not a man. He was better than that. And he was not. He needed her to not hate him because of his past. But he knew that would be asking far too much of her.
Instead, he sipped and wished like hell he knew what was going on. The vandal knew about both him and his father. It had to be someone they had worked with, or a fence. Someone in the know. It was the only conclusion that made sense. The name Reginald Parker meant nothing to him.
If his father were alive, he would have an answer. He’d never forgotten a name or face.
And yet, Ethan had now become a part of this investigation. Should he step down? He had the best seat in the house. He would have the most information, the first knowledge of anything pertinent. The ECU would turn their heads to his past transgressions and insist he do the work. Scotland Yard didn’t need to know his intimate past involvement.
But Livi knew. And she hated him for it.
When the chattering women left the lounge, Livi cleared her throat. “There’s a lot you need to tell me.”
“Indeed.”
“Have you compromised this investigation?”
“Not at all. My connection to the painting in that gallery is purely coincidental. And I might suggest that my work now could be invaluable.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t like being blindsided. I need to know exactly what I’m working with, and with whom.”
“I’m not allowed to give details.”
“Then we’re going to have a problem. And I refuse to work with a problem. I’ll put a call in to my superintendent, tell him your assistance is no longer needed.”
He took her hand and squeezed it, keeping her from turning away. “Don’t. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Everything.”
He nodded. “But not here.”
“No, certainly not.”
He took her agreement as a good thing. Would she keep his secret? He shouldn’t expect her to. But he prayed he might gain a little more time until he could earn back her trust. If that was even possible.
“We’ll talk on the way to Scotland Yard after the bomb squad has removed the painting and transported it to forensics.”
“Deal. I’m going to check the catalog in the archives now. Can you tell me when the forgery was placed here?”
He vaguely recalled that it had been here about five years. Another “intercept the delivery vehicle” heist that Christopher was so famous for. “Five years, give or take a few months.”
He felt rather than saw her entire body cringe away from his. She took a deep breath, then let it all out in an exhale that could have crushed worlds.
“Can you interview security?” she asked. “Let’s figure out the time frame where they had no one on duty. There’s got to be footage of the vandal entering the museum.”
“I’ll get right on that. Come find me when you are ready to leave.”
She turned and left the room, abandoning the tea cup on the counter on her way out.
Ethan blew out his breath. This day would only get more challenging. He had to play this right. Which meant not playing it in any way, but rather being truthful with Livi.
He owed her that much. And whether he would lose his job and be sent back to prison weighed heavily on him. He was caught between a job that required him to do what the ECU paid him to do and a personal situation that was only personal in his mind. She didn’t care about him. Especially not after his truth had been revealed in the hallway of his flat.
Why was this decision so hard for him to make?