Chapter 22
In forensics, Howard greeted Olivia and Ethan and led them to the Millais painting. Ethan wanted to call in an art restoration expert to inspect the intact painting that had been revealed beneath the forgery, and she agreed that would be wise. Only then could they confirm the painting beneath was also a forgery. Though she knew it was. Ethan would not take responsibility, knowing how she would take it, without being completely certain.
Ethan removed his coat and leaned over the paintings. The pinned canvas had been carefully laid aside the framed original, which was still in the gilded frame. It was a large painting, nearly three-and-a-half feet high and a little over four feet in width. His careful eye took in everything. As Olivia stepped around beside him, she took in the man.
The forger.
Had life purposely thrown the one type of person she hated most into her bed just to waggle a teasing finger at her? Because really, how could she continue any sort of affair with him now that she knew what he really was?
On the other hand, just thinking those words felt like a lie. She wanted to continue what she had started with Ethan. She needed to.
Oh, the misery of being attracted to one so… so… despicable.
She’d never been attracted to bad boys. She’d had enough with a domineering alcoholic father while growing up to avoid any man who had issues. Harvard, the fence, had been a detour. That man was a good one, despite his profession.
Could the same be said of Ethan? While Ethan’s profession—former profession—didn’t necessarily place him high on the scale of all bad boys, he landed on the bottom of her ethical scale.
Yet he kissed like a god. And having sex with him? Sublime.
Was she judging him too harshly? Or was she merely a slave to her base desires? What was wrong with wanting a man’s hands all over her body? In the heat of the moment, did his past really matter?
Olivia sighed, and Ethan turned a look at her. He narrowed his brows, waiting for her to comment.
No matter what she felt toward the man, the office was no place to express it. That was her story and…she needed some time to figure out the ending.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think some horrible person has pinned a hasty pudding over a perfectly lovely rendition of Millais’s Lorenzo and Isabella.”
“Rendition” being the key word in that statement.
Olivia leaned close so Howard couldn’t read her lips. “Do you recognize it?”
“As my own?” He switched his gaze from the vandal’s forgery to the painting, still intact in the frame. “The frame appears to be an original. But whether this canvas is the forged artwork or the original, I cannot be positive without further detective work. See the bench here.” He pointed to the bench in the foreground of the painting, where Isabella sat. “It’s got the initials PRB carved into it. Love that historical joke.”
“Stands for the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Yes, a nice touch by the artist.” Olivia glanced to the forgery to check for the initials, though why she did was beyond her. The forgery was abysmal, and the letters looked as if an infant had drawn them on instead of looking carved deeply into wood.
“What happens to the originals?” she asked quietly. “After they are replaced with a forgery?”
Ethan studied her face, as if trying to determine how much he should tell her. He was already in deep. He had better commit to the dive. He shrugged. “They get sold to the highest bidder.”
“Through a fence?”
He nodded.
It hit her. The truth about the case. About the outcome she hoped for and what it could do for her career. And it wasn’t a good feeling.
Pressing a hand over her thudding heartbeat, she straightened.
Ethan noticed her sudden dismay and stood as well, eyeing her curiously. In that moment she hated that he was so caring, always so concerned for her.
“Excuse me.” She fled the forensics lab and headed for her office in the basement.
* * * *
At first, Ethan thought Livi had fled because she was still upset about their argument that afternoon over the Death of the Gravedigger. As was her right. But it only took him a few moments to decide that it couldn’t possibly be for that reason. They’d come to an accord out in his car after confessing their secrets.
And he was not a man who would ignore a woman’s distress.
He gestured to Howard that he would return—though he was quite sure the man didn’t understand his flailing hand signals—and headed for the basement.
In her office, Olivia stood facing the wall. The window was so high, the top of Olivia’s head reached the sill. Still, the light shone on her face and hair, bronzing her into a goddess. He walked up behind her and hugged her, because it felt right. She crossed her hands over his and melted against him. For about two seconds.
“Not at the office.” She stepped from the embrace.
“Sorry. Bad form. I’m concerned about you. And I sense it’s not because of something I have done this time. What’s up?”
“No, it’s nothing you’ve done. Maybe?” Her sigh prickled at his spine. “It just sort of hit me in there, looking over the painting, which may very well be a forgery…”
“It is. It’s my work.” Though he hadn’t time to turn it over to check for his telling mark, he knew it would be there.
Olivia sighed. “Yes, I know. You would not make a claim to something that could get you in deep shit. And I’m so concerned about solving this case and getting credit and securing my position, but… Ethan, solving this case means little in the art world. The vandal is going after forgeries. If I stop him, I’ve merely stopped someone from defacing works that have no value whatsoever. They are forgeries!”
Indeed. There would be no great recovery of financial loss; that was certain. Had Olivia given up? He wouldn’t allow it. “No man has a right to walk into a museum and commit an act of vandalism. At the very least, we must apprehend him for breaking and entering and vandalism. Perhaps even threatening an officer of the law.”
She cast him a condemning gaze, and Ethan took it for what it was worth. Just because he’d not set foot in a museum and personally replaced an original with his forgery did not make him blameless.
“Of course, I’ll pursue the culprit and charge him with anything I can make stick. But, Ethan, the real coup,” she said, “would be me calling out the forger and recovering the originals.”
“I see.” He grimaced. Not exactly what he wanted to hear. He’d put himself at risk by revealing all to her. Yet he hadn’t expected her to turn on him quite so quickly. “Might I remind you that no part of this case will come close to a resolution without my expert assistance?”
She propped a hand at her hip. “Your talents have not gone unnoticed. But trust me, I’m a big girl, and I know what I’m doing.”
“Throwing me under the bus?”
She glared at him.
“Well.” He spread his hands before him in question. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? You did warn me I had best watch myself around you. I fear your claws have emerged.”
“Bloody hell, I didn’t mean it that way, Ethan. I would never do such a thing. I promised I wouldn’t… Not until… Bollocks. I need a drink.”
“Chai?”
“No, something stronger.” She checked the time on her phone. “It’s after quitting time. Perfect time for a pint and some chips. You in?”
“Absolutely.”
* * * *
The chips, dipped in vinegar and dashed with a sprinkling of pepper, hit the spot. And Olivia had never appreciated a cold pint more. She’d been near tears in the office. The realization that her work on this case could be for nothing had hit her hard. And then she’d received a more brutal blow when the solution to that problem had presented itself. Because it would implicate Ethan Maxwell.
Ethan sat beside her, seeming a little uncomfortable. He picked at his fish sandwich and kept hooking and unhooking his foot from the barstool rung. Had the man never had a pint in a corner pub? Could have been a while if he’d been in prison. And what were the rules regarding socializing in bars, according to his employer? Or, for that matter, having sex with one of his partners? How would the ECU react, should she implicate one of their own by finding the originals and naming the artists who had painted the forgeries?
She suspected the Elite Crimes Unit would either go out of their way to cover things up, which could be detrimental to her job. Or they would leave Ethan for the wolves. He’d mentioned it was either the tombstone or back to prison for him. For a crime he hadn’t even committed.
“Livi.”
“Please.” She set down the icy pint. “You can’t call me that.”
He looked at her with such puppy-dog eyes she wanted to pat him on the head, but she resisted the urge.
“It’s because I like it too much,” she explained. “No one has ever called me that. It makes me feel special.”
His smiles were rare, yet genuine, and that made her feel even more special. Damn him.
“I don’t think I can stop calling you Livi,” he said. “It fits you. Us.”
“Don’t let this get bigger than it’s supposed to be, Ethan.”
He nodded, smearing the condensation on the outside of his pint. “Of course not. Because ultimately, you’re going to give me up to earn the title of detective constable.”
She didn’t have an answer for that. She should. But her damned moral compass wobbled off course right now.
“How can we do this?” she asked. “You must agree that catching the vandal is key. But as well, discovering where the original artwork of the damaged forgeries cannot be ignored.”
“You think I know where the originals are?”
“Do you?”
“I do not. I was never privy to my father’s business arrangements.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe that Mr. Getaway Car Driver.”
“That was one time. One very unfortunate time. He had a fence, Livi. A different one than I used. Well, I never used one often. My goal was never to sell, but to switch. And Christopher was my switch man.”
“Then what did you do with the originals? The Byam Shaw? Did you ever ask your father where they went?”
“I never had an interest regarding who took the originals. In fact, Father was quite zealous about telling me where my work hung and how easy it was to get it there. I admit, I always made a trip to the gallery or museum to see my work in situ. Kept me from thinking about what had happened to the original work.”
Olivia had a hard time believing him, and yet, she supposed it took the burden of guilt out of his hands. To a degree. He was still guilty for colluding in selling stolen artwork and pushing forgeries into the system.
Was she really sitting here with a forger, working with him, trying to get information out of him, without arresting him?
Yes. Because he was a good source. And she knew how to work with informants. What made this any different? The man was on her side. Or at least, she hoped he was.
“I need a place to begin,” she said. “The name of your father’s fence.”
Ethan took a long swig of beer and nodded. “I can do that. I will do that. But I can’t remember the name off the top of my head. I’ll have to check into a few connections.”
“Bring me along when you do so.”
“I, uh…very well.”
“And I want to know how your agency works. What they get out of this. Why did the Wexler contact Interpol and not Scotland Yard? It’s suspicious to me.”
“You think? The art world is very cagey and prefers to keep this kind of crime out of the public eye. Mr. Bruxford’s anger over the media finding out about the explosion is proof of that. And besides, Interpol is covert.”
“Apparently not, if Reginald Parker has been following your every move.”
“That is conjecture.”
“Ethan, the vandal has targeted works by you and your father. That is not coincidence.” She turned to face him, and this time her eye contact was direct. “What are you not telling me?”
His phone buzzed with a text. Ethan checked the screen and frowned.
“What is it?”
He read the text to her. “Eager to speak with you about the Millais. No boom? Bravo! Stop the next boom by meeting me at The Eye. One hour. No police. No audio. I’ll find you.”
“It’s the vandal,” Olivia said.
“Indeed, it is.” He checked for a phone number, but it only showed ‘blocked’. He clicked off the phone. “But how could he have gotten my number? It’s impossible.”
“Hackers can do anything.”
“Yes, but this phone was given to me, clean and untraceable, by the ultimate hacker. No one should have been able to get into it or learn my—ah.”
“What?”
“You have my number.”
“Yes, but…”
“They hacked into your phone to get my number. I’m sure of it.”
Olivia looked at her phone. It was rarely out of her possession. But she knew hackers could access cell phones without even touching them. Anything was possible. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It seems we’re dealing with a much smarter opponent than I had originally given credit to. I’ve a date at The Eye in an hour. I should take off.”
“I’ll call in back-up.”
“He said no police. We need to respect that. He may not show himself if he suspects anyone is watching.”
“But you can’t go alone. There has to be someone to witness. I’ll drive you there and park down the street.”
“No, Livi. Let me do this. I can have my team behind me at any moment. You go take another look at the Millais and talk to the restorationist. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken with the bastard. Trust me?”
She wasn’t sure if she did. But when he kissed her cheek and hugged her, she felt reassured. Damn him.
“Yes, I trust you.”