Chapter 23
Ethan took the Tube and got off at Westminster on the south bank of the Thames. He glanced up at Big Ben and smiled. His father had often brought him here as a child, sitting him down with a sketch pad and telling him to draw what he saw. He’d always seen a pork pie hat on top of Big Ben. His father would laugh, then insist he draw everything exactly as it was, without embellishment. Only then would he excel.
So he had done as he was told. And he had excelled.
It was nearly dusk, and the queue for the Eye looked a good hour long. Evenings were always busier than daytime. Ethan had only gone in the abomination once. He wasn’t much for queues. And waiting sandwiched between whiny children, whom he might then be stuck with inside the Eye for the duration of the less-than-exhilarating ride? Not bloody likely.
He cast his gaze about the crowd, taking in the tourists strolling by on the wide walk clutching their shopping bags or visitors’ guides. Apparently the vandal knew what he looked like, having targeted him at the coffee shop. Ethan would wait for the criminal to come to him.
He didn’t like being caught unawares. So he would not be. The periphery had not been secured with a back-up team from Scotland Yard, but he didn’t need one. He wasn’t armed, but he didn’t require that artificial security either. He kept his eyes peeled on the crowds and his hands loose at his sides. Yet he remained ready, always on alert should he need to move quickly, think fast, and perhaps even subdue someone who might consider a sneak attack.
Besides, he had a secret weapon. Chester at headquarters was listening in, thanks to the ear com he wore. He’d already notified Chester to stay radio-silent. He didn’t want to tip off the suspect. And the ECU always knew where he was, thanks to the chip at the base of his skull. If anything dangerous occurred, he’d be on their GPS.
Whether they decided to help him or leave him to suffer his own downfall was another question.
Sensing the air had suddenly changed, Ethan spun about to find a medium-sized thin man with short brown hair and thick-rimmed black glasses standing behind him. He wore a beige rain slicker and rubber boots as high as his shins. The sky had clouded, so he wouldn’t begrudge him the outerwear. Yet he hadn’t been wearing glasses in any of the security footage. Yet at his ear was the diamond earring. He appeared mid-twenties, perhaps half a dozen years younger than Ethan. Not at all what Ethan had expected.
Then again, youth. They were so invincible, were they not? They believed they could get away with anything.
“Reginald Parker?” Ethan stepped closer, hands behind his back as he observed the man, who stood perfectly still as he swept the area with his narrowed gaze. “I’ve not brought along any local police, if that’s what you are worried about.”
“I didn’t expect that you would.”
“And why is that? You seem to know things about me.”
“We’ve met once before. Briefly.” He offered his hand to shake, which Ethan grabbed firmly.
“I don’t recall.” Ethan released the grip, not taking anything from the connection. It had been firm, and his fingers were long, yet the grasp hadn’t felt overtly strong. Or cold. “When have we met?”
“Our father introduced us briefly. We met up while walking right here, in fact. It was also a cloudy day and rain fell five minutes after you’d brushed me off as insignificant.”
The only thing Ethan heard from that statement was our father. “You said ‘our father?’”
It struck him. And he suddenly recalled that cloudy day perhaps eight years ago when he and Christopher Maxwell had been rushing toward a meeting with a fence and a young man had blocked their path, insisting he finally get to meet his brother.
“Yes, Christopher Maxwell is my father,” Reginald said. “He had an affair with my mother while married to your mother.”
Heart dropping in his chest, Ethan sucked in a breath.
* * * *
Two hours later, Olivia tried to call Ethan, but he didn’t answer. What had gone down at the meeting with Reginald Parker? She’d learned some important information from the restorationist that could change the entire case. Ethan needed to know about it.
A text got no response. And neither did the next one.
“Bollocks.”
She headed out for his place in Leadenhall Market, hoping to catch him on his return home. If the man valued his privacy, he should have never invited her in. There wasn’t even a private digital code for entrance. Once on his floor, she strolled down the hallway and knocked. No answer.
Olivia looked about. Only three other doors on this floor. She could just sit down and wait. Or. Since she was here…
She waited another minute for him to answer, then tugged the lock- picking tools from her purse. She’d had to use them on a few other occasions. He wasn’t going to begrudge her breaking and entering without a warrant, especially when the information she had on his past could be devastating.
Picking the lock easily, she strode in, calling his name. He didn’t answer, but she hadn’t expected him to. He must still be meeting with the vandal. It had been two hours. If he didn’t show soon, she would start to worry.
“I should have insisted he take along back-up. I can still send in an officer.” She tugged out her cell phone. “No, he asked me to trust him.”
But did she?
She sat on the end of the bed, facing the hallway where the painting hung. The ugly modern art canvas covered The Death of the Gravedigger. The valuable artwork was still under there. She knew it. He’d told her he wouldn’t turn it in because it was the last thing his father gave him.
More like stole for him. Hardly a gift. And that made Ethan an accessory to the crime.
Yet he’d gone to prison for a murder his father had committed. Twelve years for shooting a police officer. He must have really loved his dad to do that. Olivia knew damn well that she could never do such a thing for her dad. She hadn’t seen him in over a year. And she didn’t miss seeing him sitting on the sofa, scratching his beer belly and giving her the crooked eye.
But how would she feel if he were to die and she was not there for him? Certainly not devastated. Ethan hadn’t been able to attend his father’s funeral. Hadn’t even known he had died until two months later. Considering how close the two had been, that must have killed him. And then to be strong-armed into serving a secret organization only moments after learning such devastating news?
She sighed and spread her hand across the bedspread, remembering only hours earlier when all that had mattered was being close. Tasting one another. Smelling one another. Feeding off one another. Passion was so delicious. It disguised most things, but never the truth.
“Be safe, Ethan,” she said. “I care about you.”
Maybe? Well yes, of course she did.
But caring for a person did not recuse her from doing her job well and solving a crime.
Tugging her phone from her purse, she switched it to the camera app. She strode to the modern art canvas and lifted it away from the wall to expose the Schwabe beneath.
“This has to be done.”