His gaze slid to my shoes. “How does everything fit?”
“They’ll do.”
His frown deepened. “Boundaries?”
“Yes.”
“You have full access to this place. You have full access to me.” He followed that by a seductive arch of his brow.
“Tell me last night wasn’t a waste of time.”
“In what respect?”
“Have you had time to use Burell’s fingerprints to hack his computer?” My voice strained as I added, “Did you find out where my paintings are?”
“Yes on the hacking and no to finding your paintings. I’m sorry. We have time.”
I exhaled slowly. “So this is where you create your things?”
“For my East Coast shenanigans, yes.” He broke into a cute smile but it faded when he looked over at the drone. “She tipped yesterday. I’m fixing her so she doesn’t do it again.”
“Great.” Though my brain was actually screaming, I’m never getting in her again so you’re wasting your time!
He moved closer to the drone and rested his palm on her side. “She did her job at least.”
She reminded me of my terror-stricken departure off that high-rise and to be honest I’d be happy to never see her again.
He brushed his palm over her glass door. “I’m running an analysis on the footage she shot. Using face recognition from the images, I should have the names of Burell’s men and their profiles by the end of the day.”
Wilder was more than a renaissance man, he was a remarkable inventor and yet showed none of the traits of socially awkward geniuses. He looked just as comfortable down here with his toys as he did out in the world. I could see how he’d been influenced by those hours he’d spent alone in the outback when his plane had crashed in Australia and afterward when he’d been hidden away by his uncle to protect him. This seemed like the reason he came over as so controlling; he was probably trying to manage his universe to limit his vulnerability to pain. I wondered if he was aware of the reason for this trait. His thoughtful frown returned as he broke my gaze to peer up at his drone.
I sighed in frustration. “Time for that talk.”
“Shall we talk over breakfast?” He gestured to his grubby jeans. “I’ll take a shower.”
“I can handle breakfast.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” He walked past me with his head down and his mind seemingly on something else.
We weaved our way around the long chrome workbenches.
I spotted his small drone sitting on what looked like a charging station. “How did you get Jade here?”
“Different drone. Same AI.” He looked over at her with affection. “She takes seventy-two hours to charge.”
“You have the same AI running through all your gadgets?”
“Yes, same consciousness.”
“Consciousness?”
“You’ll need top-level access before I share any more.” He flashed a heart-stopping smile and continued along between the workbenches. “I have a few ideas that might set you up for such a privilege.”
I rolled my eyes behind his back.
He faced me again. “So what do you think?”
“It’s all very snazzy down here. How often do you visit New York?”
“Once every few months. Though with the new gallery opening I’ve visited more frequently.”
I wondered if any of those visits had included Icon reconnaissance missions. “What are you working on?”
He led me to a glass wall and pointed to his calculations. “So with the success of the air keyboard, I’m working on a drop-down computer screen. It will be projected by voice command. Though that’s top secret right now.”
“Why would you need one of those?”
“Well, for hospitals it would cut down on cross-infection. No hardware means nowhere for bacteria to grow. It’s more for abroad where the mortality rates are higher.”
“That’s incredible.” I was honored to have been let in on his secret project. “How long are you from finishing it?”
“Three years, maybe.”
“Wow.”
“I’m glad you’re here to see it at the beginning stage. Right now it’s just an idea—” He pointed to what looked like a continuous line of algebra on a transparent panel.
“How many people have been in here?”
“No one else.” He looked coy but quickly broke his gaze and turned to face the indecipherable calculations written on the glass.
I picked up a silver square cube and it fit snugly in my hands. “What’s this?”
Tobias reached out and took it from me. “Careful.”
“What is it?”
He cupped it in his hands. “A deflector. I don’t want it emitting in here.”
I feigned disinterest. “How do I open the front door?”
“Why would you want to?” He threw the cube in the air and it spun and he caught it on the way down.
Seriously? I folded my arms. “What if I need to get some fresh air or something?”
“Something?”
“How do I override the system?”
“What brought this on?”
“Tobias.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “Am I allowed out?”
“Of course.” He ambled up the ramp and secured the large chrome door behind us. Once through the short hallway he opened the door at the other end that led us into the drawing room.
I hurried forward and snatched the gadget out of his hand.
He looked surprised. “There are paintings in here. You’re holding mayhem. One wrong move...”
“Probably no worse than exposing your art to an open fireplace.” I raised my chin proudly. “Tell me the plan, Wilder.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “We get Burell to lead us to your paintings and then we steal them back.”
“How?”
“That you won’t like.”
“What about Huntly Pierre?”
“My team sent an email to your boss stating I’ve hired you. That will keep Huntly Pierre at bay for a while.”
“I imagine there’s an email waiting for me stating I’ve been fired already.”
“The commission I’ll pay for your services will appease Adley. Your boss is perfectly reasonable.”
“And the FBI?”
“They have nothing on me. Or you.”
“They have a photo of me taken in Arizona.” I pointed to him. “And you fit the MO for Icon.”
“So does every other businessman with a private jet and a penchant for art. I have a museum. They’re going to have to do better than that.”
“How do we get Elliot Burell to lead us to my paintings?”
“We use an ingenious decoy. One he’d never suspect. We set up a private auction for a masterpiece and tip off Burell of its existence. He’ll insist he bids first. No doubt bully his way in. He won’t know there is no one else bidding.”
“On what?”
“A priceless piece he’s coveted for decades.”
“Surely you’re not comfortable giving him any one of your paintings from The Wilder?”
Tobias gave a forced smile and headed for the door.
I followed him into the foyer. “Not Madame Paul Duchesne-Fournet, right? Because she’s on loan from LACMA?”
His words that I wouldn’t like it fired up my intrigue and threatened to send me reeling.
Tobias spun around to face me. “Burell is willing to do anything to own this elusive piece. The same one he’s spent millions searching for.”
“What if we lose it in the process?”
“It will have a GPS inserted inside the canvas, so if it gets separated from the frame we’re still able to follow where it goes.”
“Won’t that compromise the
canvas?”
“Let go of your preconceived ideas, Zara.” He walked off. “This is war.”
Hurrying after him into the opulent formal dining room I felt my panic rising.
This was a quaint Victorian parlor with rosewood cabinets and ornate upholstered chairs, and none of this furniture was his taste because Tobias went with modern and form with a purpose. The fact he kept it the same as when his grandmother lived here emphasized what she’d meant to him.
He rested a palm to the right side of the door on a flat panel and the lock clicked. With a twist of the handle, he stepped out into the back garden. A burst of cold air stopped me in the doorway and I lingered there watching him. He didn’t seem fazed that he was barefoot. An awning covered the entire patio and a few feet away was an outside rug, and beyond this space unfolded a large garden flanked by tall brick walls.
Tobias pointed to the door. “Press your palm on the keypad to get in and out. Just tell me where and when you’re going. It’s best if we go together. Each access point is camouflaged for both aesthetic and security purposes.”
“When did you lift my fingerprints?”
“Back in Oxfordshire when I first met you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I admit I was overly cautious.” He cringed. “I apologize if it seems a little invasive.”
“Not accepted.” I bit back my annoyance. “This painting—”
“Will be the crown of Burell’s collection. Or so he’ll believe.”
“Who’s the artist?”
“Rumor goes there are two others out there—”
My throat constricted from the clue that could only mean one painting.
“She’s considered the rarest of finds,” he added. “The holy grail of paintings.”
He was referring to a portrait of the Mona Lisa that was now known as Lisa Gherardini, the wife of Francesco del Giocondo. No, this wasn’t possible. There was no way he’d consider giving her over to a monster. If this other painting even existed. Rumors had circulated that Leonardo da Vinci had painted more than one portrait of Mona Lisa, who had patiently posed for him over the course of many years. Some specialists believed there’d been enough time to paint her several times over, especially given the artist’s obsession with his subject.
A jolt of adrenaline spiked my veins that I might have been under the same roof as the other Mona Lisa at some point. “You own her?”
“Not exactly.”
“Tobias, where are you going with this?”
“It’s a good plan.” He looked eerily calm. “Even if it turns my stomach.”
Okay, this was a bad idea.
I was already riddled with guilt for how my life had turned his upside down, even if he was Icon, and there seemed no end in sight to the disruption I seemingly caused.
The original Mona Lisa was safely hanging in the Louvre in Paris and admired over the span of five hundred years. She was only now giving up her secrets as forensic specialists decoded her long-lost truths using state-of-the-art technology.
So distracted by the thought of another painting of her existing, I braved those few steps toward him. “You’re not going to steal her. I won’t allow it.”
Tobias held out his hand for the cube.
I clutched it to my chest. “Wilder?”
“I won’t.”
“Whoever has her won’t lend her out for this.”
Even if the plan was to get her back afterward, along with my precious collection. Tobias seemed too calm. He didn’t even seem affected by the cold out here even though all he had on were his jeans and that bad boy smile—probably because he could see how intrigued he’d gotten me.
He glanced at the cube and gestured for me to be cautious.
“Where is this Mona Lisa?”
“Have no idea.” He leaned back against the patio table and crossed an ankle over another. “And we don’t have time to find her.”
I tried to hide my confusion at failing to follow his madcap scheming.
He gave a confident nod. “I’m going to re-create a version of the Mona Lisa. Make it look like another one turned up.”
“What? How?”
“With 3-D technology.”
The world spun.
“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” he said.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m quite serious. The key is how to get the news to Burell without alerting the world. That can’t happen.”
“To get the hopes of the nation up? Yes, that would be a catastrophe.”
“I agree.”
“You do realize it took Leonardo four years to paint her!” I coughed past this dryness in my throat.
“Science has advanced quite considerably since the sixteenth century—”
“How can you ask me to do such a thing? Create a fake? I’ve dedicated my life to authenticating paintings. This is what I do. This is my life’s work.”
“Mine too.”
An innocent replica was one thing, like The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio I’d seen at Wilder’s friend’s home in LA. It had taken me less than twenty seconds and a magnifier to confirm the handiwork of a talented student mimicking a teacher but that had been under his master’s guidance.
I fisted my palms. “No.”
“Think about it.”
“No.”
“I’m facing off with evil for you.”
“Maybe we should rethink all of this.”
“I’ve run every scenario.”
“How could you even pull this off?”
“I own a three-dimensional printer.”
“Of course you do.” Vaguely, I remembered this technology could create a solid object from a digital file.
Insanity.
“Don’t worry about the materials.” Tobias studied me carefully. “Its authenticity can be duplicated.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I’m too blinded by your beauty.” He flashed a smile.
I wanted to throw this cube at him.
“Zara, if I’m going to attempt to get your paintings back we have to play by different rules.”
Blood rushed from my face that he was considering this as a viable option.
“I have a friend here who can help us obtain a couple of items we’ll need. Theo’s a professor at NYU. We have an appointment with him later this morning.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“My mind’s firing on all cylinders.”
“This is wrong.”
“I’m arranging a private sale. Only Burell will see her and of course his own expert. Afterward, I will personally destroy her. You can witness it.”
“I’m not unleashing a fake into the world.”
“She’ll be for Elliot Burell’s eyes only.”
“What if his expert talks? Shares with the world what he’s seen?”
“Not if he’s working for a man like Burell. If he values his life, that is.”
“My father dedicated his life—”
“Burell has your father’s paintings. We know this.”
I caressed my forehead to ward off a headache.
“Zara, once he snatches up our Mona Lisa she’ll be transported to join the rest of your collection. The GPS tracker placed on her will lead us to your paintings.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes, relax here. Make yourself at home.”
“I won’t let you do it.”
“While inside Burell’s computer I discovered disturbing intel.”
“What?”
“I want to protect you from everything that is wrong with this world. Cocoon you.”
“What did you find?”
“Burell is se
lling fighter bombers to foreign leaders who like to drop dirty bombs on villages. He’s murdering kids, Zara.”
He was right I didn’t want to see beyond the veil of his cruelty but ignoring it was worse. “What can we do about any of that?”
“Bring Burell down.”
“There must be another way.”
“I’m open to suggestions. You’ve seen how powerful he is. The FBI knows he has your paintings and they can’t touch him. He still has Rembrandt’s The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, for fuck’s sake. And they know it’s stolen. His lawyers are ruthless. They’re the gatekeepers to his hell.”
“I agree something needs to be done.”
Tobias softened his tone. “When I hacked his computer I unearthed a deleted email from Eli Burell to his dad. In it he informed his father he was taking care of the ‘Leighton problem,’ and ordering a large shipment to be transported to the East Coast. The assignment was code-named King.”
“That’s why we’re here?”
“My satellite followed the shipment to this city. Then it went underground and I lost track of it.”
“Do you believe we’ll ever get them back? I mean, really?”
“We’ve seen the security measures he takes.” He breathed out his frustration. “But I’m willing to do everything we can.”
“What about Eli?”
“He doesn’t get his hands dirty. In Arizona he panicked. The trap he sent us into wasn’t finished. His impatience is our advantage.”
I recalled us being trapped in that underground cavern four days ago with the modern-day wheel converting water into energy, a weird art piece he’d designed for his twisted fun. It also served as a security device and the same one that had almost drowned me.
I shook off the memory. “If we wait for a clue perhaps—”
“If your paintings are shipped on to another country...like Dubai.”
I tried to think of another way. “Burell will place your fake painting through a stringent authentication process.”
“Maybe you’d be open to viewing the painting before I place it under Burell’s nose?”
“I think you’re asking the impossible of yourself.” I threw my hands in the air. “Leonardo da Vinci!”
“I’ve studied his work all my life.”
The Prize Page 5
