The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  “I’m fine.”

  “What did Francis want?”

  “Help with securing his paintings. You know, with all these recent thefts it’s got him rattled. He needs a security review of the palace.”

  “Did he recognize you?”

  “This is a bad time.”

  “Please answer the question.” His voice sounded eerily calm.

  I turned to see Abby staring at me. Her frown was proof she disapproved of me sharing confidential information of a client’s business.

  “I’m looking at some footage,” I said. “Can I call you back?”

  “What footage?”

  “Christie’s. The night St. Joan went missing.” I moved closer to the screen. “We may have something.”

  “Zara.” He let out a long sigh.

  “Hold on.” I clutched my phone to my chest and rewatched the film Brandon had on replay.

  “And you’re sure about that guard’s time card?” Abby pointed to him.

  “Yes.” Brandon looked up at her. “Officer Fields told the police he was on his break from two forty-five to three thirty. And that’s what’s on his time card that he used with an electronic thumbprint stamp. He clocked in and out and is seen doing just that.”

  “But he’s right there,” she said. “In the same room as the Joan of Arc.”

  And I hated the idea of watching someone manhandle her.

  “How do you explain it?” Brandon pressed his finger to the screen.

  “Where did he go for his break?” I asked.

  “Staff coffee room.” Brandon clicked through the other files.

  Five more clicks and he had the coffee room footage up for that same night. Brandon sped up the time frame to match the same time St. Joan was stolen.

  Officer Fields was sitting at a table and enjoying his soup and sandwich and watching a football game on a walled TV. The time unraveled on the right lower clock, proving he didn’t move from that spot.

  “Fuck me.” Brandon pressed a fingertip to the screen’s time stamp. “How is Fields in two places at the same time?”

  We stared at the image, all of us aghast.

  “Does he have a twin working there?” asked Abby.

  “First thing I asked,” said Brandon. “And no, he doesn’t.”

  “Play the footage again,” I said. “No, the one of Fields in the gallery with St. Joan.”

  Brandon got right on it.

  We watched Officer Fields walk in, look around and then head for the door again. A split-second later, with Fields almost out the door, St. Joan vanished midframe.

  That same feeling arose in my gut as my gaze lingered on the face of Officer Fields. A well of uneasiness rising as I watched his image flicker and waver before he stepped out of view.

  My chest tightened with this flash of panic as I recognized what I was seeing...and feeling...

  The uncanny valley.

  I stared at my phone and with a trembling hand I hung up on Tobias.

  * * *

  Half an hour ago, I’d flown past the sign welcoming me to Oxford. Heavy traffic along the M40 had slowed me down. It had taken two hours to get here.

  My thoughts raced as I ran through each interaction I’d had with Tobias, recalling that night when we’d first slept together, the same one St. Joan had been stolen. I’d woken up to find him half-dressed and perched on the end of my bed.

  Had that given him enough time to sneak out and steal St. Joan? Bloody ridiculous.

  Or was it?

  What Brandon had shown me today in that Christie’s security footage looked uncannily like a holographic projection of a security guard. What other explanation could be given of seeing him in two places at the same time. And there had been no evidence of the footage being tampered with.

  The theft of those paintings Huntly Pierre had been tasked with reviewing spanned all continents. All professional jobs, and all connected by the fact each portrait had a provenance that had been broken at some point.

  And stolen again.

  Why would our thief go for a Titian and not a Cezanne? Why would someone steal a painting already stolen? That clear pattern of it being a home targeted was broken when Christie’s had succumbed to the robbery of St. Joan.

  Again, the thief had stolen only one painting when so many others were there.

  Christie’s footage proved he’d been feet from a Renoir and a Gossaert and yet had only taken St. Joan.

  For me, personally, there was so much riding on that painting turning up. I hated my heart for telling me Tobias had anything to do with this.

  After navigating his driveway, I parked my Rover near his front door and raised my gaze to see his helicopter perched on his roof. An impressive collection of Jags parked outside.

  His home was lit up brightly. I made my way in—

  Recognizing the music blaring from hidden speakers—“Weak” by Wet was playing, and I followed the sound of the singer’s dreamy lyrics.

  This was how Tobias made me feel, weak, brought to my knees, and he’d told me he felt just as changed by me and that I’d even “unhinged his soul.”

  The shattering of my own had begun.

  If I’d learned anything it was we both kept our secrets close. Tobias and I were alike in so many ways. Caressing this ache in my chest, I tried to focus and act with nonchalance.

  The aroma of cooking wafted through the house and smelled divine. I nudged open a door.

  Tobias stood before a stove and he was stirring a spoon dipped in a large stainless steel pot.

  His kitchen was homey with an Italian flair offsetting all the chrome and steel appliances.

  He wore black trousers and a loose white T-shirt, and his hair was ruffled; his innocence radiating off him with the persuasion of beauty.

  “I was worried when you didn’t answer.” He turned to look at me. “You hung up on me?”

  “Call dropped.” I stepped in. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Jade.” He rested the spoon by the side. “I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

  “I thought you can’t cook?”

  He gestured to the open recipe. “It’s kind of fun. You inspire me.”

  I came in farther. “Smells incredible.”

  “I would have sent a car for you.”

  “Needed time to think.”

  “Come here.”

  I walked quickly toward him and fell into his arms, my eyes closed and needing to be with him again, needing to feel what we had wasn’t lost.

  That I was wrong.

  There were too many facts addling my brain and the dots were too disjointed to join, too confusing and misguiding the truth from where it deserved to lie.

  I peered up into his eyes, wishing the truth would just reveal itself.

  “I’ve been working on this hug all day.” He pulled me tighter. “Worked up the schematics. Ran a software trial.” He squeezed me.

  So safe, so nurturing, his cologne so damn sexy it muddled my brain.

  “Refused to stop until I knew this hug was scientifically accurate,” he added. “And would garner satisfying results. The kind that would make you happy.”

  Tears stung my eyes.

  He looked concerned. “You okay?”

  “A little tired.”

  He kissed my forehead and pulled back. “Here.” He used the spoon to scoop out a loose clam that was free of its shell. “Taste.”

  I leaned forward and let him tip the small mollusk into my mouth; it tasted of garlic and butter and melted deliciously on my tongue. “Amazing.” I managed a smile. “I wanted to thank you.”

  A tilt of his head. A narrowing gaze. An expression of acknowledgment.

  “For all you’
ve done. You’ve helped me in so many ways. Dealing with my dad’s paintings and securing them at the National. Being with me when the police wanted to know more about St. Joan—” I studied his face.

  “I’d do anything for you, Zara, you know that.”

  “You’ve done so much.”

  “Let’s eat.”

  He dished up the clams into china bowls and removed piping hot garlic bread from the oven. He uncorked a bottle of pinot grigio and poured white wine into two glasses. He handed one to me.

  We sat on bar stools at the central island and dipped our bread into the sauce. I made noises of pleasure at how delicious it all tasted. He was so good at so many things, a man who quite possibly was capable of anything.

  Was I breaking bread with Icon?

  I feigned that all was well as I dipped my torn-off piece of bread into my sauce and chewed, grateful for this incredible meal.

  Was this our last together?

  Nursing my wine, I listened to Tobias tell me about his day and I told him about mine.

  “You can’t go back to the palace,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I have no plans of ever seeing Francis Blandford ever again.”

  “Tell me if he contacts you.”

  “Okay. Any news on when Francis is going to sell his Goya, La Maja Desnuda, the painting we went to see?”

  “No.” He lowered his gaze. “It would be wise never to mention it to anyone.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, how did Christie’s security footage look?” He broke off some bread. “See anything interesting? You hung up on me so I assumed you’d caught a break?”

  “The guard’s in two places at the same time.” I held his gaze.

  “Technical issue?”

  “Well, you know more about all that than me.” My fingertip circled the rim of my glass.

  “You seem distracted. Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is what you found at the Witt still upsetting you?”

  “Apparently, every single painting stolen in the Interpol case has a prior broken provenance.”

  “In what way?”

  “Each and every one was stolen. Before it was stolen again.” I couldn’t say by Icon. Couldn’t let him know I knew.

  He took a sip. “That’s quite a revelation.”

  “It’s doesn’t appear coincidental. Too many paintings for that.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “Perhaps there’s a collector out there who covets what other men covet.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What do you think, Tobias? Why would he steal them?”

  He lowered his gaze.

  My forearms prickled as the fine hairs reacted to the way he looked at me. I raised my glass and chinked it next to his. “To us.”

  He raised his. “Us.”

  I stared upward. “How do you get Jade to respond to your voice?”

  “Calibration.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Jade, command imminent.”

  My gaze roamed the ceiling as though his invisible friend could see us.

  “Permit house commands to Zara Leighton.” He reached out and rested his hand on mine. “Say something.”

  “Jade—” I clenched my tongue between my teeth. “This is Zara, I’d love to be able to lower the lights.”

  “Are you using my technology to seduce me?”

  “Did it work?”

  The lights dimmed several degrees.

  “She likes you.” He lifted his glass and took a long sip.

  A trickle of moisture spiraled down his glass and dripped onto the counter. He wiped it away all while holding my gaze.

  “What else does Jade do?” I asked.

  “She performs a mean pole dance.”

  I hit his arm and laughed.

  “What do you want, Zara?”

  “Let me be all you need. All you want. Fulfill you in every way.”

  “That would make me very happy.”

  I held my hands together in a prayer, waiting, hoping he was ready to tell me the truth. Confess.

  He leaned forward. “The only way I can prove how I feel about you is to show you,” he said.

  I slid off my bar stool and circled the counter.

  Leaning into him and resting my head against his chest. The room fell quiet.

  “Jade, lock all the doors,” he said. “Secure the house.” He clasped my hand and interlocked his fingers through mine and led me out.

  Down the sprawling hallway.

  I recognized this way from that first time I’d visited.

  That felt like a million years ago now.

  Upon the walls were prints of modern art dotted here and there, a mismatch that somehow made sense.

  “Clara knows I’m here,” I stuttered.

  He led me farther along. “We should have her over for dinner.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s my turn to show you what nirvana feels like.” He shoved open the door to his bedroom.

  We entered together.

  The room was minimalist, like the others, white linen on a steel four-poster bed with wisps of lush netting swept above. No other furniture, not even a chair, as though that bed was the center point, and something told me this wasn’t his bedroom.

  Yet I went willingly, wanting this more than breathing itself, and if this was wrong I refused to blame myself for wanting it, wanting him.

  He had me stand in the center of the room.

  Tobias undressed me slowly, like a dark ritual of sorts, then moved around me with the swagger of a man who held all the power.

  “Zara.” His voice was low. “Trust me. That’s all I’ll ever ask.”

  I wanted to believe him.

  “I won’t hurt you, baby. Never would I do that to you.” He stepped back and stripped his clothes off. “I want to spoil you.”

  Stripped naked and standing in the center, I patiently waited, my heart patting away like scared sparrows unable to fly.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, this would purge all need for him and I’d begin a pathway to setting myself free from this addiction that was Wilder.

  He stood behind me and his lips trailed kisses along the nape of my neck making my insides liquefy and my breathing quicken. He eased back locks from my shoulder and kissed me tenderly, taking his time to woo me into an erotic trance.

  He circled to face me again. “I care deeply for you. This is how I’m going to prove it.” His fingers lowered to my abdomen and lower still until he’d reached between my thighs and gently parted my labia. “Hold this apart.”

  Looking down, I held myself just how he showed me. My clit peeked out, that little nub erect with excitement.

  He lowered himself to his knees and leaned in, his tongue sweeping along my cleft, and he lapped at me passionately. “Don’t let go of your pussy. It proves you’re giving it to me when you hold it like this.” He took my hands and directed them either side of my labia.

  That sudden rush of bliss as his kiss intensified there, my thighs trembling, this overwhelming urge to moan.

  “I want something too,” I burst out.

  “Ask.”

  “You promised to tell me what it says? Your tattoo?”

  “Soon.”

  Under his direction he’d turned me round and walked me forward a few steps, and I leaned forward and placed my palms on the wall to support my bent-over body, my bum out and offered to him. He knelt behind me again and I shuddered as he resumed suckling my sex, his tongue savagely taking me.

  I moaned through an orgasm and yet he was unrelenting, his lapping insistent on destroying my will to res
ist and I rode his mouth, hips rocking, rubbing my clit along his tongue.

  He paused and pulled back, rising to his feet. We stared into each other’s eyes.

  I lowered myself to kneel before him. “You promised.” I ran my fingers along his cock and trailed them over the inked Latin.

  “I know.”

  Suckling his balls, lapping and lovingly worshipping them, my hand working his cock that was rigid, and his deep sigh proved he was succumbing. Running my tongue along the full length of him, taking him in and then setting him free from my lips to tap the ridge of his cock with my tongue.

  “Jesus, Zara.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “Ubi non est poena. Victurus de Saluto.” He ran a finger along the writing. “Retribution where there is none. He who is about to win, salutes you.”

  I broke away and stared up at him.

  My thoughts swirled with what he might have done.

  Tobias swept me up into his arms and carried me over to the bed and flung me into the center. I bounced on the mattress and over soft pillows, my breath gone and my equilibrium off.

  In a haze, I watched him bring over four red silk ties.

  “You mentioned you wanted to be tied up.” He smiled devilishly. “Remember?”

  Vaguely, I did, at the Maxwells’ party, though now was the worst time for us to explore this fantasy.

  I went to pull my wrist away but he was too fast, making quick work of my other arm, securing it upward and outward either side and tying me to the posts.

  He did the same with my ankles.

  Too dizzy from the wine, my thoughts scattered as I struggled to get free, my movement frantic as the tautness of these binds proved inescapable.

  I’d made a terrible mistake.

  He rose over me and I stilled as his steely gaze met mine. His green eyes capturing me—

  My chest rose and fell with each pant, my breasts trembling, nipples pert and sensitized beads of need betraying my uneasiness.

  Had I given myself away?

  Yet his expression was so loving, the way he stroked his hand up and down my belly, the way he held my gaze with affection.

  My entire being craved this, craved him, desired Tobias above all things, and my body burst alight with tremors sending an eruption of arousal through my body. His hand swept over my breasts and tweaked my nipples, bringing this arousal to a fever pitch.