The Chase. Vanessa Fewings

seemed unfazed. “Well, as you probably know there have been a couple of art thefts, right here in London. We’ve been brought in by the Met to do what we can to help. See if they’re connected.”

      He went on to explain the details. As my world crumbled around me.

      This day was meant to be bloody awesome. Now I was about to prove to my new boss I had no right to be here.

      Why had I even bothered? Why had I even believed I could make a place for myself in a world that had turned away from my family? I was destined to be discovered as a fraud myself. Might as well just hang me up on the wall.

      I was starting to regret ever meeting Tobias Wilder. Even if my thighs were squeezed tight and that tingling between them was disagreeing with my current conclusion: he was beginning to look like a class-A rogue who always got his way. Yet my thoughts kept carrying me back to his secret tattoo, the first Latin word meeting the tip of his V and conveniently leading off toward his forbidden zone.

      That video of him I’d watched last night had probably been a ruse to soften those hard edges of his public image.

      He seemed willing to do just about anything to own that mystery painting. I’d seen that same determination in my father. These were the kind of men who let nothing stand in their way when it came to possessing that certain coveted masterpiece.

      Adley and Logan continued to debate the wisdom of hiring such an obvious newbie with no fieldwork experience.

      Tobias’s expression remained unreadable. The way he played with that pen made me want to snatch it out of his hands and ram it into the middle of that Jackson Pollock—

      Those maddening swirls mirrored my racing heartbeat and those yellow blotches significantly matched the artist’s adoration for placing bright colors just so, a brilliant rebellion against order and a show of pride against expectations and yet setting them where our subconscious reassured us they were meant to be. That hint of a blue canvas beneath all that profound color was hard to fake, if not impossible, and I didn’t need to stick my nose up against it to know there was only one man who could pull off a Pollock as good as this one—

      “Zara?” said Tobias.

      I blinked his way as though stirring from a dream.

      The way he’d spoken my name made me feel as though he’d touched me all over again.

      My fingertips traced my lips.

      We don’t like him, remember?

      “Want to add anything, Ms. Leighton?” asked Logan.

      Great, I’d suddenly developed ADD too, apparently.

      Not wanting to embarrass myself or Adley one more second, I rose to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me...” I need fresh air. “I’ll get us some more water.”

      “Well, this has been a colossal waste of time,” muttered Logan.

      I folded my arms. “Excuse me?”

      She gave a thin smile. “I was merely advising my client we’re running late.”

      My arm shot up and I pointed toward the Pollock. “Look.”

      Logan followed my gaze.

      I took a sharp inhale of breath. “It’s a Pollock.”

      Adley arched a brow as though inviting me to elaborate.

      I rose and strolled over to it. “This is a sixty-million-dollar painting and the coffeepot is boiling just ten feet away from the canvas. Mr. Adley, whoever appraised your artwork needs retraining.”

      “That would be me,” he said calmly.

      My apology stuck in my throat and I swallowed to budge it, my brain replaying the last ten seconds to check if I’d sworn out loud.

      I was too thrown to even cringe.

      “And it just happens to be hanging in your coffee room?” said Tobias, smiling over at Adley. “A remarkable discovery.”

      No, he wasn’t going to fill me with doubt.

      Logan stared over at it. “Shouldn’t you x-ray it before jumping to a conclusion?”

      “The evidence is backed by the frame, Ms. Arquette,” I said. “See? The frame is modest.” My gaze swept over the canvas, my heart sympathizing with this masterpiece and feeling just as misunderstood.

      Adley gestured with open palms toward Tobias and it looked like resignation, or worse, an apology on my behalf.

      Tobias’s fingers were resting on my file. “Thank you, Adley. I believe we’re done here.” He closed it and pushed to his feet.

      Words were exchanged between him and Adley. A shake of hands. A promise to be in touch.

      Tobias lowered his head, tucked his hands into his pockets and left the room without looking at me. Logan threw me a thin smile and followed him out.

      I stood frozen, regretting the sudden delivery of my outburst as I watched them leave, realizing it was too late to salvage the meeting.

      I spun to face Adley. “Sir, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

      “You’re going to have to learn to keep a lid on your emotions, Zara.”

      “Yes, of course.” I plopped back down in my seat.

      Had I just blown my career on my first day? Yes, I bloody well had.

      Adley’s attention went from the door to where Logan and Tobias had just exited and moved swiftly over to the Pollock, his attention lingering there. “Well done.”

      I blinked my confusion.

      Adley gestured to the painting. “Most people assume they’re all fakes. They don’t see beyond the other scoundrels hanging around them. They assume if one is fake, then they all are.”

      Startled, I sat back.

      “Our client requested a demonstration of your skills. I made a call.”

      I wondered how much this had cost the firm. The security detail alone would amount to thousands. It had to be the kind of investment that would pay off when it nabbed a high-paying client. Adley stared in admiration at the painting and I stared at him, marveling at his faith in me to pull off this feat.

      “They left in an awful hurry,” I muttered.

      He shrugged. “Looks like we’re officially lending you to Wilder.”

      My breath caught and my fingernails dug into the armrests.

      “He’s requested an exclusive consultation,” he added.

      “He asked for me personally?”

      But Adley was already on the phone and chatting with a curator about having that Pollock they’d borrowed just this morning returned to the National Gallery.

       4

      My Range Rover handled the off-road terrain well.

      Tobias Wilder’s Oxfordshire estate was tucked away in the middle of nowhere, though thanks to my navigational skills I was right on time. This place was not on the map, nor were the dusty tree-lined lanes that led me here.

      And at 7:00 p.m. I’d not had the advantage of daylight.

      There came a thrill of intrigue at seeing Tobias again, and I knew that the secret painting he wanted me to authenticate would also reveal more about him. As would seeing the inside of his home.

      It’d taken me over two hours to drive from the city, and it felt good to stretch my legs and ease the stiffness from my limbs as I’d made my way up the driveway toward his door. The only way I’d known I was in the right place was that I saw a helicopter perched