“Which means he could easily work on the illegal side of his business after dark.”
“I just can’t believe Hugo’s a thief.”
“You’re holding a stolen masterpiece in your hands.”
“Maybe he didn’t realise?”
For fuck’s sake. “It’s his job to realise. And if he’s so innocent, why did he tell you it was a Heath Robert?”
“I… I…”
Movement to the right caught Alaric’s eye, and Emmy strode out of the old house. Oddly enough, she didn’t look happy. She paused on the way to toss her leather jacket through the open window of the Aston Martin, leaving her white T-shirt complete with its scarlet Rorschach in full view. Stafford-Lyons’s eyes widened as Emmy stopped a few feet away.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The house is full of stoned teenagers, and they’re starting to wake up. It’s like the zombie fucking apocalypse in there, except they’re hunting for weed rather than fresh meat. Seems the one who made a bid for freedom belongs to the bitch in the barn.”
“Her boyfriend?”
“Brother.”
“Uh, are you okay?” Stafford-Lyons asked. “You have a little…” She motioned to her nose.
“No, I’m not fucking okay. I should be sitting in a conference room drinking bad coffee, but instead, I’m chasing your accomplice all over the countryside.”
“She’s not an accomplice,” Alaric explained. “The kid stole the car.”
“Seriously? Nobody’s that unlucky.”
“Told you that painting’s cursed.”
“Dude, I’m beginning to believe you.” Emmy nodded past them to where Red After Dark sat in the trunk of the Ford. “Is that what we’re looking for?”
“Sure seems like it.”
“An elaborate suicide note,” she murmured, leaning forward for a closer inspection.
Alaric quickly pulled her back before her blood made Red After Dark even redder.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He handed her a handkerchief. “Use this for your nose first.”
“Oh, ta.” The white cotton quickly turned crimson. “So, now what? This whole operation’s been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, but it’s not over yet.”
No, it wasn’t. They may have recovered a stolen painting, but it wasn’t the one Alaric wanted. For eight years, he’d been focused on Emerald. Only Emerald. Any other successes along the way were incidental, although he couldn’t deny the reward money for the two Rembrandts and the Vermeer he’d recovered had been a nice bonus. Emmy was injured, plus they had a flaky gallery assistant and an all-too-crafty car thief to deal with. Not to mention a bunch of stoners. “Clusterfuck” didn’t even begin to cover it.
But they couldn’t quit. The next link in the chain was waiting in Richmond for Stafford-Lyons to deliver the painting, and the question was, should they let her? Should they turn Red After Dark over to the authorities, or instead use it as bait for Emerald?
There was only one decision Alaric could make.
CHAPTER 11 - BETHANY
A MONTH AGO, I’d gone for a long ride on Chaucer, a jaunt along little bridleways bursting with spring wildflowers—blackberry blossom, cow parsley, foxgloves, late snowdrops, and bluebells—the two of us trotting along in the dappled sunlight with just a few rabbits for company. I’d taken a picnic and eaten it by a stream while Chaucer nibbled on the long grass beside me, and that day, I’d dared to hope that the worst was behind me. The divorce papers were signed, I had my new job, and nothing could possibly beat the horror of finding my husband in bed with another woman.
I’d been wrong.
The one man I’d still trusted had lied to me, and not only that, Hugo was involved in some nefarious scheme I didn’t understand. Red After Dark stared up at me, taunting me with its malevolent beauty. Every brushstroke screamed emotion. No fake could make a person feel in the way that painting did.
The dizzying revelation that my time at the Pemberton gallery was over hit me like a runaway Clydesdale. The American was right—I’d be complicit in illegal activity if I set foot over the threshold again. Although the mere thought of returning was laughable—once we’d handed Red After Dark over to the police, I’d be fired on the spot anyway. Would Hugo be arrested? Possibly, but he’d most likely wriggle out of any charges by pleading ignorance—mud rarely stuck to men with old money and influence. I’d seen it a hundred times over… A friend of my father’s having assault charges dropped right after a party the judge attended. Piers’s brother’s drink-driving case getting thrown out on a technicality. Everyone siding with my ex-husband during our divorce despite the fact that he’d cheated.
And it wasn’t over yet.
“I’ll make a statement to the police,” I said, desperately trying not to sniffle. I had enough cash in the bank to cover another month’s worth of expenses, but no more.
“That won’t—” the American started, but he didn’t finish because the blood-covered blonde took off running.
What the…? A girl bound with black tape was hop-shuffling towards the woods at the rear of the property, a loose handcuff dangling from one wrist. Was that…? Bloody hell. That was the girl who took my car!
The American put his head in his hands. “Fucking cursed. Shoulda cuffed her to a damn railroad track.”
“Uh, I’m really not sure what’s happening here. Am I actually awake?”
“We all are. Wish we weren’t.”
“Why is that girl covered in tape?”
“Because she was in your car.”
“You made a citizen’s arrest?” That made a degree of sense, although where did the handcuffs come from?
“Something like that.”
Wait a minute… “But you didn’t know she’d stolen my car until I got here.”
“We attempted to discuss the matter with her, and there was an altercation. It seemed safest to incapacitate her while we spoke to you.”
The blonde managed to get the handcuffs back onto the car thief, and she half dragged, half carried her in our direction. Rats. What was I supposed to say? I wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for the teenager or give her a piece of my mind.
“Get the hell off me,” she groused as she got closer.
“Shut up and walk.”
“I’m sorry I took the car, okay?”
“No, you’re sorry you got caught. There’s a difference.”
“I was gonna put it back. I just needed to pick up my brother.”
“Ever heard of a cab?”
“Ever heard of being poor?”
“Yes, actually, I have.”
I glanced across at Rafiq, who was watching the little scene with undisguised curiosity, nose pressed against the glass. Probably it wasn’t every day he drove to the middle of nowhere with a freaked-out female only to be thrust into the middle of a bad B-movie. The blonde woman followed my gaze and sighed.
“Let’s lose the audience, shall we?”
I stiffened. Surely she didn’t mean…?