Page 93 of Captive Lies

I glared at him but did as I wastold.

* * *

“His name is Sergei Kostin.”

Grant, Jake, and I were in his penthouse office. I had changed into tights and a tunic sweater. I wanted nothing more than to slip into my flannel pajamas but we were being invaded in an hour. Grant had changed into drawstring sweatpants and a worn-out, long-sleeved Harvard tee. I had the urge to cuddle on his lap and have his strong arms wrap their warmth around me. I missed the intimacy between us. Grant was a force to be reckoned with and I’d been afraid that I was too beaten down to be the woman he needed. His devotion this past month had eased the uncertainties that plagued me about resuming a relationship with him. I wanted to come back to him with a clean slate, but Grant wasn’t waiting any longer and, apparently, I didn’t want toeither.

“He was a painter who came to live with us and was my artistic mentor.” I went on to tell them about the summers with Sergei and that last year when I was sixteen and what he had taughtme.

Jake stared at me as if he was re-evaluating what he knew about me. As for Grant, his expression was one of bemusement. “Are you telling us you concealed paintings forsmuggling?”

“Sergei taught me how to do it. I’ve never actually done it on stolen work.” I felt I needed to qualify thatdifference.

“A Jackson Pollock, you say?” Grantqueried.

“Yup. There are different methods of concealment. The easiest one is to layer the canvas of an existing less valuable painting over the intended one, but most art heists are done by taking the painting off the frame and smuggling them through shipping tubes. Sergei liked to use watercolor since it’s easy to wash off. The ones I saw in the gallery, though, used a different medium. I’d probably need the guide of a spectrometer to use a scalpel and solvent to reveal the paintingbeneath.”

“You think they’re coming after you?” Grantasked.

I swallowed hard. “The man in the suit asked me if I wanted to find out what was underneath that painting. Depending on its complexity, anyone experienced with restoration can doit.”

“Maybe they don’t need you for these paintings, but for future heists,” Jake speculated. “From what you’ve told us, you’ve become Sergei’sprotégé.”

I scowled at Jake as an image of myself chained to a basement with paintings lined up for me to camouflage flashed through my mind. “Geez, I hopenot.”

“Not gonna happen,” Grant assured me, curling his fingers into mine and tugging me to his side. “We’ve got a tracker on you,remember?”

“Your paranoia is serving me well,” I murmured. Then I remembered Orlov’s words. Even if I didn’t want to add to Grant’s problems, I had to tell him everything. “There’s somethingelse.”

Jake and Grant straightened in alert. I could feel their apprehension. God, I hated doing this tothem.

“Lay it on us, Ms. Blaire,” Jakeinvited.

I recounted the Russian Vor’s words. “I’m trying to figure it out in my head, but it sounded like he was handing me to someone else after he’d had his revenge onme.”

“Sounded like it,” Grant stated grimly. The wave of rage coming off him was palpable. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking,Donovan?”

“Ivan Yashkin,” Jakereplied.

“Exactly.”

“Who’s Ivan Yashkin?” Iasked.

“He was my main rival for the Galleria Development,” Grant explained. “Rafe and I were baffled with how rabid he’d gone after that property deal when real estate isn’t his company’sspecialty.”

“The paintings. That’s what he must’ve been after,” Jakesaid.

“But he left the expensive ones,” I said. “We’re looking at seven-hundred milliondollars.”

Grant whistled and cocked his head to the side. “That’s more than what the Galleriacost.”

“You’re sitting on a goldmine, boss,” his head of securitysaid.

“I doubt I’ll end up keeping most of them,” Grant replied. “I’ll have to staff up my investigative division just to look into theclaims.”

There was a rap on the door and Tyler walkedin.

He grimaced when he looked at Grant who, I could only imagine, had his glare on. I squeezed hishand.

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