Page 29 of Don't Look Back

Rand smiled. “Someday. Maybe.” He then went on to name the artist he was most interested in, a man who’d died five years ago and whose original paintings were scarce. Prints, even signed ones, were attainable, but that wouldn’t warrant a trip to Malta. “If you come across an original, please give me a call.” He passed DeAngelo a card that had his name and a cell phone number and nothing else.

Calls to that number would be forwarded to his phone without giving the caller access to his device or location data. Freya had been efficient at getting him what he needed for this op. With that in mind, he raised his glass for a sip and flicked the band of the championship ring with his thumb, snapping a photo of the gallery manager.

He made sure to keep his head down, focused on the manager, waiting for the moment when he would officially spot Kira. He felt the buzz of anticipation, much as he had in the classroom. As he had been then, he was braced for anger, but hoped for something better.

“We do have signed and numbered prints, but it could be some time before another original comes our way.”

“I’m in no rush. This is more research trip than art hunt, and I’m interested in glass artists as well. After a brush with nearly buying stolen artifacts, I’ve decided to steer clear of antiquities.”

“Understandable. We don’t deal in antiquities for that reason. But we have some fine glass art.”

The gallery manager shifted and indicated a sculpture on a pedestal. But his view of the item was obscured by the beautiful art historian who was studying it. She stood at just enough of an angle that he could claim to recognize her. This was his moment. Cementing his cover story.

“Excuse me, is that Dr. Kira Hanson?”

“The daughter of Dr. Conrad Hanson? Yes. Did you know him?”

Not long and not well.“No, but she assisted me with a purchase from Gillibrand several months ago.”

“Ah, yes, she said she does research and appraisal in the US for Gillibrand and other auction houses. It came as a surprise because we didn’t even know Dr. Hanson had a daughter. But then I saw her and, well… It begins to make sense.”

Rand looked at the man sharply, then reined in his natural reaction. His character would be interested, but not a special forces operator conducting an interrogation. “Well now, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

Philippe smiled slyly. “Tell you what, give me your penname, and I’ll explain.”

Rand let out a chuckle that only sounded real. “If only I could.”

“I expect her visit will cause quite a stir.”

From the speculative look on the man’s face as he gazed at Kira, she already had.

Kira had been thrown for a loop by Reuben Kulik’s claim her father was a thief. Even worse, it wasn’t as if she could refute his words. Conrad Hanson’s secretiveness only made the claim more credible.

Secret bank accounts sounded more and more plausible.

Did her father deal in stolen art?

Or did he force unwilling repatriation?

Art theft for profit was a rare and weird beast, given that the most valuable works of art, if stolen, couldn’t easily be sold or, if they were, displayed by their owners. And it wasn’t like her father had a secret stash of paintings in the basement—well, except for the ones painted by her mother—but Kira had witnessed her mother painting most of those and had posed for more than a few of them.

They were authentic and personal. Not a hidden Monet, van Gogh, or Rembrandt.

She studied the glass sculpture as she sipped her wine, thankfully alone as Kulik had gone off to ruin someone else’s vacation.

The price tag for the piece was thirty thousand euros. It was gorgeous: red, yellow, and orange flames that gave the illusion of flickering as it gathered light from the pedestal and glowed. If Kira had that kind of money to spend on pretty objects, it would be something that would make her happy to have in her living room—wherever that would be when she finally decided where she’d go after selling her parents’ house.

Technically, shecouldafford the piece. She would smile every time she looked at the gorgeous glass art and think of her trip to Malta and the friendly, skilled artist who created it. But it would be foolish to spend so much given her uncertain future, just because it would make her happy.

She had that level of passion for works of art, but had always lacked the wherewithal to collect for herself. She’d spent years as a collection manager for extremely wealthy clients, and spending their money on fine art had been satisfying. But then her last full-time employer had attempted to acquireher, souring her on working for wealthy, entitled men.

So she’d shifted her employment to consulting—no employer meant she could walk at the first sign of trouble. And she’d been happy, even if a bit—or a lot—poorer.

She took a deep breath. She needed to continue circulating the room. Most people here knew her father, and this was her starting point. The man she was looking for might be here.

But being social and perky felt daunting. She’d been doing fine as far as managing her social anxiety, but Reuben Kulik had thrown her for a loop. Maybe she should leave. Tomorrow, she could return when the gallery was open to the public and chat up whoever was working.

A deep chuckle sounded behind her, and she felt a ripple of…she wasn’t sure what this emotion was. Elation? Pleasure? Alarm? Resentment?

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