Page 111 of The Chase
“Are you okay? It was on the news. Was it stolen?”
“Right before they authenticated it.”
“So you don’t know if it was yours?”
“Not really.” I hated lying to her.
“Has Nigel called you? Bet that got his nose twitching.”
“Not yet.” My stomach twisted at the thought of that sneaky journalist who’d no doubt want an exclusive.
A chill spiraled down my spine.
A trail of water trickled from my hair down my back. “Can I call you back? I just got out of the shower.”
“Sure. I need you to fill me in.”
I threw my phone on the bed and went in search of the most entertaining person I’d ever met.
“Tobias?” I called out. The kitchen was empty.
I made my way into the sitting room and when I didn’t see him, a jolt of intuition told me to check if his coat was still in the hallway.
It wasn’t.
A little fazed, I wondered if he was in the spare room preparing the paintings for their collection.
Dread seeped into my veins as I realized Tobias had left. I hurried over to the wall safe and peered in. The pallet was there. I pulled it out. “No!”
The paintings were gone.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I searched further for the envelope containing each proof of provenance. It wasn’t there, either.
“No, please, no.”
I sprang to my feet and in a daze ran into the sitting room and pressed my nose up against the window and stared out at the street. Cars driving by, a few pedestrians, a woman walking her boxer.
Back in my bedroom I dressed quickly, my hands too shaky on the zipper of my jeans, my chenille sweater feeling too tight around my neck. After a flurry of grabbing mismatched socks, finding shoes and scrambling for my handbag and phone, I flew out the door.
Drizzle fell on me.
It was too late to go back for my parka. A cab at the curb idled in front of me.
I grabbed the handle and leaped into the back. “The Otillie. Do you know where that is?”
The driver gave a nod and reached out to set the meter. He pulled away and I was shoved into the seat.
He’s taken them to The Otillie,I reassured myself.
I was overreacting and sure to embarrass myself.
Fingers trembling, I pressed Logan’s number and waited. It went to voice mail.
“Logan,” I tried to steady my tone. “Please call me. It’s urgent. It’s concerning Tobias.”
I killed the call and stared out at the passing scenery, old buildings mismatched with new, and pedestrians hurrying to work. This chill from the air-conditioning reached my damp hair and sent a stark coldness into my skull.
I forced my scattered thoughts into a stream of intelligent consciousness, running through what I knew about Tobias, the way he’d acted around me, the way he made me feel, and I cringed at how easily I’d fallen headfirst into this relationship.
