Page 38 of The Prize
The moment of truth. Was I willing to go all the way with Icon and take the final leap? “Don’t lower to their standard.”
“Everything I have ever done has been for the sake of humanity.” His voice remained steady. “I’ve never once stolen for my own gain. My personal collection was obtained legally.”
Confliction washed over me again.
If I stay I’ll be colluding with Icon.
I leaned on the back of a swivel chair and gripped the edge.
“Do you think this is easy for me?” He gestured his frustration. “Being trapped in this house with the woman who I was in a relationship with and now you won’t even let me touch you?”
“We weren’t in a relationship.”
“Really? Because that’s what it felt like to me.”
Yes, we’d shared something special but I’d turned away from a love that I’d never recover from if I let it in. My body yearned for him and yet as I turned to look away I felt this familiar pull toward him.
“So the silent treatment has returned?” He headed up the ramp. “Excuse me while I take a break.”
“I won’t let you do this,” I called after him.
He jolted to a stop. “It will help us get our lives back. There is no other way.”
“It feels wrong. Even if no one will know.”
He paused and kept his back to me. “I should have just gone ahead and dealt with this.”
“Is this some kind of twisted revenge on me? Because if it wasn’t for my interference nothing would have changed for you. You’d still be anonymous. You’d still be the almighty Icon.”
“You don’t believe that? Tell me you don’t. Not after I’ve sacrificed my life’s work to put your life right.”
I sucked in a breath at his confession.
Until now he’d played down the damage I’d inflicted on him. Had I not flown out to LA, had I let this go and let the experts tackle this, perhaps we’d both have some peace at least. My stubbornness to see this resolved had landed me in a strange city with a man who had only begun to open up. Perhaps I was only seeing what he wanted me to see.
“Zara, what do I need to do to convince you how much I care about you?”
“I see you doing this—” I snapped a hand to the screen “—and I’m filled with doubt.”
“Doubt?” He stormed back down the ramp toward me. “What am I to you really? A means to an end? I know I’m the only way for you to get your paintings back but what about afterward, Leighton, what happens when this is over?”
“In what way?”
He looked devastated. “Us?”
Us, the impossible dream that had never been a true possibility, an illusion of romance with the backdrop of our mutual adoration of art. Yet my body and soul told me we were meant for each other even if my mind doubted.
I raised my chin high. “Don’t call me Leighton.”
His expression softened as he slipped behind that familiar iciness. “It makes it easier.” He whispered it to himself as he turned and headed up the ramp for the door.
With him out of sight, I slumped into a swivel chair and cupped my hands over my face as if it would help. I should have told him what he meant to me, should have shared my feelings, but I had to protect my heart. All I had to guide me was this quiet inner voice warning me to hold on and not burn up in his brightness.
The world was hunting for Icon and it had been my job to stop him. Yet here I was bringing him mugs of tea and offering biscuits like an eccentric Brit.
After fifteen minutes of staring at the screen, mesmerized by the complex drawings by da Vinci and amazed Tobias’s drone was absorbing the information, I felt that same annoying awe for Tobias. Maybe he was right, maybe he could pull this off, and maybe using Burell’s greed was the only way to finish this.
I went in search of Tobias, hoping to find the words that would lift the tension. At the south end of the house I heard shoes hitting a treadmill at full speed. The sound led me into the tricked-out gym with its rowing machine, weights and the treadmill Tobias was running on at full pelt. In front of him was a mirror covering the entire wall. He’d changed into a T-shirt, track pants and snazzy-looking Nikes and he had earbuds in. He was all primal perfection as he ran on the belt.
