Page 65 of The Prize
“What if the Burells take yourMona Lisaand stash her in one of their other homes not connected to our paintings?”
“His father has consistently kept his stolen paintings together in one place.” Tobias set his mug on the tray. “That’s why they found Rembrandt’sThe Storm on the Sea of Galileeunder the same roof as your collection.”
“The FBI saw them and just walked away. They did nothing.”
“He has powerful friends.”
“I hope your satellite was right and they really are in New York.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, feeling my frustration rise. “I can’t get over that he still has Rembrandt’s painting.” I’d seen it personally, and though I’d stood a little way back, everything pointed to it being authentic.
Tobias shrugged. “His lawyers claimed it was fake.”
I closed my eyes in frustration. “The Burells don’t entertain fake paintings. They’re obsessed with owning the real thing.”
“That works to our benefit this time round.”
“You saw my paintings when you stole the Titian in France?”
Tobias bit into a slice of bacon.
“I just need to hear you say it.”
He mulled that over. “I rappelled into the rotunda and deactivated the floor tiles. The raven didn’t fly in on my descent. It flew in when I was trying to get out.”
This very case had piqued my interest and I’d read the records taken by the French police but hearing it from the man himself was riveting.
He gave a nod and continued, “There was a secret door in the rotunda that the authorities didn’t discover. Once on the ground I searched the room and a panel gave way. I used a sound detector to boom off the wall and it indicated it was hollow. It didn’t take me long to find the entry to their second vault. Your paintings were in there. I had enough time to look around and that was it. I snapped several photos of the paperwork and that’s why the dates you saw on the photographs indicated they were taken a few months ago.”
I recalled how he’d shown me the evidence my paintings hadn’t been destroyed in that childhood fire when we’d visited his downtown LA penthouse. Those photos had stirred both panic and exhilaration at the same time and a hope I’d never imagined. “How did they look?”
“Breathtaking.”
“You recognized what you saw?”
“I’d heard the Romanov collection had been destroyed in a fire. I knew what I was looking at. I was heartbroken for the previous owner, considering the circumstances.”
“You’d entered the rotunda as Icon.” I reached out and touched his arm to thank him for sharing this with me. “Reporting what you found had the greatest risk to you.”
Yet he’d shared this secret with me anyway, knowing I’d eventually connect such knowledge with Icon.
He looked conflicted. “I knew the danger to you was extraordinary should you find out about them. As I got to know you I trusted you. Right up until you gate-crashed Elliot Burell’s granddaughter’s wedding. Telling you about them put you in harm’s way.”
“I put myself there.”
“You brought our agenda forward.”
“You’re always so forgiving, Tobias.”
“When it comes to you.”
I broke his intense gaze. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“A few hours. I got up early to finish the painting.” He cringed as though hating mentioning it. “When the time comes you won’t have to worry. I have what it takes to destroy it.”
“I should be there when you do it.”
“If you want.” He pushed the tray aside. “Do you want to sleep in?”
“No. I’m awake now. Did you go for a run this morning?”
