Page 66 of Canvas of Lies
“I really don’t think so,” he said slowly. “If he did, and he wanted me dead, whoever was in that SUV had the perfect opportunity. Once we crashed, we were sitting ducks.”
Something about the situation didn't feel quite right, but I nodded. “Okay. It just seems off to me, but I’m sure you’re right. I’ll pack up my stuff. When do you want to leave?”
“Soon enough. I had something else in mind, first,” he murmured, kissing me again and steering me toward the bedroom.
I laughed against his mouth and shoved away my uneasiness over puzzles and forgeries, hackers and scammers. Those things would return front and center soon enough, I knew, so I’d happily give him this last opportunity to sweep it all far, far into the background.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nico
Beforeweleftthecabin to return to the real world, I replied to Willoughby’s email in a similarly polite, distant tone. Whatever the man was up to, I refused to draw any suspicion down on our heads, even if it meant playing dumb for the time being. With the potential for a doublecross in the offing, we needed to proceed with caution.
Once we were all packed up, we loaded our bags into the little hatchback and tried to enjoy the scenic drive home, each of us pretending not to check the mirrors far more frequently than necessary.
Despite our usual preference for Kat’s apartment when it came to atmosphere and comfort, we decided to take up residence at my place—the building had better security, for starters, as well as housing everything I would need to keep a close eyeon Willoughby’s attempt to sell the real painting. Even if Kat’s stubbornness had edged the residual fear from the crash to the back of her mind, she still seemed off balance.
Keeping her close was not only preferable but necessary, in my opinion, since she wouldn’t consider distancing herself for her own safety.
And if I’d enlisted Gumby to help watch out for her when she went back to work, well, that was something I’d just keep to myself for now. She might be willing to accept some degree of deviation from her routine, namely being chauffeured back and forth to work by me, but I was fairly certain she’d object to having a casual bodyguard posted outside Kat’s Keepers when I wasn’t around.
If the car accident was a sign of things to come instead of a warning shot, I wouldn’t risk leaving her unprotected.
In between monitoring Willoughby’s underhanded sale effort, which was scheduled to take place in the form of a private online auction toward the end of the week, I dealt with my insurance company, fielded questions from Detective Hanson, who was still investigating the crash, and bought myself a new car to replace my mangled sedan. I picked out a small SUV with an impressive array of safety features.
This time, I wasn’t taking any chances.
When I picked Kat up after work, her smile widened as we walked out into the parking lot.
“Well now, Mr. Beaumont, this is certainly a shiny new upgrade,” she teased, running her hand along the side of the car. It was a deep sapphire blue that shimmered in the afternoon sun.
“Great gas mileage, side-impact airbags, on-board navigation and emergency alert system,” I recited. Her smile dropped just a touch, so I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “And the color reminds me of your eyes. It’s the exact shade they turn just as I sink into you.”
The smile returned full force, just as I’d hoped, though there was a sultry hint to it now. “Oh, is it? I suppose I can’t complain then, since that’s one of my favorite moments.”
I dropped a soft kiss to her lips, opened the passenger door for her, and gave a flourishing bow. “Your chariot, my lady.”
Her snort of laughter made me grin like a fool, but I was just . . . happy. Through the window, I watched Kat grin excitedly as she buckled in and ran her hands over the smooth dash. How was it possible for such an innocent move to nearly knock me flat with desire?
Since she hadn’t noticed my swift intake of breath, I forced myself to turn away and stroll around the hood to slip into my own seat.
“You’re in a good mood today,” she observed, moving on from caressing the dashboard to fiddling with the fancy stereo system.
“I am, as a matter of fact. Beautiful day, beautiful vehicle, beautiful woman. I picked up what was left in the other carfrom the impound lot. We can sleep tonight under the watchful eye of The King,” I joked.
At that, she burst out laughing. “I almost forgot about that. I guess I can start looking through the other stuff, see if anything is worth listing or fixing up. I can’t even remember what else we bought, aside from that Elvis painting.”
While we drove toward my apartment, I relayed what I’d learned about the auction and, clearly sensing my tension rising, Kat distracted me by recounting the tale of a particularly tricky toy repair she’d managed to finish just before the clock struck five. It was all so blissfully normal, assuming one could ignore the bizarre twist of discussing the underground sale of a stolen Hugo Clément painting.
I was unsettled to realize such things were quickly becoming commonplace in our lives.
Working together on dinner nudged me further toward recognizing my desire to hold on tight to even this basic level of domestic happiness. I liked having Kat close at hand, enjoyed our conversations and our comfortable silences. It was growing harder to regret those lost years now that our lives fit together so seamlessly, though I wondered sometimes if we had always fit this way and just hadn’t acknowledged it.
Kat waited until we sat down to dinner before saying, “I assume you have a plan for what happens after this auction?”
“I have the beginning of a plan,” I said slowly.
My gaze landed to the left of Kat, where the velvet Elvis painting was propped against the wall. Whenshe turned to see what I was looking at, a startled giggle burst past her lips. We both stared at it for a long moment, then Kat turned back in my direction.
