Page 77 of Canvas of Lies
“Okay?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine. I’d like to go home now, if that’s all right with them.”
Hanson shook our hands, offered her condolences once more, then slipped her hands into her pockets as we left the hospital. Just as we exited, though, I heard the detective murmur, “Thick as thieves.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nico
Thedrivehomepassedin silence, but Kat kept my hand clutched firmly in her own, clinging to it like a lifeline. The quiet was almost as unnerving as the hollow look in her eyes.
I set one hand on the small of her back as I guided her into the apartment. She moved like all of her strength had slowly leached from her body, her gaze slightly unfocused, her steps a little unsteady.
“Kitten,” I said gently, catching her chin in my hand. “Talk to me, love. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
A deep breath shuddered from her lungs. “I want the painting to go to your family, Nico. I don’t want you to change the tracking back.”
“Okay. Whatever you want. Both paintings will be delivered in a few hours.” I ignored the ball of dread in my stomach when I thought about Lavigne opening the velvet Elvis.
“But his money—I think we need to return the money. I don’t want any more danger hanging over us. Is there a way for you to do that?”
“Of course. I’ll take care of it. It’ll all be fine. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be a big weight off of us both. If Kat inherited her father’s fortune, I sure as hell didn’t want Lavigne coming after her to get his money back.
It took only a little coaxing to get Kat tucked back into bed so I could focus on transferring the money that had already gone into Willoughby’s offshore account back to Lavigne’s. I set it to return as soon as the tracking on the Elvis painting registered as delivered—a move that would hopefully ward off sending Lavigne into a complete fury. This wasn’t my area of expertise, however, so the work took me the better part of the morning.
I peeked in at Kat, who was still fast asleep. Something about seeing her curled up in the middle of my bed, her golden curls splayed across my pillows, sent a surge of emotion through me.Lavigne would be pissed, certainly, but he’d have his full payment back. News of Willoughby’s death would reach the man soon enough.
Instead of slipping into bed with her, I headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and then sat down on the sofa.
We’re missing something.
The thought jostled around in my brain, but I felt like I was wading through jelly trying to pluck it from the air. Instead of forcing it, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to the painting. I’d tucked the forgery into the back of a closet before we left for dinner. Once the real artwork was safely in Uncle Philippe’s hands, I planned to hang the canvas Willoughby had given me—either here or at Kat's apartment, wherever we were going to spend the most time.
No matter who painted it, the subject was family.
It represented my life’s journey, everything that led up to this moment, and it deserved a place of honor in my home, even if it wasn’t the original. I knew Kat felt the same.
When she padded out of the bedroom several hours later, I was half-asleep on the couch with the empty mug balanced precariously on my knee. She slipped it from my lax grip and set it on the coffee table before lifting my arm so she could snuggle in beside me. A soft sigh slipped from my lips as I shifted to tuck her body closer into my side before drifting off to sleep.
Waking up on the couch that afternoon was even more disorienting than Hanson’s middle of the night phone call. I lifted my free hand to rub at my bleary eyes before realizing that my phone was vibrating from the pocket of my jeans.
When I managed to wrestle it free, Kat murmured, “What is it?”
I pressed my lips to the top of her head as I blinked the notification into focus. “The paintings have been delivered and Lavigne’s money has been returned. How are you holding up?”
“It still doesn’t feel real. I just keep picturing him there behind his desk, smirking at us.” Kat rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Are you going to have Philippe check the SD card?”
That topic had been bouncing around in my head for a while. “I don’t think so. I did tell him it’s in there, but without knowing what’s on it, I don’t want to put him at risk. If he can find it, maybe I’ll have him ship it back here. It’s probably best to keep the painting under wraps for a while.”
She nodded, then her stomach rumbled. “I need to eat something.”
“I’ll make us some sandwiches,” I said as I rose. When I returned with two plates and two cans of soda, Kat was listening to her voicemail, jotting information down on a napkin she’d found on the coffee table.
“My father’s lawyer called, he’d like me to meet him at the house tomorrow to go over my father’s will. I guess word gets around fast when one of your cronies dies. I don’t even know how I would’ve figured out who his lawyer is, so there’s one thing off my to-do list. Detective Hanson left a message too, asking to see the painting sometime. Maybe I could have them meet us at the house tomorrow when we’re there with the lawyer, instead of here?”
