Page 46 of Rett

“What? I said it would be like she has her own famous painting or picture of herself. Did I say something wrong?”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he repeated. “That’s what I saw in that woman’s cottage. That’s why they want me dead.”

“Because you saw a painting?” asked Kiel.

“No, not just any painting. I saw two paintings. Two of the missing works we know were stolen by the Nazis. They were hanging on the wall of the cottage. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Actually, I do,” he corrected. “I thought they were fakes. I mean, what poor woman in the middle of Venezuela would have original artworks worth millions.”

“That’s why his men didn’t kill you right away. It wasn’t that they thought you were dead. They didn’t know what to do with you if you saw the paintings,” said Zeke.

“Do you remember what they were?” asked Ivy.

“I can describe them,” said Rett, shrugging his shoulders. Zeke walked over to Ellie, telling her what they’d heard. Her eyes went wide as her husband, Jax, followed her to the other table.

“Hi, Rett. I understand that you may have seen a stolen painting,” she said.

“I’m sure I did. I’m just not an art expert. I don’t know the name of them. I just remember seeing photos of them.”

“Can you describe them for me?” she asked. He nodded.

“One of them was a guy, or maybe a girl, with long hair and a cap on. You know, like one that old-fashioned cab drivers wore. He had a white shirt on with a fur thing over his shoulder. He’s seated, with his arm, his right arm, resting on something.”

“Dear God,” whispered Ellie. “You found Raphael’sPortrait of a Young Man. Holy shit.”

“I don’t know what it’s called, Ellie, but I know what I saw. I know that painting was shown to us once before as one that was lost.” She pulled up a photo of the painting on her phone and showed him. Rett nodded, affirming that it was the right painting.

“What was the other one?” she asked anxiously.

“The other one was a woman, a ballerina, dancing across a floor,” he said.

“I think that’s a lost Chegal,” she said, turning to Jax. “I have to go down there. You have to let me go down there and find these paintings!”

“Fuck, no!” he growled at his wife. “You are not going into the middle of a drug cartel’s territory to recover paintings.”

“Jax, this is huge. If they’ve actually found all of this but have no concept of their value, they could be destroying these items.”

“We’ll get them,” said Luke. “But no one is going down there alone. Rett? Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“I’m positive, Luke. The minute she mentioned portraits and paintings, I started to remember. There were other items in the cottage as well, maybe just trinkets, but I have no clue if they were anything important or just things he bought her.”

“If those paintings are the real deal, then Ramos and his men have discovered at least part of what they’re searching for. Paintings would be hard to sell without a trace, but if they found the paintings, then that probably gave them enough encouragement to look for more,” said Ellie.

“Let me see if Luke can get hold of Bankston tonight instead of tomorrow,” said Kiel. He left his sons and the others, hoping to get some good information from their contact.

“I can’t believe I’m just now remembering this,” said Rett, shaking his head. “I knew she drugged me. I just didn’t know how much.”

“No luck,” said Kiel, walking back with Luke. “Bankston is with the POTUS in a closed-door meeting that no one, not even his wife, can get into. We’ll have to wait.”

“We could take a look at the items recovered a few years back,” said Ellie. “Melanie kept a list of everything, and I reviewed some of that with her. If those items aren’t on that list, you could look at what’s still missing, and maybe something will hit home for you.”

“Yeah, it’s worth a try,” he said, nodding. He turned to Casey, a big smile on her face.

“I think I’ll go up to the hospital and sit with Morgan for a while. I’m sure Kegger could use a break, and maybe she’d feel good having another woman with her.” Rett kissed her, whispering ‘I love you’ to her as he left the room with the others.

“Come on, sunshine,” smirked Jax. “I’ll give you a lift up there and be your escort. Art is not of interest to me.”

“But your wife is an expert, isn’t she?” He laughed, nodding his head.

“My wife is. I am not. I love my wife. Therefore, I pretend to be interested.”

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