Full Color (ORCA #3)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

QUIN

“Nero, the painting Dasselaar has is a fake. It’s my forgery.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure it’s yours?”

I rolled my eyes even though my brother couldn’t see me. “Yes. I wouldn’t have called you with this if I wasn’t positive.”

“Okay, but this changes nothing.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sat down in the wingback chair in my room. I’d done the bare minimum in terms of socializing after dinner, finishing one drink before heading back up to my room. The guests on either side of me were still down in the salon or engaged elsewhere around the estate, but I wasn’t naive enough to assume I had any privacy, so I kept my voice low as I filled my brother in. “Are you sure? Now that we know it’s not the real painting, is it worth trying to grab it?”

“Cal, Jack, and I have been talking a lot about that. We think whoever came after Felix is still after the painting, which means they will probably go after Dasselaar. Or his buyer.”

“Right. So why do we need to stay involved?”

“Because once whoever the big bad is figures out Dasselaar’s painting is a fake, this whole thing starts all over. We can’t back down until we know who targeted Felix and we remove them from the game.”

“And what does stealing the fake accomplish exactly?”

“It gives us a way to draw out the real threat.”

“And I can’t just paint you another one?” I wasn’t serious, and my brother knew it, but this was all starting to feel a little dangerous, and I worried about people I cared about getting caught in the crossfire. I wasn’t sure how Dimitri had managed it, but he’d somehow lied about the painting being real, and if Dasselaar—or his buyer—found out, I didn’t want to think about what would happen to my mate. Maybe Nero was right and stealing the painting was the right move. At least we already knew it was a forgery.

Nero laughed. “No, but thanks for asking.”

“So what’s the plan? From what I can tell, the paintings are hung on safety hooks fitted with closed-circuit, independent pressure sensors. There is no way to get the painting off the wall or out of the frame without triggering the sensors. A smash-and-grab won’t work, and Felix can’t hack the sensors since they are off the grid.” I’d been able to see behind The Evolution of Man while I’d been stuck in the bottleneck getting out the door to make a bid. By the time I’d gotten the chance, Mr. Mondvogel told me the highest bid was up to one hundred million dollars. I’d texted Jules, who’d almost cried but said he’d make the funds available in the account, so I’d bid one hundred and one million dollars and tried to affect nonchalance as I joined the others on the veranda for lunch, wondering the whole time who Jules was stealing the money from to fund this enterprise. Reuben’s pockets were deep but not that deep.

“You let me worry about this part, okay? You just worry about getting your man to the pick-up spot for Hadrian.”

Nero and company had decided the best way to get Dimitri out was to sneak him out in plain sight. With two hundred fifty guests, plus security personnel and plus-ones, there would be plenty of people around to distract Dasselaar. As long as he didn’t keep a bodyguard on Dimitri all night, it should be simple.

But I wasn’t holding my breath.

We were assuming Dasselaar would want Dimitri at the gala to use his talent to reassure the guests that the paintings were all real, but there was a chance Dasselaar wouldn’t risk letting Dimitri attend. He had kept Dimitri locked in his room since right after the preview. I hadn’t even seen how Dasselaar’s goons had gotten him out of the gallery.

Maybe it was a good thing Cal had given me a gun after all. If I had to shoot my way out with my mate, I would. I just really hoped it didn’t come to that.

Instead of telling Nero my concerns, I changed the subject. “Has Felix been able to do anything with the footage of the estate I took today?”

Nero’s voice was full of pride when he responded. “He has a full 3D rendering of the estate done. He was able to take the plans we have and overlay the layout from your video so we can digitally plan a route.”

“Good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?”

Nero sighed. “You’re a terrible liar. And I have Cal over here confirming you’re full of shit. He says he can feel it through your freaky twin bond.”

“Tell Caligula he’s a traitor.”

Nero did as I asked, and a scuffle broke out on their end.

“You take that back, Quintillus!” Cal said.

“I won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s got you all twisted up.”

I could feel Cal’s concern through our twin bond, and I knew there was no escaping this. So I reluctantly gave in. “Dimitri somehow lied to Dasselaar.”

“About?”

“About the painting being real. I’ve seen what happens when he tests a forgery with his talent, but this wasn’t that. The colors were perfect, but I could see in his eyes that he knew it was a fake.”

Cal chuckled. “Aren’t you always telling us that you’re the best at what you do? Could your forgery be that good that even Dimitri can’t tell?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I am that good, but there was something that made him question it.”

“So ask him about it.”

“I’m going to, but what if Dasselaar figures it out before we get Dimitri away from the estate? He’s going to kill him, Cal. We heard him talking about it last night. What if he figures it out and pushes that timeline up?”

“This is why we give you shit about doing fieldwork. It’s not that you’re not capable, it’s that you get too in your head. Contingency planning is one thing, but spiraling into what-ifs is another. Trust us, and trust yourself. You’re going to get your mate out, and you’re going to live happily ever after, and we’re going to do everything we can to make that happen.”

I wanted to believe my twin, but I also felt like I was in the dark. Nero wasn’t telling me his plans, and I didn’t know if that was because he hadn’t figured it all out yet or if he just wasn’t sharing them with me. And Dimitri added another complicated layer. It felt like everything was unraveling and time was running out.

“I know you don’t believe me, and that’s okay. But we’ve got this, Quinny. Now go see your man. We have work to do here. I’ll make sure Felix works his magic with the cameras so no one sees you.”

“Fine. Please keep me posted.” But Cal had already disconnected the call.

A minute later my phone buzzed with a text from Felix letting me know the cameras were looping. It was still early, and I poked my head into the hall. No one was around, so I grabbed my lockpick set and slipped out of the room, locking the door behind me, so if anyone happened to check they’d think I was asleep.

I needed to talk to Dimitri, and I didn’t want to wait any longer.

When I picked his lock and snuck into his room just after midnight, he was sitting on his bed, fully clothed like he’d been waiting for me.

He sprang off the bed and launched himself into my arms. “God, took you long enough to get here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, loving the way it felt to have him in my arms. “Sorry. I was trying to wait until everyone went to bed, but it seems like it’s going to be another late night for a few of the guests.” I pushed him back, still keeping him in my hold, and looked him over. “Are you okay? You weren’t at lunch or dinner.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Dasselaar was disappointed in my less-than-enthusiastic performance at the preview. He wanted me to be all smiles, but I couldn’t do it.”

Something sour churned in my gut. I wasn’t sure it was Dimitri’s lack of smiles that had annoyed Dasselaar. We hadn’t been super obvious but we also hadn’t been all that discreet as we’d stared at each other during the preview. I knew for sure Dasselaar was suspicious of me, and my gut told me keeping Dimitri locked in his room was more about punishing me than him.

“I’m sorry.”

He tipped his head to the side, an adorable crease forming between his brows. “For what?”

“I think Dasselaar has picked up on my interest in you. I didn’t mean to put you in more danger.”

Dimitri’s answering scoff was as cute as the furrow between his brows. “You heard him talking to Scar last night. I’ve been in danger since the day I met Stefan Dasselaar.”

“You said before that Dasselaar found out you’d left Cyprus illegally and he’s holding that against you, but there’s more to the story, isn’t there?”

Dimitri closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Isn’t there always?” He leaned his head on my chest, and I let his warmth sink through my skin until I felt it all the way to my bones. Until his quiet question traded his warmth for ice. “How did you know the painting is fake?”

It was my turn to sigh. “That’s a long story.”

He lifted his head from my chest and took a step back, gesturing at his room. “I have nothing but time.” He swept his arm toward the small sitting area with a couch and two chairs. “Let’s sit.”

I took the couch, expecting Dimitri to pick one of the chairs, but instead, he settled next to me and curled himself around my body, leaning into me and dropping his head on my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I savored the moment. My mate was tucked against me, and while there were mountains of obstacles to face in our not-too-distant future, for now, we were safe and we were together.

Dimitri took my hand in his and threaded our fingers together. The move was so familiar it felt like we’d done this a million times, even though we’d only had our first conversation a day ago. But this was what it was like when you found your fated mate. It felt right from the very beginning, like a piece of you that was missing snapped into place. As I gave Dimitri’s fingers a squeeze, I wondered if he was feeling the same thing.

“You were just about to tell me how you knew that painting was a forgery.” Dimitri nudged my shoulder with his.

“And like I said, it’s a long story.” I blew out a breath. “I told you before that my grandmother is Juno Hunter.” Dimitri nodded against my shoulder. “She raised me and my brothers after our parents died. My father had been following in my grandmother’s footsteps, carving out a name for himself in the world of stolen cultural artifacts. My mother was an archeologist. They’d met in college during a summer internship in Cairo.” I waved a hand. “Sorry, you don’t need to know all that. It’s not really relevant to the story.”

My mate lifted his head and looked deep into my eyes. “It might not be relevant to the story, Quin, but it’s relative to you. I want to know everything about you.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about our fated connection, but I didn’t let the words fall. Instead, I continued with my story as Dimitri resettled his head on my shoulder. “At any rate, Juno raised us after my parents died, and to say it was an unconventional upbringing is putting it mildly. She took care of us, made sure we were fed and clothed and doing well in school, but she also taught us tricks of her trade. Nero was her protege now that our father was dead, and by the time he was eighteen, he was pulling heists with her. Cal, my twin, was the wild one, so she’d harnessed his wildness with martial arts and weapons training until he joined the military, then went into private ops. Julius, the baby, was gifted with a computer and she pushed him to learn everything he could about coding. Jules ended up hacking a bank when he was like thirteen, and after that, his path to becoming a modern-day Robin Hood was pretty much set.”

“What about you?”

“I was the artist.” I held out my hands, and Dimitri traced the stains and calluses on my palms and fingers. “And I have almost an eidetic memory when it comes to art. She found me drawing The Great Wave from memory with a blue ballpoint pen when I was seven after a class field trip to the Seattle Asian Art Museum. After that, I learned everything she could teach me about forging art, and when her expertise ran out, she sent me to France and Italy for summers to learn from her friends.” I turned Dimitri’s hand over in mine, tracing my thumb along the veins there. “I recognized the painting as a forgery today because I’m the one who painted it.”

“It seems we have something in common.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a forger too. It’s how I met Dasselaar. After my sister and I moved to Amsterdam, I tried to make a living selling my original art to tourists, but it barely made a dent in our bills, so I moved on to selling forgeries. I would paint pieces and take them to galleries, claiming they’d been left to me by a deceased relative. Since I can change some of my features at will, I would make my face just different enough that I couldn’t be the same person. I became an expert at forging authenticity and provenance documents, and I used my talent to make sure the paintings were as perfect as possible. My sister is in art school, and she would sneak me into the studios after hours so I could study the famous pieces on display and use them to get my paint formulations exactly right. I only sold one painting at a time, and I spread them out so it wouldn’t be obvious what I was doing. A little over a year ago, I tried to hustle Dasselaar. He figured out the painting I’d sold him was a fake and tracked me down. He told me the painting was one of the best forgeries he’d ever seen, and it had taken two appraisers to realize the painting wasn’t authentic. He threatened my sister and locked me up here, forcing me to work for him in exchange for keeping my sister alive.”

We were both quiet for a minute after that as I processed what he’d just revealed.

“Why did you lie and tell Dasselaar the painting was real?”

Dimitri shook his head. “I didn’t. Something strange happens when I use my talent on the painting.” He looked down at his hands, and I followed his gaze, my eyes picking up a faint glow around his fingers that reminded me of the way the inside of a seashell shines. “I’ve never had this happen before, but the first time I saw the painting there was this glow, then the colors resolved to be almost perfect. In fact, the first time I saw the painting, I couldn’t detect a difference in hue at all. I didn’t even notice the colors were off between my skin and the canvas until today.”

“And that was enough to fool Dasselaar?”

“He was distracted when this glow started and only saw my hands after the colors had settled. That’s why I stood with my body blocking everyone’s view of the painting today.”

Dimitri settled his hand on my leg, and the glow got brighter. He pulled his hand away, and the iridescent shimmer faded a little. When he held my hand, our bare skin brushing, the glow got the brightest, looking almost like oil on water, pinks, yellows, and greens catching the light.

With a gasp, Dimitri sat up quickly and dropped my hand.