Chapter 33 #3
I snaked my other hand into her coat and around her waist. That’s when I felt it. “Oh,” I murmured. There was a hard, rectangular panel tucked into her pants, resting at the small of her back. A playful smile curved my lips. “What’s this?”
She gave me a sassy blink and a shrug.
“Is that a masterpiece in your trousers, or are you just happy to see me?” I asked.
My cheekiness garnered no reaction. She didn’t reply.
“But what about the Rembrandt?” I gestured at the wall behind her.
She grinned and slid from my arms, her eyes sparkling as she backed away and outstretched her hand. “Walk with me,” she invited, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I placed my hand in hers, and she led me from the room, away from our objective. I wanted to protest, but she wasn’t slowing or allowing me the chance.
She dragged me down the empty hall, and I eventually sped up to match her pace. I dropped her grasp and my hand found its way back to the small of her back, cradling the wooden panel beneath her coat and fingering the edge. I was struggling to understand.
“But really, what’s in your pants if the painting is still on the wall?” I dared to whisper.
“God, you’re impatient. You’ll see,” she hissed and brought a finger to her lips to silence me.
I narrowed my gaze but kept my mouth shut. If it wasn’t the Rembrandt, then what was it? My uncle wouldn’t settle for anything less than what he requested. Anxiety snuck up on me.
She stole a glance over her shoulder toward the noise coming from the atrium.
When I dared a glance back, Sybil’s crowd had doubled, their cheers and applause echoing from that direction. “You’re missing the show,” I taunted.
Betty shrugged, eyes fixing again on the exit doors ahead. “I’m sure I’ll see it all on social media later.” She laced an arm through mine, forcing my hand away from the panel at her back and guiding my attention forward. “Right now, we need to finish this deal and find my dad.”
We breezed through the front doors and out into the warm spring air, the guards more focused on their phones and the unfolding event on screen than on us.
Nash’s laughter and cheers were still broadcasting through my earpiece. I switched it off, and the sounds of the city flooded in.
At the bottom of the steps, I flagged down a cab. It was less than a minute before one pulled over and we hopped in. I gave the driver the address my uncle had specified as the drop-off point. The cab headed toward the Upper East Side.
We circled Central Park in silence, Betty gazing out the window, looking both relaxed and tense at the same time. I squeezed her hand three times, and she squeezed back, looking at me with glassy eyes full of hope.
The driver dropped us off on 5th Avenue, and I settled the fare while Betty looked up at the towering buildings all around. I looked up with her, awestruck by the height, not unlike a mountain.
“David’s in the penthouse,” I whispered, gesturing to the building straight ahead.
“Of course he is.” Betty glowered before adopting a more positive expression. “Do you think my dad’s up there?”
I caught her gaze and gently stroked her rosy cheek with my thumb. Her makeup glittered in the daylight, illuminating her whiskey-colored eyes. I longed to kiss her, but didn’t want to ruin her perfect red lipstick, so I bent and kissed her neck instead.
She released the tense breath she’d been holding, wrapping her hands around my waist and allowing me to comfort her.
I pulled her into me, peppering more kisses down her neck before whispering, “How on earth do you think you’re going to pull this off, Buttercup?”
Amidst a sigh of pleasure, she mumbled three words: “It’s a forgery.”
I pulled back, only to find myself blinded by the smug glint in her eyes.
“That’s a forgery?” I asked, gesturing to the art in her pants.
She scoffed. “Hell no.” With a step back and another giggle, she went on, “You think I’d risk my dad with a forgery? No way.” Betty pointed in the direction of the museum. “What you saw on the wall back there at the museum? That’s the forgery.”
My lips parted, and I huffed. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “You minx!” It finally made sense. “You swapped them?”
She giggled and nodded. “Yeah, it only took a minute to switch them out. I knew a forger. He was super eager to help me and loved the plan.”
I growled. I didn’t like the sound of another man eager to help her.
She chuckled, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Relax, Jackson is harmless. He’s one of Nash’s best friends.
I’d suspected it for a while, but apparently he’s an infamous forger.
I’d heard about a guy on the dark web who vaguely reminded me of Jackson, and it got me thinking.
He helps us out a lot at Beaumont when there’s a tough job in need of repair, and his work is flawless.
I went on a hunch, and turns out I was right about him.
I hired him this week, and with his quick work and some fast-curing oil paint, he created a damn-convincing replica.
All I had to do was create an exciting diversion and make the switch. Easy peasy.”
I scoffed, but was in awe. It was brilliant, and no one would ever know. No investigation, no arrests, and no public record. It was a flawless plan.
It’s just too bad it wasn’t my plan, but whose fault was that? If I’d trusted her, I could have been on her team.
Showering her with sudden kisses, I yanked her off her feet and spun us in a triumphant circle. “Why are you so damn smart?”
Her laughter was wicked and infectious.
I set her down, grasping her shoulders and looking her in the eye.
“The best plans are always the simplest ones,” she said.
I stared at her for another few minutes before asking, “Are you ready to save your dad?”
She bit her lip and nodded.