Chapter 14 #2
“Oh, my God!” he gasped, his fedora clutched to his chest to add to the dramatics. “I came as soon as Agent Markel contacted me but… why didn’t you call, Giano?”
“I’m so sorry, Franz,” Giano replied—looking truly devastated—and I had to stop myself from caring. “It’s… been a morning.”
“I can see that…” Daddy Pinstripes continued to gape at the empty frames. “How did this even happen? Do they have any idea who could have done this?”
Me.
Giano cleared his throat. “I had an electrician here yesterday, and somehow a breaker got tripped while Ana and I were at the gala. That’s when whoever accessed the apartment and took the paintings but, as of now, we don’t have any clear suspects.”
The call is coming from inside the house.
Now Franz was staring at our “victim” with outward confusion. “That seems awfully coincidental, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Giano’s gaze flickered my way, as if expecting me to take over, but I was too busy enjoying the show.
“The Art Crime Team has already sent agents to question the electrician, along with members of my staff, and a floral design company that made two houseplant deliveries to the Wentworths yesterday.”
One, actually.
But it will take them a while to figure that out.
“Regardless, I’m choosing to not make assumptions about anyone without having all the facts.”
That last part of Giano’s speech was definitely aimed at me, but I refused to acknowledge it. Instead, I kept my expression neutral, partly because I was still mad about his little sleepover, but mostly because watching my billionaire squirm under pressure was hot as hell.
Sadistic tendencies too.
Franz puffed out a forceful breath and slapped his hat back on his head, his gaze back on the empty frames. “Well… I suppose I should contact Sotheby’s and tell them to pull the listings—”
Oh, shit.
This time, when Giano looked on the verge of panic, I smoothly stepped in. “Why would you do that?”
Daddy Pinstripes turned to face me, gesturing at the evidence as if I was an idiot. “Because there is no art left to auction.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t some Italian artist sell an invisible sculpture for twenty grand a few years back?”
“Yes…” Franz scoffed, although I could tell he was amused by the reference. “Salvatore Garau—for fifteen thousand euros to be exact—but that’s an entirely different market.”
“Is it, though?” I continued, daring this man to fuck with our plans. “I’ve always heard any press is good press, and the rich love a good scandal, don’t they?”
“That we do,” Anastasia materialized again, much to my annoyance, handing both me and Giano teensy mugs that smelled like heaven. “I know you said no more caffeine, Rowen, but I thought a murder might improve the mood around here.”
Okay, fine.
She’s cool.
“Thank you, Ana,” Giano murmured, taking a sip of his espresso, visibly relaxing from that sweet, sweet caffeine hit before addressing his appraiser.
“Please don’t pull the listings, Franz. There’s a PR company Luxford Holdings has worked with in the past…
Perhaps they’ll have some thoughts on how to frame this. ”
Interesting choice of words, Moneybags.
“Whatever you say, Giano, because I’m at a loss.” Franz sighed again and glanced around. “Anyway, Agent Markel said he needed a statement from me on the worth of the paintings…”
My ears perked up at that, because I did wonder how much the collection was worth—pre-scandal—but then Markel himself reappeared, like a bad rash, to stop me from asking.
“So what’s your expert opinion on all this, Quincy?”
I removed my gloves then pointed a bare finger at the nearest frame, just to make him grimace at the threat of compromised evidence. “I think someone should question the thief who took the bronze sculpture from The Andervelt.”
Markel opened and closed his mouth a few times, delightfully caught off guard. “W-why would we do that?”
He makes this so easy.
I scoffed. “You don’t think it feels targeted—or at the very least, awfully coincidental—that first a sculpture on loan from the Luxford family was stolen, closely followed by this?”
Even if I hadn’t known the truth, it would have been a weak theory, since the tourist who’d already been picked up for The Andervelt crime had obviously done it on a dare for a cheap thrill. Unfortunately for the FBI, I lived to waste their time.
And who doesn’t love a red herring?
“I… will look into that,” Agent Markel said, because of course, he was now going to take credit for my idea. “Any lead we can follow keeps the case active, since Mr. Luxford here has been adamant about us not questioning the guests from his recent party.”
Giano nodded solemnly. “Treating guests of that caliber as suspects will not go over well, I’m afraid. Besides, everyone who attended the viewing party could have easily afforded to purchase the art at auction, so I fail to see any clear motive there.”
Well done.
I could feel Franz’s eyes on me until Markel pulled him away for a statement, and then Little Miss Supermodel made a show of making herself scarce, leaving me alone with Giano once again.
And my thoughts.
I wanted so badly to take Giano at his word that there was nothing going on between him and Anastasia Bosco, but it was complicated.
While a part of me did believe him, my ridiculously possessive reaction to the entire situation reminded me I needed to stay vigilant about not blurring the lines with this job any more than I already had.
It’s. Just. Business.
“When can I see you again?” he murmured, invading my space again. “I need to—”
“I need to work, Mr. Luxford,” I bluntly replied, causing him to step backward in surprise. “You have my card. Feel free to contact me about anything related to the case.”
And nothing else.
Please.
With that, I turned my back, tamping down any emotion that could distract me as I joined the nearest group of agents to debrief, forcing myself not to look back at the man I’d left behind.