Chapter Nineteen
GENEVIèVE
Gordon poured himself a brandy and swirled it in a slow, calm movement. His eyes, on the other hand…
I looked away from the tempest in them, glancing at the empty spot on the wall, then the floor.
“Your orders were to maintain surveillance,” he growled at Roux.
Not a man who accepted failure gracefully, my godfather.
I would have wilted under the pressure, but Roux’s voice remained flat and steady.
“Yes, sir, but we weren’t able to follow them into the canals.”
Mina had reported that much in a brief text message, though we didn’t have the full details yet.
“Then you should have secured the asset,” Gordon barked.
Never mind that he’d said the opposite at the time.
“Yes, sir, but I judged the risk too great.”
Gordon scoffed. “The risk to yourself or the painting?”
“To your goddaughters, sir,” he replied, as level as ever. “The area was surrounded by Alexandre Ernaux’s vampires.”
I hated being the weak link, but Claudette’s death had brought the reality of the situation home to me.
“My goddaughters shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Gordon grunted at Roux, like I wasn’t responsible for my own actions.
“I was there to confirm it really was Dad’s painting,” I explained.
Gordon muttered at his brandy.
“I was shocked by how much it sold for,” I said. “Why would anyone pay €95,000 for a painting by my father?”
Gordon tensed. Just for a nanosecond, but I was paying close attention.
“To spite me, perhaps,” he grumbled.
Did he seriously think I would buy that?
“Who despises you so much that they would spend €95,000 to spite you?” I asked, incredulous.
The air around my head compressed, and my ears rang. Whoa. Was Gordon hitting me with his magic?
That is of no interest to you, a deep voice boomed hypnotically in my mind. That is of no interest to you. The message echoed again and again. No interest to you…
I curled my hands into fists, shocked. Was Gordon trying to brainwash me of my suspicions?
I resisted the urge to chew him out. Better for Gordon to think I wasn’t onto him.
But, yeesh. Did he think I was stupid?
“It’s complicated,” he said, keeping up that pounding pressure.
I forced my facial muscles to relax. “I suppose it must be.”
And, whew. The pressure eased.
I wasn’t sure whether to cheer or frown. Being taken for an idiot was not a nice feeling.
A good thing Roux interjected, shifting the focus from me.
“I have my team following the painting and the vampires. That could lead us to the anonymous buyer, but tracing them via the online bidding system will be just as important.”
“I have my man on it now,” Gordon grumbled.
That meant hacking. Amazing, how casually he mentioned a crime.
I jutted my jaw, wondering how many times that casual tone had fooled me in the past. Then there was the matter of his man. Was the guy even human? And did he specialize in online crime, or did he double as a hit man?
I bit my lip, thinking of Roux, Henrik, Bene, and Marius. Could Gordon use them as a hit team too?
You need to watch yourself around them, Mina had warned me from day one.
I’d had a hard time taking those warnings seriously, but now…
No one spoke for a time, and I forced myself to think. Gordon might have a hidden agenda, but so did I. Priority number one was bringing Claudette’s murderer to justice. Priority number two was recovering my father’s painting. Both, I was sure, were related.
At that very moment, my sister and Marius were out stalking a mysterious, millionaire art buyer.
Bene and Henrik were following ruthless vampires.
That put them all on the front lines of danger, while I sat in my godfather’s luxurious apartment.
Not exactly fair, but I could still contribute to our cause.
Not through strength or stealth, but cunning.
I stood and considered the artworks hanging on the wall.
“As long as I can remember, Dad’s painting hung there,” I said quietly, pointing. Then I gestured to the other artworks. “I’m sure he would have been honored to know his piece hung in a collection as impressive as this.”
“The honor is all mine,” Gordon said solemnly.
He sounded like he meant it — truly — but I had given up on trusting my judgment.
Instead, I focused on facts, such as the value of Gordon’s collection.
It didn’t include anything as jaw-dropping as one of Monet’s water lilies, of course, but many of Gordon’s artworks were worth five or six figures, like that Picasso sketch of dancing fauns or one of several Vue de la fenêtre by Matisse.
“Did my dad help you find any of these?” I asked, channeling sweet, clueless goddaughter instead of amateur sleuth.
“Many, yes.” He pointed. “The Miró, for example.”
“Constellations,” I murmured. “That’s always been one of my favorites here.”
It was also one of only twenty-three in the world. How on earth had Dad found it?
I frowned. Gordon could be lying about that too.
“That one as well, and that one, and that one,” Gordon went on in a sentimental tone.
“What about this?” I indicated another of my favorites, an original Alphonse Mucha Art Nouveau theater poster.
“Your father came across it while researching another painting and put me in touch with the previous owner.” Gordon chuckled, but there was a sad note in it. “I always told him to invest in some pieces himself, but he said, ‘My girls are the only investments I care about.’”
A lump formed in my throat. That fit my father to a T. He was an art historian, amateur painter, and World War II buff fascinated by lost masterpieces, but he’d always put us first.
I caught myself before I lost my sense of direction in the fog of nostalgia.
“What was the greatest masterpiece he ever found?” I asked, not daring to look at Gordon.
He hesitated. I was pushing my luck, but playing it safe would get me nowhere.
“Well, there was that Paul Klee he helped recover…” Gordon said.
I nodded. My mother still had the newspaper clippings about that one.
“And that Albrecht Dürer drawing of a lioness…”
My lips curled, and I nearly said, Bene would like that.
“Some consider your father’s greatest discovery to be that Linz album,” Gordon went on.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said.
That album — a catalogue of looted art intended for a grand museum Hitler never built — was now part of the National Archives in Maryland. It had proven critical in tracking down stolen artworks and returning some to their rightful owners.
But even that wouldn’t account for a vampire and an anonymous bidder duking it out in an auction just shy of six figures.
I went back to the Mucha theater poster. “I wish I could ask my father about his adventures in the art world. Like how exactly he came across that. Did he tell you?”
Gordon stood and loomed beside me, putting me on edge.
“I’m afraid I don’t know more. Perhaps you should ask your mother.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, sidestepping away. Then I gestured, indicating his entire collection. “Were these just investments for you, or did you buy them because you liked them?”
Gordon chuckled. “Most started as investments. I hated that Picasso in the beginning, but I’ve grown fond of it.” He paused momentarily, traipsing down his own private memory lane. Was it littered with tombstones of those who’d stood in his way?
An ugly thought hit me out of nowhere. Could my father’s be among them?
The notion shook me to the core, though I instantly dismissed it. Gordon might be guilty of some crimes, but he would never have done anything that heinous.
“Some, I liked from the outset.” Gordon gestured with his brandy. “But I must admit, the principal idea was to have a nest egg for my retirement.”
His eyes slid to the spot where my father’s painting had hung and stayed there.
I swallowed hard, remembering how my father used to say, Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
And Gordon’s apartment reeked of both — enough for an entire wildfire.
* * *
“Did I go too far?” I asked Roux on the way to Henrik’s apartment.
He scratched his chin. “Close. But you backed off at the right time.”
Ha. I’d backed off because I was so shocked at what Gordon had revealed.
“All those paintings together are worth one or two million, max,” I said. “That’s a lot of money in my book—”
“And mine,” Roux added grimly.
“—but hardly enough for Gordon to call a nest egg.”
“Whereas a Monet would let him gild his entire nest in gold and diamonds,” Roux guessed.
“Exactly. If that is what’s hidden behind my dad’s painting.”
We mulled it over all the way to Henrik’s, then paused outside his door. My eyes wandered to the rooftop deck, and I sighed.
“Guess two places I’d rather be right now.”
He grinned. “At home in Auberre?”
I nodded and jerked a thumb upward. “Or up there with you.” I worked up the nerve to face him. “You think we might find time to get up there again soon?”
His eyes heated, and he blew out a long breath. “No place I would rather be.”
I was just leaning in for a kiss when Mina and Marius entered the stairwell below.
I could have wailed. Roux looked ready to claw the nearest wall. He brushed a kiss over my knuckles, whispering, “Save that thought for later.”
Shortly after, everyone squeezed into Henrik’s living room. Bene, Marius, and I sat on the couch, while Mina sat on the floor, leaning against Marius’s legs. Henrik took an armchair, and Roux paced the perimeter of the room.
I started things off with the most urgent question.
“What happened? How did you lose track of the painting?”
“We followed the deliverymen as far as the Seine, where they loaded it onto a speedboat,” Mina said bitterly. “We found a place to shift and followed from overhead, but we lost them when they entered the network of covered canals.”
My stomach churned at the thought of my father’s painting being tossed around by strangers — not to mention the risk Mina and Marius had taken by shifting and flying in broad daylight.
“What about Anatole?” Roux asked Henrik.
The vampire leaned back in a plush armchair, sipping red wine.