Chapter 3
I stood at the sliding door, staring out at the swaying palms as the coffee grew cold in my hands.
Sleep wasn’t my friend last night. I was restless.
I promised myself to behave once I landed in Key West. It was supposed to be different here.
A new look, a new home, a new life. No more blood.
No more lists. For a while, I believed it because I hadn’t felt the desire or the need.
Working at the gallery would take my mind off it.
I’d spend my days surrounded by paintings, talking to artists and collectors, and losing myself in the beauty of the art rather than in lies and betrayal.
I wished Alex had never told me about Kevin.
A man who was a husband, a father, and a respected history professor.
A man who looked into his wife’s eyes every morning while carrying on an affair with his assistant down the hall.
The moment Alex told me, something inside me shifted. It was like hearing a familiar song again after years without hearing it. I tried to put it out of my mind as I tried to fall asleep. But the whisper in my head became a conversation, and that conversation became an argument.
“Walk away, Dahlia. You’re not that person anymore.”
“Someone has to stop him.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It became my business the moment I learned the truth,” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Go back to your books.”
“Good morning, beautiful.” Alex smiled as he stepped into the kitchen.
“Morning.” I stared out the window.
“You look like you’re in deep thought,” he said.
“Maybe a little.” A small smile fell upon my lips.
“You’re going to do great at the gallery. Don’t give it another thought.” He walked over and kissed me.
“Do me a favor,” I said.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Talk to Kevin again and tell him to stop seeing his assistant. Tell him that his life would be ruined if Kris found out, not to mention his daughters’ lives.”
He frowned. “You’re still thinking about that?”
“I am. As annoying as Kris can be sometimes, she’s a good person. She’s a good wife and a good mother. I’d hate to see her broken over his infidelities.”
“Okay. I’ll have a chat with him later. I’m heading to the university. I’ll see you later. Good luck today.” His lips met mine one last time before he walked out the door.
I walked into the gallery with confidence in my tailored black suit and heels. My hair was left down today, cascading over my shoulders in waves.
“Good morning. Welcome to your first day.” Tess grinned.
“Good morning.” I smiled.
“I stopped on the way and grabbed us a coffee. You like coffee, right?”
“Yes. Caffeine is one of my many addictions.”
“I just got it black because I wasn’t sure how you took it. But we do have creamer and sugar in the backroom.”
“Black is fine.” I took the cup from her hand. “Thank you.”
My eyes wandered to the wall that had been bare yesterday. But today, a new painting was hung, and the moment I saw it, everything else disappeared. Eyes Without a Face.
“That wasn’t here yesterday,” I said to Tess.
“It came in after you left. What do you think?” She placed her finger on her lips and walked over to the painting.
“It’s extraordinary.” I stood and studied it, although I’d seen it many times before.
“You’ve seen it before?” she asked.
“Years ago. It’s beautiful.”
“Honestly, I think it’s unsettling. It was delivered with some other artwork. What do you think the meaning is behind the artist’s work?”
“Honestly?” I glanced at her. “It reminds people of something they’d rather not admit.”
“And what’s that?”
“That evil doesn’t have a face,” I said.
“Gah, I knew I hired you for a reason.” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
She walked away while I stood and stared at the painting I’d already seen a million times.
Most people believed that a person’s eyes revealed everything. Truth. Emotion. Intent. They couldn’t have been more wrong. The most dangerous people I’d ever known had the kindest eyes. Brian. Oliver. The cheating men I’d killed in New York. Kevin.
I inhaled a breath and walked away from the painting that had me in its grip since I’d first seen it and went about my day.
I was straightening one of the paintings when the bell about the gallery door chimed. A woman in her late forties stepped inside, wearing linen pants, oversized sunglasses, and a Louis Vuitton purse hanging on her shoulder.
“Good afternoon.” I smiled.
She slipped off her sunglasses and glanced around.
“I’m just looking.” Her tone was abrupt.
“Take your time.” I smiled and went back to straightening the painting.
She wandered around the gallery, looking at various pieces, and stopped in front of Eyes Without a Face. I watched as her head slightly tilted. She stayed that way for almost a minute. I walked over and stood next to her.
“Interesting piece of art,” I said.
“It makes me uncomfortable,” she replied, staring at the painting.
“Most people say that.” I smiled.
“And yet, I can’t stop looking at it. I’m not really sure what to make of it. I’ve been decorating our new home for three months and have bought beautiful paintings. But when I look at them, I don’t feel anything. But this one,” she pointed, “makes me feel something.”
“That’s what great art does,” I said. “It doesn’t tell you what to feel. It reveals something about yourself.”
“I’ll take it,” she said.
“You won’t regret it.” I smiled.
I removed the painting from the wall and took it behind the counter to wrap it. From the corner of my eye, I could see Tess watching. After the customer paid and took her new painting, Tess walked over and shook her head.
“I’ve had that painting for less than twenty-four hours, expecting it never to sell. What did you say to her to convince her to buy it?”
“I didn’t sell her a painting. I sold her a piece of herself.” I smiled.
Tess laughed. “Now I truly know that hiring you was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
If she only knew how I understood monsters better than most people.