Chapter 13 #2
A stillness took over the scene. The noise from the expressway now seemed muted in comparison to the sudden chaos in Rowan’s mind. He had trained for this moment. Prepared for it as much as anyone ever could.
Discovery.
A death.
The death of a character, the mask of whom he had worn for so long it felt like his own skin.
Deep cover was unlike any other assignment.
You became the mobster, the biker, the art thief, the murderer.
You sympathized with the world around you, came to love the people within your life, good and bad alike.
You saw yourself as you projected yourself to be, becoming the manifestation of your own design.
He flashed back to the wedding, remembering the white latticework covered in flowering vines, Tamra stunning in form-fitting off-white.
He’d been hopeful then that they could make a life together with their child, believing he could make love appear through hard work and determination.
Tamra and their guests didn’t know it, but Rowan had been grieving, that day.
Mourning for the life he would never return to.
A life he could now have, with Becky. One filled with laughter and sunshine, here in the States, where he didn’t need to worry about covering his tracks, contradicting himself about a made-up past, and hating the man in the mirror.
He could be happy with her. Hell, he was already happy with Becky, way more than happy.
I’m in love with her.
What a hell of a time to realize it.
He was about to fight for his life.
Enzo blew out a cloud of smoke, the breeze spreading it over Rowan like unwanted incense. “Since when did the Art Crimes Division of the FBI start stealing paintings?”
Rowan’s mind raced. Enzo had his facts straight, and there were a limited number of people on this earth who could have given him that information. “We call it relationship building.”
“Relationship building.” A gust of wind whipped between them with physical force. “And the dead guard?”
Rowan nodded almost imperceptibly. “A mistake.”
Enzo chuckled. “Mistakes seem to surround you, Agent Mitchell. First the guard, then my daughter disappears along with the Madonna, now Santini, who I now realize must be a friend of yours…”
Who I now realize must be a friend of yours…
The words reverberated in Rowan’s mind, their meaning too horrific for quick comprehension. Marco. Rowan’s stomach sank. “Santini?”
“Aw, you haven’t heard.” He flicked imaginary ashes off the end of his cigar as he shook his head. “They found him in his car this morning. Two bullets to the back of the head.”
The grin on Enzo’s face belied his sympathy, and Rowan struggled to keep his face impassive. Marco was a friend, and a good one. A father of a newborn boy, a husband.
Rowan’s mind raced ahead of him. Surely Enzo didn’t intend for Rowan to leave this place alive, but his father-in-law was no match for him physically. Rowan began to scan the horizon.
Enzo blew smoke out of his nose like a bull. “There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why is the Madonna Fornirà so important to you?”
Rowan blinked. “Who says it’s important?”
“Don’t condescend me. I can see what motivates you, like a clock with its gears exposed.”
He laughed. “Really.”
“I know that you’re partial to redheads.”
Rowan froze. “What?”
“Fiery, outspoken redheads with bodies made for sin.”
The distance between them was gone in three steps, the muscles of Rowan’s arms flexing in preparation for battle. “You stay away from her.”
Enzo clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid she doesn’t want to see you. I brought her up to date on your checkered past, including the guard you murdered in cold blood. That’s why I was late for our little tête-à-tête.”
I was tying up loose ends.
Rowan grabbed a fistful of Enzo’s shirt and tie. “Where is she?”
“Let go, or you’ll never see her again.”
Rowan’s fingers snapped open, and Enzo righted his skewed tie. “I want the Madonna Fornirà.”
Rowan needed to calm Enzo down, to get some control of the situation. He worked to regulate his breathing. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Becky.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Just days ago, he believed Tamra and Anthony had been kidnapped. Now Becky truly had been taken.
“Why do you want it? You were willing to put it in the Gardner. What’s changed?”
“I was never going to leave it there, you fool! I was going to swap it out for the forgery. I have an inside man at the museum.”
“The forgery’s not good enough to pass for the real thing.”
“These things can be fixed. Ninety-eight percent of it is spot-on. But Tamra was foolish and selfish, and now the forgery is sitting in a police warehouse somewhere.”
Except it wasn’t.
Marco said someone took the forgery. Either it wasn’t Enzo, or he was lying. Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Did Tamra know about your plan to switch it out for the forgery?”
“She knew the legend, of course. It’s a matter of history. She wanted to see what was behind that painting as much as I did.”
“You want to destroy the painting, this piece of history, just to see if there is an even greater treasure hidden beneath it.”
“Yes. And you will get it for me, or the redhead dies, just like Marco. You’ll have to work quickly. They have a meeting with their black market contact in two hours.”
“Who?”
“Tamra and Gianni, of course!”
“How do you know that?”
Enzo chuckled and held up Leonardo’s smartphone. “People put their whole lives on these stupid things.”