Chapter 5 #2
“Sure. Well, once I’ve determined your item is genuine, it’ll take me some additional time to research the market and give you a specific starting price.
And if you were looking to sell, Miss Blackthorn, my contacts are extensive.
Depending on the piece in question, a sale could happen rapidly, if it’s a showstopper. ”
Wouldn’t that be lovely?
I’d never have to lay eyes on Holden Verity again, and I’m sure he’d be just as thrilled with that.
“It’s a stunner,” I say.
“I don’t doubt it. You wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t.” There’s a warmth in his voice. Not arrogance, but confidence in his own worth.
“And you’re confident you can find out if it’s authentic?”
“Of course. I have a lot of contacts, as I say. I like to think my own knowledge is extensive, but I know how to fill in the gaps.” He chuckles. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you know who to call and who owes you favors.”
Hmph. While I don’t love involving too many people, his contacts are probably legit.
I’m tempted to just bite, especially when I haven’t felt good about the other names on PopPop’s list.
Not for something this big.
“When would you like to visit my office in New York?” he suggests.
“Bring the item in and I’ll have a look.
No guarantees, of course, but I expect I’ll be able to tell you the basics, and if it is a sale you’re after, we can go from there.
In fact,” he adds, “if it’s everything you’re suggesting, I may just buy it myself. ”
Another idea I don’t instantly love. But maybe I’ll feel better after I meet him.
“That would be great. Thanks so much.”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Tomorrow afternoon? Does two o’clock work?”
“I’ll clear my schedule,” he says warmly. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Blackthorn. Until tomorrow.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the desk.
Winner. I guess.
And it only took me half the day.
I’m not sure why I’m frowning.
Nerves. That must be it. This situation frays me like nothing else.
I exit the room to find Holden and tell him we’ve got a meeting—and we’ll have to book it if we’re going to get there in time—but the moment I leave the room, I hear his voice.
I think he’s on the phone.
But he’s not talking like I did, all professional with polished politeness. There’s a warmth there I haven’t heard before.
It makes him sound softer. Human, even.
Weird for a man who could cosplay as Wolverine.
“Tell me about your day.” I can hear his smile.
I stop in the hall, unable to resist a little eavesdropping, staring at the alcove by the window where Holden sits.
A small, tinny voice comes through the speaker. One guess who’s on the other end.
The adorable, enthusiastic little girl I met when he showed up. Kit sounds like she’s telling him about some history project. Russian-inspired.
I’m no expert on Russian history, but I have the brief, overwhelming and totally inappropriate urge to crash their conversation to ask if she loves Anastasia like I do.
Only the best animated movie ever.
I even did a project on Rasputin for a history class in college and the real deal was bonkers. It’s pretty rare to find men who crawl out of the wilderness to hypnotize royalty while they fuck their way through the entire royal court.
Of course, I can’t mention that now. But hey, maybe when she’s older.
I mean, not that I’ll know her when she’s old enough to talk about the nitty-gritty of the freaky mystic con man who had the Tsarina in his palm until he was shot repeatedly and drowned. Probably better she doesn’t know about his murder or sex life until she’s in college.
A bit of rough, my history professor agreed.
But the high society ladies did love it, though. I get it, even if my tastes have always veered toward straight-edge, put together guys with just a hint of edge.
No judging.
Holden glances up and scowls when he sees me. It doesn’t help that I’m smiling like a soppy idiot at him.
His face tightens, icing over.
Goodbye loving father, hello emotionless hardass.
“Kit, I’ve got to go,” he says gruffly. “Remember, you can’t say a single word about the egg, homework or not. And when Grandma tells you it’s time for bed, you listen, okay? No reading past lights out.”
The exasperated “Daaaad” that comes through the speaker makes me laugh. I bite my tongue.
“I know, I know. I’m the worst, keeping my brilliant daughter from burning her eyes out until dawn on history books.” He glances at me, then away, stiffening in his seat. “Love you.”
“Love you too! Even when you’re mean,” she chirps back through the speaker.
My heart.
Holden ends the call and turns back to face me, tucking his phone away.
“Just look at you,” I tease, shaking my head. “Father of the year. I’m going to throw your name in for the trophy.”
“Never asked for an audience or a title.” He snorts and closes the laptop next to him.
“Sorry. It’s just nice, hearing you talk normal.” I resist the urge to walk up and pound his chest to see if it echoes. “Maybe there is a beating heart in there somewhere.”
“And maybe you’re pushing your luck, smartass,” he throws back. “She’s a good kid, though.”
“You must miss her.”
“Sure do.”
“How about her mom? Your wife?” Oh, I shouldn’t. I know it but I just can’t help myself.
If there’s a good reason for that missing wedding band on his finger, I want to hear it.
But it’s hardly satisfying when his mood darkens so quickly, like the moon passing over the sun. It’s visceral, the way he draws himself in.
“No wife,” he growls.
Oh?
Oookay, so maybe that was fishing a little too deep. I still can’t imagine any sane woman wanting to marry him, but Kit’s existence implies there must’ve been a Mrs. Verity at some point. Or something close enough.
Right, though. Boundaries.
For a hot second, I worry I just trashed all that temporary truce stuff we worked out over breakfast.
Curiosity can’t be worth ruining. Especially when it could make this little partnership bearable.
I scratch the back of my head, unsure what to say.
An apology, maybe? Do I have to?
But his eyes are searing lasers, bright as the sun splashing a mountain. I’m pretty sure if I keep pushing, he’ll tear me a whole new mouth.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to get up in your business,” I try weakly.
“Whatever.” He folds his arms and hits me with another evil eye. “Did you come out here to eavesdrop or what? Any update?”
Charming.
At least he’s willing to move on, though. Small mercies.
“Actually, yes. I think I’ve found a guy. He’s an expert on European art with a specialty in the Mediterranean. He seems to know his stuff. I think he could even find us a buyer. He said he might be interested himself.”
“Got it.” Holden looks unimpressed. No surprise, but it takes the shine off my plans. “Where’s he located?”
“New York City. Feel like a trip tomorrow?” I smile. “I said we could meet him in the afternoon.”
He scratches his jaw as he thinks. “Yeah, that works. I’ll arrange transportation. Just give me an address to work with and I’ll handle the rest.”
Oddly easy. He’s being way more accommodating than I’d assumed.
“Just like that?”
“What else?” He shrugs. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m sure Leonidas’ old pilot and plane are still available.”
“Captain Marco? I thought he moved on to private charters now.”
“So we’ll charter him. We need as many familiar faces as we can get. Trusted faces.” He doesn’t look bothered by the logistical nightmare that might be on almost no notice. “When do you need to be there?”
I wince. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two p.m.”
“Got it.”
I stop and stare at him, clearing my throat. “No offense, but… this feels too easy.”
He narrows his eyes. “Do you want hard? You handle the art side. I’ll do protection. That’s how this breaks down. Hell, I prefer less complicated, but if that’s not good enough, Nile, be my guest.”
“No! Jeez, I just…” I wave a hand at him. “I don’t know, I just thought you’d be pissed at having to figure stuff out so soon.”
“I worked for Leonidas Blackthorn,” he says matter-of-factly, quirking a brow. He doesn’t smile, but it’s close. “You think I’m a stranger to making travel plans on the fly?”
“Guess not.” Now I feel dumb.
“But,” he adds, holding up a hand, “I will need more details. Who’s your man? What makes you so certain he’s the right person? Have you looked into him?”
“Calm down.” I roll my eyes. “Obviously, I did some fact-checking. I didn’t just throw darts at the list. He’s an expert on Russian and Greek history, and he’s a pretty big name in the art world.
Clean reputation from what I can tell, no big money types buzzing around him. The vibes were good on the call.”
“The vibes,” he mutters, his mouth turning down. “That’s what you’re going on?”
“Oh my God. Just when I thought we might be able to work together, you have to do that.” I tap the edge of my phone against my hand.
“That?”
“That asshole old man thing. The thing where you bow up like an alley cat and act like I’m still sixteen with no life experience.”
“That is called due diligence. It’s a good thing, for everyone’s sake,” he insists. “I can run background checks, deep personal histories, lean on private investigators if I need to. All part of keeping you from walking into a scam. Also, I’m thirty-eight, smartass.”
“Oh sure. Forgot you were Mr. CIA. You’re so unbearable,” I hiss.
“If that’s my only crime, I plead guilty.” His sigh sounds like it contains all the air in his body.
“Keep going. You’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”