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He gave her a small smile. "I don't want to fight with you. I just wish I could take away your pain."
"Whatever the doctor gave me is doing a good job of that. Do you know who attacked us?"
"His face was covered while he was in the house. He dropped his weapon, so we'll trace the gun and see if that gets us a lead. My team is also looking for video footage from security cameras in the area to see if we can locate the car."
"Did he get the painting?"
"No, he ran off before that."
"Because of you. You should feel good about that."
"Good? No way. I shouldn't have taken you there. I shouldn't have let you go upstairs alone. As soon as I saw the painting, I should have realized we were in danger."
"Are you done beating yourself up?"
"Not even close," he said grimly.
"I'm all right, Flynn. Let's just look forward. Where is the painting now?"
He picked up the canvas bag near his feet. "In here. Wyatt and Savannah are on their way down from LA to get it. I'm not letting it out of my sight until then."
As he picked up the bag and pulled out the painting, a shiver ran down her spine. The flower looked more deadly now than it had before, maybe because she knew the story and because she'd almost been killed. "I think you need to put that down," she said, feeling suddenly afraid. "What if the legend rubs off on you—on us?"
He frowned. "We weren't sent the painting."
"But we have it now. You're holding it. What if whoever touches it, is the next to…" She didn't want to say the word, but it was echoing around in her head.
"I'm not going to die, and neither are you," he said firmly, as he put the painting back into the bag.
"You told me that before. I remember you saying I needed to fight."
"I wasn't sure how badly you were hurt. You closed your eyes, and I couldn't get you to open them." He put his hand back on hers, squeezing her fingers. "You gave me a hell of a scare, Callie."
"I was trying to stay awake, but the pain was so bad; I couldn't keep my eyes open. What did he hit me with?"
"Probably the butt of his gun."
"I guess I'm lucky he didn't shoot me." She paused. "I didn't hear him come into the house. I was trying to hear Dr. Clarke and then I felt someone behind me. I thought it was you. I started to turn around and then I felt this tremendous pain at the back of my head as I fell forward. I don't know how long I was out, but then I saw you and that guy fighting, and I wanted to help, but I couldn't move. I've never had anyone hit me like that before."
"Hopefully, that was the last time it will ever happen."
"That would be fine with me. I guess the house wasn't so secret after all."
His lips tightened and anger entered his gaze. "Or we were followed. I kept an eye out on the way down. I didn't see a tail, but it's possible we led him to the house."
She frowned as Flynn found more things to blame himself for. "I'm the one who messed this up, Flynn. I should have given you the address last night and let you come down with your team. I was just afraid you'd find something on my mom, and I wanted to be there if you did."
"I know. I understood your motivation."
"Ever since you asked me about the accident with my dad, I started wondering if my mom could be capable of murder. She can go a little crazy when it comes to a man. But if the painting is tied to the murder of four other victims over a period of five years in different locations across the country and abroad, she really can't be involved."
"Unless she exposed Arthur's crimes to this mad lunatic and got someone else to go after him. She does work in a museum, and she is very involved in the art world. If the painting and the murder is meant to punish someone for their greed or their illicit activities, then someone had to know about Arthur's private collection or his affair."
Her heart sank at his words. "I guess I still need to worry about her then."
"I don't want you to worry; I just want to be up-front with you. You deserve that."
"But the person who knocked me out, who went after the painting, who is he? How is he tied to this? Why don't you think he's the murderer?"