Page 34 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kat

A cross town, still hidden away in the woods two days later, Nico tapped away at his laptop keyboard while I flipped through channels on the small TV in the living room. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was planning, but it was clear he was preparing himself for some kind of action.

With a sigh, I draped my head back over the arm of the couch to send him an upside-down glance. As if he felt my eyes on him, he lifted his head and smiled, his expression softening.

“Not much longer, Kitten.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the deep voice of a newscaster caught my attention. Nico’s gaze followed mine back to the TV.

“Next up, we have a last minute addition—another exclusive interview with Aidan Willoughby by our own Evelyn Masters. We’re News Seven at Seven, your only source for up to the minute news.”

Nico rose to join me on the couch, so I curled up in a ball to give him space at the other end. Once he was seated, he wrapped a hand around my ankles and tugged my feet, clad in fleecy socks with lambs dancing across them, into his lap.

I frowned as a brief report on a robbery gone wrong played across the screen.

Some art historian had walked in on an intruder at his apartment in the rougher outskirts of town and had been killed in the resulting altercation.

Apparently the victim had an arrest record for forgery back in the early nineties.

Both of us stiffened upon hearing the word “art,” then relaxed again when there was no mention of my father or the Clément painting.

“I’m surprised Evelyn didn’t text me that she was meeting with him again,” I murmured.

“Last minute addition, they said. Maybe she didn’t have time to give you a head’s up? It would be just like your father to call her on short notice. Anything to make a splash, you know?”

I puffed my cheeks as I blew out a breath. “I guess you’re right.”

While the introductory music for the news program played, Nico lifted my foot into his hand and pressed his thumb into my arch, biting back a smile at my quiet moan.

Between the stress, the uncertainty, and the lingering nightmares plaguing me after the crash, I was nearing my breaking point and he knew it .

I just hoped we’d have some good news soon and that whatever came out of my father’s mouth during this interview didn’t make things worse.

As before, the interview took place in my father’s home office, but the Clément painting was now propped on an easel between the two chairs. My father had a charming smile on his face as he returned Evelyn’s greeting.

“Mr. Willoughby, when we spoke earlier today, you said you wished to address the very public claims circulating this week, both from your ex-wife and from unknown parties, questioning the true origins of this beautiful piece of artwork. What would you like to tell our viewers tonight?”

“Thank you, Evelyn. It’s not widely known, you see, but I happen to be hopelessly colorblind.

Impressionist art is particularly hard for me to process, as lovely as others tell me it is.

After all this attention, I’m afraid I must admit that there’s been a grave mistake on my part.

This painting right here was moved into the house by my staff after the death of my very good friend and personal chef, Pierre Beaumont, a number of years back.

In our earlier interview, I mistook this painting for the one you see now above the fireplace. ”

The camera panned upward to a remarkably similar painting in a slightly different color palette.

I sputtered in disbelief, but Nico squeezed my foot as the interview continued.

Evelyn and my father discussed the origin of what he kept calling his true family treasure, and with a self-deprecating smile, he explained how easily he’d confused the two after so many years without coming across them side by side.

Though I was sure my eyes were about to roll right out of my skull, Nico stared intently at the screen, waiting.

“I cannot apologize enough to the entire Beaumont family for this terrible mistake. As a gesture of good will, I intend to see to the legal procedures necessary to establish ownership for the family—pro bono, of course. I hope they’ll view this as an equitable solution on all sides,” my father finished, smiling apologetically into the camera.

“What a lovely gesture,” Evelyn replied. “I’m sure it will be much appreciated.”

This time, I didn’t bother to hide my disgust. “What the actual fuck?”

With another rueful smile, my father went on.

“Unfortunately, the painting that’s been in the Willoughby family all these years has been assessed as having little monetary value, though it holds a great deal of sentimentality for myself and my family.

If my ex-wife wishes to pursue her half of a few hundred dollars, I suppose that’s her right. ”

As the interview finished up and the channel went back to their standard news report, I turned stunned eyes toward Nico.

“What is he trying to pull here?” I asked, baffled. “He’s not colorblind at all.”

Nico rubbed his forehead. “Fuck if I know. Either your father has suddenly grown a sense of honor, which I highly doubt, or there’s something we’re missing. ”

“What do we do now? Stay here, go home? Could this be a trap?”

It didn’t feel quite like a trap—my father definitely wasn’t stupid enough to set one on public television—but Nico didn’t seem eager to throw us both back into the fray, either.

He blew out a breath. “I don’t imagine he’d try to lure me in just to kill me.

The car accident proved it’s easy enough to get to me without getting his hands dirty.

I planned on heading home this weekend sometime, but I’d like to know what he’s up to before we leave here.

Tomorrow is Friday anyway, so let’s see what happens between now and then. ”

I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

We didn’t have to wait long. An email from my father came through to Nico the next morning, one filled with plenty of legalese and the very clear implication that if Nico accepted this course of action, he was also agreeing not to sue my father in a court of law.

We decided to eat breakfast before making any attempt to reply, and in that brief interlude, a sudden series of pinging chimes alerted him to one of his monitoring programs.

I finished my cereal while he grabbed the laptop. I’d gotten used to those alerts throughout the week, most of which seemed to be nothing of interest. This time, though, he cursed under his breath as soon as he pulled up the screen.

“What is it?” I asked.

Nico shook his head in disbelief. “The son of a bitch is selling the painting. Deep underground. This is some seriously shady shit. ”

“How can he sell it? He just made a very public move to hand it over to you. I know he’s a dick, but it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since he announced it on television. How can he go back on that without facing even more ridicule than before?”

“He can’t. Not unless there are two of them.” Nico absently rubbed his jaw as he tipped his head in thought. “Have you ever seen that other painting from the interview, the one he said he mistook for mine?”

I frowned. “No. It looked pretty damn similar, though. Almost too similar.”

“So maybe,” he began, tapping his fingers as he considered the possibilities, “maybe he had it made, something enough like the original that his little colorblind speech would fool the general public. And if he has a connection to someone who can create a piece like that, who’s to say he couldn’t create an actual forgery of the original? ”

“He’s going to sell a forgery?”

Nico smiled gently and said, “No, Kitten, I’m guessing he intends to sell the real thing and foist the forgery off on me.”

I flushed with embarrassment. “Right. I knew that.”

“It’d be pretty dangerous for him to try to sell a forgery, especially if the buyer becomes aware there are two copies out there. Whoever buys it is going to verify that it’s legit before they pay him.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for him to sell it after making a public announcement that he’s giving it to you? ”

“Your dad knows a lot of criminals. I’d bet it will be invitation only, so maybe he’ll limit it to people he has dirt on, people who won’t worry about whether he’s screwing me over in the process.” He tipped his head back in thought. “But maybe . . .”

I gave him a second to finish the thought, then another, before finally prompting, “Maybe what, Nico?”

“Maybe we can pull a little shady shit of our own,” he said, a slow grin tilting the corners of his mouth. “Let me see what I can manage.”

“You’re much more than just tech support, aren’t you?” I asked.

With my chin propped on one hand, I studied him in the same way I might consider a broken toy—like a puzzle to be solved, like I could see the inner workings of his mind, if only I looked hard enough.

Sadly, Nico’s insides were far more complicated than the mechanics I usually repaired.

His grin widened. “I think that’s an accurate statement, yes.

I mostly work in network security, which does occasionally require me to know how to get around that kind of security.

Fortunately, I won’t be working from scratch, either—from the minute I first realized there was chatter happening behind closed doors, so to speak, about the painting coming up for sale, I started brainstorming ways to manipulate things in my direction if that happened. ”

Of course, that original burst of chatter had been what revealed his ransom ploy to me in the first place. I frown at him and he clearly understood what I wasn’t saying, because he leaned over and pressed a conciliatory kiss to my lips.

“Well, then,” I said, accepting the silent apology. “Do you need to work your magic from home, or would you rather work it from here?”

He rose, took my hands, and pulled me to my feet.

“I love you,” he said solemnly, before kissing me again, more thoroughly this time.

“I think it would be best for us to go home for this part, but we’re going to have to play it cool.

We need to act like we trust that he’s going to be true to his word, especially if he hasn’t found what’s inside the backing. Can you do that?”

I cocked an indignant brow. “Can I treat my father with casual disdain and not let on you’re a genius hacker trying to screw him over in return? Of course I can. I’m surprised you had to ask.”

Nico laughed and said, “Hopefully, we won’t even need to see him face to face, but I have faith in you.”

“Ditto, for what it’s worth. He’s the one I have no faith in. I mean . . . why the sudden about-face? He’s got his minions forcing us off the road one minute, and then a few days later, he’s playing nice? Or, at least, pretending to play nice. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe the accident was just a show of power, maybe it was a delay tactic while he had the forgery finished? If he wanted to scare us away from making any demands before he was ready to act, it obviously worked.”

“Do you think he knows about the SD card?”

“I really don’t think so,” he said slowly. “If he did, and he wanted me dead, whoever was in that SUV had the perfect opportunity. Once we crashed, we were sitting ducks.”

Something about the situation didn't feel quite right, but I nodded. “Okay. It just seems off to me, but I’m sure you’re right. I’ll pack up my stuff. When do you want to leave?”

“Soon enough. I had something else in mind, first,” he murmured, kissing me again and steering me toward the bedroom.

I laughed against his mouth and shoved away my uneasiness over puzzles and forgeries, hackers and scammers. Those things would return front and center soon enough, I knew, so I’d happily give him this last opportunity to sweep it all far, far into the background.