Page 20 of The Prize

“A priceless piece he’s coveted for decades.”

“Surely you’re not comfortable giving him any one of your paintings from The Wilder?”

Tobias gave a forced smile and headed for the door.

I followed him into the foyer. “NotMadame Paul Duchesne-Fournet, right? Because she’s on loan from LACMA?”

His words that I wouldn’t like it fired up my intrigue and threatened to send me reeling.

Tobias spun around to face me. “Burell is willing to do anything to own this elusive piece. The same one he’s spent millions searching for.”

“What if we lose it in the process?”

“It will have a GPS inserted inside the canvas, so if it gets separated from the frame we’re still able to follow where it goes.”

“Won’t that compromise the canvas?”

“Let go of your preconceived ideas, Zara.” He walked off. “This is war.”

Hurrying after him into the opulent formal dining room I felt my panic rising.

This was a quaint Victorian parlor with rosewood cabinets and ornate upholstered chairs, and none of this furniture was his taste because Tobias went with modern and form with a purpose. The fact he kept it the same as when his grandmother lived here emphasized what she’d meant to him.

He rested a palm to the right side of the door on a flat panel and the lock clicked. With a twist of the handle, he stepped out into the back garden. A burst of cold air stopped me in the doorway and I lingered there watching him. He didn’t seem fazed that he was barefoot. An awning covered the entire patio and a few feet away was an outside rug, and beyond this space unfolded a large garden flanked by tall brick walls.

Tobias pointed to the door. “Press your palm on the keypad to get in and out. Just tell me where and when you’re going. It’s best if we go together. Each access point is camouflaged for both aesthetic and security purposes.”

“When did you lift my fingerprints?”

“Back in Oxfordshire when I first met you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I admit I was overly cautious.” He cringed. “I apologize if it seems a little invasive.”

“Not accepted.” I bit back my annoyance. “This painting—”

“Will be the crown of Burell’s collection. Or so he’ll believe.”

“Who’s the artist?”

“Rumor goes there are two others out there—”

My throat constricted from the clue that could only mean one painting.

“She’s considered the rarest of finds,” he added. “The holy grail of paintings.”

He was referring to a portrait of theMona Lisathat was now known as Lisa Gherardini, the wife of Francesco del Giocondo.No, this wasn’t possible. There was no way he’d consider giving her over to a monster. If this other painting even existed. Rumors had circulated that Leonardo da Vinci had painted more than one portrait of Mona Lisa, who had patiently posed for him over the course of many years. Some specialists believed there’d been enough time to paint her several times over, especially given the artist’s obsession with his subject.

A jolt of adrenaline spiked my veins that I might have been under the same roof as theother Mona Lisaat some point. “You own her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Tobias, where are you going with this?”

“It’s a good plan.” He looked eerily calm. “Even if it turns my stomach.”

Okay, this was a bad idea.

I was already riddled with guilt for how my life had turned his upside down, even if he was Icon, and there seemed no end in sight to the disruption I seemingly caused.

The originalMona Lisawas safely hanging in the Louvre in Paris and admired over the span of five hundred years. She was only now giving up her secrets as forensic specialists decoded her long-lost truths using state-of-the-art technology.