Page 24 of The Prize

“How do you know he wants her?”

“Eli Burell has been on the hunt for the otherMona Lisafor his father. He wants to impress him. Look, the world knows there’s another painting of her out there. Maybe two. Burell’s psychotic over possessing her. She’s his weakness. She’s our in.”

I narrowed my gaze on him. “Have you ever done this before? Faked a painting?”

“No.” He looked offended. “You know me better than that.”

Did I really know this complex and mercurial man with a mind capable of unraveling puzzles and redefining what it was to think outside the box?

“Burell is still looking for us?” I said.

He gave a nod. “He’s not going to stop until the problem is resolved.”

“And we’re the problem.” A slither of fear shivered up my spine.

He shrugged. “So far I’ve managed to outsmart them.”

Silently I swore at him because if outsmarting them meant leaping off buildings his view of success was skewered.

“Are you in, Leighton?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Come up with a better plan, then. You have an hour.”

“What happens in an hour?”

“I begin.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“I look forward to hearing it, but if you fail to think of a realistic concept that will hook Burell without question, I will proceed as planned.”

I raised the cube. “Are you going to tell me what this does?”

“You’re always accusing me of using smoke and mirrors. Like a demo?”

I handed it to him and he placed it on the patio table. “At some point—” he rested the tip of his finger on the cube “—I’ll show you my other arsenal of tricks I have to pull off my plan. Full disclosure.”

“Let’s go to the FBI, please.”

“Are you prepared to lose your paintings forever?”

There had to be another way and I was determined to find it.

I glanced at the cube. “Impress me, then.”

“How about a little of that old Hampshirefog?” He emphasized the last word. “I know how much you love Emily Bronte’s moody atmospheres. This will fit your spirited charm.”

A stream of air hissed from the corner of the cube and I held in my breath at the shock of watching it form a blanket of thick white smoke. “Is it safe?”

He faded from view as a white cloud began to swallow him.

I tried to fathom how all this smokiness was coming out of that little box.Oh, no, I’d carried it into the drawing room near those paintings. Fog billowed around me and I could no longer see him. “Tobias?”

“Zara.” He was behind me.

A thrill spiraled up my spine when I felt his presence. “This shields your escape if you get caught?”