Page 70 of The Prize

“Thank you, Coops, well done.” Tobias’s tone was kind. “Tell everyone that’s why I’m in New York.”

“Adley Huntly was surprisingly pleasant,” said Coops. “Though he does want you to call him personally.”

“I’ll be seeing him in person tomorrow.”

“He wanted to know what this painting is that you’re hunting down,” he said.

Tobias shoved his hands into his pockets. “All I’ll say is that it has a Russian origin.”

Coops snapped his gaze to mine, realizing he was talking about my paintings. “Best keep that under wraps, then, boss?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed.

“Okay, good. Well, I have everything set up. The Plaza’s usually booked years in advance so we got lucky. A wedding was canceled at the last minute. The deposit was huge so I feel for whoever paid for it.”

“I’ll need a dress for it,” I said.

Wilder stared at me and it was the kind of glare that told me I wasn’t invited.

“They miss you back in London,” said Coops. “They want to know when you’ll be back.”

“Next week if I’m lucky.”

Coops pointed across the park. “Your Lexus is over there.”

“Great.” Tobias gave a nod of approval. “Call me if you need anything, Coops.”

“See you later.” He hopped back onto his bike and sped off.

“We’re meeting up with him again?” I watched him cycle off across the park.

“Yes.”

“How much does he know?”

“Very little. That’s my way of protecting him. Once my phone is activated we’ll be tracked by Burell.”

“What happens when he finds us?”

“We set the trap.” He interlocked his fingers with mine and we walked to the chauffeur-driven Lexus. “If you’ll allow me to do the honors and lay the groundwork.”

He wanted me to give him the permission he needed to use that painting. I answered with silence. The cruelest answer of all, but the only one I could live with.

Once inside, Tobias asked the driver to take us to Westchester Avenue in the Bronx. He reached over me, pulled my seat belt across and clicked it in. “I’ve been dying to show you this place.”

“We’re going to see your new gallery first?”

“Yes.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I’m glad to be out of that house for a while.”

“I like it.”

“Yes, but it’s notourhome.” He took my hand and squeezed it.

Staring at his face I tried to read the truth and see how he really felt about me tagging along. I needed proof he’d left his old life behind—though right before my eyes he was morphing into the legendary Icon.

His body language exuded a raw confidence, his focus intensifying, and his grip on my hand was almost unbearable as he held it in his lap and stared out at the passing scenery.

Resting my head back I took in the exquisite architecture, admiring the skyscrapers and opulent stone buildings designed by master craftsmen decades ago.