"I was. I am."

"Are you trusting more?"

"I trust you." The implication was clear. Trust of others was going to be a long road.

"Well, it was nice," I said.

"Given a little more time, who knows what will emerge." She snuggled in closer.

"Even better than this? I can't wait."

A knock came at the door.

"Shit," I said. "Just a minute," I called out.

We quickly threw on our clothes and picked up the sheets from the floor and laid them hurriedly across the bed.

I went to the door, expecting Russ.

He didn't disappoint. Even better, he was holding the painting.

Chapter 18

He may have had the painting, but he wasn't ready to give it up. As expected, he had conditions.

Russ Simpson was surly, even more surly than he was that afternoon. The reason was clear. He had to come to us, and that bugged him to no end. He looked like the kind who was used to people coming to him. He was in some sort of commercial lending business—we determined that when we looked him up. He was successful, so he was probably a big man in town—possibly just in his own mind—and this wasn't supposed to happen. But it was obvious that he was also greedy, and his greed-o-meter was clanging away loudly. The problem for him, of course, was that the message of the painting meant nothing to him—he didn't even know it held a message. Finding nothing of interest in the painting, he probably did his research online and came up empty. He knew we were lying, and it was frustrating him that he didn't know the story.

Sabrina had called it. Now we just needed to convince him to hand the picture over.

He walked into the room without saying a word. I saw his eyes go from me to Sabrina to the bed. The scene and the sweaty smell of sex told him all he needed to know. It probably just intensified his lust for Sabrina. I looked at her. She was blushing—embarrassed that we'd been caught so soon after the act.

"You ready to tell me why you want the painting?" he finally asked.

"I guess we could be a bit more forthcoming," I answered.

"I guess you could. And if I don't like the explanation, I walk and you'll never see the painting."

"And what'll you get out of it, Russ?" asked Sabrina.

"Mr. Simpson."

"I'll stick with Russ." She wanted him to know exactly where he stood with her. "You brought the painting here, so you're obviously ready to deal. If you leave, all you'll have is a totally worthless piece of art. You can either hang it over your fireplace or throw it in your basement."

"The thing's ugly. Not worth the canvas it was painted on," he replied. "Which means it must be fucking valuable. Let me guess. It contains some sort of message or clue?"

Wow, a shot in the dark and he hit a bulls-eye. Impressive.