“But there was no security a year ago.”

“It wasn’t needed.” Olivia shook her head. “For what it’s worth, I really don’t think my grandmother’s pictures were stolen—there was no sign of a break-in.”

“You’re an investigator. Got any theories?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” Olivia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m almost certain my mother took them out of the closet before her death.”

“What do you think she did with them?”

“I have no idea. I can’t imagine she would have sold them. She viewed those paintings as an inheritance to be protected.”

The waiter returned to the table with a large tray.

“Going to need to make some room,” he announced.

Harlan quickly retrieved his phone. The waiter set a dainty Nicoise salad in front of Olivia. He arranged the large bowl of cioppino, a small mountain of pasta and a pile of fritters on Harlan’s side of the table.

So much for the small-servings theory.

“I’ll get some more bread,” the waiter said.

He vanished.

Olivia leaned forward a little, her eyes fierce. “Where’s the original of that painting you just showed me?”

Harlan picked up a fork and went to work on the pasta. “In a safe place.”

“Where, damn it?”

“I found it in the vault at the offices of the Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena in DC. Relax. The agency is in a forgotten underground bunker that was built during World War Two and never used. It isn’t identified on any of the old blueprints. Trust me, no one knows where it is except Arganbright, Pine and me. There is one other picture, however.”

“Where’s the other one?”

“In Arganbright’s office,” Harlan said.

Olivia tightened her grip on her wineglass. “He never told me about it. That picture belongs to me.”

“Don’t blame Arganbright,” Harlan said around a mouthful of pasta. “He didn’t know the painting had any connection to you, not until I showed him this photo and told him I was certain your grandmother painted both of them.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“My father and grandfather kept a set of private files, most of which were related to Vortex.” Harlan paused. “I . . . inherited them.”

“Inherited them?”

“ ‘Found them’ would be more accurate. In the vault in that bunker I just told you about.”

“These files were assembled and maintained by Crocker and Stenson Rancourt?” Olivia said, astonishment in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Don’t they belong to the Foundation?”

“Technically. My official title is director of the Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena.”

“Victor did mention that when he asked me to cooperate with you,” Olivia said. She smiled a very cool smile. “But that’s not quite the same thing as being in charge of the Foundation, is it?”

“Close enough.”